#and his friend seemed to be real close with him and would know what miura would have wanted and appreciated so I don’t want to come off as

[tariah23]

Oh… So Berserk is going to still continue after Miura’s death anyway?

[akaashisupremacy]

Curiosity

Summary: Hajime Iwaizumi runs into an old friend yet again. Second chances don't come often so will he able to make a move before their time is up?

Iwaizumi x fem!reader/Oc || Read it on A03

Genre : romance, friends to lovers 

The day had gone by quicker than Hajime Iwaizumi thought it would. It was now or never.

It all began last week, when he ran into Hiromi Miura, a friend from college, in a small Vietnamese restaurant in Ginza a month after he moved to Tokyo. As he lined up for a seat, he noticed the figure in front of him was familiar. He tapped her shoulder and waved. Hiromi was so surprised that it took her a moment to realize it was her old classmate.

“Iwa??” she said in disbelief.

They got a seat together to catch up. Normally, Hiromi would be nervous about have lunch with one other man, but she had been on so many failed dates lately that at least she knew lunch with Iwa would not end in disappointment.

“You’re eating here? This place must be legit huh?” he said, remembering that she worked for a food publication. She chuckled.

“Definitely has my seal of approval.”

The restaurant was small and Iwa was rather tall. He could feel his knees touching hers from time to time. She crossed her feet behind her chair so they didn’t have to apologize mid-conversation when they bumped into each other.

“I’ve been meaning to call you by the way. Do you know any good markets around where I live?” he pulled out his phone to show her the area where he was staying, “I’m not too familiar with the area yet, so you’ll have to tell me where is it on the map.”

Iwa lived almost at fringe of the city. His home was located not too far away by bike to one of Hiromi’s favorite wet markets. She took his phone a little more enthusiastically than he expected her to and pinned a location.

Hiromi loved showing people around her favorite food spots. If being a food guide was more lucrative, she would ditch her dayjob altogether.

“Here! There’s a wet market where I’m friendly with the stall owners right here.” she pointed, “It’s about a 15 minute bike ride away from your place. I can help you get good deals. Not too many tourists too.”

And that was how Iwa found himself inside a wet market with Hiromi, on an early Monday morning. On most mornings, Iwa liked to jog and not do chores, but Hiromi had been so enthusiastic about the market that he let himself get sucked in. He tried not to yawn as she waved at every other stall.

“Another market day for work? Did the production team ask for your help again?” tutted an old woman at a vegetable stand.

Did he really look that dressed down?

“No, I’m bringing a friend around, hopefully a soon to be regular. Yamagata-san, this is Iwaizumi. He just moved here.” she chuckled, gesturing at him. Iwa politely bowed and greeted her.

As Iwa picked out some vegetables, Hiromi continued to chat with the old woman, guiding him every now and then to a vegetable that looked fresher than what he had picked out.

“I thought he was a production boy., You know one of those boys that drives your company van and carries your stuff.” Yamagata-san commented good naturally, “Too handsome for a production boy.”

When Iwa was about to pay up, Hiromi disappeared over to the next stall. He sighed and made his way to the counter at the back. Behind the desk, he saw a simply framed black and white photo of Yamagata-san with a candid smile, reaching out to a customer. The background seemed to blur and the old woman was the star. Next to that was a smaller photo of Yamagata-san and…Hiromi.

Was Hiromi some sort of MVP for this stall or something?

“Miura-chan took that photo of me,” said Yamagata-san, taking notice of Iwa, “I told her that I didn’t need such a big photo of myself so I insisted on having one with her.”

“What was the photo for?” he asked, peering again at the two photos.

“She ran an article on the oldest stalls of the market saying we were the heart of the community or something like that. When the story came out, she even gave us a glossy magazine that had my picture on it. She made us sound big and important. She was really grateful that we let her talk about us so she gave us a framed photo of ourselves to remember her milestone by. It was her big solo article I think.”

After hopping from one store to another, sometimes to say hi and others to buy produce from, they settled in for early lunch at yakitori or grill restaurant. The sun was high in the sky. While waiting to be seated, Hiromi bought cool green tea for the both of them.

“This is so good! Damn!” he sighed in pleasure. The drink relieved the sweat gathering at his back. Hiromi grinned in satisfaction.

“Iwa can I ask you something?” she tilted her head towards him.

“Shoot.” Suddenly he felt unnerved and tense. What could this be about? He bit down on the tip of the straw.

Her eyes were with amusement, “Did you not notice that the fruit vendor was making eyes at you?? She’s totally into you and I tried to wingman for, but you just shrugged and paid up.”

“Wait, for real?” he asked, taken aback by his lack of self-awareness.

Hiromi nodded her head vigorously, “That was cold!’

He slapped his hands on his forehead, “Well, I wasn’t really interested in her anyways.” he sighed, his eyes flicking towards her before looking away.

Hiromi recalled a time in college, when a circle of their friends were having lunch together. One of the girls that had a crush on Iwa tried to make a pass at him.

“I would date you if I could, Hajime-kun,” she blushed. Everybody’s eyes turned to Iwaizumi who continued eating and only stopped because someone had nudged him.

“Thanks, I’m flattered,” he nodded. It had taken him weeks to realize that she was trying to confess to him.

“Do you remember that time in colle-“ she began but was interrupted. He was cringing as he remembered the same memory.

“Don’t bring up that lunch incident, Hiromi. I know you’re going to. Just NO.”  he groaned, “I get it! I’m dense.”

Hiromi was trying to restrain her laughter. He could hear her stifle her giggle beside him. She tried not to look at him. He straightened up beside her and nudged her knee with his.

“I wasn’t interested in her anyways.” he said, thoughtfully looking at her.

“Clearly not,” she snorted, browsing through the menu, “You should see what you want to eat before they seat us.”

He placed his hand a little bit behind her and peered over her shoulder. He could feel her arm pressed against his chest. They were seated so closely his nose almost touched the side of her head. She remained oblivious to him.

After they were seated, Iwaizumi finally brought up what he had been noticing.

“How does everyone here have a photo by and with you?” he asked, “Are the photos really required by your work?”

Hiromi looked a little embarrassed. She cleared her throat and sighed, “People like to take. They take stories and never give the people they take from. They take their food and their ideas, which is really not fair.

“It took me a while to earn the trust of the community here but once I gave them a copy of their story, it made them realize I was sincere about wanting to give back to them. The black and white framed photos, that was on me. We had some budget left so I got them their own photos because they’re important even if their job is not glamorous.”

“You’re really passionate about your job huh?” he said. The food had just arrived and they began to rearrange their bowls and plates on the table.

“It’s not my job I’m passionate about, it’s people and their stories. I’m just lucky enough to be paid enough to do this.” she smiled.

“Don’t you feel the same way about your job?” she asked, “You like volleyball so much you turned it into a profession.”

“I do, but I’ve just started in my new job. Passion takes time if not at least a little bit more experience. Maybe by next year, I can feel the same way about my work.”

———————————————————————————

“Thanks for bringing me here.” he said as he loaded up his bike with his morning purchases.

“Thanks for lunch,” she said. Iwaizumi had paid while she was at the restroom to thank her for introducing him to her community market.

Urgency prodded at his back. It was now or never. As she handed him some of his packaged vegetables, he hastily turned to her.

“Can I see you again next week?” he said it so quickly, he wasn’t sure she fully understood him.

“Oh, do you want to try a different market?” she asked, carefully taking out the strawberries from her bag and transferring it to his bag.

“No, no this market looks great —“

“I know right! It’s not the best or most comprehensive market, but it’s a good market if you’re looking to build a community with.” she beamed with pride.

Iwa straightened his back and cleared his throat, “No, like a date.”

She paused and stood to meet his eye. “Oh…I guess this is why you weren’t interested in the vendor huh. I really thought she would be your type! She even plays volleyball.” She looked away while slowly recalling signs from earlier today: the knee nudge, the lunch, his lack of interest in other women in the market.

Iwa could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. He forgot how nerve-wracking it was to ask someone out. Sweat was pooling around his temples just standing there.

“Ahh not really, I am actually interested…in you. I thought you might like me too, that’s why you agreed to go out with me today…y’know to test the waters…” he stuttered, “but..ah…turns out you just really like markets. I realized that I should have been more forward.”

Hiromi was simultaneously flattered, mortified and a little confused. She kept quiet. In the back of her mind, she entertained the thought that maybe this was an unofficial date, but she had convinced herself that Iwa was invested in buying cheaper fresher produce.

“It’s ok if you don’t want to. You look uncomfortable,” he said, waving his hands side to side, breaking her out of her reverie, “We can pretend like this never happened.”

She hesitantly replied, “Well, I’m on the weekend and my hours are flexible on Thursday because it’s a reading day for me…” She was praying in her heart that she got her schedule right.

Her reply caught Iwa off guard. Nevertheless, he jumped to the chance to spend a day next week with her.

“That’s great! I’m away next weekend, but Thursday sounds great.” he smiled, looking hopeful, “Let’s meet then?”

“I know it’s kinda early, but I think I have to put it out there that my schedule’s really erratic some days. That’s kind of put some people off.” he shrugged. His schedule was one of his occupational hazards.

“We’re out on a Monday, I think I’m aware.“ she nodded. Although outwardly calm, she was ready to faint. She couldn’t wait to tell Itsumi that she had a date with a seemingly decent guy?

“Oh and Iwa?” her face schooled itself into a more serious expression as he gave her his full attention, “It’s non-negotiable for me. If you want to insist on being able to date other people, I’ll have to cancel next week.”

“I had a small spat with this guy I was dating and I…walked in on second date while he was making out with someone.” she gritted her teeth, heaving a sigh.

“Ok, I won’t see anybody else while we’re seeing each other. Deal?” he couldn’t help but smile.

“I’m not very good at dating. I haven’t been in a good relationships in awhile. I’m gonna need your patience.” she said softly, turning to him, her eyes wary.

“I’m kind of aware.” he nodded, “I’ll make the most of the time you can give me.”

When she left she felt dumbfounded. She had recently sworn off dating and now she was on another date?

“Itsumi, you’ll never guess what just happened!” she called up her coworker.

----------------------------------------------------------

This is part 2 of a series on Iwa living in Tokyo after he moves back from California. If you’d like to keep up with the next chapters (which will include questions to help them fall in love *hint hint*), comment or message!

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

Series taglist: @itstheee-ha-chan

[goldenkamuyhunting]

The sad news of Kentaro Miura's death have shaken the world of manga (and I dare say of comic books or even pop culture). I was wondering how do you think his masterpiece, Berserk, compares to Golden Kamuy and if an influence of sorts of the former can somehow be found in the latter. The theme of ambition is certainly there, as the topos of the tough and scary main character briken by trauma but with a heart of gold. What do you think?

Well...

I honestly wouldn't compare the two because to me they're two very different works although both are seinen who won the Tezuka Osamu Cultural Prize.

"Berserk" was monthly first then semimonthly, "Golden Kamuy" is weekly, which might seems irrelevant but the release date affect the pacing of the story greatly.

"Berserk" belongs to the Dark Fantasy genre while "Golden Kamuy" is an Historical manga, which means the authors have to worry about completely different things when crafting their story which allows them to pursue their themes in different ways.

Even the way the manga are structured is different, although both have many characters, "Berserk" for a long time has tended to focus the most on Guts, while GK shows itself to be a coral work from very early on.

There are some things that are similar, war, ambition, wish for a place to belong, trauma, but exactly because one is a dark fantasy while the other is historical, they're handled very differently.

In a dark fantasy you can view situations as metaphorical, in real life no one can experience "the eclipse" the way Guts and Caska do or sacrifice people to the God Hand's "apostles" the way Griffith does, but such situations can stand for real life experiences if you're willing to engage in the text as such, you might even enjoy how it's tinged in themes that reminds Nietzsche's ideas... or you can keep distance from it and just view it as a dark fantasy in which there are monsters that do terrible things to the humans and that need to be destroyed but none of this will happen in the real world so you can just enjoy the ride.

In an historical manga the experiences of the characters are things many people experience in real life. The Russo-Japanese war happened and, while now wars are more 'modern', there are things that still are the same. Sugimoto's experiences during the war, his coming back from it psychologically scarred are things that happened to tons of men, an experience that will continue being done as long as war exist. It's more difficult to keep distance, because even if the characters are fictionals most of what is mentioned is so very real it's easier it pushes you to think.

Mind you, I'm not saying this to say one is better than the other, just to say the two are so very different it doesn't seem fair to compare them.

In their genres I think they're both very good works, very solid and well studied, which tackle strong themes but in different ways and that the reader of one might not necessarily like the other but that they both deserve to be read.

"Berserk" is what I consider to be a classic in the manga world, "Golden Kamuy" is too new to be considered a classic but I expect it to become one.

Did "Berserk" get to influence "Golden Kamuy"?

Berserk started in 1989 (LOL, I've been reading it from 1996, it was a lifetime ago... I even watched the first anime series and brought the cd... "Forces" is still one of the songs I love the most), which places it close to "Hokuto no Ken" (which started in 1983) and "JoJo no Kimyō na Bōken" (which started in 1987) while GK is comparatively a newborn, as it started in 2014. We know Noda referenced both "Hokuto no Ken" and "JoJo". Right now I can't remember him mentioning "Berserk" (but it can be he did) and we don't know how old Noda is but I think there's a chance those are works he grew up with and if you grow up with something that's on this level of good, chances are it will directly or indirectly influence you.

So yes, it's definitely possible Miura's work influenced Noda, but as we can't know for sure it's hard to say.

The tough and scary main character briken by trauma but with a heart of gold is a common trope in storyteling but honestly, although Guts and Sugimoto live some similar experiences, to me they look as very different characters.

Guts had a tragic birth, as his mother was hung while she was pregnant and he was found by a slightly insane woman under her hanging body. His adoptive mother loves him but dies of illness, his adoptive father is a monster who mistreates him and sells him out to another man while Guts is desperate for his love. After he kils his adoptive father he continues to live alone as a mercenary untill he'll stumble into Griffith who'll force him to join him.

Sugimoto is instead for most of his youth a normal boy who lives a normal life with his beloved family and his friends and would have continued to live a normal life hadn't his family died due to sickness whcih caused him too to be ostracized. As a result Sugimoto does a couple of bad but understandable choices which lead him to lose Umeko to Toraji. He ends up in Tokyo, accepts to work for Kikuta and ultimately decides to join the army.

Of course the stories of both characters progress but they'll keep on progressing in different ways.

Sugimoto's life isn't a bowl of cherries but, compared to Guts' is litterally heaven on earth.

After the Eclipse Guts will become bitter, when Guts met Puck he cares little about how the citizens will be killed, all he wants is to deal with the Snake Lord. He doesn't want companions, he doesn't want to be touched, he's a ball of rage and desperation.

Sugimoto will never reach this level of bitterness, rage or desperation. Although he becomes more murder prone he never deliberately sacrifices innocents for his goal, he remains friendly and when he keeps other away is to protect them.

Again this is not about who of the two is better.

As main characters they're both awesome and they both will make you suffer a lot for them... but in very different ways.

So, long story short, I think both Miura and Noda did an awesome work with their masterpieces but that "Berserk" and "Golden Kamuy" are ultimately very different and wouldn't do justice to neither to compare them.

To who has gotten curious about it, "Berserk" is one of the manga I find is a MUST READ, however it comes with some warning as not only it's a seinen, therefore a work for adults, but it's very explicit in showing sex and violence RIGHT FROM THE FIRST PAGE, and that includes scenes of rape, monsters and situations worth of a horror story and other terrible things, so it's definitely not for soft hearted.

The art is beautiful and detailed, albeith dark but this fits with how "Berserk" has often a dark atmosphere (lighter scenes often have lighter art), the characters are well studied and there are strong themes. As said before you can find in it references to Nietzsche and his philosophy which makes for interesting points to ponder.

For me the story started to get really cool around the end of Vol 3, with the beginning of the Golden Age but there's who loved it from the start.

So... hum... sorry, this isn't exactly the analysis you wanted but I still hope it can be of some interest to read it.

Thank you for your ask!

[petroltogo]

full disclosure, this got complete out of control (you’ll see that below the cut) and for those who prefer to read longer texts elsewhere I also posted the full story on AO3. @hopeswriting I hope you like it!

So Hana takes a step back. She let the stress of being field-active, of having to cover for Sawada and keeping their squad upright run her down and never once took a moment to breathe and think. It worked, for a time, but it can’t work forever. Hana won’t be around forever to pick up Mochida’s slack when he’s hesitating, to push Sawada down when he gets ideas about helping, to shoot down Miura’s more crazed ideas that she makes sound horrifyingly reasonable.

In other words, she needs to start working on a solution instead of being the solution. Which means approach the problem in a new way.

Since Vongola Inc.’s bureaucracy is as nightmare-inducing as Hana expected it to be, getting another member assigned to their squad is a spectacular failure. [Hana cannot believe the bullheadedness of people who have never even seen a gun in real life but somehow think they can tell her what she does and doesn’t need in a fight.] Unsurprising but it was worth a try.

Which brings Hana to Plan B: Get Sawada off the squad. He’s spent the past two and a half months flapping around on the field like a fish who’s jumped out of an aquarium only to realize that he does, indeed, need water to survive. He’s panicked and cried and thrown up [in Sawada’s defense, they all have, but unlike Sawada they usually manage to control themselves until after the crisis is over] — in short, he’s had his fun.

It’s time to end this.

[continues under the cut]

Since the last time Hana tried to hammer a rational thought into Sawada’s brain, she’s payed attention and realized that Sawada won’t ever get off his ass and do something to improve his life if the only thing to be gained is more happiness and less lethal danger for himself. Which, frankly, is a thought that boggles her mind but alright.

If Sawada refuses to make decent life choices, Hana will make one for him. She doesn’t usually meddle like this, this is 100% Kyouko’s bad influence on her, but Hana has spent too many months keeping this idiot alive. He’s not gonna die on her now.

So Hana files the transfer papers for Sawada.

She does it properly too. Researches Sawada’s high school grades — which range from passable to terrible, how did he make it into the Vongola Inc. attack squad training in the first place? — and interests — of which there are barely any, seriously, does this guy not have a life? — and pays attention to Sawada in action. Most of the time that’s like watching an avalanche come down on top of you in slow motion, but there are parts of their work where Sawada doesn't hold them back. Even — dare she say it — makes himself useful. Like the whole talking to witnesses and calming survivors down part. Especially when there are children. Sawada is awkward and too sensitive and gets too restless around the adults, but with children he’s actually— Not bad.

Based on those same observations, Hana fills out the appropriate forms to get Sawada transferred to Human Resources. Sawada will be fine there. Maybe even do well. Not that he could do any worse than an attack squad but whatever.

The request is denied.

Transfer requests out of attack squads aren’t denied. No one wants a well-armed operative who doesn’t feel stable and confident that they can handle their job running around.

At this point Hana has repeated the phrase so often, the words have lost all meaning, but in the face of such a monumental, senseless idiocy it bears repeating: What the fuck, Vongola.

*

Practice doesn’t make perfect but it does make better.

A week passes and then another one. With every successful and unsuccessful mission that they survive together, they get better. Their teamwork improves, their instincts sharpen, they learn to play off each other. They learn to navigate around Sawada. And even Sawada does improve.

He doesn’t panic as much or as obviously anymore. He’s getting better at not getting in the way. He’s getting decent at hand-to-hand combat, even if he sucks at applying those same skills in an actual battle. Hana still isn’t happy to have him at her back, but she can trust him not to bowl her over from behind anymore. And besides they all do their best to keep him out of the actual fights whenever possible. It’s progress.

Not enough but it is what it is.

*

In the end. It’s not unexpected. It’s the opposite of unexpected and even that doesn’t seem a strong enough word for it. Because Hana is a planner at heart. She’s imagined this very outcome too often to be slowed down by shock or surprise now that it's actually happening.

[Numbers don’t lie. They can’t show the truth but they reflect trends and probabilities and just because every human being thinks they are the exception doesn’t make it true. Numbers don’t work that way and exceptions mean there’s a majority there whose story is told in those very same statistics.]

Hana knows what it means to walk into a battle with a squad member that can’t handle themselves by her side. She’s gone over the dangers too many times to count at this point, both inside her head and out loud. They all have. They’ve been doing this job for four months and by some miracle they’ve been managing, but beginner’s luck only holds out for so long.

It’s a bad mission.

Not their first one. They’ve already had close calls — too many of those — have gotten injured, hell, Sawada has even gotten himself kidnapped once. None of that knowledge helps prepare them for another once though. None of those past terrors make it any easier to remain calm and level-headed in the heat of the moment.

Most importantly none of it prepares Hana for a super who can control electricity. Whose powers apparently aren’t stopped by their uniforms, going by the charred body of what used to be one of her squad member that's lying crumbled on the other side of the room. [What does it say about her, about this squad that Hana’s first hysterical thought when she watched Nakamura go down screaming is 'At least it wasn’t Sawada’s fault.'?]

Communications are down, she’s cut off from possible reinforcements, trapped somewhere in the lower levels of the building. She doesn’t have any smoke bombs left, doesn't have a paralyzer, doesn’t have an exit and her only backup now that Nakamura is dead is Sawada. Sawada who is cowering in the corner furthest away from her and Nakamura's body, back pressed so hard against the wall he’ll have bruises if he survives this, wild, panicked eyes fixated on the crazed super who’s staring at him like Sawada is the fucking North star.

Or his next meal, going by Sawada’s luck.

Hana’s drawn her gun like Sawada should’ve because he’s armed, Hana knows he’s armed. She can see the gun from across the room. And Sawada isn’t fucking drawing it.

"Stay back!" she calls out towards the super who's glazed eyes remain fixed on Sawada. "Or I’ll shoot!"

Sawada still isn’t moving. The lightning guy is moving slowly, a demented grin on his lips, blood caking the left half of his face. And Sawada isn’t fucking moving. Not to defend himself. Not to run over and seek cover behind Hana, where she could fucking reach and protect him.

"Why are you so surprised?" Hana can almost hear Kyouko’s voice ask her, curiously puzzled. "You always knew he would be a liability."

Hana fires a warning bullet, half hoping the insane super will miraculously flinch back and let himself be arrested, half praying it will shake some sense into Sawada. Both is too much to ask and when lightening guy takes another step, Hana knows she’s out of time.

He’s too close to Sawada. All he needed to burn Nakamura alive was one touch. [The room is still echoing with his screams. Or is that only in her head?]

Hana doesn't kid herself: She's known how this story would end from the start.

She shoots.

*

[As the daughter of a lawyer and a librarian who fell in love over their shared passion for justice in a society that sorely lacked it, Hana didn’t grow up with the system-friendly propaganda her classmates were fed every day. She grew up with heated arguments over human rights over the dinner table, with long-winded discussions about the failures of the system and where and how to best address them.

Hana didn’t grow up glorifying supervillain deaths and she never, ever wanted to take a life. There is a reason why Hana planned to stay no longer than six months with her squad and it’s a simple one: Hana never wanted to become a killer.

But who does?]

*

Kurokawa Hana has been an active Vongola Inc. operative on an attack squad for four months, three weeks and six days when she kills René Moretti during a sanctioned mission with a clean headshot.

The official investigation is an open and shut case.

A month after the incident and three weeks into her mandatory therapy, Kurokawa Hana is cleared for the field once more.

*

Mandatory therapy is a joke. Hana isn’t going to let a therapist on Vongola Inc.’s payroll get into her head and brainwash her into believing killing isn’t a problem as long as it is for the organization’s gain, thank you very much.

[That’s not quite what the woman said but Hana can read between the lines and even if she couldn’t, she doesn’t trust Vongola. How could she, at this point?]

But Hana is smart and resourceful and has supportive parents who get in touch with some old friends and give her the contact of a psychologist that at least won’t have divided loyalties from the get go. So Hana goes and hopes it’ll help.

In the meantime, she pretends Sawada doesn’t exist.

[He doesn’t thank her. The one time he approaches her, he stutters out an apology of all things as though that would somehow erase the brain splatters Hana can still see behind her closed eyelids. She doesn’t snap and she doesn’t kick him out of a window because Hana is better than that.

She grits her teeth and turns on her heels and locks herself into the bathroom and smashes the mirror until her knuckles are bloody and there are glass shards sticking out of her skin and the screams inside her head finally shut up because Hana is a murderer and nothing anyone does will ever erase that.

The worst part of it is that she doesn’t feel guilty about the life she took. Only grieves for what she broke within herself.]

*

Here’s one truth Hana has to live with every day: She has taken a man’s life. [And it was easy.]

Here’s another one: If she’d been in that room with anyone on her squad other than Sawada, she wouldn’t have had to.

*

Sawada stays out of her way whenever possible and that’s the way Hana likes it. It doesn’t help and at some point she grows used to the bitterness that still twists her insides up into knots at irregular moments when she catches sight of him, but she can bear to look at him again, to give commands and order him to back up and cuss him out for breaking the coffee machine without actually murdering him.

Which she could do. She’s done it once already after all.

*

That first time is not the last time. Of course it isn’t. The longer she stays in the field, the more chances there are for something to go wrong and probability theory alone will tell you that sooner or later Hana will find herself in a similar situation, having to make the same choice.

*

Not every person Hana shoots is to protect Sawada. Some are to protect a civilian or even herself. Does that make it better?

Hana doubts it, but she realizes she doesn’t truly know.

[If there’s one thing she’s learned in the last month and a half, it’s that Hana is a good killer. Enough conscience not to turn a machine gun onto a crowd of civilians or throw a child off a building, but not enough to feel bad about snuffing a stranger’s life out of existence. Just the way Vongola likes its operatives.

Hana never pictured herself in this gritty, bloody world of field work, never wanted to be, but she makes herself at home all the same.]

*

One slow Wednesday morning while cleaning up the mess on her desk, Hana stumbles upon the transfer papers she never handed in. They’re filled out already, even the signature is already in place. Have been for — over a year now, that’s how long it’s been. Back when she first planned out every step of her career at Vongola Inc.

Staring down at her own handwriting that reads like a strangers, Hana considers. She could still hand them in, she supposes. Get transferred to the legal department just like she planned. What’s a delay of a few months?

There’s no reason to think that she couldn’t do the job. In fact, Hana is sure she’d be good. Great even. Certainly she’d make a better lawyer than a field operative.

"Kurokawa, you coming?" Mochida calls from the briefing room. The rising impatience indicates it’s not the first time he’s called her and a glance at the clock tells Hana their daily team meeting was supposed to start five minutes ago.

"Yeah, one moment."

She gets up. Takes one last glance at those papers. Throws them in the rubbish bin underneath her desk and doesn’t look back as she crosses the room in sharp, determined steps. There’s no point to it.

[What she wanted to protect when she made those plans is already lost. And Hana might be a better lawyer but she’s a decent operative. She’s keeping her squad members alive, keeping Sawada alive, which is an achievement all on its own.

She’s already taken lives for the sake of her team, for the sake of the mission even. What’s a few more?]

*

In a strange way it makes almost sense. [Out of the two of them, Kyouko is the villain. But it’s Hana who’s always flirted with the darkness looming at the edge of every super’s consciousness. It’s Hana who’s cut out to be a monster.]

*

"Why are you here?" Hana asks Sawada on a whim, roughly a year and a half after they were first assigned to the same squad. There’s no deep motivation or reason, not even any real curiosity.

Sawada blinks stupidly at her. "You said the first one to go home and leave you alone with this tower of paperwork would be dangling from the Vongola sign on top of this building by a rope made out of their own entrails."

Hana rolls her eyes. "I meant why did you join an attack squad." You idiot, she almost tacks on but leaves it unspoken in the end. It’s nothing Sawada hasn’t heard before. Damn she needs coffee if her tongue is getting away with her again. It’s not even two in the morning yet.

"Huh?"

Sawada looks honest to god confused. He’s lucky that punching him would require too much effort. Now that Hana thinks about it, so would getting worked up.

"I mean," she says very, very slowly, "that you are the least violent person I’ve ever met, Sawada. You’re a terrible field operative. So why haven’t you quit and applied for something else?"

Sawada stares at her with those illogically huge eyes that are supposedly cute — if Kyouko is to be believed — but that Hana finds off-putting. Possibly because they look at her like that all the time. "Oh." Sawada says as though none of what Hana has just said ever occurred to him. "I’m terrible at everything. And Vongola Inc. were the only ones who offered me a job. So." He shrugs.

Which. Hana isn’t even gonna touch that one. Nope.

"Just get the damn coffee, Sawada," she groans and hopes she’ll have forgotten this conversation in the morning.

[She doesn’t know what she’d hoped to find here, what kind of revelation she’d been waiting for but the worst self-esteem in the history of self-esteem hadn’t been it. If she thinks about the fact that this entire shit-show could’ve been avoided if someone had given Sawada a proper motivational speech as a child, she is gonna burn something.

Probably Vongola Inc.]

*

[On bad days, Hana cancels her coffee and cake time with Kyouko, doesn’t look at Sawada unless it is to glower and locks herself into an empty briefing room or her own apartment whenever possible. Her hands don’t shake when she holds a gun or a knife or a rope — they never do — but sometimes when she catches sight of her reflection she breaks it until it breaks her.

On bad days, catching sight of Sawada makes Hana feel every drop of blood drying on her hands, chunks of skin getting caught under her nails, gun powder sticking to her fingers. On bad days, she hates Sawada for what he’s made her become.]

By the time they’ve all been working together as an active squad for two years, every member of the team except Sawada has become a killer.

They don’t talk about it. They don’t acknowledge it.

[The shots one of them took so Sawada wouldn’t have to — because he wouldn’t have. They don’t even send him out with a gun anymore because what’s the point of handing someone a weapon they refuse to use? The shots they took to save him. The tasks Mochida assignes specifically so Sawada won't have to see some of the worst they’ve had to face, won't be forced to make choices he isn't prepared for and has too much heart to make. The missions he’s been put on desk duty for that no one else came out of unscratched. It's not even always about blood and death, is the funny thing. There’s so many things worse than murder.]

There’s nothing to talk about.

[On good days, Hana is grateful that it was her behind that trigger. Because even at her worst she’s never wanted Sawada dead.

And. Being a killer suits her, them. That's why they were chosen after all. That's why they qualified. That's why Sawada should've never passed his entrance exam. And perhaps one day Hana will make her peace with that knowledge. But the unvoiced issue remains: Sawada isn’t like them. Sawada cares in ways no one on the squad does, no one on any attack squad should, and— It’s not concern that compels Hana to shield him. It’s certainly not empathy. It’s self-preservation.]

*

Sawada doesn’t thank her for any of the lives she takes on his behalf. Hana doesn’t expect him to. She doesn’t think he understands what she’s protecting him from and a large part of her — a part that pulls the trigger without flinching, that has nightmares about Nakamura’s burned corpse, the smell of his flesh, but never about the man she killed — hopes he never will.

[It’s not the life Kurokawa Hana thought she would want, certainly not the life she planned, but most of her original squad is still alive, Sawada is still alive, even though Hana still doesn’t know who within Vongola is moving against him. And though Sawada is still useless, he’s calmed down a lot over the past two years. Could almost be classified as an asset on his rare good day.

And it’s not always great, not even always good, but. It is.]

*

aaand i think that concludes hana’s POV. if you have any further questions though (or if there’s other characters you’d like to see more of, don’t hesitate to let me know in a comment or an ask)!

[bscully]

About Griffith, Mozgus and Dreams

The remarkable thing about Griffith is that his take about dreams actually is agreeable. Who doesn't wanna pursue something great & have goals? But there is a red flag to it. His willingness to walk over the dreams & bodies of others to achieve his own is extremely concerning. He says men's savagery is a tool that can be used for something.

Charlotte here says how all his friends are attracted to his charme but Griffith just calls them troops and comrades. Then goes on to say that a real friend to him is someone with a dream (presumably someone who'd walk over bodies like he does for it too).

To me that always seems like a sign that while Griffith saw value in the Hawks for achieving his goals, he did not see any social, friendship value in them. His comments during this scene did not show that he actually saw the Hawks AS PEOPLE. I think that's why Guts was special to him. He was hard to recruit because he had no dream, so he was "immune" to Griffith's grand vision. He was independent & had the skills. But that's for another time... Griffith is not shedding blood for someone else or his loved ones (contrasting Guts who is fighting for Casca) or even for a good cause (e.g. improving humanity as whole). His actions always aimed to get that castle in the sky, to achieve more power & might.

If one dream is being pursuit at the expense of others, for the benefit of one, what goodness does it serve to a community, or even all of humanity...? That's the reason why after reading the Fountain Speech, I knew Griffith one day would turn against his own if given the chance So I guess we can say that Griffith had some agreeable views, but the fact he has a complete lack of regard for other people's well-being & lives is very concerning. The interesting part is that Miura did something similar with Mozgus!!! Mozgus' Speech towards Farnese is interesting. Having faith & trust in God can be perceived as a good thing. At the same time, he knows that he is bringing pain onto others and also hurts himself as a result (just like Farnese abused Serpico when she was at her lowest)

Mozgus is not only embracing the fact he has hurt others, but is also dwelling in it, actively participating in it. He isn't even doing it to help people. He puts God's will above everything else, uses the scriptures as his standard to judge others.

Also interesting he speaks of wounds as evidence of his faith. Didn't Casca accumulate wounds for Griffith, and Guts for Casca later on...? Because we have seen him deal with the starving refugees trying to get food and save their children at first (torturing her for trying to save her baby, what the fuck?) we know that he is just a religious fanatic capable of atrocities just like the heretics he's fighting against...

For Mozgus, it was all right and just because he was doing it for his faith, for God. It was all in God's grand scheme anyway and his feeble mind wouldn't God's comprehend divine plans anyways. Why even try be a better person? Humans are meant to savages, right?!

But Farnese started to think for herself. Was instantly shot down by Mozgus too. This is fascinating because Farnese is questioning his ways because of the hurt&harm he is causing. Consider that we established Griffith would walk over bodies (cause harm) to achieve his own dream

Farnese's concerns were countered with this story of a holy woman who was trying to help people, but got turned down by an old man. As if implying man has always been suffering & there is no point in changing that.

This is a (loose) parallel to the fountain speech here, actually. It's like the discussion with Mozgus here was Farnese's personal Fountain Speech that gave her space for further change If anyone knows about religious fanatism & its dangers, it's definitely Farnese. This is quite interesting constellation considering her FAMILY has close ties with the church & the goddamn pope.......

Now Guts on the other hand, instead of embracing his inner savagery he is using it to save someone (Casca) Farnese saw him do that. He also NEVER harmed Farnese when he took her hostage. Guts draw the line at harming others needlessly. It had her wondering! If Mozgus' driving force was his faith, what are Guts' intentions...?

I mean, Guts, he also not only saves Casca a couple of times, but also his companions. He made sure they arrived in Elfhelm ALIVE and WELL. The direct opposite of what Mozgus and Griffith have been doing. By actively resisting the Berserker Armor, Guts is not only fighting himself but also the God Hand by extension (IoE included, if you will, if we consider IoE = collective consciousness). Guts is changing the world by resisting his own inner savagery & starting with himself. The inner world reflects the outer world! Perhaps, if enough people do it, great change may happen through collective consciousness. Maybe that is the note Berserk will end in the finale... Either way I hope you enjoyed reading!

[domesticangel]

ok ok a 68 plymouth gtx for ris is perfection but what do u think the rest of the squadra has? i really wanna say one of them has a studebaker somehow but i just dont know (ignore it was a us based company i love them anyways shhhh)

god. this is the best ask i couldve ever gotten. buckle up. ha ha. bc cars. and also bc I’m not gonna shut the fuck up

but YEAH NO SAME i also chose to foolishly disregard that italians wouldnt likely drive american cars (or necessarily drive at all…america is mad obsessed with cars compared to a lot of other countries so sdkfhsdkj) bc its all fun and games so ik a lot of this would be unrealistic but I’m american so i really only know about american cars/cars that are popular in america dskjfsdkjf so sorry for America-Centrism On Main but if any italians or ppl w knowledge of italian cars wanna chime in w their own takes, by all means!!!

oh and this post also foolishly assumes la sqaudra has money. lets pretend for just this post they all actually got paid for their jobs

SO WITH THAT OUT OF THE WAY warning this is gonna make this post rly long but I’m gonna ad pics of the cars i think they’d all drive like. in case anyone reading wants to know what they look like but doesn’t wanna look em all up so I’m gonna throw this under a cut in case it gets crazy

ok i can 1000% see sorbet and gelato sharing a like studebaker speedster that they would take out cruising for special occasions….it would spend most of its time under a tarp locked in a garage bc if you touch that car without permission you WILL die by their loving intertwined hands. some couples have babies. some couples get dogs. sorbet and gelato got a studebaker speedster and treated it with almost as much love as they do each other. one might think their driving would match the “crazy” impression everyone has of them but honestly? they prefer to take it slow and cruise so they have more time to enjoy each others company. on the job they’ll wreck a rental all to hell, but not their baby. the rest of squadra would low key fear for their lives on the rare occasion that sorbet and gelato offered them rides in their car bc the inside is spotless and they all knew if they left anything out of place or dirtier than they found it their time was up

i think they’d dig a color scheme something like this; still looks mob and sophisticated without losing the whimsicality u feel me

i really like a classic chevelle ss or ‘67 mustang gt500 for formaggio

(ignore how fuckin shiney these are bc make no mistake his would be scratched and worn all to hell)

in line w my headcanon that he’d be knowledgable about cars, i think he’d like supe them up and mod them for street racing or 1960s style drag racing. since we don’t get a lot of individual sqaudra backstory i sometimes think about him maybe losing his parents at a young age or having a bad home life as is typical of passione members and getting taken in by a local mechanic, and only as he got older realizing the shop had mafia ties which eventually paved the way for his induction etc but the knowledge and interest in cars always stuck with him. i think he’d probably drive the most recklessly out of all of squadra (rivaled only by ghiaccio ofc) bc he just loves to go fast as fuck and show off. he’s definitely a revs-the-engine-when-he-drives-by-someone-cute ass bitch

illuso would drive a ‘71 dodge demon, and honestly only because he liked the name and how it looked

it would honestly drive formaggio insane that illuso would ONLY use this car to get around as opposed to flying down the countryside or doing burnouts in a field. illuso doesn’t know much about cars and he doesn’t care to learn either; if it looks good and the engine turns he’s happy. formaggio would BEG him to race him or let him take it for a spin, but illuso would be adamant in turning him down every time. he has no desire to take risks and tear up a perfectly good car, but if he feels especially generous he’ll let formaggio ride with him while formaggio excitedly rattles off specs illuso doesn’t understand in the slightest. he won’t readily admit to it but seeing formaggio that excited is really endearing and illuso would even end up learning something here and there from their time spent together

ghiaccio is anal enough about All Things Italian that he breaks my disclaimer and actually does drive an italian car. y'all already know what the fuck is going on

hell yeah ghiaccio drives a lambo. ‘71 lamborghini miura to be exact. and boy does he make this motherfucker screech and drift. as much as he seems to abuse the car he’s extremely uptight about upkeep and will take it in as often as needed for repairs. you can also bet your ass he’d berate any of his fellow squadra members that didn’t drive italian-made cars, asking them why they’d choose to drive that trash on wheels when their country is home to the best cars in the entire fucking world and they have their pick. being in the passenger seat with him at the wheel is terrifying, don’t get me wrong, but he’s actually a very skilled driver, like to the point that he probably couldve been a stunt car driver if he wanted. but whatever you do don’t show any adverse reactions to his hard turns or brakes bc he will take it as a personal insult to his skill as a driver and you will find that the louder his voice gets the heavier his foot gets on the gas so Good Fucking Luck. (also yes ik we already see ghiaccio driving a car in canon but its headcanon time and during headcanon time ghiaccio rocks the fucking lambo)

prosciutto would drive a big beautiful blue ‘65 thunderbird convertible

he would also be very particular about the upkeep of his car, but without any sort of personal touch; he hasn’t the time nor desire to keep up with the car himself so he just makes sure he takes it to a reputable shop to do it for him. it’s not his “baby” or an heirloom; its just a car. it runs and looks good as all fuck while doing it so thats all he really cares about tbh. that said, if anyone ever scratched or keyed or dented it they wouldn’t live long to regret bc as a wise man once said, you don’t fuck with a mans automobile. i mentioned this in the my squadra meme as well, but even though he smokes like a chimney, he NEVER smokes in his car. no smoking, eating, or drinking in the thunderbird. sealed packs of cigs in the console only and if the seals been broken it has to stay in your pocket. the upholstery is pristine and he prefers to keep it that way. he’s a very mild mannered driver and even often errs on the side of slow; he doesn’t really see the point in wasting gas by speeding or messing up the tires or alignment by showboating. he knows that he AND the car already look good enough to command bystanders’ attention so he doesn’t waste his time with any extra flashiness

ima keep it real with you chief: melone would drive a car you could fuck in the back of and thats about all there is to it, so look no further than the spacious ‘61 chrysler newport

he would somehow figure out a way to get an aux cord and a sound system in this old motherfucker and would listen to his music so loud it about rattled the doors off, much to any passengers’ chagrin. he’s almost worse to ride with than formaggio or ghiaccio because he texts and messes with the music the entire time he’s driving. like its almost impressive how often he manages to NOT have his hands on the wheel. he’s a master knee-driver. all that in mind the rest of squadra groans in unison when melone offers to drive and risotto, who doesn’t have time for a squabble, gives the ok and send them on their way bc they know they’re gonna have to deal with melone insisting that driver picks the music and white knuckling the handles the whole time. but regardless, if the chrysler’s rockin and the britney’s boppin, don’t come a-knockin

since i see pesci as the youngest i think he’d be the last to get a car, but the rest of squadra would surprise him by all pitching in and getting him a ‘69 buick sport wagon

it’d definitely be a fixer-upper (prosciutto insisted it’d be good for pesci to retroactively “earn” the car by learning how to take care of it, prompting the rest of squadra to point out prosciutto never even learned how to fix a car himself) but pesci would be out of his mind appreciative of it either way. after years of only ever riding in the back seat of someone else’s car he’d be so excited about finally having a car to call his own. formaggio would take him under his wing and show him everything he needed to do to make sure she stayed running in tip-top shape and they’d grow pretty close over it; formaggio would lose his damn mind the first time he’d convince pesci to do a burnout on his own. pesci would try his best to keep the car clean but he’d probably have a bad habit of leaving empty drink bottles in the floorboard or extra jackets in the back seat, but all in all he’d do a pretty good job taking care of the car and making the generous gift from his team worth it. most non-work related outings would have pesci chauffeuring, but he wouldn’t mind, bc seeing all his friends crammed into his car and having a good time would make him really happy

and last but not least risotto and his ‘68 plymouth gtx 🖤

perhaps surprisingly he wouldnt be excessively meticulous about upkeep; he definitely wouldnt do anything needlessly reckless to harm the car or neglectful of standard upkeep, but he would definitely see it as more of a personal part of him than a machine that needed to maintain perfection. he wouldn’t really sweat scratches or dents here and there; they’re bound to happen to a car that old and if he found the time he’d take it to get it buffed. like i said in the hc meme i think it would’ve belonged to his father (or any family member he was close to really) and it was passed onto him when he died so it’s kind of a sentimental thing for risotto. though not quite the same level as formaggio, he’s fairly good at making standard repairs on his own, and doesn’t mind spending a weekend or two up under the car fixing it up and making sure it runs smooth. the rest of squadra would each be surprised the first time they ever rode anywhere with him; the second the car started old classic rock or metal would blast through the speakers, with risotto mumbling a quick sorry and turning it down, but not all the way off. they would find out that their stoic leader prefers to drive with the windows down, one hand on the wheel, other out the window tapping to the beat of the music on the hood

aaaaaaaaand YEAH. i told you i wasn’t gonna shut the fuck up DSFHKJADHKSDJ LMAO SORRY I WENT TF OFF BUT YEAH THOSE ARE MY. SQUADRA CLASSIC CAR HCs

[sparklyjojos]

KOMATSUKI MAKIKO summary

[Note: this short story centers Jirou from Smoke, Soil and Sacrifices, which I recapped here.]

[tw: gore, sexual content, mental health issues (mostly DID as understood by Maijo), mentioned child abuse, suicide?]

--

The narrator--Komatsuki Makiko--briefly remembers the time when Natsukawa Jirou was called a “man like the eternal return itself” by Salman Rushdie when the two had a chance conversation in a New York cafe in 1998.

Jirou once told Makiko in a quite philosophical conversation that God doesn’t think. Or rather, God “thinks” (ie. has thoughts, brain processes necessary to perceive things and work towards creating the world), but doesn’t really “ponder” (thinks about stuff, philosophizes etc.)--only humans do.

Makiko thinks that by saying this, Jirou is drawing a line between himself and humanity. Jirou certainly seems to just know the answer to anything without pondering it first.

Makiko notices that Jirou’s atmosphere of ‘just knowing’ was deftly put into the main character of Natsukawa Saburou’s book Tsukumojuku (!!!) -- as Jirou’s brother, Saburou would of course know Jirou as well as to capture the vibes he gave off. Although Saburou made Tsukumojuku “ponder” different things from around halfway through that novel, maybe Jirou would be okay with just “thinking”. To force him to “consider” would feel like trying to force God himself to do that.

As he is, Jirou is a genius. He can perfectly remember any image he saw even once and everything he read, and he gets through books so fast it looks like he’s just idly flicking through the pages. He can even memorize a hard scientific text verbatim and only analyze it later in his mind.

Jirou keeps his vast knowledge inside a memory palace--“Natsukawa Dormitory”--not unlike the one that the book character Hannibal Lecter has. But while Hannibal was the only keeper of his palace, Jirou has several.

Jirou claims -- and Makiko isn’t sure whether to believe him or not -- that he experimentally caused his own personality to split and create four additional parts. When Makiko first met Jirou in 1995, those four were as follows: Shi Un, a quiet and wise 14-year-old boy; Daniel, a 36-year-old part-time painter; Sugisaki Yuri, a 17-year-old ghost [who is also described as 性転換した, as in “sexually transitioned”; I think Maijo means just that Yuri’s female?], and Aka Tsuki (or just Akatsuki?), a 21-year-old elderly dog that speaks in a rough tone.

Jirou “raised” those four and eventually “overcame” them, after which he changed their names. Shi Un became “Ichirou”, Daniel - “Jirou” (not the surface Jirou we know), Sugisaki Yuri - “Saburou”, and Aka Tsuki - “Shirou”. Considering that these were also the names of Jirou and his brothers, you’d think that it was a bad idea, but Jirou seemed to be okay with it.

--

But anyway, Makiko first met Jirou in a cafe in Brussels, where she and her friend Toda Erika planned to take some photos (Makiko is a photographer). The instant Jirou saw Makiko, he called her by name and congratulated her on “fulfilling her wishes”. He explained that he once saw a middle school graduation book from Makiko’s school, in which she wrote down her wish of becoming a  photographer.

Ever since that first meeting everything’s been going well, Makiko says. It’s like Jirou is one of the Seven Gods of Fortune, Vaisravana. As if he’s the God who fulfills all her wishes and hears even the unspoken ones --  surely nobody except a god would have that power.

If we stretch the concept a bit, the other Natsukawa brothers would seem fit as the other Four Heavenly Kings: Ichirou the politician as Dhrtarastra who upholds the realm, Saburou the writer as Virupaksa who sees everything, and Shirou the successful surgeon as Virudhaka who brings growth.

--

Jirou likes to look through school graduation books, photos and anthologies of kids’ work, and gather them all in Natsukawa Dormitory. From what he says, back when he was 19-20 he used to sneak into schools in Japan just to page through these anthologies. When the two were in Jirou’s house once (which had only a few beds and piles upon piles upon piles of books as internal decor), Makiko asked him why he enjoys these child pictures so much. Instead of giving a straight answer, Jirou drew a picture...

...which Makiko recognized as the work of Ikihara Akira, her classmate from primary school. Jirou explained that after drawing this picture Akira was murdered and eaten by his mother. Apparently the police and everyone else thought the motive could be the mother doing it “out of love”, so that the boy would become her flesh and blood, but Jirou personally thought it was just something she did for her own enjoyment.

Jirou then talked about Hannibal Lecter playing a monster for amusement, and noticed that acting is a basis of human play. Even when people grow up, their tendency to act is still there, just moves from childish play to performing the role of “themselves”.

Akira’s parents lived in separation, but in the picture, he drew himself holding hands with them in harmony and wrote down yokatta (“I’m glad”, “everything went well” etc.). Even if nothing actually went well, Jirou still likes that yokatta, a simple wish of a child. Seeing as time doesn’t flow in this picture, nothing ever changes within it, maybe in a way Akira’s wish really did come true.

Makiko is wondering if you could really say that considering how Akira ended up. Jirou answers to this by flipping the page and drawing another picture that Makiko quickly realizes is how the original one really looked like.

The first thing Jirou showed was fake. Akira’s actual drawing looked like this:

Makiko really had thought the first one was the original until she saw this one. She wonders just how many memories of hers are actually faithful to life, and how many were altered with time. Maybe it’s that frail memory that makes her love capturing time in photos. Maybe Jirou, whose memory was perfect, preferred those emotionally charged pictures made by children.

Jirou said he’d be fine with whatever end awaited him.

But things don’t come to an end, Makiko thought. This is the eternal return. Things start and end and then happen again. If Jirou really was “like an eternal return itself”, then he would never end either… so maybe would never “be fine”.

--

Jirou sometimes killed that other “Jirou” in Natsukawa Dormitory, only to have him be reborn later. Maybe this repeated killing was Jirou’s attempt to reach some sort of an end--to finally “be fine”. A chase in the middle of eternal return.

Makiko wondered if the two ever changed places. Was the original Jirou still succesfully staying on the surface, or had he been pulled inside and exchanged for “Jirou” a long time ago? Was the Jirou she loved even a single person? Certainly she also had a fair share of experiences with those others.

After they returned to Japan and started living in Makiko’s family house in Chofu, she was once woken up by Jirou touching her body (and, er, himself). To her questions he answered awkwardly that “Jirou is asleep”, introduced himself as Shi Un, said he’s sorry, that Makiko and the family are really kind to him, and that he doesn’t really know stuff yet.

(And then Makiko instantly jumped to the occasion to have sex with him right then and there, because Maijo Otaro.)

When Jirou later renamed and “contain” the other four in Natsukawa Dormitory, Makiko commented that he seemed jealous of Shi Un, but Jirou just answered that this accusation didn’t even make sense--they were the same person, after all.

Makiko still isn’t sure whether the existence of the other personalities is real and not just Jirou putting on an elaborate play. Makiko herself remembers acting a lot in previous relationships. It’s different with Jirou, feels more real - instead of overthinking, her head just goes blank whenever she’s with him… though maybe her head going blank is also a sort of a performance, more to convince herself than him that their relationship is true? Then again, maybe every internal emotion is in a way “performed” when shown on the outside. Even assuming her emotions were “fake”, surely they wouldn’t fall that far off from the true ones.

When she was with Jirou, she felt like he’d know the answer to anything, and felt like it was just fine to stop thinking… or at least stop “considering”. There likely wasn’t a point to asking all those “ifs” like whether or not Jirou was actually Jirou.

When she once asked him why he repeatedly kills “Jirou”, he answered: “because I only kill myself.” Did it mean that the one he wanted to kill more than anyone else was himself? Or that if he had to kill, he wouldn’t do that to others, but to himself?

--

Just before they left Belgium, Makiko drove them to Bastogne while unusually serious Jirou recited Miura Tetsuo’s short stories from memory on her request. She wondered how he imagined things from the stories to look like and how close they were to her own imagination. Could imagined, fictional things also remain as memories?

They stopped by a residence that, according to Jirou, belonged to one of the world’s richest men, who out of paranoia hid himself inside a house filled with security. They said nobody was even allowed to see him without stripping completely naked and undergoing a body search.

Jirou left the car and went to the house with the security guards. He returned pretty soon, safe and in higher spirits. Makiko started driving to a restaurant, but Jirou asked her to park on the side of the road for a second. As she watched, he suddenly took off the entirety of his hair - apparently it was a wig hiding bare skin underneath - and then just as casually took off a part of his skull and retrieved from his own head a small knife, still red with the rich man’s blood. He asked Makiko to bring him the surgical tool set from the trunk and proceeded to carefully put his head back together.

When he was done, they went to the restaurant and ordered a meal. Jirou explained that he hadn’t killed the rich man, just roughed him up a little with the knife he’d hidden in his own head. It was the same knife used by the man back when he was a child… well, not the same one, but looking similar enough that the man would imagine it was the original thing.

Even if Jirou did horrible, horrible things to people, he never killed them. He only killed himself.

--

Three days after Jirou “conquered” Daniel and renamed him to “Jirou”, he killed him. About two months later “Jirou” showed up again, this time not as a 36-year-old artist, but as a shy six-year-old.

Jirou would have that child “Jirou” bullied, hit, kicked, and having unspeakable acts done to him. Throughout all that abuse, and being made fun of by “Ichirou”, “Saburou” and “Shirou”, “Jirou” would after some time grow up and become the strongest out of them. At that point Jirou would beat him to death. Later he’d raise him from a weak child to a powerful man again, and kill him again.

Makiko often cried when she thought about it, not sure if she emphatized more with the pain of the killed “Jirou” or the Jirou who killed. If time can flow differently inside one’s mind, then “Jirou” (or maybe even the surface Jirou, if they ever switched) could have endured horrible abuse for hundreds of years. Neverending death and rebirth. Like the eternal return itself.

Jirou didn’t kill others, but maybe the things he did to them were close enough to killing that you couldn’t really make a distinction. So maybe killing “Jirou” was also coming just close enough to death that it really felt like dying while still maintaining life.

Maybe that child that Makiko sometimes spotted in his expression was actually just the same child all this time, and Jirou just acted like he was killing him, an elaborate act of play-pretend for the world, or maybe just for himself.

--

Since ancient times - Jirou said - humanity had a concept of monsters. At first these were god-like beings removed far from humans, but then they started progressively approaching our kind. First as animal shapeshifters, then beings like vampires and Frankenstein’s monster that skirted the line between life and death, and finally as zombies, dead humans who ate others. Then there was Hannibal Lecter, not any undying being of any sort, but just a human gone mad.

Although, as Jirou points out, there was a hypothesis that Lecter wasn’t actually insane. At one point in Red Dragon Lecter says to Will Graham that “we’re just alike”. One could interpret this as Lecter assessing that Graham may end up becoming a criminal too, but in Jirou’s interpretation, Lecter meant that they both simply enjoy acting the role of a serial killer. In Graham’s case, that’d refer to his method of putting himself in the mindset of a criminal to investigate. In Lecter’s case, it’d refer to him being a genius who became so bored with humanity that he murdered and ate people just for the joy of play-pretend.

Makiko can’t help but wonder what exactly is the difference between Hannibal Lecter -- who in Hannibal would mix into society and have a certain woman be with him -- and Jirou.

If Jirou was a monster, then maybe the monster of our times was found inside humans. A monster creeping closer to us than ever before. Hiding inside our friends and families. Inside the people you love.

And--judging from what she could piece together using the few fragments of Jirou’s past he told her about--inside the Natsukawa family.

Every person has their own story inside them. In the stories of the Natsukawas, the rich man from Belgium, and all the people Jirou ever hurt, Jirou was no doubt the monster.

But he wasn’t one in Makiko’s story.

--

Makiko remembers the time Jirou was called “a man like the eternal return itself” by Salman Rushdie, even though the writer couldn’t possibly know about his internal death and rebirth. Rushdie also said that he had a strange feeling like he’s met Jirou somewhere before and had an important conversation with him, but couldn’t place it. Jirou just looked familiar to him. Makiko agreed worldlessly; she had the same feeling whenever she looked at Jirou.

When they were alone later, Jirou expressed the opinion that Rushdie had been sarcastic or speaking nonsense. Eternal return sounds like quite a pessimistic worldview that’d just make people feel that life is pointless, which is maybe why philosophers invented the whole nirvana thing that allows for escape from the cycle of rebirth.

Whether or not Rushdie’s words had a point, maybe Jirou would feel fulfilled in eternal return, Makiko thinks. Maybe the goal, the thing to strive for inside eternal return was keeping one’s will to live.

If eternal return really is a thing, then Makiko is fine with it. After all, she’ll get to meet Jirou again and again and love him again.

No matter who that Jirou actually is.

END

[caewyn-stradfort]

I wished you had hurt me harder than I hurt you

I thought I had made a mistake somewhere. That if I had said it out loud properly, that if I had conveyed my feelings to you clearly, you’d understand.

But you didn’t want anything to do with that.

Let’s forget about that, you said, shuttered eyes looking away, your mouth twisted in that awful, fake smile. Like we were strangers. Like we were nothing.

I had it wrong all along. It was all in my head, the way you looked at me, gentle and intimate, the way you would look away, embarrassed, when I looked back.

In the distance, I heard the dull roar of the crowd, chanting for another encore. I smiled back at you, numb. Yes. I understand.

There was no point in refusing. After all, starting tomorrow, we would never see each other again.

Nogizaka46 fanfiction. Nogizaka46 is an idol group produced by Akimoto Yasushi. This is a work of fiction; any similarities to their real lives is wishful thinking.

Part 01: Nanase

Nanase has a late breakfast with Kazumi once a month.

They talk on the phone and message, of course, but it’s over runny eggs and flaky croissants that they talk about Nogizaka.

They catch up on news, Yumi’s new stage production and Erika’s latest collaboration with the Tōkyō Metropolitan Symphony Orchestra. Asuka is releasing a photobook later that year and sends Nanase pictures of the rugged countryside, quaint cottages, rambling food reviews. They discuss Kazumi’s drafts for a new novel and Nanase’s role in an upcoming film. They make plans to try a new restaurant with Karin and her boyfriend, to help Misa and Yūri move next month, to catch Marika’s exhibit.

They talk for hours, lingering over extra cups of coffee and dessert, before Kazumi reluctantly leaves, hugging Nanase tightly and promising to see her again soon.

It is still early yet, the weather sunny without being too hot. Nanase decides not to take a taxi, to walk home instead. It’s a twenty-minute walk to her apartment, easily manageable by foot.

She is almost home when she almost runs over someone.

“Ah, sumimasen.” She backs up and bows.

“Nanase…?”

Nanase startles, jerks her head back to look at the person. It’s been three years, but she looks the same.

Yes, she and Kazumi talk about Nogizaka, about the members they are closest to, those who stayed, those who graduated, those who come after. They don’t talk about Mai.

Nanase wishes they did. She may have been more prepared to see Mai, small child in her arms, propped up on her hip.

“Congratulations,” Nanase says.

Motherhood suits Mai. It softens her face, makes her approachable in a way she never seemed in Nogizaka.

“Ah, it’s been a while.” Her daughter squirms in her arms, and Mai hefts her higher, rocking to shush her. “How are you?”

Nanase knows Mai means nothing by it, but the question seems loaded, weighted.

“I’m well. How are you?”

Mai smiles wryly, head tilted as her daughter tugs at the end of her braid. As Mai attempts to disengage the hand, her glasses, low on her nose, slip further. Mai looks harried. She also has never looked more beautiful or unattainable.

Mai’s fingers, slim and pale, are bare. That hardly means anything.

“Mai-chan!” A tall man charges around the corner, diaper bag slung across his chest. Her husband, then. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Mai’s laugh, a low chuckle—

Nanase’s hands, still gripping the strap of her satchel, clenches.

“It’s fine, Akihito-san.” She hands the girl to him. He takes her with confident hands, holds her securely, cradles their daughter against the crook of his neck.

“Sumimasen, you had company.”

He is handsome with a genial, pleasant face, sharp jawline under the beginnings of a beard. Nanase smiles and bobs her head. He starts to as well, then smiles ruefully as his daughter fusses. He seems kind.

“Akihito-san, this is Nishino Nanase, my good friend. Nanase, this is my brother-in-law, Miura Akihito-san, and my niece, Saya-chan.”

“Ah, domo.” Nanase bows, mind whirling at the information. Brother-in-law? Niece?

“Same here.”

“Jā, I’ll see you next weekend? Tell onē-chan I want to eat yakiniku! Yakiniku!”

Miura Akihito-san laughs and agrees. They wave as the pair turn the corner.

“Your niece?”

“Mm, Saya-chan is just over a year old. She takes after Akihito-san more than onē-chan though.”

“She’s cute.”

Nanase turns to look at Mai to find Mai staring at her.

“Nanase…it’s really good to see you.” Mai’s mouth curls up in a slow smile. Nanase’s heart lurches at the sight. “Do you have some time? There’s a café down the street if you want to have an early dinner.”

Nanase has just eaten. There is a new script waiting at home. She is flying down to Ōsaka tomorrow morning and she has yet to pack. Nanase is in love with Mai.

“Mm. I want to go.”

Nanase’s phone pings as she’s doing laundry.

She pauses, finishes removing her clean sheets from the dryer before she checks the message.

There is a video from Mai, of her coaxing her cat from under the sofa. Or at least, attempting to. The cat makes plaintive meows but does not come closer.

Nanase laughs as video Mai struggles to keep her impatience in check.

It has been a week since she returned from Ōsaka, but they have been in constant contact, messaging daily about nothing important.

It…is almost like being friends.

“I want to apologize,” Mai starts after the waiter leaves with their order. “For that night.”

Nanase would rather talk about anything else but that.

She remembers that night vividly. Mai’s rigid shoulders and clenched jaw, how her face shifted, how normal she looked when Erika and Sayuri came into view. Mai had always been good at acting normal. Nanase wished she could be a little less professional though, standing there, laughing and joking with the others like she hadn’t just devastated Nanase’s world with her words.

Nā-chan, don’t cry, Sayuri murmured as she hugged Nanase tightly.

“You don’t have to apologize—”

“No, I do.” Mai pauses, then reaches out to place her hand next to Nanase’s on the table, just enough that they barely touch. “I wanted to protect you. I didn’t want anyone to use our arrangement against you.”

Arrangement. Nanase doesn’t know if she wants to laugh or cry. Mai…doesn’t know. This is too much.

Over the years, Nanase replayed their relationship over and over in her mind. She had mistaken attraction for interest, affection for love. She had figured that it was just a thing girls did, play acting at relationships. She didn’t think she had it all completely wrong.

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to do that with you—” Mai reddens, coughs, then takes a long drink of water. Nanase watches her throat work, can’t look away, wants to press her mouth there to follow the movement.

“What about now?” Nanase blinks. Did she just blurt out–

Mai chokes, almost spilling her glass as she puts it down.

“What?”

It’s almost like watching an accident in slow motion, Nanase pressing onward. “What about now? If I were to ask, would you say yes?”

“Are you? Asking.”

“Yes.” Nanase meets Mai’s eyes, drops her gaze. What am I doing, she thinks. She is making a fool of herself. Just because Mai hasn’t said no yet, doesn’t mean she will say yes. Nanase starts to pull her hand away, thinks about how she can play this off as a joke.

“Okay.” Mai stops her hand, fingers loosely encircling Nanase’s wrist, their palms touching. Mai’s ears are still red as she clears her throat shakily, but her eyes are clear and sure. “Yes.”

Well, Mai said yes, but now Nanase isn’t sure how to proceed. Nanase smooths down the sheet, then reaches for the comforter.

The last time they had been sexfriends, it had been Mai’s idea.

“Unbelievable,” Mai-yan huffs as she sits down at the edge of the bed. “I can’t believe Misa is kicking me out just to have sex with Yūri.”

It’s more than just that, Nanase thinks, sitting down on the other bed. However blasé Yūri is acting, there is no way it’s just sex for her and Misa.

Even so, Mai does have a point. Their rooming had been arranged by management weeks ago, Misa with Mai-yan, Yūri with Nanase. For Misa to decide to swap after they checked in downstairs is uncharacteristically rude of her.

“Are you okay with this, Nanase?” Nanase startles at Mai-yan’s question. Even though she’s always been more comfortable being called Nanase than Nā-chan, Mai-yan calling her by name feels different. Intimate.

“Mm, I don’t mind.”

Mai-yan hums in disbelief, but she doesn’t push Nanase. “Why don’t we watch some television then?”

She turns on the television and starts flipping through the channels. She stops on an old rerun of an anime, turns to Nanase.

“M-mai-yan?”

“Have you thought of it before?”

Nanase did not, but now that Mai-yan mentioned it, that’s all she can think about. Misa dropped something on the floor in the elevator and bent down to pick it up, but not before running a slow hand up Yūri’s calf, a secretive smile playing on her lips as she stands up. Yūri’s answering grin and the way she yanked a laughing Misa inside their room. How easy they make it seem, how casual.

Mai-yan has moved to sit next to Nanase, so close that she can see the individual lashes around Mai-yan’s intent eyes.

Nanase nods.

“Want to try?”

Your cat is cute, she messages back.

I give up. He can stay there, Mai writes with a teary emoji. Are you busy tonight?

Just finishing laundry. Nanase snaps a picture of her made bed, then blushes at the implication.

I’m trying a new recipe tonight. Want to come over?

Yes.

Here’s the thing: Nanase was not waiting for Mai.

But dating is hard, harder still since she had never been in a relationship before. And no one shines as brightly as Mai.

But once, just once—she had considered it.

Iwasaki Kenta-san was already a rising star even before he received a leading role in Director Takagi’s detective drama. Iwasaki-san had a guest role on an American drama, and the producer there had introduced him to a Hollywood director and a small role in a suspense trilogy. But he was still humble, still earnest, as he greeted everyone on set during the first rehearsal.

He cuts a sharp figure, lean, neatly pressed slacks and tie, shirtsleeves rolled up to emphasize his toned arms, and his Detective Fujimoto smolders with burning intensity during the shooting, leaving the other women on set swooning. It comes as no surprise when he is nominated for Outstanding Performance by an Actor in a Leading Role for the Japan Academy Prize.

As for Nanase, her acting has improved over the years, and while her Detective Sasaki is good, she isn’t great.

Iwasaki-san escorts her the night of the award ceremony, hand hovering over her back. They look good together, and they laugh off questions about their relationship with each other, but there is a moment, right before she sits down, that his hand drops to the small of her back and she doesn’t pull away.

Their eyes meet, and Nanase thinks, maybe.

When he asks if he can walk her back to her hotel room, she agrees.

They don’t talk on the elevator ride, and Nanase feels more uncertain the further up they go. She likes him, doesn’t she? She has to, on some level, to agree to this.

The elevator stops on the eighth floor, and he gestures for her to go first.

She fumbles her keycard outside her door, and—

She doesn’t want him.

“Nishino-san?”

“I’m sorry. I—I can’t.”

He stares at her, brows furrowed in confusion and—

Ah.

His concentration when he mouths his script, their easy chemistry when they’re shooting a scene, his dedication and care—

He reminds her of Mai.

Iwasaki-san looks irritated now, and she wonders if he will press the issue, if she would stop him if he asked again.

But he sighs and nods. “I understand.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I thought you wanted to—”

“I thought I did too. But—” She shrugs helplessly.

His face gentles. “So, it’s true. That there was someone before, someone who wounded you.”

She bristles at that. She’s not broken, she’s—

She just almost had sex with someone who reminded her of someone she loves. Loved. Loves.

“Then, is there someone else?”

“There’s no one.”

That isn’t a lie either.

He gives her a dubious look. No, she thinks, it’s just better when there’s love.

But she doesn’t owe him an explanation, doesn’t owe him anything, so she apologizes again and closes the door softly in his face.

Nanase hesitates outside Mai’s door.

This is new territory; they have never visited each other at home before.

The door opens to Mai’s bemused smile. “I thought I heard someone.”

“Ah. Ojamashimasu.” As she bends over to line up her shoes, a tortoiseshell cat darts around the corner and stares at her with wary eyes. “Is this—”

“Yes,” Mai picks up the squawking cat and drapes him over her shoulder. “This is my menace.”

“Mai,” Nanase laughs, reaching out with a finger. The cat sniffs her, then bumps her hand and purrs.

“I mean, this is Yanagi.”

“You named your cat Yanagi?”

“Misa named my cat Yanagi. This is all Misa’s fault actually. I was looking for a dog.”

Nanase smiles and follows Mai into the living room. “What happened?”

“We were looking at puppies when a staff member passed by, bleeding. Apparently, Yanagi didn’t like him. He was brought to the shelter when his owner passed away.” Mai strokes Yanagi’s back with gentle fingers as the cat curls up on her lap. “Misa didn’t want to leave him there since he’s already six years old.”

Of course, Misa didn’t. Nanase grins. This is just like Mai.

“Then why didn’t she adopt him?”

“She claims that Yūri would kill her if she brings home a pet without asking. Well, it couldn’t be helped.”

Yanagi rolls on his back, exposing his belly to be rubbed. Mai huffs but obliges.

Mai hasn’t changed one bit.

“What are you grinning at?”

“It’s just—your place, it’s very you.”

The apartment, all dark woods and rich fabric contrasting with light curtains, the chrome and marble kitchen, Mai in socks and frayed sweater, worn with age—

“Yeah?”

“I like it.”

“Did you change your mind?” Mai asks, handing over a wet plate for Nanase to dry.

Nanase freezes. There’s no mistaking what Mai is asking.

“No.” A pause. “Did you?”

“Me neither.”

They finish the rest of the dishes in silence. Mai dries her hands.

“I went to check—I mean I haven’t—I’m clean. There has only been one other person.”

Nanase holds back a flinch but only barely.

Of course—

Mai—

Nanase respects Mai, her commitment and her drive and her kindness. She’s always trying her best, whether it’s dance or speaking or mentoring the younger girls, but all in a casual way, without making a big deal out of it. Such a person—it’s no surprise Mai would have found someone easily—

Being with Mai, sometimes, is like being blinded by the sun.

Nanase wishes she did not know.

She wonders if she knows the person.

“What about Nanase?”

She wonders what she should say, decides on the truth. “There has been no one else.” I couldn’t, without thinking of you.

“Nanase.” Mai’s voice is low, urgent. Nanase meets Mai’s eyes, feels her chest clench at how dark they are. “May I—”

“Please.”

Mai kisses her, and Nanase whimpers at the sensation. The chemistry is still there, the chemistry and the attraction and—

Mai’s hands tighten on her hips, and she lifts Nanase up until Nanase is half sitting on the counter.

Has Mai always been this strong?

Mai’s hands span the width of her hipbone, slides up under her shirt. They have been urgent before, but not like this, only stolen moments on tour, all quick, furtive movements. Mai presses closer, one hand pulling Nanase’s leg further around her waist, and Nanase jolts at that, knocking a ladle into the sink.

Yanagi hisses in the other room, and Mai pulls back, panting, eyes wild.

If nothing else, their compatibility has never been in question.

If I go down this path, I can never go back.

Nothing has changed. This is physical, can only be physical, can only be casual because Mai—

But Nanase has tried leaving, has tried finding someone else, and she’s tired of not having Mai.

“Nanase.” Mai searches her face, uncertain. What is she looking for?

Nanase pulls Mai in again, kisses her with quiet desperation.

She doesn’t want her feelings to spoil this.

Nanase wakes up in Mai’s bed, Mai curled up behind her, arm slung low on her waist.

Staying is intimate, too intimate. But as she tries to slide out, Mai’s arm tightens around her.

“Mai,” Nanase whispers. Mai grumbles and hides her face in Nanase’s hair. “I should go.”

“Stay.” But Mai loosens her grip and moves back to blink blurrily at Nanase. Nanase turns to face her. “Unless you have something to do tomorrow?”

“No, I don’t.”

This is dangerous.

Mai hums, already halfway asleep again, idly stroking Nanase’s bare hip. “Then stay. I’ll cook breakfast.”

This cannot end well. Nanase pulls the comforter up to cover them both properly.

“Okay.”

They have a light breakfast, eggs and toast, while Mai runs the laundry, and they shower separately. Mai doesn’t walk Nanase home, but she does smile and ask that Nanase text her when she arrives.

Nanase walks home and hopes that she’s making the right choice and that this doesn’t end up destroying both of them.