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shibaraki · 2 years

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FILL MY LITTLE WORLD (RIGHT UP) ┊ AIZAWA SHOUTA

synopsis: you are employed by aizawa shouta to nanny for his vulnerable adoptive daughter eri while he’s at work. as time passes you find yourself equally smitten with them both, longing for a more permanent place in their family.

tags: AFAB reader, no quirk au, single dad aizawa (+ adopted daughter eri, + prev. foster son hitoshi), professional nanny reader, falling in love, fluff and angst, slice of life, child ptsd + past child abuse (eri), aged-up characters, best friends touya + rumi, brief talk of a parent with addiction (hitoshi), domesticity, handling of child trauma, finding your place in a family, eventual smut, vaginal oral sex (reader receiving), a lot of kissing, no power dynamic

wc: 20k+ (oops)

The address the agency had given you is still open and blinking in your Maps app, a congratulatory finish-line flash to indicate the end of your journey. Given the lack of response after five minutes of firm knocking, you’d have half a mind to consider that perhaps, this was the wrong house.

“Maybe I should call…” you mutter under your breath, fiddling with the touch screen and huffing as you rebalance the slipping rucksack back onto your shoulder. Despite all your years of professional nannying, the first face to face meeting always left you slightly anxious. You’d been granted access to your new employers profile after your initial verbal interview — Japanese male in his thirties, over six foot tall and employed as a criminology professor at an esteemed university, unmarried with a single adopted daughter — but all the contact you’d had with Aizawa had been either mediated by the agency or over the phone. No photographs. The only thing you truly knew about the man thus far was the low baritone of his voice.

Not forgetting the air-tight requirements that came with caring for his daughter. You had been chosen specifically for your experiences with vulnerable children, and apparently for the fact that you held some modicum of self defence skills. A protective parent, then. While the gritty details had not yet been shared with you, it didn’t take much to put two and two together. Eri, a young girl of only six years, would be in need of more than just someone to keep her occupied; you would have to be a genuine care giver, someone she could really trust. Another adult in her life that signified safety.

The title of a ‘Nanny’ was typically looked down upon. Armed with a bachelor's degree and qualifications in child development, professionals still viewed you as nothing more than a glorified babysitter. But you loved your job, and not just because you were good at it. You liked the kids. Their odd sense of humour and their thought processes, their imaginations and the lens through which they viewed life. You enjoyed expanding their worlds, and the simple yet joyful way that they would expand your own.

More than that, the kids liked you. They appreciated your honesty, how you would treat them with respect and truly make the effort to listen to their thoughts. Given that your services were hired, the adults around them were often too caught up in their careers and personal affairs to indulge in anything more than provision of the basics. It wasn’t something you could judge them for — the new parents you have worked with in the past were genuinely wonderful and most, if not all, carried a large amount of guilt for having to leave their children at home.

You only hoped that you could help this family, too.

Tongue pressed into cheek, the pad of your thumb hovers over the contact name. Aizawa Shouta. Just as you're about to hit call, you are startled backwards by a series of weighted clicks. Counting, it sounds like there are two locks alongside the turning of a key, and soon you are meeting the gaze of a slightly dishevelled man.

He appears out of sorts, as if he’d only just woken up. You think, absentmindedly, that he is handsome. Broad and built beneath his loose black shirt, square framed glasses low on the bridge of his nose and overnight stubble shadowing his jaw. He pushes the hair loosely curtaining his face back and tucks it behind both ears, sleeves rolled haphazardly to his elbows. The good looks are almost enough to distract you from the neon pink sweatpants.

“Ah… hi,” you smile sheepishly, straightening your back and withholding a wince as your bag almost slides from your shoulder a second time. “You’re Aizawa Shouta, I presume? We spoke over the phone”.

The man grunts an affirmative, scratching idly at his cheek. He inhales deeply, sharp eyes almost too quick to catch as they appraise you in the doorway. “Yeah. You’re from UAtots?”

You nod, “I am”.

He mirrors the action, though the movement of his head is heavier, swaying him forward. Part of you is concerned he’s falling asleep on his feet. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” stepping back into the threshold, he beckons you into the house, “we were taking an afternoon catnap”.

You step inside, a zip of apprehension along your spine at the proximity. He’s warm at your back where he waits to lock the door behind you. “Catnap?” you smile, sliding off your shoes and lining them up neatly by the others. You step aside so he can bypass you into the hallway, inhaling to steady your nerves and catching the smell of his cologne.

“Eri likes to sync weekend meal times alongside the cats so she can nap with them afterwards, since eating makes her tired,” he explains, walking you further into the house, his voice entirely monotonous as if the answer should have been clear to you. “I’m sure if this goes smoothly you’ll be subject to plenty of them yourself”.

Well, you’re not sure you could object being paid to nap.

You’re shown to the living area, finding it littered with evidence of a young child. Toys, colouring pencils, storybooks. Chaotic, but it is organised chaos. Splayed out in the centre of the main room is a double futon, covered with wrinkled mismatched blankets that have been thrown aside. You take note of the shelves and bridge-like structures built into the walls, some leading to little alcoves or cushioned platforms. One looks to be occupied by a mass of black fur.

Right, cats. Aizawa hums contemplatively. “She must’ve run off to her room after I left to answer the door. Not a fan of strangers”.

“Can’t say I am either,” you reply empathetically, chewing the skin of your inner lip at his lack of response. He guides you towards the kitchen; somewhat narrow in comparison to the other rooms, but still bright where the sun bleeds in from the large patio doors. The cabinets are a deep green, almost black in colour, and there are potted plants dotted along the windowsill. One particular pot has a small sign pierced into the damp soil that reads property of eri.

In your distraction, Aizawa has returned to your side with a full binder of paperwork. He sets it on the counter and pulls back the cover, revealing a numbered contents page. “I don’t expect you’ll read this now, but it’s a detailed folder of Eri’s circumstances and conditions,” he continues on the end of a shallow sigh, “I’ve also written up a list of instructions for a number of issues that might arise in my absence, along with emergency phone numbers — both my personal and my office, as well as some others in case you can’t reach me”.

The folder was fine. Appreciated, actually. You had endured far more peculiar parents than him, and his anxious preparation warmed you. Nerves were always to be expected, and not just from the children.

“I’ll make sure I familiarise myself before my next visit. Thank you, Aizawa-san,” you say, awkwardly gripping the strap of your bag. Drawn to the movement, his eyes squint somewhat at the things you were still carrying.

“Drop the honorifics, I hear that enough at work. And you’re welcome to leave your bag somewhere. Take a seat and I’ll bring out something to drink”.

Sitting on the far left of the couch, your rucksack tucked beneath the side table to avoid any accidents, you spend the brief wait absorbing the smaller details of the room. A fair few of your wealthier clients were largely minimalist, their homes brimming with things that sticky fingers should not touch. This house, while big for a two person family, is lived in. You think there might be nothing better than a well loved space.

When he hands you the hot mug of herbal tea, your fingers slip through the ringed handle with care. Even the kitchenware is well loved, a pattern of multicoloured paw prints surely but steadily scrubbed away from the ceramic with each use. “Thanks,” you murmur, ducking to blow against the rising steam.

The cushions dip as he sits adjacent to you, appropriately distanced. “Eri will be out once she’s ready,” he tells you after a drawn out sip of his drink. You can’t help but wonder how it didn’t scald his mouth. “I thought I could tell you a bit more in the meantime”.

You nod eagerly and take a sip of your own. It burns, and your tongue numbs.

“I’ve legally been Eri’s father for around a year and a half now, and she’s not a difficult kid by any means. Though she is quiet and struggles with anxiety she’s still kind, still curious,” his voice drops into something gentle, staring at the rumpled blankets and warming at the sight. “She’s always thinking of others first. She loves to read fantasy books about heroes and villains. Her imagination is vast, and because she can’t write well yet she has taken to acting out stories”.

“Very rarely does she fuss, and she loves to help with chores and cooking, which I can’t complain about, but,” Aizawa continues to speak and you drink while you listen, the tea cooled and more tolerant as you swallow, “…it doesn’t sit right knowing they’re done in an effort to placate me”.

To placate, to appease. To keep the peace, and keep their caregiver happy. After all, a happy caregiver is one that doesn’t raise their voice, or their hand. “It’s entirely normal for you to think that,” you offer comfort in the brief silence, “you aren’t the first parent who has felt that way”.

He finally turns his head to meet your gaze, and you find yourself remaining firm under his scrutiny. Then, imperceptibly, his eyes soften. “I just want her to feel safe. To act her age and enjoy her childhood,” then you hear a huff that sounds suspiciously like a laugh, “I might actually shed a tear the day she finally throws a tantrum”.

You laugh with him, close mouthed and short. An amused hum to cover the twist in your chest. Working with vulnerable children never got any easier to stomach. Some would respond to neglect by loudly seeking your attention, creating mess and yelling until their stomachs hurt. Others, like Eri, would shape themselves into timid dolls that never spoke out of turn, because attention often meant harm.

With lips parted to speak, you’re stopped short by an inconspicuous creak from the hallway. Observing from behind the door frame, only partially visible from where you’re sitting, is a little girl with silver hair. Your eyes meet, and she flinches back into hiding.

“One sec…” Aizawa mutters offhandedly as he gets to his feet, first leaning down to set his cup on the floor. Footfalls loud enough to be heard, the slight clearing of his throat to announce his approach, he slips into the hallway.

Like him, you place your drink down and listen. Minutes pass, and while you aren’t privy to the conversation you do hear a pair of muffled voices. Aizawa’s tone is soothing, and he waits patiently for his daughter's timid responses. Eventually, he reappears with her shielded behind his thigh, and weaving between her feet is another cat; chunky, flat faced and grey. Unperturbed by the uncomfortable atmosphere, it slinks into the room to sniff the abandoned mugs and ignores your presence.

Wordlessly asking permission to greet her, Aizawa encourages you forward with the tilt of his head. Luckily, you had a fool proof introduction when it came to children, one that covered all the bases. Eri’s grip on her fathers pink sweatpants visibly tightens as you close the distance, but she doesn’t run.

Lowering yourself to her height, you begin with a smile and your name, then you give her your birthday. What follows is your favourite animal, then your favourite colour, one thing you like and one thing you don’t.

It’s easy, simple, and likens you to them in a way they can understand. To a young kid, that’s all the important stuff.

Knowing more about you seems to set her at ease somewhat, and she steps out from behind her father after an encouraging look from him. In an abrupt motion she considers holding out her hand, but then chooses to clutch the hem of her knitted sweater.

“My name is Er— Aizawa Eri. My birthday is the twenty-first of December…” she glances towards Aizawa once again for his approval, only continuing with his assurance. “I like cats and the colour green. I think apples are the best fruit and… I don’t like mean people”.

You nod, humming in agreement to assuage her anxiety. “Mean people can be pretty scary. And I like cats, too,” — the grey-coated feline by the futon chooses that moment to yowl, pawing at Aizawa’s half empty mug — “I haven’t been able to properly meet yours yet. I’d love it if you could introduce us”.

Give her a chance to control the narrative, and in doing so allow her to tell you about something she feels confident about. It’s an infinitesimal thing, but all things are so much bigger when you’re young.

She straightens her back, shoulders no longer hunched forward to make herself appear small. Unobtrusive. No — there is now a dim glimmer of pride in her eyes as she shuffles forward, leading you back over near the sofa and pointing ahead at the noise-maker.

“That’s Bastard. He’s old and kinda grumpy but that’s just ‘cause he’s scared,” Eri looks almost as if she is pleading with you, concerned you might misunderstand her beloved pet’s behaviour. “Some people hurt him before, so… so he’s just trying to protect himself. If you’re slow and let him sniff you I think it’ll be okay”.

Some people hurt him, huh. Your thoughts subdue your initial amusement, though you try not to let it show in your expression. Heeding Eri’s guidance, you crouch at her side and allow her to extend your arm towards Bastard with her chubby fingers clasped around your wrist. He glares suspiciously between the two of you, but eventually his tail lifts into a clear signal of hello as he leans forward to huff at your fingertips.

He turns his nose up at you in what you read as disgust and stalks off to the other end of the room, but according to Eri’s bouncing feet it was a success. “He didn’t bite you or anything,” she pats your shoulder in a reassuring manner and Aizawa snorts as he collapses into the sofa cushions.

You’re pointed in the direction of the other cat — the black mass that has been curled into a ball atop one of the shelved platforms since you arrived. “Her name is Sourpuss. She likes to sleep a lot and we cuddle sometimes,” she explains seriously, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. Following a pause she adds, “don’t worry. She won’t bite you either”.

“I’m glad to hear it,” you reply, a pleasant kindling in your chest at her efforts, “I look forward to getting to know you all better”.

“Bastard and Sourpuss aren’t related but they are brother and sister. Just like me and ‘Toshi, right?” Eri glances over to her father to wordlessly seek his reassurance, cheeks dipped in pink. For a moment, the exhaustion in Aizawa’s body seems to bleed away, and he smiles affectionately.

“Exactly right, Eri,” he murmurs.

You straighten your knees at the sound of Bastard’s mewling, rewarded quickly with Eri’s devoted attention. Returning to your place on the couch, you lean towards him and subtly ask about the aforementioned ‘Toshi’.

“He was already my foster son when I first took in Eri as a foster. I cared for him on and off from age fifteen to eighteen”. Recognising your poorly veiled curiosity, he adds, “Hitoshi used to watch her for me but he recently started university. Her psychologist suggested someone more permanent and better equipped for her care”.

You nod amicably, turning to watch Eri as she offers her own small hand to the older cat. Bastard leans forward with nostrils flared, turning his head into her palm, and she beams. A stark contrast to how the feline felt about you. With the hope that you aren’t overstepping you ask, “You didn’t adopt him too?”

“Fostering isn’t just a doorway to adoption,” he replies. In your periphery you see the beginnings of a smile at the corner of his mouth as he observes his daughter. “More than anything, I think it’s about keeping families together. Hitoshi was old enough to decide for himself, and I still view him as a son regardless of the legalities”.

Somehow, the answer leaves you feeling scolded. “Right, of course,” you bow your head slightly in apology and his lips thin into a subtle smirk. Smothering the spark of irritation, at both his amusement and your own attraction, you push the conversation forward. “Then, uh. Will I be meeting him too, eventually?”

“I’d assume so. If he does visit I’ll make sure you know in advance”.

For the remainder of your afternoon visit, you observe their family dynamic with a keen eye. Eri’s shell does not fracture much, but you don’t take personal offence to it. She’s polite and friendly, often giving the answers she thinks you want to hear. You eventually join her amongst the blankets, recalling how she found confidence in helping around the house.

“Shall we put these away together?” you suggest. The little girl smiles and spring comes again. Under the moving sunspots cast through the living room window, the two of you get to work folding up the cotton linens. Eri is so preoccupied that for the first time that day, she doesn’t realise when her father leaves the room to wash up the mugs.

You understood Aizawa’s initial worry with Eri’s need to prove her worth around the house; but you also think, perhaps, she is just grateful and happy to help him.

When you leave, they both walk you to the front door. Your first goodbye to her is a perfect rendition of your first hello — little hand fisted into neon pink, shielded by the man she trusts the most. “Will you come back?” she asks quietly.

“If your dad is happy for me to,” — excitement pushes Eri onto the tip of her toes, her head barely reaching Aizawa’s hip — “when I do, we should read some stories together”.

Later that night, after a long hot shower to swiftly rid you of the tension in your spine, you settle into a heap of cotton and pillows with Eri’s binder. The cover is hard, like cardboard, and coloured blue. It’s heavy in your lap, and you find that daunting. Not because you don’t think you can handle it, but because you already want to do right by them both.

After the contents page comes the emergency contacts. You recognise Hitoshi’s name, and beside each other person is their immediate relation to Aizawa and Eri. Her school office. His best friends. Aunts. Uncles. Coworkers. A part of you unravels with the knowledge that the two have such a support system in place.

Then comes the lists. Food Eri does not like — she enjoys sweet things but tart is much too sour for her palate — and the medication she can not take. There are steps to follow if ever she gets sick, instructions on where to find the first aid kit and her favourite hot water bottle. More important than anything else, there is a page dedicated to summarising her triggers and subsequently how to handle them. No sudden touch, noise cancelling headphones always on her person, explain what you’re doing and why as you do it.

It’s incredibly comprehensive. The latter part of the binder is made up of her initial caseworkers notes, or observations from her psychologist that are important to her care. You learn that Eri might sometimes dissociate, is prone to freezing up when frightened and struggles with communicating her emotions. There are scars littering her body that need to be tended to once a day with steroid cream, but Aizawa notes that he will do that himself. She has little appetite and no tolerance for the dark, spending a lot of her earlier days in her father's care completely withdrawn and selectively mute.

Given her history you can’t blame him for covering all his bases; part of you wonders if he had put all this together in order to test you, to see whether the responsibility would scare you off. He would be mistaken, if that were the case. After all, you’d promised to befriend Bastard by the years’ end.

The next time you see Aizawa Shouta, he is in fitted suit pants and a dress shirt. It is sharp and tailored, accentuating the broad strokes of his shoulders and the dip of his waist. As he bends an arm to fiddle with the cuff, the material strains around his bicep. He looks handsome, and decidedly uncomfortable.

“Good morning,” he mutters, turning away from you expectantly. You amble after him once the door is shut, walking into the kitchen. Throat bared and leaning against the counter, he quickly downs the remnants of his coffee with an dissatisfied sigh.

“Bad nights sleep?”

A brow lifts as he glances up at you. You try not to focus on the absentminded swipe of his thumb at the corner of his mouth. “Always,” he replies. “You want some?”

Your mouth thins as you try not to smirk. “No, that’s okay. Thank you though,” you follow the movement of his hands as he leaves the mug in the sink, then extends his arms to expose his wrists and roll the cuffs mid forearm. Despite arriving at the time he’d given you, he appeared to be in a rush. You make a note to come earlier tomorrow, if only to make things a little smoother.

Eri’s footfalls are light, barely audible as she totters into the kitchen — you try not to think about the implications — and she stops short when she sees you. “Good morning Eri,” you greet warmly.

“Good morning,” she mumbles.

“You look very cute,” dressed in burgundy dungarees over a white long sleeved shirt, cuffed at the ankle to reveal frilly cream coloured socks, her hair has been tied haphazardly into two long pigtails. “I like your Sailor Pluto clips!”

“Thank you…” she pokes at the clips on her crown self consciously, timidly pleased at your recognition of them.

Aizawa circles around you both as he heads back into the hallway, “Sailor Pluto? I thought she was called Sailor Moon”.

Eri follows at his heels. “No dad, Sailor Moon has yellow hair,” she corrects him kindly, waiting by the coat rack as he bends to slip into his dress shoes. “But it’s okay, I get them mixed up sometimes too”.

Her attitude is a testament to his parenting. In the short time you’ve spent with them he has only ever spoken to Eri respectfully, in a manner that grants her agency. He clearly allows her to make decisions herself and experience the consequences of them, bad or good.

Before he has the chance to reach for his bag, Eri releases an abrupt sound of protest and grabs it herself. Both of her hands fit around the long handle with room to spare, and it drags by her feet as she gives it to him.

“I appreciate that sweetheart,” he replies, taking one of the jackets from the hooks and linking it through the crook of his arm. “Which one did I like best again?”

“Sailor Saturn!”

Dark hair curtaining his sober expression, he nods sagely and repeats, “Sailor Saturn”.

They are so caught up that, for a few minutes, you are nothing but a fly on the wall. It’s endearing, the interactions sitting warm like honey-lemon tea in your chest. At the sound of your laugh, Aizawa’s eyes snap over to your silhouette in the kitchen doorway. Eri glances between the two of you, and appears to hamfist the precious little courage she has to ask you, “Who— who’s your favourite?”

“I really loved Luna the cat,” you say. Her mouth forms the shape of an ‘o’ before it spreads into a small smile. You get the inkling there was no wrong answer; you feel accomplished anyway.

“Right,” Aizawa cradles his hand against her head to garner her attention. She peers up at him, eyes wide. “Her teacher is aware you’re going to be picking her up but you’ll need to give her the code just to be safe,” he says, settling the strap of the satchel across his chest. “It’s ‘candy apples’”.

“Got it”.

Gentle, he pinches her cheek between his thumb and forefinger. “Be good, alright?” Eri hums, giving her enthusiastic agreement, “have a fun day at school. And make sure you hold hands when you cross the roads”.

“You too dad,” her demeanour is slightly more unnerved at his imminent departure, fingers tightly curling and unfurling against her palms. “Be good at work”.

He laughs — low and undeniably fond, almost like a purr in his chest — and then he leaves.

Eri is cautious in his absence, but she still answers when you speak and smiles when you look at her. You can see what Aizawa meant by her placating nature — she’s scared to upset you, because she doesn’t yet know your boundaries. There was not enough time to have that discussion before school, but you endeavoured to do it some point later.

Her bag is garish, block colours of red blue and yellow. Different from her Sailor Moon accessories, the bento and backpack are distinctly Hero themed. Hanging from the zip is a cat keychain that looks suspiciously like Bastard, and it bounces as she moves.

The walk isn’t too far. The early air is still tepid and the morning traffic has mostly dispersed. You see other parents with their children, laughing and scolding and sprinting ahead. Eri remains at your side, hand in hand, and quietly tells you about a dream she had the night before.

Confoundedly, “Dad told me he doesn’t have dreams”.

“Maybe he does dream, but he forgets them as soon as he wakes up,” you reply. Her nose wrinkles slightly in a way that suggests she is thinking quite hard, and eventually she nods.

A staff member waiting by the gate recognises Eri and bids you both good morning, motioning for her to join her classmates. “I’ll see you after school, alright?” you say. The hand clutching at your fingers squeezes twice before letting go.

You linger for a few seconds longer, only to observe as Eri runs up to one boy in particular. His cap is red, too big for him and adorns two horns at the front. When she dips her head forward, you know it’s to show off her hair clips.

With five hours to spare, you decide to utilise the time by clearing up the house. There’s not much mess but it’s better than nothing, and if you spent most of it nosing around the spots you’ve yet to see, that’s no one’s business but your own — aside from Bastard and Sourpuss, who still deign to return your affections and settle for stalking you at a distance.

Mounted bridges and tastefully placed hiding spots can be found in most of the rooms; Aizawa’s respect for individual space clearly extended to his pets as well. There are fragments of them everywhere, in tchotchkes and photographs and framed stick figure pictures. You catch glimpses of the other people in their lives, of Eri much younger than she is now, of a too-big violet haired boy curled up in one of the cat beds.

In each new room, you make sure to tidy up somewhat. Aizawa seemed the type to be particular about what fell under the definition of mess and what did not, and in that vein you stay away from reorganising anything that looks important, but it doesn’t stop you from picking up any stray socks.

One place you do not enter is Aizawa’s bedroom. Eri’s, however, has been left wide open.

The first thing you see is the feelings chart taped to the door, a small magnet with her likeness has been stuck in the ‘nervous’ box. Inside is surprisingly neat for a child her age. Cohesive. There are hues of yellow and grey along the walls, a white canopy hung over a brass ring in the corner of the room to curtain a pile of pillows. Her bookshelf is full, the pages are worn, and her plush toys have been organised in a line from big to small on her mattress.

There is a faux vine of leaves threaded through the bed frame, dotted with small LED lights. She must like plants, you think, recalling the greenery in the kitchen. You’d have to look it up, or ask her father.

Aizawa hadn’t requested you do any specific chores, but you don’t do well with idle hands. So you throw the collected laundry in the washer, clean and dry the plates and cutlery from breakfast, and refill the coffee machine with the beans kept in the cupboard. It’s the good stuff, expensive. You almost regret not accepting his offer that morning, but the dregs left in his mug smelt far too bitter.

At the start, as you’re acclimating to the chosen family, you are always left slightly aimless. Floundering. Especially with parents that have never hired a nanny before; they seldom understand how much the role entails, and struggle with letting go of certain responsibilities.

Thus, with precious little left to do, you end up leaving early to pick up Eri later that afternoon and taking the long route. You press the divots of the house key into your palm as you walk, metal cool in the late spring sun. With time to observe, you admit that Aizawa’s neighbourhood is undeniably beautiful. Passing a large nearby park, eyeing the climbing frames and slides and triple seated swings, you wonder if Eri would like to go there with you on occasion. There’s even a quaint, sectioned off area of land privated for communal gardening.

Maybe, on your scheduled weekends, you could take her to other places too. The aquarium, the movies or the science museum. You’d have to ask Aizawa’s permission.

Waiting behind the gate is another member of staff, different from the woman stationed there this morning but she greets you amiably all the same. Other parents are flocking into the grounds, some grouping together for small talk while others — such as yourself — lingered off to the side and waited alone.

When the children begin rushing through the school doors, it is organised by class number. Eventually you spot the little boy with the horned cap rushing towards his own guardian, but no Eri with him. Instead she is led out hand in hand with whom you presume is her teacher. You smile as she points in your direction and waves, jostling the cat charm on her bag strap.

The woman greets you first, a slight accent to her words that you can’t place. German, maybe. “Hi! I’m Eri’s teacher, Amano-san. You must be the new nanny I’ve heard all about”.

“That would be me,” you lower your head into a subtle bow, offering your name in a much more formal introduction than the one Eri had received. “I’ll be picking Eri up regularly from now on. It’s good to meet you”.

“And you,” Amano grins, the movement pushing her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. At a second glance, you notice a thin silver chain attached to the frames and looping around her neck. Coupled with a green pantsuit and the specks of paint along the lapels, you suspect Eri’s teacher may be the more eccentric type. Easy-going and comforting.

“I hope you don’t mind but I have to ask for Aizawa-san's passcode,” Amano motions flippantly with her free hand as she speaks, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “it’s just school policy, ya see. Can’t let the baby go without it — only for the first few pickups while the staff get to know you”.

“That’s perfectly fine. He informed me you might ask,” Eri’s head pivots back and forth between you both with bright, inquisitive eyes. Giving her what you hope to be a secretive look, pointer finger pressed to your lips and voice hushed, you add, “the code is ‘candy apples’”.

Rewarded with a minute grin, Eri toddles over to your side as soon as Amano lets go of her and bids you both goodbye. Reflexively, you reach to fix her pigtails where they’ve come loose but think better of it — she does not react well to sudden touch. “Oh,” you pause to count the remaining clips in her hair. “One of your Pluto’s is gone”.

“I gave one to Kota… he’s my friend”.

Kota. You silently mouth the name, and resolve to remember it. “Is he the boy with the cool hat?”

Eri hums a quiet affirmative, peering up at you and shyly extending her hand. You take it, giving a gentle squeeze. “That was very nice of you to do,” you tell her.

“Dad said love grows by sharing,” she replies. You notice that when she speaks about her father, her voice is a little louder. Proud, even. “That’s why he always lets me have his last pur— Purin cup”.

You try to picture Aizawa eating something as sweet as crème caramel and bite back a smile. He seems more the coffee jelly type. “Your dad is right. I bet Kota felt very special to have Sailor Pluto”.

You return home the morning route, in consideration of Eri’s short legs and growing exhaustion. Bastard and Sourpuss are theatrically pleased by her arrival, yowling in glee as if she’d been gone for months. They must recognise that you brought her back, and you try not to preen when the older cat begrudgingly rubs his gums against your ankle.

“Okay, Eri. What first? Homework or food?”

She wrings her hands together, pressing palms flat to her stomach. Face pinched, she looks like she wants to ask something of you. “Eri?”

“Can I…” her courage diminishes and she glares at the floor, scuffing socked feet against carpet. Lowering your body to her level, knee clicking as you crouch, you wait patiently with a small smile. You can see her internal battle with your own eyes, squeezing her own shut and taking a deep breath.

The drawn out exhale follows, and the tension bleeds from her muscles. Still unable to meet your gaze, she asks, “Can I show you my room first?”

You don’t tell her you have already seen it. Children deserve to be treated with respect, but some truths were worth keeping. Guided to the grey-yellow painted space, Eri is in her element. Homework and hunger can wait a few more minutes — strengthening her comfortability with you was much more important.

Once she starts she can’t seem to stop. Eri shows you all her magpie clutches of treasures and brings them to your lap, a back and forth skitter across the room. The knit blanket from when she was an infant, a pretty rock she found with her dad, a friendship bracelet from someone called Izu. Her love has no limit; you’re holding old shells and framed pictures and memory-imbued trinkets. Each one receives equal praise, indulgent sounds of awe that warm her cheeks.

‘Love grows by sharing’ is what she’d said. Steadying the heap gathered in your arms, you think you feel your heart swell three sizes.

By afternoon's end, Eri is fed and sitting contentedly in the middle of the living room. Aizawa had texted that he would be home soon, so you were simply enjoying the peace until then. Having tucked one of the couch cushions under her knees to alleviate the discomfort, all her focus is on the worksheets splayed out along the floor. Fractions. You grimace, watching Bastard bat at her pencil as it moves with her wrist.

Click, click. Eri is at her feet in less than a second. The sound of a key entering a lock and turning, the door jarred open as Aizawa shoulders into the house with arms full of assignments. He doesn’t startle as his daughter knocks into him, but he does scowl at the realisation that he can’t hug her. You hover cautiously in the hallway, “Ah— do you need some help with those?”

He looks up, the frown smoothing into something a little more vulnerable. Exhausted, but in a different way than he was this morning. You feel a misplaced sense of guilt for not having a cup of coffee ready for him.

“No, I can manage,” he replies, kicking off his shoes and lining them up half heartedly with his foot as he readjusts his grip. “I’ll be fine once I can sit down”.

He sets the papers on the far end of the couch and upon reaching the opposite, Aizawa falls back heavily into the cushions with a relieved groan that strums at your centre. You smother the feeling. Eri trails after him with her features pensive, carefully gauging his mood before doing anything further. The moment he limblessly opens his arms to her, she is clambering up beside him and pressing to his side.

Intuitively, you hold your breath. You take the opportunity to really appreciate how gentle Aizawa is with his daughter. Cradling the top of her head in a show of affection, his eyes slide from Eri to where you stand in the doorway. You’re left sheepish under the expectant lift of his brow, all too aware of how awkward you’re being. “How was it today? Anything happen that I should know about?”

“Everything went well. We held hands to and from school, didn’t we?” Eri nods, and the large hand in her hair further disturbs her pigtails, though she doesn’t seem to mind. “We’ve eaten our dinner and finished her fractions worksheet for tomorrow. She’s been nothing short of a dream”.

“A dream, hm?” he nudges Eri gently to encourage her to smile, and she does. “Always is”.

“I met…” your attention is quickly drawn to the tail curling around your leg. Sourpuss barely spares you a glance when she butts your calf, as if to pass it off as a simple accident. You don’t bend at the knee to pet her, because you know she’ll scatter and leave you pitifully rejected. “I met Amano-san,” you continue, “I introduced myself since I’ll be seeing more of her. She’s very… friendly”.

Aizawa’s mouth lifts in subtle amusement, “She’s boisterous but a good teacher. Eri loves her,” he pats his thigh as Sourpuss approaches, ready as she leaps onto his lap. He’s content, relaxed with his head tipped slightly in a way that accentuates his jaw, the shadow of stubble fading down the length of his neck. You quickly drag your thoughts back into the present before they can drift into inappropriate territory, steeling yourself under his gaze in the hopes he hadn’t noticed.

“You have your hands full and you’ve had a long day, so I’m happy to see myself out if that’s everything,” you say.

Eri’s eyes widen, her bottom lip slightly jutted. You aren’t sure whether she is wordlessly beseeching you to stay, or displeased at the thought of not walking you to the door — either way, you allow yourself some pride for having won some good favour with her so soon.

Aizawa must notice, because his hand slides from her crown to soothe along her back. “Don’t worry,” he reassures, “they’ll be back again in the morning, bug”.

He’s pensive as he appraises you, perhaps looking for what it was in you that his daughter had latched onto. Whatever he does or does not find, he begins to move. Sourpuss chirps a sharp noise of complaint, jostled from her place in his lap and leaping back onto the floor. “C’mon,” he says, getting to his feet and rubbing the nape of his neck as he clicks it to the left. Then, stubbornly, “I’ll walk you out”.

The next month and a half with them passes between blinks. You come to learn that even if every day is the same, there are a million ways to do it. And the place you carve into their lives is comfortable. Comforting.

Your attraction to Aizawa only festers. It seems that at some point, you had won favour with him, too. He begins leaving you offerings of food without explanation, and in turn you have a pot of coffee ready for when he gets home. He isn’t much of a cook and usually sticks to snacks, but occasionally you’ll find leftovers with your name written on a postit note.

Love grows by sharing.

Against better judgement you start finding excuses to arrive early and stay later, and sometimes your conversations linger like his gaze, until the only word left to describe the way he looks at you is ‘fond’.

Venting to your friends does nothing helpful, since they only encourage you to poke further at the relationship just to see where it’d go. Likened to a yellowing bruise on your arm, you knew exactly what would happen if you were to poke it — it would hurt.

Worse is, your feelings are not just an unfortunate result of being attracted to Aizawa. You adore Eri, and she likes you too; watches you with wide ruby eyes, collecting your speech patterns and body language like the tchotchkes kept on her shelves. With every reluctant shedding of her shell, a quiet but creative and joyous little girl is slowly unveiled to the world, and you know you want to be there to watch her grow beyond what your contract states.

At best, you are teetering on the edge of being very unprofessional. At worst, part of you is already one foot in the door and willing to step forward.

Today you were at the park. The grass is damp, sparse dots of moisture littering the pavements. You peer up mid-step and a drop of rain hits your nose, squinting against the light that bursts through the canopy. There’s petrichor in the air, fresh and crisp. Eri stands at your side at the crotch of the maple tree, watching quietly as the sun shower passes.

“Pretty…” she whispers, stepping towards the edge of shelter with her arm outstretched, fingers splayed like branches to catch the rain. She does this, but not before first seeking your approval, as she did with most things. The evolving comfort she felt with you didn’t negate any of the survival instincts she’d learnt in her earlier developmental years.

It hurt to know she didn’t get to have that — the new realisation that she was an individual person, with power of her own that she could wield. You were only glad that Aizawa always gave her a chance to make her own choices. She felt far safer accepting such freedom from him, because Eri knows that he trusts her. He trusts that she will eventually get it right, even if it isn’t immediate.

His unconditional patience when it came to making mistakes, and learning from them, paid off. You’ve no doubt that it came into practice with his own university students, too.

“Everything will be too wet to play on now,” your eyes scan the playground, finding the tarmac dark and saturated with water. The sun shifts and bounces sharply off the curve of the slide. You hadn’t been there for more than half an hour, so it was a little disappointing. “What shall we do instead?”

She rocks on the balls of her feet while she thinks, the end of her sleeve growing damp with every scoop of the oncoming shower. Peeking beneath them are the protective wrappings she keeps around her arms to cover the scars you’ve yet to see.

Her wet hand curls to form a fist, and she steps back into the shelter of the maple tree. You bend forward and beckon towards you, using the hem of your hoodie to gently dry her off. Minutes pass, and you can tell her lack of a definitive answer is making her nervous. “It’s alright if you’re not sure,” you tell her, quick to assuage whatever thoughts she may be having.

“Well, I picked the park so— so maybe you can pick next?” she hesitantly suggests.

“That’s very considerate!” Eri outwardly preens, tucking her chin to her sternum as she smiles. “I think… I’m craving sweet things today. How about we go home and see if we can bake something?”

It’s as if the rain takes pause and the skies open just for the two of you. There is no puddle left untouched on your walk home, Eri pulling you ahead by the hand, uncharacteristically hasty. Every time you find something new for her to enjoy you feel like you’ve swallowed a drop of sun. Aizawa’s expression in the face of her smile and freshly baked goods make it all the more worth it.

Leading up the street towards the house, you squint at the sight of a person. Sitting on the doorstep under the overhang is a violet haired man. Young, still a little youthful in the cheeks. Nineteen or twenty, if you had to guess.

“‘Toshi!”

Eri’s voice draws his attention from the phone in his lap, and when he looks up you’re met by a weathered grin adorned with two vertical rings hugging the left of his bottom lip.

The spider bites aren’t his only piercings; there are other jewellery cuffed along the shell of his ear, an industrial bar cutting across the cartilage of the other, and glinting in the light are two small spikes through his right eyebrow. Dappled shadows dance across his face, an oversized navy sweater hangs comfortably on his frame and pools around the waist of his tattered jeans.

You aren’t alarmed when he sweeps Eri into a hug, pleased by her melodic laughter. This was her brother, Hitoshi, presumably, the purple boy you’d seen in some of the framed pictures around the house.

“You must be—”

His voice overlaps your own simultaneously, “You must be the nanny”.

Prickly. He stands then, keeping Eri cradled in his arms, her own looped tight around his neck as her feet kick happily either side of his hips. No, you think. Protective. And taller than you realised.

“That’s me,” you reply stiffly. You had no idea he would be visiting today — Aizawa hadn’t mentioned anything about it, so you can only assume he isn’t aware.

Turning to smoosh her cheek against his own and glancing between you both, Eri is emboldened by the stilted atmosphere. She makes a point to introduce you to Hitoshi, reciting your favourite colour and animal word for word. Like flame to wax, her efforts soften the blank exterior and his expression wanes into affection.

This time, when he looks at you it is measured. He appraises you much like Aizawa had on your first day. A positive reference from Eri is invaluable, clearly. “I’m Eri’s big brother, Shinsou Hitoshi,” he concedes, the thud of his boots heavy as he steps forward. Readjusting Eri to his hip, he extends a hand and motions to shake your own.

Years of professional experience has your grip firm out of sheer habit, while his remains slightly loose, the cool metal of his ring pressed to your palm. “It’s good to meet you. Aizawa mentioned that I might, eventually,” you reply.

Hitoshi hums, though not absentmindedly. “Same. I’ve heard a lot about you”.

“Mostly good I hope?” you busy yourself with finding the house keys, hoping to get Eri inside to warm up sooner rather than later. “Let’s get you both comfy, then we can get started”.

“Started?”

Stepping into homes’ embrace is a relief, the chill dissipating from your cheeks. “We’re gonna bake!” Eri chimes her excitement from behind you as you toe your shoes to the side, turning to beckon them both inside. Hitoshi quickly closes the door behind him before the cats can slip past, and places his sister back on the floor with a small noise of curiosity.

“Bake what?” he asks, grunting in exertion as he crouches and begins untying the laces to his boots, wiggling his fingers at Bastard as he bats at the string. Eri mirrors him to fiddle with her buckles, slipping both shoes off and lining them up neatly by yours before looking to you for an answer.

“I was thinking we could make cookies…Ah!” you bring your palms together in a succinct clap, “maybe we could do melonpan?”

A subtle tug to the end of your hoodie. “What's melonpan?”

“They’re sweet, melon shaped buns covered in cookie dough,” you explain warmly, slow in stroking a hand over the crown of her head. She doesn’t flinch, almost feline in how she turns into the touch.

“I’m down for some melonpan,” Hitoshi slides back naturally into the conversation, Bastard held out by the armpits as his long torso hangs limbless. You try not to laugh at the displeasure on his face. “Maybe change into something comfortable and dry first though, bug”.

Prompted, Eri scurries up the stairs on both hands and feet. “And make sure to wash your hands,” you raise your voice after her. That just leaves you and Hitoshi.

He glances at you expectantly, inclining his head towards the kitchen as if to say, aren’t you going in?

“Guess we should get the cookie dough done first,” you suggest, taking the lead.

In Eri’s absence, side by side at the counter, you both fall into a surprisingly comfortable contentment. Quiet murmurings of small talk; while you work on the cake mix he beats the egg until it whites, whisks sugar into the butter until it dissolves. Hitoshi is stiff at first, short in his responses, but he isn’t rude. He’s just cautious, prying gently into your answers but never giving substance to his own. Even in early adulthood, there was an instinct inside him that called to mask the vulnerability within. To feign confidence and guide conversations in a way that conceals him.

He flowers a little when the topic steers to Aizawa.

“Did the old man tell you much about me?”

Old man. A decade and then some isn’t far off for him, but you supposed in a barely-twenty year old’s mind it would be. “Just that he fostered you through your late teens. I didn’t pry,” you reply. “I’ve heard more from Eri, really. She looks up to you”.

He exhales deeply, and you don’t press him to continue before he’s ready. “My mum struggled with addiction…” Hitoshi stares dolefully at the dough cupped between his palms, briefly flickering to the open doorway to check Eri was not within hearing distance.

“I was so pissed when social services first took me,” deft fingers begin to move as his voice returns, kneading the ball aimlessly in bread flour to smooth out his spike of anxiety. “I loved her a lot, still do. She never hurt me and I thought we were fine, y’know? I didn’t understand it back then. But it got to a point that she couldn’t take care of me”.

He avoids your gaze, feigning indifference, and it makes you wonder how others have reacted to his story. You swallow against the dry discomfort in your throat, rolling the inner flesh of your lip between teeth. There’s nothing to say other than, “I’m sorry. That must’ve been incredibly difficult for you both”.

“Thanks,” he murmurs. You watch a thought cross his mind, the corner of his mouth curving into a half smile. “I was such a dick when I got here because I thought I’d never get to see her again. But dad sat me down and told me he isn’t here to be my new parent, that his job is to keep me safe while my mum gets better”.

You recall Aizawa’s words — fostering is moreso about keeping families together — and smile back. “Funny that be ended up bein’ like a parent to you anyway, huh?”

An amused thrum, the dough in his grasp eventually moulded into what resembled a cylinder. “Yeah. He’s not so bad,” he breathes.

Eri joins in a fluffy sweater and leggings, socks pulled up all the way to her calves, fingers still wet and smelling of almond scented soap. Her eyes sweep across the room, alight with curiosity. “You’re just in time,” you tell her, discreetly putting the topic of Hitoshi’s mother to rest. “Grab the step from the corner so you can help rub the bread flour into the cookie dough”.

When she ambles over, gait stilted by the weight of her stool, Eri slots it between you and Hitoshi. Arms held out in front, you help to roll up her sleeves to avoid mess despite the protective compression underneath.

“Ready?”

“Ready!”

Chubby fingers take two pinches of bread flour, sprinkling over the cookie dough and patting carefully into shape. You let her take her time with it, endeared by how determined she looks carrying out a simple task.

Hitoshi supervises her while you begin the first fermentation of the bread dough. It’s lucky, and amusing, that Aizawa has such a random array of ingredients in his cupboards; you didn’t presume him the type to buy things just in case, yet the instant yeast has you sending silent thoughts of gratitude to him through sheer will.

With the cookie dough now wrapped and put in the fridge, Eri insists on helping you knead the bread dough. “We have to throw it a few times first,” you tell them.

Hitoshi smirks, “May I have the honour?”

The pale consistency is sticky and unpleasant as you pass it to him, some caught like glue between your fingers. At the sight of her brother's grimace, Eri pokes at the dough and makes a sound of awe. “It’s so gooey?” she mumbles.

“That’s why he’s gotta throw it. It’ll be nice and smooth,” you curl protectively around Eri as you explain, remembering her dislike for loud noises. “You might want to cover your ears, sweetheart. There’ll be a big thud when he does it”.

Hitoshi spreads far too much flour across the counter. Pressing the heels of her hands either side of her head, Eri steps back into your chest at the first impact and gapes as the white powder billows into the air, smattering the length of his forearms. He leans his body weight into the dough as he stretches it, glancing at her for permission and only throwing it again after she nods.

Gradually, Eri lowers her hands back down as she acclimates, and the next time she touches the dough it is firmer. “You did it, ‘Toshi!”

“Ye—!” his nose wrinkles and he suddenly dips into the crook of his arm, turning away from the counter as he sneezes. “Shi— Shoot. Bless me”.

“Bless you,” you laugh at him, trying and failing to wipe away the powder clinging to your own clothes. Somehow the white smudges worsen with the effort, and the flour has even ended up dusting the ends of Eri’s hair. “Next we gotta roll it up. Think you can help, Eri?”

By the time the dough is round enough to satisfy the siblings, the mess has worsened. You nestle it into a clear bowl and cover it with plastic wrap to let it sit — or as Eri had described, you tuck it into a ‘warm bed’.

With time left to spare as it ferments, Hitoshi departs to the bathroom to quickly clean himself up. In your distraction, the sound of a door opening and heavy footsteps does not register. It isn’t until you hear the fond invocation of your names from the doorway that you look up.

Covered in flour from your hands to your elbows, with the certainty that it is also dusted across your cheeks, you look up to see Aizawa watching you both wearing a small smile.

“Hi,” you offer lamely. He snorts.

“What’re you making?”

A fool of myself, you think.

Eri’s eyes sweep over the mess anxiously. There is no indication that he’s angry, but her words still falter. She inhales deeply to steady her breathing just as you taught her, counting to four and releasing. Meeting her fathers stare, she strongly replies, “we’re baking melonpan to share!”

“Is that right?” his eyes squint into a smile and he steps into the threshold, tugging the hairband on his wrist off with his teeth and collecting his hair into a bun. “Got anything I can help out with?”

“We just—”

“Yo,” Hitoshi interrupts as he slinks back into the room with an easy wave.

Aizawa’s brow pinches into a frown. “What’re you doing in my house?” he says. You can tell he doesn’t mean it, and judging by the grin pulling at Hitoshi’s mouth, he can tell too.

“Just wanted to surprise you and Eri,” in closing the distance, Aizawa reaches over to Hitoshi and wraps an arm around him, giving a solid pat to the back of his shoulder. You watch as he squeezes, and they briefly turn into one another’s familiarity before letting go.

Feeling your stare, Aizawa looks at you. To the people that do not know him, his expression might be unreadable, but you understand the fulfilment there. He appears settled, like having you all there in his kitchen has thawed him. “I hope he hasn’t given you any trouble?”

“No more than you,” you cajole, dutifully ignoring the smirk plain on Hitoshi’s face. “They’ve both been very helpful”.

Pleased by your praise, Eri beams as she climbs down from the step stool. “We’re waiting for the bread dough to fer…fer…?”

“Ferment,” you whisper.

“Ferment!” she nods resolutely, stumbling over to her father to greet him. Before you can warn them, Eri has wrapped herself around his leg and pressed into the side of his hip, black dress pants now embellished with loose flour.

He cradles her head as he always does, his hand large around her silver crown. She peers up at him with unfettered joy, in their own private, unspoken exchange. You’re struck by the thought that it isn’t only Eri who thrives under his care. Aizawa, too, even as he tires, becomes that much brighter with her.

The house begins to breathe. It is more alive now than you’ve ever experienced it. From the upper floor is Sourpuss’s distinct yowl as Aizawa heads up the stairs to change, Eri on his coattails telling him about the earlier sun shower.

Hitoshi is moving around the kitchen alongside you, cleaning up the aftermath of his ephemeral flour-storm and avoiding Bastard’s abrupt burst of energy from the shadows as he darts through the remnants; fading white and sugar plum sized paw prints left in his wake.

You laugh when Hitoshi chases him, hissing disjointed curses as he tries to wipe away the prints with the sole of his socks.

When the dough is suitably risen, Aizawa sidles up beside you, shoulder to shoulder. You don’t lean into him, but you don’t move away. Each of you takes a cut, shaping it into the intended melonpan. The spheres wear their cookie sheet coats, dipped in sugar and engraved overtop with clumsy diamond patterns.

Eri lines them up on the baking tray and you put them into the oven. Calls for her to relax go unheard as she waits with her nose pressed to the glass pane until the buns are finally golden, face heated by the orange glow.

You sit with the three of them in the middle of the living room, cushions pulled from their spots and rearranged in a tight circle, and something eases into place — a quiet sense of belonging that you’ve never experienced in all your years as a nanny. The melonpan is warm and sweet in your mouth, so soft it almost dissolves on your tongue. “S’good, right?” you hum happily at the taste, finding Eri nodding alongside you with pink cheeks filled and a bright sugar coated smile.

“It really is,” Hitoshi affirms, almost an air of disbelief as he leans back onto his left hand, savouring his own melonpan with the other. You notice his eyes lazily following the movement in your periphery; Aizawa reaches across your front to brush the grains of sugar from his daughter's chin, his own pastry devoured.

The man ate unnaturally quietly, and quickly. Maybe he really did have a secret sweet tooth.

In retracting his arm, he glances to you. Thoughtlessly, Shouta wipes the crumbs from the swell of your own cheek. You feel sinnew turn to sand, sifting through his gentle hands. In that split, narrowed second, the rest of the room fell away. You’re returned to your body by the sound of Hitoshi’s pointed cough, and the touch disappears.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, furtive in his avoidance of your stare, “force of habit”.

The smile you wear is brittle over the cacophonous rush of blood in your ears. Poor of an excuse as it was, you still wonder whether it had any truth to it — ruminating over how he really saw you.

Soon enough it’s difficult to ignore just how long you’ve overstayed your welcome; atleast, in a professional sense. All five of the Aizawa’s, legal, honorary and feline, walk you to the door to bid you goodbye.

“Be good, alright?” Shouta calls after you, leaning against the doorframe long after the children have returned to their cushions. His monotony makes it all the more endearing.

The real paradigm shift comes with a flinch. Aizawa lets you into the house silently wearing a desperate look. He glances to the top of the stairs, but when you follow his line of sight there is no one there. “She froze up,” he murmurs, regret bleeding into his voice as it rasps. “I lifted my hand to pat her head and she froze, like she thought I’d hit her. She’s been avoiding me all morning”.

You frown, worrying your lip between your teeth. “Is there anything that might’ve triggered her?”

His shoulders deflate, mouth set in a grimace, and you realise then just how crestfallen he is. “Not that I'm aware of. She was fine before bed and didn’t have any nightmares to my knowledge,” — as he bends to pick up his own satchel, Eri’s helpful absence is particularly stark — “if anything goes south let me know. I’ll come straight home if you need me to. We were going to see her psychiatrist soon for a review so I’ll try to have it brought forward”.

“Alright. I promise I’ll take care of her,” you reply, watching with brows pinched as he turns to the front door. You don’t like the slouch to his back — different to the typical exhaustion. This is defeat. Grief, in some ways. While you cannot hear his thoughts, you know intuitively that he is blaming himself.

He stops as you grab his wrist, door partially open. Pray tell, what is the right thing to say?

“Things like this aren’t linear,” your grip tightens, squeezing around his pulse. There’s soft hair under the pads of your fingers, the skin there rough from decades of use. “I’m willing to bet this minor setback isn’t your fault. Bad days happen”.

“I know,” he rasps, still refusing to look at you.

“I know that you know, probably better than most,” you smile where he can’t see it. “I just wanted to remind you”.

You experience a palpable sense of accomplishment when his arm turns, inner wrist twisting and sliding forth until your palms kiss. Aizawa holds your hand and peers at you through the curtain of his hair. As clouds part and the sun pierces through the threshold it refracts in his eyes. In a fleeting trick of the light, you think they look red.

“Thank you,” he says.

Away at work, the house is too quiet. Eri isn’t a rambunctious girl by any means, but her presence can always be heard. Can always be felt. No pitter patter of socked feet, no muffled laughter, no hushed conversations between girl and cat.

A part of you whispers how similar it is to being in your own home. But acknowledging that loneliness is another bruise you don’t fancy poking.

You find Eri curled up in her bed. She has pressed herself to the wall and brought both knees to her chest. The small bundle quakes, cheeks wet with tears that have begun to saturate the pillowcase. Eri keeps her cries unsettlingly quiet, in a way you’ve only ever seen in children afflicted with soul-deep wounds.

“Eri?” you call out to her with gentle cadence. She is, visibly and emotionally, an animal cornered. You move in closer, keeping to the edge of the room, focused on the worrisome flush to her skin and her laboured breaths. It worsens as you close the distance, a frantic gleam in her eyes.

“It’s just me, Eri. You’re safe here,” pausing a foot away from the edge of her bed, you gingerly lower yourself to sit on her bedroom floor. “I think you’re having a panic attack, bug. So we’re gonna try to slow your breathing. Can you do that for me?”

Her mouth quivers, pursed right as she hiccups. Another quick blink, another round of tears. You try not to collapse with relief when she nods, “You’re already doing so well. I know it’s scary right now but you’ll get through this”.

Despite the frenetic ache in your chest and the instincts in your body urging that you reach for her, you remain as you are. This is ultimately why you were chosen. Years of schooling and experience puppets your body, autopilot taking lead.

“First we’re going to breathe in through our noses for three seconds, nice and deep so your chest opens up. I’ll do it too,” — motioning inwards with your hands, you inhale until your ribs expand and lift a finger for each second that passes — “brilliant, sweetheart. Now hold that breath in for two more seconds. Ready? One… two…”

The minutes progress excruciatingly slowly. You continue to instruct her, keeping your voice soothing and calm with each cycle of breathing. Gradually, the tension bleeds from Eri’s body and she’s cognisant enough to say your name.

It follows an aborted reach for you, halted midway and dropping onto the bed, small hand hamfisting the bedsheets. “Is it okay for me to touch you?” you quietly ask.

With her permission, keeping your movements telegraphed, you shuffle toward the mattress on your knees and wrap your arms around her like one might cradle a baby.

Pulling her closer to your chest, you realise something is off. There’s heat soaking through her clothes, and in stroking a hand along her shoulders you notice they’re wet. “Eri…?” chin against sternum as you peer down, the back of your hand finds her forehead too hot.

“Are you sick?”

The question makes her freeze, statuesque where she’s curled against your chest. “I’m sorry,” she whimpers. Unease settles in your gut.

“I’m not angry, Eri. It isn’t your fault you’re sick, it happens to everyone,” you say, gently brushing the hair away from her face. “Is that why you were anxious today, you thought I would be upset?”

“They… they get mad”.

“Who does, sweetheart?”

“Grown ups,” she rasps, her voice thick and cloying in her throat. Steadily, the breast of your shirt becomes damp too. The hand threaded into her hair lowers to thumb away the fresh onslaught of tears.

“Grown ups can be scary,” you affirm, beginning an instinctive back and forth sway as you hold her. “But not all of them. Your dad, Hitoshi and I won’t be angry if you’re sick because we want to take care of you”.

Aizawa’s earlier expression flashes unbidden through your thoughts. What he had interpreted had been fear, but not for the reasons he initially thought. Eri was not scared of him — she just didn’t want him to know she was sick. No doubt, if he had caught wind of her fever he would have called off work completely.

While she doesn’t speak about her past to you, it's clear the adults in Eri’s life before entering foster care had treated her needs as something burdensome. Your gaze drifts to the bandages on her forearms and realise they may have even harmed her for it.

“I bet these feel all sticky and uncomfortable now, huh?” you’re cautious to trace the protective sleeves with the pad of your finger. As expected, they’re sweaty.

She readjusts in your grip, a sheen of perspiration across pink skin. Panic at bay, now she is exhausted. “Sticky,” she weakly agrees.

“Then how about I run you a bath?”

It’s this that leads to you finally seeing the extent of Eri’s scars.

When you settle her into the tepid water, your eyes do not linger on mottled skin. Expression carefully schooled into something familiarly pleasant, you keep your thoughts in the present, away from the horrific what ifs and the whys. Unawares of your inner struggle, Eri raises her cupped hands steeped with bubbles and blows them across the bathroom with a tired smile. Having earned so much of her trust is not unlike Atlas, the heavens on your back.

You find Eri enjoys routine even while sick, but she isn’t especially particular about it and for that you’re thankful, as she is forgiving of your initial clumsiness. She uses the lavender bubble bath because it soothes her, not the raspberry scented wash. Eri’s towels are softer and brighter than Aizawa’s, and the difference is important because they are hers. Socks are stifling, so you needn’t lay them out. The nightlight stays on when the curtains are closed, but you still need to leave a crack in the door for Sourpuss and Bastard, who’ve both dutifully stationed themselves outside her bedroom.

You turn around and fuss with her bedsheets while she changes into something thin and light. The pyjama top is on backwards, and after retracting her arms into the shirt so you can swivel it around correctly, she clambers into the quilts. Dekiru: The Can Do Hero was her chosen story. Satisfaction thrums through your chest as her eyes start to grow heavy, a damp cloth wrung out and placed across her forehead.

There’s a pull to your sternum as you leave her room, dipoles strengthening and compelling you to stay — to make sure she’s still alright. Bastard and Sourpuss watch you with bright eyes, pupils needle-thin. Something very human in you feels as if they’re saying thank you.

More importantly, you need to text Aizawa.

You : 11:16

Just thought to update you. I think Eri might have a virus, or a stomach bug. She’s okay and resting.

Aizawa Shouta : 11:20

Do you need me to come home?

You : 11:21

We’re okay, but do whatever you think is best. Will let you know if anything worsens.

When he eventually returns home it is with cold-bitten cheeks and tension in his brow. A long day looks good on him, you think, stray hair falling loose from his bun and the collar of his shirt crooked. “Any more problems?” he asks with veiled trepidation.

“She’s alright for now,” you don’t bother hiding the wry smile that pulls at your mouth, “I heard all about the different voices you use when you read to her. Apparently I don’t hold a candle to you. Didn’t think you were the type”.

He holds your gaze with intent, “I’m full of surprises”.

You exhale a laugh, quiet and warm behind closed lips, “I’m starting to see that”.

“Only just?” his initial teasing slowly retracts, a gradual sink back into melancholy. “Is she really okay?”

“Still slightly feverish, but her temperature is down from thirty eight to thirty seven…” your weight shifts between each foot as you internally debate how to inform him of the panic attack. Aizawa lends an ear while he removes his coat, and the soft hair on your arm lifts at the chill still clinging to his clothes. You imagine taking his hands into your own and coaxing the blood back to his fingers.

“Speaking of temperature, let’s get you some coffee”. Already boiled and percolating on the counter, you’d made it in conjunction with his journey home as you always did. A little extra something you enjoyed doing for him. Aizawa would say that you do plenty in taking care of his family — but this was just for the two of you.

A quiet moment together, kitchen dimly lit in the oncoming twilight. With this, you can warm him from the inside and out. With this, you can tell him without words, I was thinking of you.

You stand opposite him, boxed into the narrow space. He appraises you from his place by the sink, leaning back casually against the counter. Heat settles in your belly before your first sip. Eyes never leaving yours over the rim of his mug, Aizawa drinks, and hums a low, pleased sound at the taste.

The sting to your palms tethers you to the present. A light, somewhat floral aroma fills your senses as you inhale. You lift your own coffee to your mouth, blowing away the plumes of steam. It is rich on your tongue.

Your gaze lingers where he licks his lower lip. “It’s a little different this time. Almost… spicy and sweet?”

Smile hidden behind your mug, you say, “I tried steeping cardamom with the coffee grounds this time. Do you like it?”

“I do,” he murmurs. He takes another sip, wearing a subdued smile of his own. In the muted light, it accentuates the bags beneath his eyes. Even in his contentment, there’s a pensive air about him that lets you know his thoughts are elsewhere.

With his daughter.

“You should know that after you left this morning I found Eri having a panic attack”.

“Shit,” he halts. Regrettably, the frown is back. “Did she hurt herself?”

“No! No,” you demurred, hastening to reassure him, “I knew what to do. She was scared at first, but I calmed her down”.

The mouth you’re so enticed by is caught between teeth, his fingers tapping restlessly against the ceramic of his cup. Aizawa sighs, erring on a scoff as he places the half drunk coffee in the sink and scrubs a hand against the stubble on his jaw.

“Do you know what caused it?” he asks. Did I do something wrong? you hear.

“It wasn’t until she let me touch her that I realised she had a fever. I thought she’d just exerted herself during the attack,” you mirror his actions, setting aside your mug carefully on the countertop. “She told me… before she came into your care, adults would be angry if she needed help or got sick”.

His eyes are cast to the floor, in a haze almost. He nods but you aren’t sure that your words are registering. Resting against sternum, his hand clenched into a fist.

“Eri wasn’t scared of you. She just didn’t want you to know about her fever because she feared it would disrupt your work,” and then gently, to truly make sure he understands, you repeat: “she isn’t scared of you, Shouta”.

He breathes the reality in and slacks against the counter with an exhale, as if the tension had been the only thing holding his strings together. You’re drawn forward by the urge to comfort him, moving into his space with a hand laid overtop fist before you’re able to consider the professional consequences of crossing such boundaries.

But he doesn’t bat you away or scold you. The warmth of your touch slowly softens his grip until you’re able to unfurl each finger without fanfare. There are faint crescent moons embedded into the heel of his palm. Without speaking, Shouta overturns his wrist and holds your hand again.

“I thought about what you told me this morning. About none of this being linear,” he continues to speak somberly, his voice so tender you felt you could marinate in it. “Eri started out as a foster with me when she was four. It was awful at the start — constant appointments with doctors and the police and social services. I’ve temporarily fostered a few kids in my time but a case as severe as Eri's was a first”.

This wasn’t a time to interrupt, just to listen. You can’t look away from him as he looks at you; looks at the space between your bodies where you currently intertwine, like he was memorising every dip and peak of your knuckles.

“Adopting her scared the hell out of me. Even though she’d become my daughter in every way that counts, there were always times I worried I’d fuck it up. Still are,” he murmurs. You do not shy away when he peers up to keep your gaze. “But you reminded me that bad days are expected, not something always within my control, and not a reflection of my parenting”.

To anyone looking in from the outside, this would be an intimate moment. You and Shouta, curved toward one another like coupled swans. “Thank you,” he squeezes around your knuckles in successive beats as if to press the sentiment into your skin. “For taking care of both of us”.

The corners of his eyes wrinkle, and you find yourself on the precipice of something more.

The depths and the possibilities that lie within haunt you through to the weekend. You cannot forget the rough pad of his thumb stroking across your knuckles, the intermingling scent of flora and cologne, or how easily you could have dipped forward to kiss him.

Eri remains sick for two days and Shouta promises you it’s fine that you stay home. You can appreciate that he wants to spend time with her, to assure her that he is a safe and constant presence in her life. Still, you miss them far more than you should.

Your best friends don’t take well to moping. Touya and Rumi are not the type to mope — their stubborn, vindictive natures were a large part of why you loved them. You just much preferred it when those qualities were not inflicted upon you.

“Remind me again why we couldn’t just drink at my apartment?”

You are dragged to a little hole in the wall Touya had found during your university years. It’s slightly industrial, a wide open space with tall, steel beams spaced around the room. What differs is the warmth; lighting low, muted orange bulb fixtures in the centre of each table casting an intimate glow, accompanied by soft acoustic music overhead.

A large drinks bar had been built into the centre, corners slightly rounded with stools around the outer — one of which you have taken for yourself. The three of you sit together on the curved edge so you can face one another, Rumi contented to be in the middle. Being here felt similar to huddling around a campfire, or candlelight. Alcohol insulating your bones and loosening your tongue, easy laughter shared with friends.

You were brought here on a quest for distraction, and yet—

“I don’t think you understand how dire this is,” you bemoan, feeling yourself pout at Touya’s self indulgent eye roll. “He tells me to be good before he leaves now, too. Looks right at me and says ‘be good, both of you’”.

Your initial goal may have been overly optimistic.

“Like a bit of praise, don’t ya?” Rumi laughs.

Touya smirks, wiping away a stray bead of soju from his mouth as his eyes sweep across the bar. “Who doesn’t?”

“It isn’t funny,” limp wristed as you swirl the sweet tasting concoction in your glass, Rumi slips her arm along the back of your stool. “I want to kiss him. All the time!”

A hand rubs firm circles between your shoulder blades. At the very least, neither of them are irritated by the topic. Embarrassing to admit, Aizawa Shouta had featured prominently in your group chat over the past month. Most of their responses have been either good natured teasing or detailing complaints about their own love lives, for which you’d been thankful, because at the time you’d only needed a place to vent and an ear to listen.

Now you weren’t so sure. Heartbeat in your mouth, his phantom touch around your fingers. You knew him sleep mussed and lazy, his low rumbling laugh, the way your name sounds when he smiles. Inch by inch the spool unravels, you take more than you need, left wanting still.

You couldn’t pretend a line had not been crossed anymore, and you tell them as much.

“So, we’re actually talking about this now?” Touya asks, waving his hand between the three of you. “I know we’ve been joking and shit, but if we’re getting serious I’ll need another round”.

Though he acts nonchalant, you can tell Touya cares. Turned inward to face you and leant forward across the bar with his cheek against his palm, the scarred skin slightly glossy as it pulls taut. Where his words say very little, his body speaks for him. Rumi coos and throws her other arm around his shoulders when you reach across, and he reciprocates in taking your hand.

“Dumbass,” he mutters. “We’re here for you. But I’m not joking about that drink”. You grin, tucking your head into the crook of Rumi’s neck, draped beneath white, to return the hug while she waves over the bartender. Another grapefruit soju, a kirin lager and a cocktail of the night.

Words come easy when you’re loose-lipped. “I’m anxious that it’s obvious to him,” you say. “Fuck. I don’t wanna make anyone uncomfortable”.

“Is this Aizawa guy really the type to tolerate anything that makes him uncomfortable?”

“I think so…”— he is, and he would, if it were for someone he cares about —“…But not without saying anything about it”.

“There ya go then,” Rumi replies, exhaling happily at the end of a long sip from her pint glass. “And you’ve told us before that he’s always honest with you. What was it you said…?”

Touya clears his throat and warps the pitch of his voice to mimic your own, “Why is emotional maturity and clear communication so hot?”

“Fuck off,” you laugh, heat thrumming beneath your skin. You wished you had a stray straw wrapper to flick at him, jokingly adding, “it is hot. I love you, but not all of us get off on being ignored, y’know.”

“Sue me,” he jests, narrowing his eyes into a drunken glare that at best, looks like a squint. “And I don’t get ignored. I do the ignoring”.

Noticing his empty bottle, Rumi slides him her glass sympathetically, “sure ya do”.

The bar is notably less empty than it had been an hour ago. Not full by any means, but the music has slowly been overwhelmed by the quiet lull of overlapping conversation. Tuning out the lovable bickering at your side, you take a moment to appraise the new crowd.

Something sinks into the pit of your stomach and you baulk, caught on a familiar sight.

Fuck, you think. How long has he been there?

There he sits, aglow with the sunset hue affixed to the centre of his table. Hair loose, ebony drapes over his shoulders. He’s in a pale turtleneck sweater, looking distinctly out of place. Beside him a lean man, bright in demeanour and loud across the room; a blond braid follows the line of his spine, tinted glasses resting on the end of his nose.

A woman approaches the pair, beaming. Curved and soft, wearing a lilac, off the shoulder dress that hugs the line of her body comfortably. She sets a tray of drinks down beside their numerous empty glasses and presses herself between the two, unperturbed by the lack of space.

A spark of recognition frissons through you. They must be the friends you often see framed around the house; Nemuri and Hizashi, if you remember correctly.

Shouta’s clear exasperation as he moves to accommodate Nemuri makes you want to laugh. But still, there is a fondness there that rolls over him like mist. He sinks into the arm around his shoulder, surrendering himself to the affection.

“Oi. What’re you staring at?” You blink, startled by the large hand suddenly waving in your face.

“He’s here”.

“Your hot dadboss?” Touya mutters, doing a poor job of acting natural as he abruptly turns to scan the room, “where?”

“Could you be any more fucking obvious?” Rumi cackles, bumping their shoulders and forcing his attention back to the table. “‘Sides, it’s clearly the trio on your two o’clock. Scruffy guy with long dark hair, eyebags that couldn’t legally board a plane — the works”.

As Touya peers over his shoulder towards Shouta, you release a long, suffering groan, slumping forward with elbows propped on the bar surface to bury into your palms. You hoped a sinkhole would open up beneath you. From behind your hands you hear, “I find your taste in men questionable”.

“Like you have any room to talk,” you glare at him through the spaces in your fingers, “didn’t you fuck a guy that had a poster of your dad over his bed?”

Seated adjacent, Rumi chokes on her drink while you knock back your own. “A poster of your dad? Hasn't he been publicly disgraced in every print media possible?”

A dismissive wave of his hand. “I will not be commenting at this time,” he sneers.

“Holy shit. I’m gonna tell your brothers—”

“—Like hell you are!”

Amidst your friends' loving exchange of insults, your phone buzzes.

Aizawa Shouta : 21:34

You handle your drink better than I thought.

Sensing the playful tone, you pointedly take a sip of another. Glancing up from the screen you meet his eyes across the bar, a smirk hidden behind his scotch glass. Chewing the inside of your cheek to withhold a grin, you text him back.

You : 21:34

Look who’s talking. I spy four empty glasses on your side of the table.

“Are you seriously messaging him right now?” Touya asks dryly, unperturbed by the middle finger you throw in response. Rumi laughs at his side, tucking her chin into the palm of her hand as your phone lights up again.

Aizawa Shouta : 21:36

You sure are paying a lot of attention to me.

And then:

Aizawa Shouta : 21:36

But you’re right. No doubt I’ll miss your coffee tomorrow morning.

A shot glass is placed in front of you. Goaded into bringing it to your lips, you grimace at the burn in your throat. Coffee sounds like bliss.

You : 21:37

I’ll miss making it. Who is watching Eri?

Aizawa Shouta : 21:37

Hitoshi. They’re having a movie marathon.

You smile to yourself, imagining the apoplectic way in which Eri would likely detail her night to you in a few days. Feeling the weighted stare, you glance up and meet Aizawa’s eyes again, half squinted into a private smile of his own. He nods in acknowledgement and warmth settles in your chest. Rumi, inebriated and loose-lipped, leans into Touya incognisant of his scowl, “Jesus. I feel like I’ve stepped into a romcom”.

You : 21:38

I can’t wait to hear all about it.

It is expected that they stay with you after a night out. Your place is closer to the bar — a matter of routine and convenience. Rumi, lightweight with alcohol and heavyweight with musculature, passes out unceremoniously on your couch before she’s halfway through her large glass of water.

Touya had sobered up on the walk home. Mostly. Just a two man party, you retire to the bathroom together with intentions of skin care and gossip. He watches you in the reflection of the mirror, bent over the sink and applying the pale clay mask to his face with careless strokes. The colour is almost identical to the faded pink of his burn scars, tight and slightly raised over the swell of his cheek. “You’re not the first person who has wanted to fuck their boss and you won’t be the last,” he mutters.

“Do you really have to put it like that?” you huff, leaning back against the toilet tank. The seat is closed and cold against the back of your thighs. You didn’t often have time for nights like this anymore, but made sure to pencil them in wherever possible for your own sanity — even if your best friend was the complete opposite of comforting.

“You’re so delicate,” he rolls his eyes at you, pushing the cat-eared headband further onto his crown to keep his hair out of the clay. Mockingly, he adds, “My apologies. I meant ‘make sweet love to’”.

Your wide smile cracks the clay dried to your skin as your leg extends to kick him behind the knee, laughing at the hissed string of expletives while he steadies himself. “Dick…” the amusement tapers, a memory of Eri flashing unbidden through your mind.

“His daughter has had it really rough. She has scars all over her body,” you quietly tell him, fractures forming in the words as your emotions swell. Of all the people you know, you think he alone understands, “it isn’t fair”.

Touya exhales, clicking the small container shut and loudly dropping the brush into the sink to rinse. Not unkindly, he says, “If I ever meet her we can bond over our shitty biodads. Make an exclusive club”.

You smile weakly at his comment, picking idly at the small wick of flesh embedded in the corner of your fingernail. “They’re both so important to me now, Touya. I don’t want my feelings to mess with this, or to hurt either of them”.

“It’s not— look,” he huffs, turning to face you where he stands, slumping back onto the counter with a comically serious expression. “I’ll say this once. Your feelings aren’t a burden, and they’re fucking lucky to have you. If the-walking-dead doesn’t want you back it doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world, but it does mean he’s an idiot”.

You might laugh again if you didn’t recognise how sincere he was being. Touya struggled with reassuring others in need and was renowned for giving terrible advice, but he loved you enough to try anyway. Tiled flooring tepid against the soles of your feet, you cross the short distance to hug him, angled awkwardly to avoid getting pink clay on his shirt.

“Thank you,” you murmur thickly.

“Better appreciate it. Being nice isn’t my forte,” he knocks his chin against your crown, comforted in the narrow clutch of his arms. “Takes a lot outta me. Kinda feel like I need a cigarette now”.

“You haven’t had one in a month. Don’t even think about it,” you flick the space between his brows, dodging his retaliation as he reaches to pinch your waist with a less than coordinated stumble.

Out in the living room on the edge of your coffee table, your phone buzzes twice.

Aizawa Shouta : 00:08

If you’re free tomorrow, can you come over to talk?

Aizawa Shouta : 00:08

Just us two.

Possibilities ran amok in your head. The anxiety thorning through your chest is reminiscent of the very first time you’d met him. Shouta was not a religious man but if there was anything that man insisted on, it was that Sunday’s are for rest. You knew he liked to lie in, a small weekly respite, and so you hesitated to knock.

A door you had opened, locked, leaned against and lingered under, now seemed so foreboding. From here on out, you imagine there will be a before and an after. Had he heard you in the bar? Had one of his friends? Or, had you been too obvious, just like you feared?

Touya and Rumi had practically ushered you out of the apartment that morning, promising to stay behind and wait for an update. Greasy food and camp horror movies were in the wings incase of a broken heart.

With bated breath, you lift your arm. The momentum of your swing slows until your knuckles are soundlessly touching wood. You really, really didn’t want to knock. The idea of your feelings being spurned far outweighed the desire to see Shouta soaked in sleep and early afternoon sunlight again.

Amidst your trepidation, the decision is made for you. You pull back at the familiar click of a key being turned, hand now clutched against your chest. The door is opened.

Belatedly, you notice that his face is clean shaven; hair combed and half tucked behind his ear to display the smooth skin. Absent is the neon pink, today the sweatpants are dark and cuffed around his ankles. You hold his gaze, resolutely avoiding how his shirt hangs loose enough to expose his pale collarbones, and find that each of his socks is a different colour — one green, one yellow.

“Will you be loitering out here all day?” he asks in lieu of a greeting. There’s an amused inflection to his tone that, at the very least, softens your embarrassment.

“I didn’t plan on it,” you reply, stepping into the entryway to be embraced by the house’s warmth. Anticipation strums deft fingers through your centre of gravity. Shouta barely moves, a hair's breadth between your bodies as you slip by him, head turning to watch you pass. “Eri isn’t here?”

Bending to remove your shoes, you hear him say, “She’s staying with her aunt Nemuri tonight. Coffee’s brewed, so you can sit if you want. Get comfortable”.

“You made it?” playful in the way you glance toward him over your shoulder, slightly invigorated by how natural this all feels. He certainly doesn’t look like a man who’s about to fire you — quite the opposite. “I’m a little scared”.

The first time you’d caved into drinking one of his morning coffees it'd had the taste and texture of tar. It had been nothing short of punishment. As if he was reliving the memory alongside you, Shouta huffs a short laugh.

“I’ve improved. I won’t be shown up in my own home,” he dismisses you with a wave and heads into the kitchen, “now go and sit”.

Bastard observes your entrance perched atop the back of the couch, expression etched into a permanent glare. A soft thud follows his leap down, slinking into your lap once seated and rolling his body weight into your stomach. You smile down at him, carding through his soft fur and feeling the vibration of his purr beneath your fingers.

Befriending this fickle little creature is a testament to how far you’ve come with their family.

“Here,” you look up to see Shouta standing before you, a familiar mug decorated with multicoloured pawprints held out. You take it by the handle, wary of its heat. The other end of the couch dips as he settles beside you, notably close.

“It smells a little like… cinnamon?”

He hums an affirmative, bringing the rim of his mug to his lips and taking a long sip, unconcerned by the temperature. “I added some to the pot this time. Not too bad”.

The tawny surface ripples as you lightly blow across it before having a taste. It’s full on your tongue, but in a way that is creamy rather than viscid. You can feel his stare boring into the side of your face as you savour the subtle sweetness of the cinnamon.

“Not too bad,” you echo with a wry smile, meeting his gaze. Shouta appears uncharacteristically… relieved by your answer. You’d never known him to actively try to impress you. His shoulders relax, rubbing his hand awkwardly along the line of his jaw.

Without forethought, you blurt, “You’ve shaved”.

His movement halts, and you regret having said anything.

“I did,” he replies dryly. “...I was pestered by some very annoying people into putting some effort into my appearance before we had this conversation”

You stroke the pad of your thumb around your mug handle, made restless by the implication. Shouta was always effortlessly considerate of you, but his actions as of late are so obviously purposeful, and you didn’t know what to make of it. “I don’t think you needed to,” you tell him, your voice almost wistful in how sincere it sounds. “The scruffy look works for you. It’s handsome”.

The contact breaks for a moment as he lifts his coffee in effort to disguise his snort. You watch his throat bob, swallowing deeply. Brow quirked, he asks, “You think I’m scruffy?”

“I think you’re handsome,” you correct, a giddy sensation bubbling in your chest as the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Stop fishing, you said I’m here to talk about something”.

“You are,” he agrees, abating his mirth and returning to a more serious tone. You immediately miss the warmth. “I’m no good at this kind of thing. But I want to remind you that you can leave, if at any time I make you uncomfortable”.

Bastard fidgets, but dull claws kneading through your clothes does nothing to alleviate your sudden anxiety. “Alright… What’s— what’s all this about?”

You can see the breath he takes to steady himself, the internal monologue you aren’t privy to. There’s a discomfort that sinks into his expression, almost like a grimace. Like predetermined regret. Despite your earlier concerns, this was clearly about him and not about you.

“I admired from the very beginning how brilliant you were with Eri. You weren’t the first nanny we’d been introduced to, but she never took well to any of the others,” as he begins, you tuck a hand beneath the feline in your lap, distractedly stroking his chin. “We both saw something comforting in you. It was unnerving how easily you fit into our lives”.

Mirroring you, Shouta reaches his free hand across to scratch behind Bastard's ear. “Eri came to love you, and eventually I…” the bridge of his nose wrinkles, lips thinning as if he tasted something sour. You’re both hesitating, teetering over a cliff's edge, wary of the jump. Your pulse beats loud in your ears, and part of you worries you’ll mishear him all together.

“Over time, I developed strong romantic feelings for you,” he says. In admitting it, the fight visibly bleeds from his body. He sounds apologetic, and it hurts. “I might have dealt with it myself had Hitoshi not told me I was being too obvious. If that’s the case, and I’ve crossed any boundaries with you I want to apolo—”

“Don’t apologise,” you hastily interrupt. “Sorry for cutting you off. I— I didn’t know, but, I like you too”.

The grip on your mug is shatteringly tight. He stares at you unblinking, eyes widened in imperceptible surprise. “You do?”

“I thought I was embarrassingly obvious,” You laugh weakly, seconding him another glance. He’s still watching, a light shade of pink creeping up his neck. “I’ve been feeling so guilty. Not only about crossing professional lines, but because I don’t want any of this to hurt Eri”.

“Then we’re on the same page,” he concedes.

Your reciprocation sees a shift in atmosphere. As you both soak in the words, and all the consequences that may follow, his hand gradually slips beneath Bastard’s chin and brushes against your own. Fingers twitch, gluttonous, the moment held in suspension.

And then they’re spreading, unfolding like a flower in bloom. Your palms align and stems intertwine. Shouta holds your hand like it’s something precious, filling the spaces between your fingers. Bastard remains incognisant of the world around him as he sleeps, resting his head heavily against your wrists.

“Realistically,” you begin again, after a brief silence. “Where would you want this to go? Between us”.

His grip tightens, and he runs his thumb along the points of your knuckles. “Well. I initiated this discussion knowing things likely would not be the same again after,” he murmurs gently. “Best case scenario, I hoped either we would come up with a schedule that kept more concrete boundaries in place so my feelings wouldn’t disrupt your relationship with Eri, or I’d get lucky and you’d want to build something more with me”.

More. Maw. The aching hunger in your heart is suddenly startlingly prominent. The very thing you’d been wanting for, offered to you on a silver platter. Knowing he had always planned to keep you in Eri’s life strikes a chord, and you feel like you might cry.

Squeezing his hand back, you blink away the sting in your sinuses. “This is… slightly overwhelming”.

He smiles heistantly. You never thought you’d see the day that Aizawa Shouta looked shy. “Do I need to get the feelings chart?”

“Shut up,” you laugh. “I’m just happy. This is a big thing, and it’s about more than just us, but for now... I’m happy”.

Then, with the lines in the sand patently smoothed over, you relinquish restraint and lean into his shoulder. He rests his cheek against your temple, and you shape around one another instinctively. “If I could be the one to pick, then I think I’d choose to build something more with you”.

“Yeah?” There’s a raspy baritone warming his voice that pulls at your centre. You want to curl up next to it like kindling.

“Yeah”.

“So,” he turns his head and his lips are softer than expected along your skin. “You wouldn’t mind if I took you on a date?”

“I wouldn’t,” you breathe. He hums, a sincere happy little sound.

“Would you mind if I kissed you?”

The mug of coffee, still held in your right hand, is cold. Bastard remains heavy, spread across your lap like a blanket. You can feel Shouta’s apprehension, the uncertainty that comes with drawing new lines on a blank slate. Again, you repeat, “I wouldn’t”.

He doesn’t fumble. Shouta rests his drink beside the couch, a fleeting loss of his warmth, and then he’s back to take your own. All without releasing your left hand. Bastard complains when your legs move, knees turning inwards to face him as Aizawa moves to cradle your face between palms, and the feline departs your lap, stray hairs dotting your clothes.

A sense of weightlessness floods through you, fingers entangling into the fabric of his shirt to keep yourself tethered. He reveres you for a moment, eyes lingering on your expression as he brings your foreheads together. This close, you can see a faint scar curved along his cheek that you had never noticed before.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs.

Heat pricks at your skin. You can feel his breath on your lips. “Hurry up,” you insist.

The lilt of desperation in your tone inspires a lazy grin, “You could say please”.

You had no problems parting with your dignity. “Please”.

And so, he kisses you.

You’re certain you would be formless without Shouta’s hand smoothing along the column of your throat, untethered. The other moves to your hip. He grounds you, thumbs circling the soft skin of your waist, he pulls away for breath only to dip and capture your lips in another tender kiss. It’s slow, patient and lacking in direction. It’s without expectation and arousal. It is just that — loving.

When your lips part, he murmurs your name softly into your mouth. His tongue is wet and languid, smooth as it maps out the grooves of your teeth, sliding warm against your own. Excitement frissons along the length of your spine, compelling you to press closer and sate your hunger.

He tastes like cinnamon.

The touches evolve into something more frantic. You end up curled into him as he sinks back against the couch, half pulling you onto his lap. Appreciative and firm, a hand squeezes the fat of your thigh where it is strewn over his knee. You swallow every sweet murmuring, every soft groan he gives you, and it falls like a small stone into the pit of your stomach. Barely filling.

You wanted more, and between gasping breaths, you knew he did too.

“Can I take you to bed?” he asks, the question rough in his throat.

The muscles in your legs clench at that, pressing tightly together. It wasn’t that you didn’t want it— you felt yourself throb at the thought, shrinking under the weight of his hunger — but you’d hardly come here expecting anything. Especially not this.

“I— I didn’t come prepared for that?” you answer honestly. His gaze grows heavy, brow curved in a silent bid for explanation. “I didn’t… shower for very long,” and you hadn’t worn particularly alluring underwear, either.

He takes a measured breath and you shy into the couch cushions. “You think I care about that?” he says. Your eyes flicker then at the gentle stroke of his fingers along your jawline. He tilts your chin with the hand cradling your cheek, and forces you to look back at him. The pad of his thumb traces along your bottom lip, and he smiles when you reflexively kiss it.

“We don’t have to, I know this might be too fast. We can stop right here, ” he murmurs, enunciating each word as if to stress his sincerity. “But know that I do want you, I want all of you. And I want you now, as you are”.

You shift in place, reflexively seeking friction. Still, he waits. “Do you have condoms?”

“I do,” his eyes are half lidded, and they gleam with mirth. “Two kids at home and twenty in my criminology programme. Not looking to have more anytime soon”.

Maybe your transparency should be, at the very least, a little embarrassing. No doubt you’re wearing a lovesick expression. But you can’t find it in you to care. “Then okay,” you tell him. “Take me upstairs”.

Excitement stirs in your gut during the walk up, feeling his presence at the small of your back. The door to his room has been left ajar, and when he overtakes you to enter first you’re struck by the realisation that this is the only room you’ve never been in.

You aren’t sure what you were expecting. It’s a cool off white colour, save for an accent wall painted a dark emerald green — so dark, that without the sunlight you could mistake it for black, not unlike his kitchen. There are two alcoves fixed with shelves, lined with books and titles you haven’t heard of, and a small desk beside his chest of drawers covered in paperwork.

The bedframe is high, but there is no headboard. Pillows upon pillows, blankets old and new. Sitting square in the middle of the mattress is Sourpuss, her paws tucked against her belly as she stares at the intrusion.

You aren’t given much time to process. There are hands on your hips, teeth paving tender nips down the curve of your throat. “Still ok?” Shouta rasps, nosing the delicate skin beneath your ear.

“Yeah,” and you’re sinking into his chest like warm water as he gently guides you into the room. Before reaching the bed, you turn in his arms to kiss him. Your fingers thread into his thick hair, light as you scratch against his scalp.

Sourpuss complains when you’re lowered onto the bed, jumping to the floor as you scoot up towards the pillows. You offer her a half hearted apology, already distracted by the roll of Shouta’s hips.

His cock is hard beneath his sweatpants, rocking deliciously against your clothed sex. Everything is hot. “Shouta—!” face turned into the sheets to muffle your whine, you note that they smell like him.

“I know love,” he ruts forward again, expression pinched in pleasure. With your throat bared, he continues the path of open mouthed kisses to your collar, a hand rising to cup your chest. You arch into the touch as he squeezes. “Bet you could make me cum like this—”

“—But not before you do,” Another kiss to your lips, chaste in comparison. He pulls away to meet your gaze, seeking permission. “I want to taste you”.

“Okay…” you tilt your chin, pecking the corner of his mouth, and you feel it curve up as your hands find purchase at the hem of his shirt. “Just take this off, first”.

When he sits back on his knees, arms crossed to lift the fabric over his head, you are left adrift to enjoy the view. He is well built but appears to have lost definition over time, with his biceps and pecs still thick but his stomach soft. There’s sparse hair on his chest, thicker beneath his belly button.

Indulging the urge to touch, he shudders as you trace your finger through it and tease his waistband. “Yours too,” he says, the instruction rough in his throat.

His body moves with yours like the tide as you sit up to remove your shirt, already there to lick the valley between your breasts. You wrap your arms around his head, gathering the dark hair draped over you and brushing it away from his face to watch the way he reveries you.

Your abdomen flinches under his soft kisses. Shouta travels the length of your torso as if he were savouring you. He’s pressing sweet nothings in your skin, inaudible mumblings that still leave you warm because they’re spoken so breathlessly.

He hooks into your waistband and looks at you. Before he can ask, you slip your hands alongside his — “here, let me…” — and begin to push both your pants and your underwear over the curve of your ass. As the material peels away, you can feel it cling to your sex. Wet.

“Fuck, look at you,” a hand gently parts your knees. He forges another line of light, barely there kisses along your inner thighs, and once he reaches the apex he inhales with a quiet groan that has your fingers tugging at his hair. He’s immovable as your embarrassment pushes him back barely an inch, satisfaction twitching at the edge of his mouth. Jaw slack, pupils dilated and almost gleaming in rebellion, he rolls his tongue forward obscenely to flick the bud of your clit.

Your breathing stutters. It loosens your grip enough that he can tip his head forward to consume you completely, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure like it was his arousal own being satiated. Covetous, he signals contentment with a rumbling in his chest and it vibrates against your sex.

The beat of your heart ricochets through your centre; pulsing in your throat, your ears and your pussy. Shouta’s tongue slides over you, wet and soft. Where it seems like he’s indulging himself, you realise he’s still adapting each movement to the sounds you make. Wherever a moan falls past your lips he maintains rhythm and pace, reins himself in to watch the rise and fall of your breasts.

The knot in your belly tightens and your body coils in on itself, thighs clamped against his ears with hips bucking into his mouth. The mattress shakes, and when you notice it’s him rutting into the sheets, you moan helplessly louder. “Shouta, I’m—!”

He groans, fingers sinking into the fat of your hips and pulling you impossibly close. Your heels dig into his back as his nose slides against your clit, and he tilts to unrelentingly flicker his tongue over the swell.

“Just like that,” you gasp, grip searing at his scalp. Lewd, wet sounds reverberate around the room. “Fuck!”

A momentary breath is caught in your throat. Your body bends, spine arched forward like a bow as you crest. All at once, the sharp twist in your belly lessens, diffuses, warms your body from the inside out in gentle pulses.

In returning to yourself, you realise he’s steadily carrying you through the motions; soft licks and forgiving kisses until sensitivity overwhelms you. He hums again, like a man that has just finished a meal. You relinquish your grip on his hair and begin massaging the roots in apology.

“Hey,” you mumble, resting your cheek against your shoulder as you peer down at him between your legs. Resting against your thigh, face sodden and pink, he looks rather pleased with himself.

He sighs, tongue lazily swiping along his lower lip. Half lidded, he meets your gaze. “Can I preface this by telling you it's been a while since I've had sex?”

You laugh at the unexpected response. “What, why? Did you cum in your pants?”

The question itself is a joke, but when he levels you with a carefully blank look, your mouth parts. “You did?”

“Possibly,” he grunts, tucking his chin to nose along your navel.

Sensing his simmering embarrassment, you reach to encourage him back up the bed until you’re face to face. Unperturbed by what's left of your own arousal, you cradle his jaw and kiss him soundly.

“That’s so—” again and again, punctuating each word, “—so fucking hot”.

Shouta grins against your lips, slipping his arms around your waist and gathering you to his chest. Your palm rests over his heart, fingers idly twirling around the short hair there. “So were you,” he murmurs, pointedly shifting his hips. You can feel his sweatpants are slightly damp. “That was the problem”.

“Sorry,” you offer playfully, enjoying the pleasant buzz prickling under your skin. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve got plenty of time, haven’t we?”

It is then that your intimate afterglow is cut short, by the long suffering yowl of Sourpuss no less. Glaring sharply from her place by the desk, mortification rolls over you.

“Please tell me she wasn’t watching us?”

Shouta snorts, the sound dissolving into peals of quiet laughter as you smack his shoulder. “I don’t know,” he replies amusedly, loosening his grip and turning to the edge of the bed. “I was a little preoccupied”.

He stands and ushers the feline towards the door, which he’d mistakenly left ajar. “I can’t believe this,” you bemoan, crossing your arms over your head to hide your face.

There’s a dip on your side of the mattress, followed by the sound of something being placed on the bedside table. He sits beside you, leaning across to pry away your limbs. “Come here,” he croons, first bringing your inner wrist to his lips. “I’m sure she wasn’t”.

His hair curtains the two of you as he presses your foreheads together. It brings you back into a world made up of just the two of you. “Let me kiss you,” and you do. You can appreciate the distraction.

You part when something vibrates. In your peripheral vision, you notice a screen light up. He must’ve taken your phone out of your pants pocket. “You should check that, it buzzed earlier too. I’m gonna get out of these boxers”.

“Okay,” you smile as he presses another kiss to your temple. You never would’ve guessed he’d be so affectionate.

He busies himself changing while you look at your messages. It’s the group chat with Rumi and Touya.

Sugar tits (Touya) : 13:03

Oi. Are you alive.

Ru-ru (Rumi) : 13:12

Babe. Please reply to us before Touya sets ur mans house on fire lol

You : 13:26

Sorry sorry!! I’m alive. My legs feel like jelly though (´ ꒳` )

Almost immediately, the device is furiously vibrating in your hands again. You rest it against your sternum and grin, choosing to bask in the feeling a little longer.

When you are next tasked with caring for Eri, a few days have passed and the weather has turned. You pick her up from school on the tail end of an unexpected heatwave with the promise of a surprise when you get home. She holds three of your fingers in her hand, and a small handheld fan in the other. It’s Sailor Moon themed.

After cleaning up that afternoon, Shouta sat with you and had a much longer discussion about what the next steps should be. He made it emphatically clear that he didn’t enjoy the thought of being in a relationship with someone he employed — admittedly, it didn’t sit right with you either.

But the importance lies with Eri. For the both of you, she must always come first. Your sudden upheaval as her other caretaker would likely cause a lot of hurt and confusion. So Shouta asked that you patiently wait for your first date until after he has talked to his daughter.

You watch her with a smile as she warmly greets Sourpuss at the foot of the stairs — whom you still cannot make eye contact with — and skips into the living room. In your mind, you count backwards from three until you hear the expected gasp.

She must’ve found the fort.

Less of a fort, more of a… linen cave. It’s an old king-sized bed sheet you’d found in the closet, held in place by a book at each corner, and gaping open with the assistance of a fan at the entrance.

“Can I…?”

“Yes, yes,” you beckon her to climb in, already relieved by the cool gust of air rotating into the sheet. “Go on in. It’s for you!”

You’d tried to make it as comfortable as possible, filled with cushions and soft toys from her bed. At the very least it has a seal of approval from Bastard, who has curled up into himself atop one of the pillows, his long coat moving in the current. Eri crawls in on her hands and knees, settling beside him with a happy giggle.

“You too!” She cheers. You clamber in, tucked between her and one of her favourite plushies.

“Come on,” you say, grinning as you excitedly encourage her to join you, “watch this”. With curious eyes watching, you lean towards the spinning fan and speak into it. “Isn’t this cool?” your voice is given a jarring staccato effect as the sound waves bounce back. “I. Am. A. Robot”.

You didn’t think your smile could get any bigger until she began to laugh delightedly. She slumps her weight against you, cheek to cheek and pressed close to your side as she rushes to try it herself. Silver hair billowing in the current, she declares with a distorted voice, “My. Name. Is. Eri!“

You hold her steady as she continues to giggle. The cool air is beginning to dry out your lips, and your eyes are growing sore with every blink, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. “I like this. I’m happy,” she says, the confession sincere even as it warps.

“Good,” you murmur, stroking your hand over her crown. “When you’re happy, I’m happy”.

For reasons unknown to you, this gives Eri pause. Her lips pursed, expression adorably pinched in contemplation. Whatever it is, you let her think, and you wait.

“Amano-sensei talked about families in class today,” she tells you, turning on her knees with hands folded formally in her lap. Despite her resolve, she is anxiously picking at her fingers. “Sensei told us that everyone's family looks different. Some... some people have one mama or one dad, or both. Or none. Or two dads or— even two mamas”.

A nod, “That’s right sweetheart”.

An irrational bout of nerves settle in your stomach as she gauges you. “Some kids' parents picked them, like my dad did… others have two but they aren’t married…”

“That is true,” you concede gently. “Not all families are related by blood. Like you and your dad, or you and Hitoshi. But you’re still family”.

Eri hums, glancing down to her lap with cheeks puffed. You smile fondly when she exhales the air with an exaggerated noise. “Then!” she starts, shuffling closer on her knees, “if we’re family, but you and dad are not married… What should I call you?”

For a startling moment, you’re sure your heart is in your throat. She continues, “Do I have two dads? Or two mamas? Or one dad and a…?”

“Eri,” your words falter, reaching to still her restless hands. “You think we’re family?”

Her head tilts. “Aren’t we?”

The breath is forced from your lungs. Even seated, you feel as if the floor has been stolen from beneath you. Willing away the prickling behind your eyes, you assuage her with a firm squeeze.

“We are,” you warmly avow, “and you can call me whatever you’d like”. She beams, any and all uncertainty dwindling, in your mind and her own.

Satisfied with the answer, she drops the topic. You think it must’ve been plaguing her the entire walk home, given how quiet she’d been. More than that, you wonder whether Shouta had laid kindling for those thoughts or if she’d come to that conclusion herself.

After an hour of reciting her favourite book into the rotating blades of the fan, complete only with your expert cartoonish voices, it is time for a cat nap. It isn’t hard to fall asleep when splayed across such comfortable bedding, accompanied by white noise and a cool breeze. But you wake not long after to an obtrusive ray of light piercing through the duvet fabric. The makeshift cave is now sun drenched and warm, and laid on the far edge is a new guest.

Shouta is still in his work clothes, laid on his side with Eri turned towards him in her sleep, small hand fisted around his tie. His lips are parted, inhaling shallow breaths. He’s asleep, too, with an arm extended to rest his hand over your hip.

You carefully thread into the spaces between his fingers and watch them both in quiet appreciation until your eyes, too, are heavy. Your chest has never been so full. And as consciousness slips, your heart tips over the cliff's edge and is pulled, inexorably, towards home.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader

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dracosaurusrex · 4 years

Text

Kintsugi: Imperfectly Perfect (Draco x Reader)

“Kintsugi is the Japanese art of putting broken pottery pieces back together with gold — built on the idea that in embracing flaws and imperfections, you can create an even stronger, more beautiful piece of art.”

- Tiffany Ayuda

Summary:In which Y/N teaches a broken Draco Malfoy how to mend himself and embrace the scars that haunt him.

Wordcount: 10.3k

Genre: Angst/Fluff; Postwar AU

Warnings: Descriptions of depression; self-degredation; sexual themes but no smut

A/N: Hi! This is my first time writing a postwar AU. I was always afraid of doing so out of fear that I would mistakenly portray Draco, but I guess this can be a rite of passage in a way aha. With that being said, here’s my attempt! I hope you like it :D Feedback is very much appreciated!!

The sound of an alarm clock breaks the peace that had manifested within the darkness of the room. One eye creaks open, followed by the other, and a body raises itself to greet the day.

The boy lifts his sheets gently, allowing the cold air to engulf his skin, to wake him, to pull him into the reality of yet another morning.

The pads of his feet are the next to awaken as he hoists himself out of bed, meeting the frigid floor beneath him. He plods across the expanse of space, only to take notice of his reflection in the mirror.

Draco Malfoy, once boisterous, prideful, loud, and arrogant, had been reduced to a shell. One that lived by drifting through the motions of each passing day. It showed through the dark circles apparent under his eyes, the frown that resided on his lips, and his overall gaunt appearance. The thrill that was once characteristic of his youth had spilled through his cracks, leaving him empty and seemingly unrepairable; and no other perspective of his experience could convince him otherwise.

The second wizarding war took too much from him so early on. It started with his father, the man he had ardently looked up to, who he desired so much to please. Lucius’s arrest put the young boy on the forefront of the Death Eaters’ activities, placing an unbearable weight on his shoulders. From that point on, it wasn’t long until the mischievous smile left him, only to be replaced with panicked eyes, increased stress levels, and absolutely no peace of mind. The boy had his entire life on a tightrope, constantly pulling strings to survive.

The result of such was the immense realization of guilt pooling from the sights of Hogwarts in shambles, the lifeless bodies of those he was once acquainted with, and the shame of literally walking away from it all.

Nightmares were also frequent visitors. Besides those that embodied remnants of the war, Draco was almost always confronted by the tauntings of his wrongs: the way he poorly treated others, his stuck-up sense of superiority, the foul slur that he once used so freely--they all haunted him with no end, and all he wanted to do was take everything back. The boy has so often degraded his character since then, describing himself with words such as ‘worthless’, ‘loathsome’, ‘putrid’--the list goes on. He carried his beating heart as though it was dead weight, wanting so desperately to discard the regret that compounded on itself through the years. He was broken, and had no hope of being fixed.

It was also needless to say that the family dynamic had changed for the Malfoy’s; especially since they often stayed within the confines of the property. Narcissa had been diligent in eradicating the place of all things that harbored any signs of Voldemort’s occupation--opening curtains, tending to her garden, changing up the plans for the interior design. Lucius, on the other hand, often occupied himself in his study, simply abiding by the plans for change that his wife had made. He still invested in his social connections, actively making donations to charities and hospitals that had been established as a result of the war. The act helped shed some light on their image, however any interaction that was to be made with the world outside was done through Draco as representative of the family name.

Fortunately, he managed to keep his mind silent in the mornings. As he walked through the vast hallways he would take note of the way light had poured into the manor, admiring the charm that it brought to its nooks and crannies. The quaint atmosphere that was characteristic of these corridors were peaceful, and managed to calm his thoughts albeit temporarily.

As soon as he entered the dining room, Narcissa beckoned him to sit with her and his father.

“Draco, darling, come have some breakfast.” Without much response, he obeys, taking the spot across from her. She placed his favorites on a platter, and observed him as he nibbled on the food in front of him. After several minutes of silence, she pulled an ivory-colored envelope from the pocket of her robe and slid it to him. With food still mounted on his utensils, the boy glanced at the gold details that embellished its corners.

“We’ve been invited to an art gala hosted by the Ministry. The details are inside.” She said.

“I’ll be sure to be in attendance, mother.” He confirmed before resuming his breakfast. The woman casted a worried look at him before turning to Lucius. Things could never go back to the way they once were.

The art gala was held on a Saturday evening, and Draco found himself standing in front of a finely decorated building. An air of aristocracy and luxury loomed within the environment--it was an energy that he had been surrounded by all his life. Large columns aligned its front. A red carpet stemming from the entrance had been rolled out, sweeping along a flight of stairs. Familiar faces of esteemed socialites were seen making their way up the steps. Banners had been hung, indicating the gala and a live auction as highlights of the day’s events.

His only job was to engage in civilized conversation, connect with other high-standing figures, and expand the family network. Simply put, he was there to look pretty.

The feeling of dread overcame him at the thought of immersing himself in socialization. With a begrudging sigh, he straightened his back, briefly smoothened out his suit, and adjusted his cufflinks before trudging up the stairs. Eyes tracked his every step. Despite his emotional wellbeing, the boy still managed to clean up well, creating a facade to those around him. He didn’t bask in the glory, though. He knew he was handsome, he knew he was wealthy, but looks and money were no longer sufficient enough to help him tend to the emptiness he felt on the inside.

The gala itself didn’t begin until 6:00 PM, which was in an hour. Therefore, in hopes to kill time, Draco aimlessly walked through the art displayed for the auction to be held later that night. He carefully observed the numerous crafts with great scrutiny. Paintings were created with much detail--many of them embodying styles from the varying art periods. Sculptures paying great detail to the human body littered the main floor. Hand-crafted furniture were set on display as well, showcasing elaborate ornaments and designs. Mother would like these. He thought. He continued plodding across the exhibit, typically stopping for a mere minute for every submission before walking away.

It was when he took sight of a humble set of ceramics that he actually stopped to stare. The collection consisted of bowls and pots ranging from small to medium sizes. However, what caught his attention were the traces of gold that coursed through their shapes. They took the form of cracks, which looked too beautiful, too flawless to be such--he couldn’t comprehend them ever being broken at all.

“Do you like them?” A light voice startles him from his thoughts. Standing next to him is a bright-eyed girl whose face he vaguely remembers.

“Y/N Y/L/N? What are you doing here?” He dismisses her question and looks at her with disbelief laced through his voice. The girl was in Ravenclaw when they were still in Hogwarts. Due to the difference in houses and friend groups, there was rarely any interaction between them. Nevertheless, he’s heard countless praises for her artistic talent even as a student, therefore reserved a tinge of respect for her reputation.

“Draco Malfoy! It’s been such a long time!” She beams at him. A breathy laugh escapes him as a polite smile settles on his lips.

“Definitely has been. Were you eyeing this set as well?” He glanced back at the ceramics, contemplating on bidding for them in the auction. The sight of them evoked a warm, admirable energy within him, as though they called for his presence.

“Heavens, no. I actually made them.” Y/N took notice of the way he glanced at them, and shyly rubbed the back of her neck. The boy turned to her with eyes widened in awe of her brilliance—the smile of politeness immediately transitioning to one of sincerity.

“You made these? They’re beautiful!” The comment brought heat to her cheeks.

“Draco, please. You flatter me so.”

“I’ll be taking these home without a doubt.” He reassures her. In the moment that he says so, he immediately takes notice of her appearance. Her hair was slicked into a low bun. Her makeup gave her a pleasant dewy look. Gold accessories accentuates her deep emerald evening gown, which only emphasizes her curves as it flows down her body. He couldn’t recall her ever being attractive when they were students—she had always been clad in blue. But, tonight proved that green was definitely her color.

“You look lovely, by the way.” He complimented as his eyes glossed over her. She bit her lip in response to the butterflies that formed in her stomach.

“You always had a way with words didn’t you, Malfoy?” The melodic laugh that she produced, in turn, caused his heart to skip a beat.

“I admit I was a prat, but I’m not joking around this time.” The girl let out another giggle before placing her hand on his shoulder and giving it a quick squeeze.

“I think you look rather dashing yourself. Unfortunately, though, I have to get going. I’ll see you around?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Draco watches Y/N’s figure as she walks away. Before she goes any further, she looks over her shoulder and says, “Good luck with the auction!”

With a small wave and smile, the boy is left in a lighter state.

The gala came and went with Draco thoroughly exhausted from the copious amounts of socialization. Questions regarding connections to his father were asked, business cards were exchanged, and flattery and compliment was a common occurrence amongst these interactions. Nevertheless, the boy’s energy especially drained from the intensity of the auction that occurred towards the end of the night. All the art pieces were valuable and beautiful, however it was only then that he realized that he wasn’t the only one drawn to Y/N’s work. Competition for the highest bid was at an all-time high as number paddles were desperately raised for every price announced. His heart clambered in his chest as the thought of keeping the ceramics seemingly slipped from his grasp.

“Highest bid for 80,000 galleons! Do we have any takers?” The auctioneer announces. Draco waits for a second to see that no one has raised their paddles. Within the next, he lifts his own confidently.

“We have a bidder for 80,000 galleons! Do we have any more bidders? No?” At this point, adrenaline coursed through his veins, beads of sweat had formed and fell, and the grip on his paddle tightened, leaving marks on his hand.

The auctioneer proceeds to announce the final countdown, “Final bid for 80,000 galleons! 1, 2, 3, sold to Draco Malfoy!” Relief overcame him while congratulatory praises were given by those nearby. He catches Y/N’s gaze from afar, and throws her a wink, signifying the resolution for the chaotic night.

As attendees began to file out of the building, the boy waited in the hall to collect his reward, filling out the form that confirmed the amount he had to pay. With his attention drawn to the slip, he fails to notice Y/N’s presence beside him. She looks over his shoulder, eyes widening at the amount before looking away to suppress the smile that threatens to form on her lips. She never really gave much monetary value to her art before; each one was produced as a product of passion and love. However, the expression that it first brought to Draco’s face, in addition to the amount of effort he put in to attain them, reassures that her work will be well taken care of. She momentarily stares at his broad shoulders before gaining the courage to speak.

“Congratulations!” She says, startling him once again. He takes a second to collect his breath before looking up at her.

“Do you plan on giving me a heart attack, Y/L/N, or is it in your nature to be overly enthusiastic?” The shameless smirk she has on her face, prompts him to release a chuckle. He stands up straight as soon as he signs the piece of paper, engaging his line of vision with hers.

“The way you respond is not my fault, Malfoy.” She answers, playfully shoving her index finger towards his shoulder. He grabs her wrist, and the warmth from his hands, accompanied by the flirtatious gleam in his eyes, prompts her to cast the same expression. She shoots him a coy smile before he releases her from his grasp.

“Would you like to accompany me to the front?” He asks.

“That’d be lovely.” The pair approaches the stage where the volunteers greet them both. They present his items upon confirmation, and proceed to wrap each bowl individually. He lifts one of the unwrapped pieces to his eyes, examining the gold details.

“How’d you manage to pull this off?” He asks, impressed by her craftsmanship.

“It’s a technique called ‘kintsugi’. I learned it while living in Japan for a while after the war,” She says, reaching her hand out for it. He gives it to her.

“You know, these pieces were never supposed to be auctioned off in this gala,” She explains as she delicately traces the lines, “They were so damaged. You can even consider them to be broken beyond repair,” Draco observes as she lifts it to her eye level.

“But obviously, when pieced back together—with all their cracks emphasized by the gold—they have much more value and beauty,” Y/N gives it back to Draco, and he takes it gingerly.

“However, It took a long time for it to come out that way. When you examine the piece before its repair, the first thought in mind would be to discard it. After all, why would anyone bother mending a broken bowl?” She meets his eyes once again.

“These cracks would typically be considered flaws, but at the end of the process the piece is still whole—I’m still whole. They mean a lot to me, and helped me heal from the war and all.” Her line of sight drifts towards the end of her statement, yet the boy catches himself appalled by the passion in her voice. He didn’t expect her to speak so openly, yet the words that flowed from her mouth touch him in a way he can’t comprehend. For once he feels a glimmer of hope budding within. For once, inspiration meets him, and he doesn’t want to lose that feeling she effortlessly provided.

“I’ll make sure to take great care of them.” He says with much sincerity.

He places the piece back onto the table, and turns back to Y/N to see a sweet smile on her lips.

“I have faith you will.” A knowing look is shared between them--one that makes both hearts flutter in longing to see each other again.

“Do you think we can keep in contact? If it’s alright with you that is. I’d like to become more familiar with this art technique.”

“The Slytherin prince wants to keep in contact with me? Consider me wooed.” Draco rolls his eyes and chuckles at the old title. Before he could respond, she speaks again with more seriousness, “I don’t usually accept visitors in my studio, but I’ll make an exception for you. You can come by sometime, if you’d like.”

A genuine smile appears on his lips for the second time that night. Out of all the individuals he exchanged contacts with, she by far had been his favorite. He ensured to send her an owl to confirm their meeting, hoping to do so some time next week.

As they part, she turns back one more time, and calls out to him, “Draco,” The sound of his name perks his head upward

“You should smile more. It’s a lovely sight.” Before he could see her face erupt in a blush, she apparates away. With his new belongings in hand and an obvious grin, he too returns to the manor, feeling elated for the first time in a long while.

It was nine o’clock by the time Draco apparated home. Narcissa immediately took notice of his change in aura much to her relief.

“How was the gala, dear?” She asks.

“Quite pleasant this time around, if I’m being honest. I won these at an auction.” Draco stated as he props the box on top of a table. His mother approaches him, attention drawn to the objects when he reveals the contents inside.

She gasps, “Oh my stars, they’re beautiful.”

She picks one up delicately. The expression she had on her face was very much identical to the one he sported when he came across them the first time.

“I knew you’d like them. The artist was a fellow classmate of mine at Hogwarts.”

“Oh? Who is it? I would like to see more from this artist.”

“Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. Quite brilliant she is.” Mother’s instinct told Narcissa that this girl had her son taken aback. She saw it through the pleasant expression that graced his facial features, which contrasted greatly to the gloomy air that usually accompanied him. Furthermore, there was a decadent tone in his voice, a sparkle in his eyes, and a slight smile present when her name rolled off his tongue. She decided to probe a little bit more.

“House?”

“Ravenclaw.” He responds.

“Very fitting. The craftsmanship in her work is amazing,” The woman’s eyes marveled at the gold.

“How is she?” She asks. The question catches the boy off guard.

“Pardon?”

“How is she doing? Has she been okay since the war?”

“We didn’t touch upon it too much. Although, she mentioned that creating these has helped her heal.”

“You mean to say that these were broken at one point?”

“Precisely. She mended them.” At this point, Narcissa was quite taken by the girl as well.

“You should invite her over one of these days. I’d love to have a cup of tea with her.” Draco quirked a brow at her.

“You’re not going to ask about her blood status?”

“I would’ve known she was a pureblood from her last name, but times are changing aren’t they not?” Narcissa flashes a tightlipped smile towards her son, to which he responds with a nod of understanding.

“I’ll be going up then. You can keep that one mother. You seem to take a liking to it.” Draco turns on his heel at the end of his statement, carrying the box of ceramic goods under his arm. He wouldn’t acknowledge that times are changing. However, tonight has been the only instance he had felt his life shifting —from the way he reunited with Y/N, to the way his mother spoke. It was a step forward to redemption, and he felt a little more willing to see where it would go.

The boy sat on his bed, deep in thought. With moonlight shining upon him, he delicately traced the golden lines that streaked the small bowl in his hands. Then with much hesitation, he rolled up his left sleeve and began tracing the blaring curves of the mark that stained his porcelain skin. Its presence resembled shackles that have been chained to his ankles, and the weight of the memories caused him to grimace. However the budding warmth that had seeped within him soothed the negative sensations. Heart palpitations of regret transformed into those of hope. Furthermore, recollection of the girl’s words rang through his mind. It led him to wonder if piecing himself into something better would ever be a viable reality—a dream so tempting to pursue that he brought himself to his desk to start a letter addressed to her.

Y/N awoke to a tapping noise on her window. With heavy-lidded eyes, she peeks through her curtains only to be met by an eagle owl. Its wide orbs stared directly at her, and attached to its beak was an envelope. She recalled the conversation she had with a certain platinum-haired boy from the night before, and immediately jolted upward, pushing the window open to let the animal in.

“Do you belong to Draco, love?” It perches itself on her shoulder, and drops the envelope into her hands. A wax seal presents itself with an ‘M’, confirming her inquiry. She opens it with much carefulness, and pulls out the letter inside.

Y/L/N,

How does this Thursday sound? 5:00?

The girl chuckled at how straight-to-the-point he was, while her mind flitted back to their school days. She had always felt neutral about him. In contrast to popular belief, she didn’t think he was quite bad. Despite the harshness behind his actions, his eyes always maintained an undertone of fear. Upon the revelation that the boy was indeed a death eater, the title itself wasn’t what stirred her. Rather, it was the incomprehensible experience that she could merely picture him going through. She was there when he crossed sides. She was no stranger to the distraught look on his face--fear had overtaken him even in that moment. He might’ve been flawed, but it wasn’t without reason.

A cry from the owl broke her out of thought. “Impatient are we?” It blinked in response. Not wanting to keep the bird waiting any longer, she pulls out a piece of parchment and begins to write a response to the letter.

Y/N inserted the parchment into an envelope, sealed it, and handed it to the owl only after she gave it a treat. As she watched it take flight from her window sill, she contemplated more on the boy. ‘Kintsugi’ the art of broken pieces and precious scars. As thoughts of him lingered, she began to wonder if how he fared ever since the war had drawn to its close. Before she knew it, she carried along with her work, totally occupied with the image of him in mind.

Draco’s heart beat like a drum when he skimmed through the contents of Y/N’s response. The feeling of nervous excitement erupted within his stomach up until the moment he stood on her doorstep. Besides the instances in which he’d gone out for his parents, it had been a long while since he stepped foot outside for himself. He took sight of the sheet of clouds that blanketed the sky, the small plants that were scattered on her porch, and the movement of the curtain as wind blew through her open window.

Mere seconds of waiting were filled with more self-doubt as he tugged on his left sleeve, clenching his forearm soon after. Not much could be guaranteed from this meeting. For all he knew, this might’ve been a one a time thing. However, such thoughts were casted aside once he was greeted with Y/N’s glowing smile.

“Draco! It’s so nice to see you!” She stepped aside to let him in, “Please come in.”

The boy greets her, and looks around her small space. He indulges in the glimpse of her expressive decor--somehow they represented the life that she had built and created for herself over time.

“Darling, your jaw is going to fall off,” she chuckled, “Come, the studio is in the back.” The girl gestures at him to follow her, and is met with a small building stationed behind the main house. The image of shelves fills his view upon entering. On them were stacks of cracked ceramic—some in large pieces, others in small. Towards the far corner of the room was a pottery wheel, and opposite from it was a small gas kiln. In the middle was a table space with various tools, brushes, lacquer, and gold. The room was as neat as it could be, much to Draco’s surprise.

“This is me.” Y/N turns around with her arms spread out. She then proceeds to pull a stool out for the boy and urges him to sit. He does so, and she stands in close proximity to him, leaning on the table for support.

“I was actually working on a piece before you came.” The girl points to her current project—a vase whose cracks have already been bound.

“What’s the process like?” He asks

“It’s much longer than you think. I learned how to do it the traditional way in Japan, and I haven’t deviated from it ever since.” The boy quirks a brow.

“You mean to say that there are faster methods?”

“There are, however it’s the process I appreciate the most I suppose. Mending takes time after all.” Y/N, who had been looking down at her feet, glances up at him to see his brows furrowed inwardly.

“Don’t you get impatient?” She nods in reminiscence.

“I used to in the past, but all things worth anything take time, right?” They stare at each other for a moment. Draco, who has longed for the feeling of redemption, looked into the pure intent within her eyes. The silence prompts her to slip a small smile at him.

“How about you, Draco Malfoy? How have you been?” There it was: The question that he could never answer (not truthfully anyway). Despite being in the center of all his thoughts, he hadn’t developed the courage to face them properly. He was stuck in a routine of living that provided a false sense of security. However, the present brought him to the realization that he had never been secure--not with himself.

“Not as good as what people see at face value.” He said simply.

“I never would’ve thought. Although, I suppose it just shows that we can never truly judge others, huh?”

“Yes, definitely.” He allowed his view on her to linger before speaking again.

“I actually wanted to see the way you worked.” It was her turn to quirk a brow at him.

“And why’s that?”

“To see the mending process.” Y/N remained silent as she analyzed the longing look in his eyes. His silvery orbs conveyed volumes of a history that was left unspoken.

He continued, “I want to believe that broken things can be mended.” The determination in his eyes reminded her of why she began learning kintsugi in the first place. Behind the determination was hope that longed to be born to fruition.

“I have one condition,” she said. His eyebrows arched in response.

“You can watch me, but you have to do some mending yourself.” She stepped away at the end of her statement and reached for something on her shelves. When she came back, she grabbed the boy’s hand, and placed a small bowl in his palm. It was a simple piece--still intact--taking on a warm, grey sheen. He looked at her with confusion, only to be met with seriousness.

“Kintsugi begins when something breaks, and it focuses more on the beauty of the process rather than the outcome. That being said, it requires a lot of patience and acceptance.”

“I’m not an artist, Y/N. It won’t be perfect.” The girl takes hold of his other hand, and cups it within hers firmly.

“It doesn’t have to be, Draco. The process belongs to you. You just have to trust yourself.” She said earnestly with her grip on him tightening. The warmth from her hands emanated through his skin and into his chest. She stood so close now, her head tilted upward to meet the uncertainty on his face. It made him feel vulnerable, but he stared back into her eyes with much resolve. It was an answer as it is.

Y/N gave him a reassuring smile and stepped away from him.

“I want you to drop that bowl. You don’t have to smash it, just let it fall.” Draco shifted his glance and looked at the bowl hesitantly. After a couple of seconds, he releases his hold, and allows the piece to slip from his fingers. His eyes were trained on it as it fell through the air, meeting its fate with a shattering sound. The bowl that was once intact was now in pieces on the floor, eliciting a familiar ache within him. It had split into five--a large one, one medium, and three more that were much smaller that comprised the object's rim.

As he bent down to pick up the pieces, a new wave of ambition overcame him. Each chip was picked up with much mindfulness, with responsibility, with purpose. When he stood up again, he began to perceive them as a reflection of himself, and gently placed them on the workbench.

Y/N, who witnessed the entire scene, smiled when Draco turned to face her. Her lips were pulled up gently, sweetly, and it evoked rosy feelings inside him. The boy eyed her as she went back to the shelf.

“How do you feel?” She asked. Her back was turned to him as she reached for another bowl.

“Light.” She smiled at the sound of his response. She returned with a teal-colored bowl in hand. Following his previous actions, she dropped it, allowing the sounds of shatters to fill their ears once more.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“You think I’m going to make you do this alone?” The girl bends down as she gingerly picks up the chips of ceramic from the floor. She proceeds to clear out the table, leaving only the utensils to be used to start the process.

“The materials I use are already here, but we’ll be working only with the lacquer for today.” The two set off to organize their pieces, hearts becoming more aware of one another as time passes on. After everything got sorted out, she demonstrated layering a coat of lacquer to the edges. Draco examined the way the smile instantly left her face, only to be replaced with a focused expression. Her eyebrows lowered, lips in a firm line, sights fixed on the ceramic. He also noticed how languid her fingers were in handling each piece with care.

The solemnity of the sight is broken as she parts her lips to speak again, “Did you know that the lacquer is toxic?” He shakes his head when she spares him a glance momentarily before setting her gaze back onto the chips. “It’s toxic when wet, therefore much care needs to be taken when you lay it on the edges.” She then takes the smaller pieces and proceeds to add lacquer on them as well.

“However,” She continues, “as it dries, it hardens and mends the bowl perfectly.” She attaches the pieces together, and lifts the bowl carefully to show him. The boy stares at her flawless handiwork--the cracks reveal themselves as mere lines, seemingly invisible to the naked eye.

“Strange, right? A substance that was once toxic is used to mend. When it dries it restores the product to perfection, and loses its toxicity.” Draco simply nods. It was a hard concept for the boy to grasp, but her words tickled a corner of his heart. How could something so bad be used to restore something that was once whole into perfection? He gazes at his own project while Y/N sets hers down carefully.

She passes the materials to him, observing as he gingerly takes the brush in hand. He dips it into the pool of lacquer, raising a glob of it up from the bottle.

“You don’t need too much, just enough so that the brush is covered completely.” She reached out to grab his hand, to demonstrate what she had meant. After realizing their closeness, however, she turned a shade of pink and stepped back. Draco tried his best to hold back his smile, but failed miserably.

“I’m s-sorry.” She stammered. He chuckled at her.

“Nonsense, I’m all for this form of instruction.” He said teasingly, eliciting a laugh from her.

“Don’t mind me, just concentrate.” She ordered. Silence loomed, but smiles remained on their faces. Draco continued his work, emulating the way she coated her edges. He gripped each chip firmly while his eyes trailed the movement of the brush. Each second spent felt like darkness was being extracted from within, leaving him light and solemn. With much caution, he then pressed them together, and watched as the product adopted its once flawless form. With an approving look, Y/N explained the proceeding steps, immediately noticing the relaxed expression that had settled on his features. Deciding to take a break, the two embark to the main house to relax.

“Since we have to wait a while, is there anything you want to do? To eat?” She asked as they entered the room. The question, however, was left unanswered due to the sighting of a familiar looking uniform. Hung on her wall was a Ravenclaw robe.

“You still have it?” He asked, pointing to the article of clothing with his chin. She chuckled and pulled it off it’s hanger.

“Yeah. I found it a couple days ago, and thought I’d try it for old times sake.” She slipped it over her shoulders, pulling the boy through a series of flashbacks from his time in Hogwarts. He recalled passing her by the hallways, getting small glimpses of her sketches, even seeing her vibrant personality shine with her friends.

“You know, I always thought you looked better in green.” He said approaching her.

“You think so?” He nodded.

“It’s a shame that we never really talked much. I think we would’ve been good friends.” She said in response.

“You think so?”

“Well besides the bullying, yes. I don’t think you’re as bad as people portray you to be.”

“You give me too much credit, Y/L/N.”

“Maybe you deserve a little more credit than you were granted.” This sparked more warmth within the boy. As she ordered food for delivery, Draco took a seat at her table, his gaze locked on her with the robe still propped on her body. His thoughts drifted as he imagined what might’ve happened if he did befriend the girl. How different would he be if he had her for company? How close would he have allowed their friendship to become? His mind began to wander and he ruminated on the what-could-have-beens, most especially the effect that his receiving of the dark mark would have had on her. His fingers flitted to his arm and rubbed the portion of fabric that covered his mark.

Y/N sat across from the boy, immediately noticing his dazed look.

“What’s on your mind?” She inquires. The boy broke off from his thoughts and refocused his attention to her.

“Just thinking about the past.”

“What of it?” She asked. He looked at her with slight reservation in his eyes.

“How different things would be if we were friends.” Her thoughts lingered on the possibilities for a while before she abandoned them completely. Only one realization came into mind:

“Well, we’re friends now. Perhaps everything that happened in the past was needed for us to meet like this.” She slid off her robe and propped it back on the hanger.

She continued, “Whatever it is, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now belongs to us.”

In that moment, a switch flipped in Draco’s mind, and he knew those words would stick to him for a long time. Maybe it wasn’t a chance at redemption that he yearned for--the conversation he had with her made him realize that the chance had always been presented to him--rather it was company. Genuine company. The one that opened their arms for comfort, the one that offered understanding when he couldn’t offer some to himself, the one that provided reassurance that everything was going to be okay.

She didn’t need to elaborate. Her words conveyed her intent clearly, her eyes blazed with firmness, confidence, and faith in him. The boy closed himself off for way too long out of the fear that he’d be rejected once again. The anxieties that had resulted from the foul glances, derogatory statements, and prematurely formed accusations towards his family locked him away to the only source of comfort that was available to him--himself. How was it possible that he made it through on his own all this time? He barely held on to a thread, and as he crumbled further, so did his grip. And when the grip was no more, he fell into the hollowed body that he was. He allowed his darkness to swallow him, to control him as he mindlessly drifted with each passing day.

Until now.

Right now, in the stillness of the room, in the comfort of her dining table, in the presence of her worn out Ravenclaw robe, the thread had reconstructed itself. It presented itself as the small smile that softly graced her lips, the scent of clay that lingered on her hands, and his bowl that sat solemnly streaked with cracks in the workshop behind the main house.

“I suppose you’re right.” The boy showed a smile of relief, which prompted the girl to reach out for his hand, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Here’s to our friendship!”

There were very few things that Draco cherished in his life: his family and his solitude. As weeks flew by with Y/N’s company, however, he found that his heart was beginning to create space for her as well. It began subtly with the way he silently observed her actions. She catered to each of her pieces with the same amount of dedication--every detail incorporated with mindfulness, with care, and intention. She exerted a similar effort when it came to guiding him. Every step in the process was taught with much patience. Her soft hands would graze his own in attempts to correct his form, to stabilize his shakiness, and to relieve him of the tension that came with his perfectionistic tendencies.

-flashback-

The sound of Draco’s uneven breaths made themselves aware in Y/N’s presence. She had left him alone to tend to his project and herself to her own. Muscle memory led her to scrape off the excess traces of lacquer from the cracks, while the boy fixed his concentration on sanding the surface of his bowl smooth. Scratching noises filled the air, and only became more amplified as minutes ticked onward. It was unfamiliar to the girl--the action itself shouldn’t have required much energy. With a brow arched upward, and her gaze directed towards him, the sight of furrowed brows and tense lines fill her view, eliciting a chuckle from her.

“You’re going to break the bowl at that rate, Draco.” The boy unclenched his jaw and gave Y/N an exasperated look, increasing the volume of her laughter.

“I told you I won’t be perfect.”

“What is it that you’re having trouble with?” Y/N asked, as she made her way to his side of the table.

“Some of the excess just won’t budge from its place.” Draco huffed in frustration. She removed the bowl from his grasp, and examined the object. On the other hand, he takes the liberty to step closer to her, his face peering over her shoulder. The heat emanating from his body distracted her, which she responded to by immediately returning her attention to the remnants that resided on its cracks.

“It helps to focus on one spot at a time,” She grabs the crumpled piece of sandpaper laying on the side, and connects its surface to the porcelain. He watches as she uses minimal yet focused motions to scrub at the excess. Slowly but surely the residue clears out, revealing a clean, crisp line. “See?” She turns her head to the side only to be met with his in such close proximity. His breath softly brushes against her skin. His silvery orbs dive deep into her y/e/c ones. The pulses of their heartbeats ring through their ears, and the concentration shifts from the demonstration to one another.

It’s the apparent flush staining his skin that has her pulling away.

“Why don’t you try?” She nervously asks. Y/N hands the bowl to the boy, and observes as he attempts to emulate her actions. With motions still stiff and choppy, she finally takes his hand into hers.

“Relax, Draco. You need to be patient with it.” With slender fingers wrapped around the back of his palm, she guides his grip with focused and particular motions. The repetition engrains itself into his muscle memory, and he quickly gets the hang of it. He exhibits relief with every remnant removed. In return, she releases her grip and looks at him with a satisfied expression.

“Thank you.” He says, and he means it. With perfection constantly being expected of him, the feeling of humility that comes with being a beginner is foreign. He had always been pushed into the limelight--the weight of his family name designates the image of flawlessness, elegance, and poise in all that he did. No room for mistakes. He was required of only the best. So, when he looks at her and gazes at his hands, a genuine smile spreads on his lips.

The expectation for perfection may have taunted his past, but the realization of his commitment in giving his best brought out a clear sense of victory despite the imperfect process that had been associated with it.

Some days are tougher than others. The nightmares make it difficult to get through the night regardless of how infrequent they became. It always resulted in him waking up, broken into a cold sweat. Goosebumps peppered his skin, the hair behind his neck stood straight, and he would gasp for air. With regret once again overcoming him, a weight forms in his throat--it’s impossible to go to sleep now. Moreover, the fear for the lack of a peaceful slumber keeps him wide awake until sunrise, and there is only one word that shouts at him in the back of his mind.

“Mudblood.”

“You filthy mudblood!”

The sayings are coupled with the memory of his back pressed onto the cold, wet, bathroom floor. He could recall the stinging sensations that pricked his body, the sight of blood seeping through the white fabric of his uniform, and the energy that was draining from his spirit. It was the lowest he has ever been--mere moments away from what could’ve been his end. Maybe that’s what should’ve happened. There was no one for him to turn to--the warmth of his mother’s arms was so far away, the act of shedding tears was sacrificed to protect his family, and the fact that he was already repulsive in the eyes of others caused his hope to plummet. There wasn’t anyone who he could call his true friend--one he could confide in to relieve the burdens he had faced.

But there was Y/N. The erratic heartbeats that rang against his chest subside when he remembered the firmness within her voice as she cheered for their friendship. The sparkle and reassurance that was displayed within her eyes tickled his heart in a way that he hadn’t experienced before. The soft touch of her hands reminded him that he wasn’t alone. The patience in her voice reminded him that despite all of his shortcomings, there was always hope for change.

It was then that he’d pluck himself out of bed, and take hold of the ceramic piece that laid prettily on his desk. With deep breaths, he ran his fingers through its golden streaks, allowing the chilled sensation to calm him down. His eyelids would flutter close, and he’d envision her soft smiles, her chipper personality, and the passion that was expressed through her eyes whenever she worked. He’d recall the worn-out Ravenclaw robe hanging on the wall of her dining room, and remember that she was there. She believed in him. She had given him a chance. With his mind set to ease and the morning sun illuminating through the fabric of his curtains, Draco picked up his own broken pieces, and binded himself with the faith she had as the lacquer to keep him together.

Narcissa and Lucius had noticed subtle changes in the boy. A peaceful light had returned to his silvery eyes, the frown that graced his lips began to fade with time, and the tension that he held in his joints loosened. He treaded the halls with his back upright, his vision trained straight ahead--each step filled with more purpose than the last. They didn’t make it known to him, but the sight brought them much joy.

It was a cloudy day when Draco returned to Y/N’s workshop. This time around, however, there’s much more uncertainty and nervousness within him as he stands in the midst of her working.

Earlier that morning, Narcissa mentioned hosting a ball within the manor (something that hasn’t been done in forever). Invitations were sent out already, the RSVP list continues to grow, and the property itself has been decorated to exhibit its new grandeur. Of course, he agreed to it--slightly concerned about how they’d be perceived--but he was more thrown off by his mother’s only request:

“Please bring Y/N with you, Draco. I’d like to commission her for a piece.” In his mind that translated into, “I want to meet the girl you’ve been constantly visiting.” He knew his mother wasn’t against her. He was more worried about how Y/N, herself, would respond.

The familiarity of her focused expression surfaces, and it attracts him much more than it has before. Her hands are nimble, and she moves fluently. Her hair was tied into a low and messy bun with loose strands framing her face. Her appearance now was much different than their first meeting at the gala, yet his mind went back to that night--picturing her beauty in her deep emerald green dress. With his feelings for her more clarified, he feels his heart beat at the thought of her touch, moreover the thought of his touch on her. Would she even return his feelings?

“Draco, are you alright? You’ve been staring this way for a while now.” He takes the opportunity to test the waters.

“I needed to ask you something actually.” He goes around and pulls a stool to sit on, meeting the level of her gaze.

“And that is?”

“My mother asked for you,” He said, fumbling with his fingers, “My family is hosting a ball, and she wants you to come--she wants to meet you.” He notices the way her eyes widen at the sound of his announcement.

“I’m sorry. Come again?” Draco released a soft chuckle before reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a decorated envelope with her name printed on the front.

“This is yours.” She takes it from his grasp gingerly and brushes her fingers on the fine embellishments. Realization hits her when she skims across the familiar letters of her name.

“I’ve imagined many things in my life, but they certainly don’t come close to this. Wow, imagine being invited to a Malfoy ball.” Her words flowed out with awe, softening his heart. He reaches out, and tucks one of the loose strands behind her ear. The action forces her to look into his eyes.

“She’s taken quite a liking to your work.” His smile brings out one of her own.

“I’m honored.” She starts to beam, “I should go dress shopping soon.” Her eyes remain transfixed on the information given on the actual invite itself.

“I think you’d look beautiful in anything you decide to wear.” It was meant to be a thought--meant to stay in his head--but it came out, and now the girl felt her face get hot. She covered it with her hands, while the boy just looked up at the ceiling to avoid her gaze.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.” He says.

“It’s fine.”

“If it’s fine then why are your hands still covering your face?”

“Why are you still looking up?” Draco, lowers his chin and pulls her wrists away.

“I’m not anymore.” When the words leave his lips, and his eyes meet hers, he becomes aware of the amount of peace that he attained since meeting her again. In some way, the silence that fills them is overtaken by the messages that their gazes send to one another, both containing gratitude and affection.

“So will you come with me?” He asks.

“Definitely.”

Y/N paced back and forth while many aristocrats stepped into the manor with much poise in their step. She didn’t mind formal events when it came to art, however, this case felt entirely foreign to her realm of comfort. She wasn’t from a wealthy family nor was she pureblooded either. Surely the end of the war had initiated a shift in change, but the significance of blood status still persisted in some even after. Nevertheless, she made herself present. With much resolve and a false sense of confidence, she stepped into the entrance of the building.

The foyer was bustling with chatter--many attendees stood with glasses of champagne in hand. Still in an awkward stature, the girl takes a look around. The ceilings were decorated with crystal chandeliers. Velvet curtains were pulled to the side, exposing massive windows. Arches, columns, even the walls were covered with ornamental carvings. Every single aspect portrayed luxury. Whenever Draco visited the girl, she discarded his association to wealth and solely focused on him as a person. Because of this, the realization that the boy actually had some coin in his pockets hit her like bricks.

Draco, who had kept his eyes locked on the girl, chuckled to himself. She stuck out from the crowd with her eyes widened in awe. Not to mention her attire. Her hair was kept straight down with golden clips holding it tucked behind her ear. Furthermore, she was dressed in a champagne mermaid gown speckled with beads and embroidery, which flourished outwards and into a sheer fabric decorated with similar details. Her neckline plunged into the middle of her abdomen, yet her shoulders remained covered with long sleeves that wrapped themselves fittingly around her wrists. She truly had the tastes of an artist.

He quietly made his way to her as she continued to gawk at the room. “Your jaw is going to drop, darling.” He whispered in her ear. The feeling of large hands planting themselves on her waist caused her to let out a small yelp, pulling her out of her daze. She let out a breath of relief when she turned to see Draco’s face.

“You scared me.”

“You were gawking at the walls.” Y/N rolled her eyes, and briefly skimmed him from head to toe. Heart skipping at the way his suit had admiringly framed his shape well. She giggled at the sight of the snake brooch that embellished the collar of his jacket.

“Always a Slytherin, aren’t you Malfoy?” As she brushed her fingers along the details of its design, Draco reached for her hand, and held it by her fingers. She could only stare as he lifted it higher to press his lips on it. Butterflies were felt everywhere.

“And a charmer.” She added. They shared a quick laugh before being interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Standing before them was Narcissa, who beamed at the sight of her son with the girl beside him.

“You must be Y/N Y/L/N. I admire your work, dear.” The older woman stuck her hand out, which the girl shook firmly.

“Thank you so much. It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Please, call me Narcissa.” The delight in her voice emitted a welcoming energy, loosening the nerves that Y/N felt early on.

“Thank you so much for inviting me, Narcissa.”

“It was no problem at all, dear. I’d actually like to speak to you regarding a commission later on tonight. Would that be alright with you?”

“Of course! I’m honored you’d even considered me.”

“Very well, I’ll leave you two alone now. I hope you enjoy yourselves.” Sweet smiles and gazes were exchanged between the two women. After casting a knowing look to her son, she departs from the pair, disappearing into the crowd.

“Draco, I’ll have you know that I can’t dance to save my life.” He snickered at her confession, already letting the comfort between them settle in.

“It’s alright. Let’s walk instead.” With arms hooked, Draco begins leading her away from the bustling room and into a secluded hall. Mounted on the walls were paintings of his predecessors. He introduced each patriarchal figure to her, starting with Septimus. Her vision plastered itself to their features, mentally discerning the traits that Draco inherited. After a while of walking and conversation, they finally got to a family portrait. Depicted on it was a younger-looking Lucius and Narcissa, and seated on his mother’s lap was a young Draco himself. Y/N unhooked her arm from his, and approached the painting. She concentrated on the little boy. He had bright eyes, a toothy grin, and flowing platinum locks. His hand gripped firmly on Narcissa’s, and his small legs dangled over her dress. He was the only one smiling in the painting, and it warmed your heart knowing that the artist decided to keep that detail in.

“What’s going on in that mind of yours?” He asks, stepping close. He hesitantly snaked his arm around her waist, hoping that she didn’t mind. She looked up to him and smiled, stepping even closer to him.

“You were so small.” Draco scowled slightly. However, his heart skipped a beat when he saw the way she looked at the portrait with adoration, allowing his foul expression to fade.

“Well that was painted when I was seven, so it’s no wonder I was small.” His sarcastic remark caused her to roll her eyes again, softly slapping the hand that was planted on her. He glanced at her and squeezed her side tighter, pulling Y/N even closer to his body--his warmth increasing the amount of butterflies that rose in her stomach.

“When I walked in earlier, it completely slipped my mind that this was your house. That you grew up here.”

“Why’s that?” He asks, genuinely interested in her response.

“Everytime you came over, I only saw you as Draco. Not as Draco Malfoy, only son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and heir to the Malfoy family name.”

“Please elaborate.” He commands, his heart now racing.

“You’re more than the expectations held for you. You came with commitment to learn about a process that you were genuinely interested in. You grew with your mistakes and your frustrations. That experience was you, and you alone.” She couldn’t help but reveal that admiration she had for him through her voice.

“I thought it was amazing.” She whispered, hoping that he wouldn’t hear her. He did, however. In turn, he grabbed her hand and led her further down the hallway and into his room. Y/N stood there confused at his sudden action. Her eyes then begin to widen at the sight of him removing his suit jacket with her mind drifting to rather dirty thoughts.

“Draco, what are you-”

“I didn’t think it was possible.” Y/N furrowed her brows.

“What do you mean?” Draco looked into her eyes, before shifting his gaze to his left sleeve. Her line of sight follows him as he unbuttons his cuff, and rolls the fabric up, revealing his dark mark. She gasps.

“I didn’t think it was possible to mend myself.” It didn’t take him to say much for her to finally understand that he didn’t intend to do anything dirty. It was the opposite of that. He was making himself vulnerable to her.

“But you showed me how.” He said, completing his statement. Tears brimmed her eyes upon the realization of the reality he had to live. The blaring mark that took away his innocence screamed against his pale skin. It screamed of the pain, of loneliness, and the many many long sleeved shirts he must’ve worn to keep it hidden away.

“If there’s anyone amazing, it’s you, Y/N.” The tears that had built up fell as she furiously shook her head.

“No, Draco. It’s you. It’s all you.” She took his arm delicately into her hands and pressed her lips on his dark mark. Draco felt his eyes well up in tears, while her own spilled onto his skin. Every kiss that she peppered seemed to paint over his scars, his cracks with gold. The feeling of emptiness dissipated in her presence, only surrounding him with warmth that he had yearned to keep.

“I’m thankful for you.” He whispers. Y/N couldn’t hold herself back at that point anymore. She released his arm from her grip, and held his cheeks within her fingertips, wiping the moisture that managed to fall from his silvery orbs. She, then, slowly lifts herself using her tiptoes, and scans his face for a moment before pressing a sweet, short kiss on his lips. It was gentle, much like her. It was patient, much like her. It was filled with faith, hope, and concern--things that she hadn’t been able to express to him in words, yet was felt through her kiss. Draco closed his eyes at the sensation. When she parted from him, he cupped her face with his hands, and drew her close once more. A sigh escaped her as she felt all the emotions he managed to keep in. Each press conveyed a level of appreciation that the boy had never thought he was capable of showing.

In that moment a memory of a shrill shout fills her mind, and she stops so suddenly.

“Weren’t you struck with sectumsempra?” She asks with her brows furrowed towards him. His lack of response confirms her curiosity.

“May I?” Her fingers trail to the top of his shirt as she makes her request. Knowing what it is she wants to see, he nods, prompting her to carefully undo the buttons. Her hands tremble as she makes her way down, revealing the scars that resided on his body. She pushes the fabric over his shoulders, and begins tracing each one--much similar to the way he has done with the golden cracks on her bowl. She slowly lowers herself and starts placing kisses where he has been struck. With her hands gently fastened to his sides, her lips linger in one area before transferring to another. He finds comfort in them--it was as if each sensation reassured that he was loved. As she travels upward, she plants a kiss on his jaw, and a final one on his own. With it she expresses a message dedicated only to him: I believe in you.

They separate and bask in the moment by holding each other’s gaze. After a while, Draco wraps his arms around her waist, and pulls her into a tight embrace. He nuzzles his nose on the crook of her neck and kisses it, while she runs her hands up and down his bare sides. His left hand then finds its way to her jaw, tilting her face upwards. He proceeds to nip the expanse of her neck, making her head fall back to grant him more access. The hand that was wrapped around her waist travels downwards to her hip, grips it, and presses her body against his.

“Draco,” she moans.

“Hm?” She doesn’t respond. She finds herself completely intoxicated by his lips as he moves from her neck, her sternum, and to her exposed abdomen. Instead, she laced her fingers into his hair and pushed him closer to her skin.

The pair was interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door.

“Young master! Are you in there?” It was a houself. Draco presses a finger to his lips, signalling to remain quiet.

“I don’t think he’s there, we should check elsewhere.” Light footsteps were heard fading into the distance, eliciting a light laugh between the two. Y/N looks into his eyes once more, and kisses him one last time.

“Should we go?” He responds with a small ‘yes’ and kisses her forehead. As he buttons his shirt, the girl plods across his room, fascinated with its luxuriousness as she takes in the details. One of them causes her to gasp, however. She walks with her throat choking up at sight of the familiar bowl that was placed on his desk. It was hers. She lifts it gently, recalling their first conversation at the gala. The golden scars remind her heavily of the boy behind her. As she traces them, warm hands rub against her sides before snaking around her waist once more.

“Does this mean you’re my girlfriend now?” Y/N laughs at his question.

“I suppose it does.” She says as she weaves her fingers into his. The boy takes a moment to stare at the bowl ahead.

“When you said that Kintsugi helped you heal, I wasn’t quite sure to believe you or not. But, going through the process was more than enough to make me understand why.”

“You truly are amazing Draco Malfoy. I won’t let anyone tell me you aren’t.”

“Even if my past is completely flawed?”

“Your past made you into who you are right now. What we have is ‘now’, and ‘now’,” she sets the bowl down and faces him, while her hand caresses his cheek. “...‘now’ belongs to us. Now you are amazingly, wonderfully, imperfectly perfect.”

Epilogue:

The sound of Y/N’s words rung in his mind as Draco found himself standing in the middle of her workspace. With a firm grasp on the brush handle, he dips the bristles into the gold liquid, allowing the excess to drip back.

He takes a deep breath, and allows the solemnity of the room to fill him. Many thoughts overtake him in the moment, but only one makes itself prominent to him, resilience. After going through the binding process himself, he pridefully lays down the gold over the cracks on his bowl--each one portraying the imperfections of his past.

A/N: Hi! If you made it this far, I want to thank you so much for reading! There’s a bit of inaccuracy in the last bit, but besides that I hope I brought much light to the technique in general. I hope you enjoyed!! Feedback is very much appreciated :D

Tagging:

@beiahadid @hahee154hq @mushi98 @stretchyice @dracosathenaeum @dreaming-about-fanfictions @saby06143 @rottenhexrt @littlethie @amithatemo

Link to the taglist is on my masterlist :D

#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagines #draco lucius malfoy #tw depression #tw self degredation

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tyrantisterror · 3 years

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The ATOM Create a Kaiju Contest 3-D: Entry Roundup

You’ve been patiently waiting for the results of the ATOM Create a Kaiju Contest 3-D, and now... you have to wait a bit longer, but at least you’ve got an entry roundup with lots of sketches and a good bit of feedback for all the entrants! My goal is to get the finalists illustrated in a week or two, and after that, the grand prize winner will be announced. But, for now, the official entry roundup! After the cut:

I should note that while I sketched these in the order they were submitted, my scanner saved the documents with random names, so they’re a bit jumbled. You know, just in case you’re like me and would get confused noticing that it’s almost in chronological order but with some entries jumbled around.

@bugcthulhu’s Obsideban was designed as a counterpart to Rohobaron - the Black King to Rohobaron’s Red King, if you will. Or, well, Black Queen in this case, as Obsideban also takes her personality from the “delinquent girl” archetype in Japanese media. Bug’s designs always ooze personality, and I had a lot of fun translating this big, gnarly retrosaur into my own style.

@toothlessloveshiccup‘s Argonox is the first - but far from the last - monster in this breakdown that brings in a bit of fantasy influence to ATOM’s roster. A golden-fleeced ram with a vicious streak, this sheep is both treasure and dragon at once. And while it wasn’t written in the monster’s profile, given the Yamaneon-rich nature of its wool, Argonox might be able to replicate the healing power of the golden fleece too! A very fun mammalian kaiju and excellent entry.

@highly-radioactive-nerd submitted Gunmetal Jeeves, a robot butler who can gigantomax temporarily create a holographic/hard light version of himself to fight kaiju. That detail was a late revision added to the entry before the contest’s deadline, made after the creator realized that ATOM allows for some truly ludicrous bullshit, which is something everyone should exploit when making entries for this in my opinion. Also, this is a robot butler who can size shift. Revel in its awesome absurdity!

Ultranerd submitted Rajasaurus, a dimetrodon-like synapsid kaiju with electric powers. His origin specifies that the electric powers are a result of the volatile nature of the Yamaneon deposits he mutated under, which is an interesting idea. That’s another theme that cropped up a lot in this contest’s entries, actually - people really wanted to play with what Yamaneon can do.

Case in point, @polygonfighter’s Yamaneolith takes the Monolith Monsters homage at the heart of Yamaneon even more apparent. I like the implication that there is a second mineral-based lifeform at the root of this Yamaneon cluster’s anomalous behavior - a parasite, perhaps? It brings up some interesting possibilities.

@ariccio50 submitted Kukulkuzana, and damn is this a cool spin on the body plan of my martians. I made a few changes here and there (splitting its tail into two is probably the biggest one), but tried to keep true to the original design, because holy hell is it gorgeous. The idea that this is a mountain-dwelling creature is really intriguing to me, as it looks like a sea creature, but at the same time, that flexible and low-slung build WOULD work pretty well in mountains, and it’s just the right mix of plausible weirdness that makes for a fun alien design.

@akitymh submitted Aramzados, a Venusian monster that’s basically an organic hot rod car. I like the idea of organic machinery being the gimmick for Venusian kaiju, and Aramzado’s does it subtly enough to not feel like that gimmick is the sole thing going for it. I especially love this monster’s stange, apparently mouth-less blade-beaked face.

@virovac submitted Rurzar and Zar Rider, a Beyonder kaiju and mecha (respecitvely) that were both modified and repurposed by humans reverse engineering Beyonder technology to make, like, a motorcycle-saurus essentially. It is a delightfully absurd concept, and a very, very detailed one (13 pages of description). There’s a dark undercurrent beneath the sillyness, though, as this pair show that humanity might still be following the same path as the Beyonders before them.

@dinosaurana brings us Krangor, a humanoid monstrosity of living kelp! The goal here was to create a Jack Kirby-esque monster dude, complete with the gibberish name and all. He’s also made out of kelp, which feels very classic 1950′s monster-y despite me not being able to think of any monsters that were explicitly made of kelp. I love him.

@kiryuthechimera submitted Genkakurah, a psychic retrosaur with some draconic features. Though his substantial powerset is probably the biggest distinguishing feature of this kaiju (given that most ATOM kaiju pretty much have the same standard powers), what really draws me to him is that reptilian pseudo-beard. It’s just a fun detail!

@glarnboudin submits Tiratola, and see, there’s that fantasy influence again! Even more explicitly dragon-y than Kraydi, Tiratola still manages to toe the line between sci-fi and fantasy enough to fit ATOM as is while still cementing its ties to my own slice of fantasy fiction. Man it’s good I’m doing a Midgaheim book next, huh?

@dragonzzilla submitted Scuttlebutt/Argonautilus, a hermit crab kaiju who lives in/with a hollowed out mecha. That’s a twist I can’t recall ever hearing before, and the idea of a kaiju and a mecha having an equal partnership that doesn’t involve one being grafted to the other is really intriguing to me. A very unique concept!

@evolutionsvoid submitted Fleagor, an enormous flea who has no idea what to do with itself now that there’s no creature large enough for it to parasitize. I love that concept - it takes the core idea of the giant bug kaiju archetype (i.e. unsettling the audience by showing how terrifying small, “insignificant” creatures would be if our sizes were reversed) and really turns it on its head. The name also plays on the Universal Monsters, who were a huge part of 1950′s pop culture thanks to their movies being re-released in that era, so all and all this one is very on brand for ATOM!

@skarmorysilver submitted Lilacorn, another entry that plays up that Midgaheim/ATOM connection. Reinterpreting the mythological unicorn as an Cenozoic wooly rhinoceros-inspired monster gives it a very unique look, both in ATOM and in the general world of unicorns, and she has a bad-girl with a heart of gold personality to boot!

dracosaurus-rex submitted Florasaura, a two-headed plant/retrosaur hybrid monster. I love me some plant monsters, I love me some retrosaurs, and I love me some rhyming the word “flora” with other words that contain similar vowell sounds, so this one has me written all over it!

@downtofragglerock submitted Sauroguana, a delightfully odd flying retrosaur. There’s a great deal of charm to the original illustration that this sketch doesn’t quite capture - it’s a deceptively simple design with a lot of personality in it, and with those unique leg-wings it really doesn’t need a whole lot of frills to stand out.

Draxi submitted Brakan, an unimpressive burrowing retrosaur kaiju whose mastery of illusions allows it to convince other kaiju it’s actually a big, super-powerful badass that’s the ultimate fighter in the universe. It’s a delightful parody of the concept of a fan self-insert god-mode character, with a really fun story built into it to boot!

@quinnred submitted O.N.I.A.C., a mysterious cocooned kaiju whose chrysalis has been turned into an organic computer of sorts by the people studying it, and seems to possess a fairly advanced intelligence for a kaiju. It’s a really bizarre and ominous idea, with built in intrigue given how vague its nature is. Is it just a kaijufied butterfly/moth who got stuck mid transformation? A relative of the Mothmanuds? Something else, perhaps equally alien? Good story potential here.

shadyserpent submitted Vespilitor, a bat/retrosaur hybrid made by the nefarious Spooks Organization. A mercurial prankster whose tendency to stir up trouble never crosses the line into maliciousness, he’s the kind of monster who would make a great foil to a lot of ATOM’s cast. I’d especially like to see him in a prank off with Ahuul - it’d be like Bugs Bunny fighting Daffy Duck, but on a kaiju scale.

@multiversefan submitted the Yamaneon King, a nomadic kaiju whose refusal to settle down causes problems as he stirs up trouble at kaiju sanctuaries all over the globe by showing up unannounced and stirring up the locals. He was basically designed to be a monster that the kaiju sanctuary initiative would struggle to deal with, which is a good idea for a post-ATOM Volume 2 story conflict.

Sir K submitted Jadeera, a kirin kaiju that can actually forcibly convert most of its body to Yamaneon to enter a dormant, statue-like state in a loose homage to King Shisa. Though the fantasy elements are far more present than I usually prefer for ATOM kaiju, I think it should be noted they’re pushed that far for a purpose - a theme in Jadeera’s entry, which continues where its creator left off with their submission to the previous ATOM create a kaiju contest (Yokaigon), is that the world of kaiju is more complicated and challenging than many are willing to accept, which is a theme in ATOM itself. Yokaigon’s more supernatural/occult powers are based on the ghost parascience of my setting, which ATOM has delved into a bit (Pathogen being the big example), so it’s not as out of left field as some might think.

@cerothenull brings us our final entry (unless some got lost thanks to tumblr’s shitty tagging system), the flying spider Naeranti. She’s a kaiju spider who uses silk to make complicate hot-air balloons, more or less, and that’s just delightful. ATOM could always use more spider-monsters, and with a really unique gimmick backing up a wonderfully distinct look, Naeranti is sure to stand out among her fellow giant arachnids.

Well, that’s the roundup! In a week (or two, depending on how much my hand cramps) we’ll have the five finalists, and sometime after that, the grand prize winner!

#The Atomic Time of Monsters #The ATOM Create a Kaiju Contest 3D

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voltronfandomhag · 3 years

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Albegas/Gladiator Voltron Revisited

A few years ago I posted about Gladiator Voltron, the proposed third Voltron season which was to be adapted from Lightspeed Electroid Albegas. Ultimately it was abandoned in favor of producing another batch of Lion Voltron episodes. About a year ago Toei released the first two episodes of Albegas with English subtitles on Youtube. You can watch both episodes here and here.

This post is meant to be an update of my first Gladiator Voltron/Albegas post, with more detail about the characters and setting. I also briefly share my thoughts on the show based on the two episodes available.

SETTING AND STORY

In the future, the nations of Earth have been at peace with each other for many years. Our three protagonists, Daisaku, Tetsuya, and Hotaru, are talented students at Aoda School, which is famous for its robotics program and located near Mt. Fuji. Their lives are turned upside down when the evil alien Derringer Empire, who already rules the galaxy, invades Earth. Earth’s only hope against this threat is the super robot Albegas and the three teenagers piloting it.

THE HEROES

Our heroes are teenagers who attend Aoda School in Japan. Each of them created a robot for a school competition. Their bots were later improved and modified so they could combine into Albegas.

Daisaku Enjoji

Daisaku is brash, confident, loud-mouthed, and a total cad. Despite his bad grades, his skills in robotics are apparently superior to both Tetsuya and Hotaru’s. He comes from a working class family consisting of his painter father, stay-at-home mother, cheeky younger brother Jiro, and a younger sister. Both he and Tetsuya have a crush on Hotaru, though Daisaku is more blatant and perverted about it. His hobby is soccer. Pilots Alpha Robo (black).

Tetsuya Jin

Tetsuya comes across as more reserved than his two teammates. Like the others, he’s a student at Aoba School and skilled in robotics. It’s unknown what his grades are like, but at least one of his teachers, Ms. Danko Kibi, scolds him for his rebellious attitude. He and his sister grew up orphans with no other family to take care of them. Currently he lives alone in the school dorms. Tetsuya feels lonely and envies those who still have parents. What happened to his parents, along with the whereabouts of his sister, aren’t mentioned in the first two episodes. Unfortunately, he’s something of a slob; his dorm room is a mess. Like Daisaku, he also has a crush on Hotaru. However, he’s more subtle about it and expresses exasperation at Daisaku’s pervy antics towards her. His hobby is playing guitar. Pilots Beta Robo (blue).

Hotaru Mizuki

Hotaru is the daughter of Professor Mizuki; her mother isn’t mentioned, but it’s implied she’s been out of the picture for a long time. Beautiful, intelligent, and feminine, she’s the star of Aoba School and her class representative. Despite being adored by her teachers and the heartthrob of her male classmates, she’s bullied by her female peers. She also longs for a mother figure; there’s a scene where Hotaru outright tells her father and his assistant, Saeko Asabuki, that she approves of their relationship and hopes they get married so Saeko can be her stepmother. While annoyed by Daisaku’s caddish ways, it’s implied the attraction might be mutual. Her hobby is tennis. Pilots Gamma Robo (red).

SUPPORTING CHARACTERS

The allies, family, and friends of our heroes.

Goro Kumai

HIS JAPANESE BLOOD TINGLES! A well-meaning but bumbling classmate of the main trio who serves as the show’s comic relief. Goro does his best to help defend Earth with his self-made gorilla robot but he’s simply out of his league. Daisaku considers him a burden while Hotaru pities him. He has an unreciprocated crush on Hotaru.

Professor Mizuki

A brilliant scientist and Hotaru’s father. His knowledge of robotics is second to none. After the main trio’s robots were nearly destroyed by invading Derringer, he not only rebuilt them, but made them much more powerful and able to combine into Albegas. He also serves as both a mentor and the voice of reason; he tries to encourage the trio to exercise caution and patience. However, his words often fall on deaf ears, and the trio’s insistence on rushing headlong into battle against his repeated warnings frustrates him. But he believes in the trio’s abilities. It’s implied he’s sweet on his assistant, Saeko Asabuki.

Saeko Asabuki

Professor Mizuki’s assistant and love interest. She’s soft spoken, beautiful, and lady-like. Hotaru wants her as a stepmother.

Ms. Danko Kibi

An overbearing, outspoken and strong willed teacher at Aoba School. She takes her job very seriously, is fiercely proud of the school, and believes it’s important her students grow to be strong, stout, and fearless. Despite not being the head teacher, she often gets her way through sheer force of personality.

THE VILLAINS

The villains aren’t very fleshed out, but given I only had two episodes, that’s not very surprising. Anyway, the Derringer are an evil purple-skinned alien race of conquers who have set their sights on Earth. They desire our planet for its beauty and consider humans primitive. Albegas is humanity’s only effective weapon against their superior technology. Their giant robot Mecha-Fighters are the Derringer’s most fearsome weapon.

Lord Deran the Great

Supreme ruler of the Derringer. We don’t actually see him in these episodes. The only information we learn about him is he desires all things beautiful as his own.

President Azass

The leader of the invading Derringer force stationed in a base orbiting Earth.

General Duston

President Azass’s top officer, at least during these first two episodes. He’s ruthless, prideful, and doesn’t take humans seriously.

General Catastra

Another army officer on President Azass’s orbital base.

Dyme

Yet another Derringer officer. He considers Duston an incompetent moron for not taking Albegas more seriously as a threat

LIGHTSPEED ELECTROID ALBEGAS

The three robots that compose Albegas (Alpha Robot, Beta Robo, and Gamma Robo) were not originally designed to combine together. Instead they were individually built by the main trio as entries into a school competition. When the Derringer attacked Japan, the three teens attempted to fight off the invaders in their robots, but were soundly defeated. Professor Mizuki, seeing the robots’ potential, both rebuilt and heavily modified them, making them far more powerful and able to combine together into multiple configurations. However, the three pilots, at first, don’t know and understand just how extensive the modifications were despite Professor Mizuki’s repeated warnings. Unfortunately, circumstances in the first two episodes have not given them time for proper training. As a result, the pilots are learning about Albegas’s abilities, and how to use them, in the heat of combat.

As stated, the robot comprising Albegas can combine in different ways, with each combination having its own specialization.

Denjin Dimension

Alpha, Beta, Gamma. This is the basic combat configuration. Can use the finishing move Denjin Sanbai Sword.

Sky Dimension

Beta, Alpha, Gamma. We don’t see any of its abilities, but I’m guessing it specializes in flight and/or aerial combat.

Professor Mizuki mentions four other modes: Space, Sea, Underground, and Rescue.

My Thoughts

Do I think American Voltron fans missed out by not having Albegas localized? Not really. Between this, Golion, and Dairuggar, I feel this was the weakest show of the three, and I don’t think it would’ve captured kid’s imaginations the way Lion Voltron did. Granted, in some ways Albegas has more elements in common with GoLion than Diaruggar: small number of pilots, planet bound, faster paced, and a simpler story. But, again, I only have two episodes to go by, so I could be wrong on some of those points. But I’m interested enough that I’d watch more episodes if they became available.

#albegas #lightspeed electroid albegas #gladiator voltron #tetsuya jin #hotaru mizuki #daisaku enjoji #voltron

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renegadewangs · 3 years

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Van Zieks - the Examination, part 9

Warnings: SPOILERS for The Great Ace Attorney: Chronicles. Additional warning for racist sentiments uttered by fictional characters (and screencaps to show these sentiments).

Disclaimer: (see Part 1 for the more detailed disclaimer.) - These posts are not meant to be taken as fact. Everything I’m outlining stems from my own views and experiences. If you believe that I’ve missed or misinterpreted something, please let me know so I can edit the post accordingly. -The purpose of these posts is an analysis, nothing more. Please do not come into these posts expecting me to either defend Barok van Zieks from haters, nor expecting me to encourage the hatred. - I’m using the Western release of The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles for these posts, but may refer to the original Japanese dialogue of Dai Gyakuten Saiban if needed to compare what’s said. This also means I’m using the localized names and localized romanization of the names to stay consistent. -It doesn’t matter one bit to me whether you like Barok van Zieks or dislike him. However, I will ask that everyone who comments refrains from attacking real, actual people.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

How the turnabouts have turned! It's time for Twisted Karma and His Last Bow!

Episode 2-4: Twisted Karma and His Last Bow

With Van Zieks's tragic backstory (…) exposed, it's time to head on into waters we've charted before, waaay back in the very first Ace Attorney game: The Prosecutor becomes the Defendant. It all starts off with some shenanigans which appear to have very little to do with Van Zieks (the arrival of Mikotoba and Jigoku, the Red-headed League, a missing prison warder, etc.).. Ryu does still run into Van Zieks very briefly in Stronghart's office, with Susato noting that there appears to be an awful lot of tension in the air. I expect Van Zieks is questioning that decision to leave Genshin Asogi's son in his care, but even so, he's very civil towards Stronghart. Susato also notes that Van Zieks gives Ryu a cold stare as he leaves, with Ryu wondering what he's done to earn that. This may also be a result of him being besties with Kazuma, since Van Zieks had already buried the hatchet towards Ryu for the most part. When Ryu asks about the decision to leave Kazuma in Van Zieks's care, Stronghart explains it was to best keep an eye on this 'mysterious amnesiac with no identifying papers'. Well OK then. Stronghart also explains he made Kazuma wear a mask because he didn't want to “burden Van Zieks with tiresome explanations about why he had an Eastern appearance.” … I would assume the very simple explanation is that it's because he's of Eastern descent, Stronghart. Regardless, the Lord Chief Justice has high hopes for Kazuma's future and isn't at all bothered by the fact that the guy has gone missing for a little bit.

Things take a turn later when Gina Lestrade comes barging into 221B with some pretty shocking news. Inspector Gregson was murdered. Yes, THAT Inspector Gregson. The suspect has already been arrested:

It's true that to the average civilian like Gina, Van Zieks's name is pretty much synonymous to the Reaper (of the Old Bailey). Even so, to have her outright calling him by that title adds a sort of emotional distance that's really striking. Gina explains they caught him at the scene and there were several witnesses, but Ryu thinks to himself that there's no way Van Zieks would have taken Gregson's life. So naturally, we owe it to our good pal Gregson (who actually was just coming around and being nicer to Ryu) to find the truth. Time to go have a talk with Van Zieks in prison!

… Okay that's funny. Don't worry, Barok, one day we'll all look back on this and laugh. Anyway, Van Zieks says he's in the last place on earth he'd want to be, with the last person on earth he'd want to see. And this line can easily be misinterpreted as Van Zieks saying he hates Ryu more than anyone else in the world, but what he's actually saying is that Ryu is the last person he wishes would see him in this troublesome situation. Ryu says he couldn't very well not come, but Van Zieks tells him to go home since it has nothing to do with him. Susato interjects, pointing out that Gregson has helped them out on numerous occasions and so, they're indebted to him. She pleads for Van Zieks's help with the investigation and he's silent for a moment, only to say: “There's really nothing I can tell you.” Which I suppose means he doesn't think he has anything helpful to say. Ryu asks about what Van Zieks was reading when they came in and assumes it to be a case report. Van Zieks says the Yard wouldn't share case details with a suspect (keep that one in mind) and explains it's a letter from Albert. Dear Professor Harebrayne has arrived in Germany safely! Ryu notes that Van Zieks usually never minces his words, but they seem to have less bite than usual now. No wonder, really, since he's in prison for the murder of an old friend. Van Zieks asks how much they already know about the case, so the two of them go through the facts and Van Zieks says they're well-informed. He's got nothing to add, because... Well.

Oh, this is going to be another one of those cases, huh. Susato asks what Van Zieks was doing at the crime scene in the first place, but Van Zieks points out he doesn't need to answer that, as they aren't representing him. When asked who is representing him in court, he says it'd be anyone other than Ryu. That said, he doesn't actually have any representation because of his reputation as the Reaper. Sixteen people he's prosecuted have mysteriously died and now that he's actually been apprehended for a murder, that whole Reaper ordeal is sure to be thoroughly examined.

BOY, have we got news for you! When it's pointed out that Van Zieks didn't actually have anything to do with those mysterious deaths (right???), he replies that no one wants to know the true identity of that killer more than he does, but it seems things may come to a head before he can uncover the truth. Van Zieks basically tells Ryu to leave, but being the kind-hearted gentleman that he is, Ryu offers to advocate for him in court. Van Zieks asks whether Ryu trusts him, which is a pretty fair question to ask. He's built up so many racist scumbag points and has such a bad reputation in town, it would be weird for Ryu to trust him unconditionally. Luckily, Ryu has been paying attention just as much as I have; he's heard Van Zieks speak in court and seen the way he treats people (uhh, English citizens, anyway), so he doesn't believe this 'Reaper' has it in him to take a life. Unfortunately, Ryu also has to acknowledge that feelings can't be used as evidence in court. Van Zieks considers the offer gracious, but...

“Not the police, not the judiciary... And not you Nipponese.”

One more scumbag point for putting “you Nipponese” in its own category for no reason. Either way, this man has built up such high defensive walls, you could see them from three galaxies away. Trusting no one is a pretty drastic way of living. Ryu thinks to himself that there's a chasm between the two of them that's 'just too wide and too deep'.

As a sidenote, presenting the attorney armband doesn't lead to any interesting conversation this time, but we can also present the Red-headed League advertisement! Van Zieks surmises that if it were a Black-headed League, Ryu would join without delay, which Ryu then confirms. Van Zieks says that sadly, his hair is neither black nor red. He goes into a most curious identity crisis of sorts, where he looks quite anguished as he wonders which coloured league he should join instead. There have been several debates over his hair color, actually, from lavender to purple to grey. Regardless, Susato points out that “people are troubled by the most unexpected problems at times.” It is unexpected, since Van Zieks needs neither the money nor the company that he would get from joining any such league. It's just the principle of the matter, I suppose.

Over by the crime scene in Fresno Street, Gina gets a little razzled when she suspects Ryu is thinking of defending “that Reaper bloke”. Susato points out that if “Lord van Zieks” really is responsible for the crime, he'll be judged fairly in court. This gets Gina to calm down again, because she really wants to know the truth of what happened and much like Van Zieks, she must know that getting the truth is what Ryu does best. A bit of conversation later, Gina points out one more interesting thing; Gregson apparently held a lot of respect for 'the Reaper'. “I take my hat off to that fella,” were his exact words, apparently. Ryu is skeptical, as am I, because I've seen the way Gregson talks about Van Zieks behind his back.

Gina explains that's exactly why he respected Van Zieks. That's... a little weird and ambiguous. So either he respected Van Zieks's ability to stand tall despite all the public scorn, or he respected the fear he struck into people's hearts. There's one more option; Gina keeps talking about the Reaper instead of Van Zieks, so it's possible that Gregson was talking about the actual Reaper. This seems unlikely, though, since he didn't seem to enjoy being part of the Reaper organization.

And now that we know Van Zieks is the defendant, one might be wondering: Who is the prosecutor? Who is the antagonistic force who will try to stop Ryu from uncovering the truth? Well, we find him over in Stronghart's office. Apparently he took an express train back to London from wherever it was he's been these past few days.

YOOOOUUUU!!! Though before we can address his presence properly, we need to discuss the new case. Stronghart wastes no time asking Ryu and Susato whether they've heard “the sickening news about the Reaper's latest devilry.” Which stands out, to say the least, since Stronghart has always been a strong supporter of Van Zieks up until this point. When Susato points out that surely he doesn't believe it, Stronghart says he believes only in facts, which all point to the unavoidable accusal of Lord van Zieks. Someone sure had a quick turnaround when it comes to his number one prosecutor, geez... Stronghart points out the irony that there's no salvation for anyone prosecuted by the Reaper of the Bailey, and now the Reaper himself must stand in the dock. Just as Van Zieks had already alluded to, Stronghart now claims the public will want answers about those mysterious deaths. Ryu and Susato both point out that which had been rubbed into our faces several times already; Van Zieks denies any involvement, and also there have been several investigations into whether he had anything to do with it. Stronghart kind of brushes this off, though. Turns out, Van Zieks is being traded in for a newer model number one prosecutor: Kazuma Asogi! Which seems weird at first glance, since Kazuma is a defense attorney, but Stronghart considers that a bonus:

“A devastation combination, wouldn't you agree?”

I do agree. Granted, it seems Van Zieks had already figured out the defense's strategies too, he just never actively used them to his own advantage. It also turns out that Kazuma personally requested the prosecutor position for this trial. Susato thinks it's pretty unprecedented to grant a newcomer exchange student such a request, but Stronghart offers some petty excuse about how this way, it won't look like the judiciary are closing ranks. Kazuma, who assumes his friend will take on the defense, says he'll see how Ryu's skills have been honed after practicing law in England for so many months. (Uhh. Actually, bestie, it was only about two months of being a defense attorney and six months of disbarment.) Ryu notes that Kazuma is being hostile towards him and wonders why. On a final note, when asking Stronghart about the gun found at the crime scene, we're told that it's issued to all members of law enforcement, including prosecutors. Van Zieks claims to have lost his. That's a troubling claim indeed, because it's difficult to prove or disprove. GOSH, if only fingerprints were allowed in court.

As Ryu and Susato turn to leave, Kazuma stops them. He once again states he wants Ryu to witness this trial as the defense counsel, to “see how it ends”. Since Kazuma has a very distinct vision for how he wants it to end, I guess this means he intends to confront Ryu with Van Zieks's guilt and have his bestie see that a man like him is unworthy of his trust. Either that, or he expects Ryu to use this trial to find the truth of what really happened with the Professor ten years ago, just as he used Albert's trial to dig into that incident. Still though, this reads as pretty scummy to me, because it means he wants Ryu to lose a trial and lose some of his belief in his clients. In the trial itself, it seems to me that Kazuma desperately believes Van Zieks to be a horrible person deserving of the guilty verdict. Therefore, he in no way can hold hope that Ryu will prove him wrong (unlike what went down in case 2-3 with Albert). Anyway, Ryu says that Van Zieks would never put his fate in his hands.

“... It's not easy to see behind the facade sometimes.”

Case 2-3 already told us this, but it's nice to have it confirmed by someone who was closer to Van Zieks. Because remember, Kazuma spent three months by Van Zieks's side (and even fighting by his side), so of course he would know more about his personality than we do. Kazuma hands over a photograph of Barok when he was younger and

GOOD LORD, HE CAN SMILE. Or he could when he was younger, anyway. Kazuma states the picture was displayed in Gregson's office. What he's 'trying to say' is that if Ryu really thinks he can trust “the Reaper” (distancing choice of words again), he might find that some straight talking will change his view. I got the impression we've been straight talking Van Zieks ever since we first met him, but okay. Let's take the picture and back to the gaol we go! Van Zieks is once again reading from some paper and Ryu points out that either he's an incredibly slow reader or it's an incredibly long letter, but either way, Ryu might even be able to read English faster than him. Naturally, this was said loud enough for Van Zieks to overhear.

Scumbag point for hypocrisy, but also a scumbag point for “Nipponese”. When Ryu asks whether it's still Albert's letter he's reading, Van Zieks says he had the case report brought to him in secret. So wait, the Yard does share case details with its suspect? Hilarious. Once again, Van Zieks insists the situation has nothing to do with Ryu, up until the prosecutor's name is revealed to him. And so, the masked cardboard cutout student has become the master! Ryu notes that all the color drained from Van Zieks's face, which is pretty impressive when there's barely any color there to begin with. Ryu has the opportunity now to thrust the photograph into his face, so let's do that. He's immediately alarmed, since he assumed it to be lost and would never have expected Gregson to have it. When Ryu says that Gregson had a deep respect for him, he dismisses that as nonsense, only to correct himself. “There was a time things were like that.”

Van Zieks thanks Ryu for that nice glimpse into the past, and Ryu thinks to himself that there was a glimmer in Van Zieks's eyes- a brief twinkle. He considers that “an insight into the true nature of this man known to all as the stone-cold Reaper of the Bailey”, with “the true nature” being highlighted as orange. So this right here is undeniable; this is what the narrative is illustrating to us now. The true nature of Barok van Zieks is that of someone who was hopeful and jovial; kind-hearted, as Albert knew him. What we see now, that harsh exterior full of harsh words, is not his nature at all.

Van Zieks is more willing to talk now. He once again speaks of Klint, rehashing the same story we've heard several times already. Van Zieks claims there's not a single day where he doesn't curse the name Asogi. He considers it a cruel twist of fate that the man's son intends to crucify him in 'some kangaroo court'. Clearly, he doesn't think highly of the upcoming trial if he refers to it as a kangaroo court, but that's likely because he knows he isn't the real killer. When Ryu points out that he still doesn't understand why Stronghart apprenticed Kazuma to Van Zieks, the explanation is that “it's what he does”. Van Zieks believes that Stronghart knew Kazuma's true identity from the outset, but still provides no real explanation as to why Stronghart 'did what he did' and even assigned Kazuma as the prosecutor this time. Van Zieks goes on to contemplate the name Asogi some more and calls it 'the epitome of his bane'.

I've talked before about how utterly flawed it is that Van Zieks attributes Genshin's crime to his race and/or cultural upbringing and proceeds to tar every single Japanese person with the same brush. There's no need to go into this again; we all know it's wrong. Turns out, even Van Zieks knows it's wrong, but we'll get back to that momentarily. First, Van Zieks needs to talk about Klint even more. (good lord...) He explains that Klint van Zieks was hunting down a mass murderer and “assigned to the investigation as his partner was a certain visiting student dispatched by the Yard.” This was Genshin, of course, and I believe this is the first time it's said that he too was looking into the Professor case. So Van Zieks already mentioned in the previous case that the Japanese students had left a deep impact on him, and also that he once toasted friendship with a Japanese person, but now we have this:

“But none of us saw the true nature of the man.”

True nature is once again in orange here, but this time as a red herring. Van Zieks believes that the Professor murders were Genshin's true nature, when it isn't quite true at all. Regardless, since Van Zieks was still in university at the time the exchange students were in the country, I don't think he would've had that much contact with Genshin. I expect he encountered the man on rare occasion while Klint associated most with him. Every meeting was enough to foster this respect and friendship, though, so it's clear that young Van Zieks was easily influenced and had a very open mind towards a foreign exchange student. But then, that's what makes the next portion of the story all the more damaging.

“My esteemed brother... The people I believed in... And any semblance of right prevailing over wrong!”

As Van Zieks also already alluded to in the previous case, he found himself in a very dark place. That isn't surprising. Every positive thing Van Zieks knew in his life, from his family to his closest friends, was ripped away from him in extremely close succession. What must've been the final nail in the coffin was Genshin outright admitting to his crimes. It erased all doubt that perhaps there was some sort of misunderstanding or a frame job. Going over everything Van Zieks has said so far, it seems he didn't just blame Genshin for the tremendous loss he suffered; he blamed himself. He must believe that his trust in Genshin blinded him to this supposed 'true nature', just as it must've also blinded Klint, and that the whole tragedy could've been prevented if only he'd been more cautious. So now, in present day, he no longer trusts anyone. He outright says so.

Van Zieks goes on to talk about how he was the one who prosecuted the Professor. Since he'd only just graduated, such a thing usually wouldn't be allowed, but he “beleaguered the ascribed prosecutor until he consented.” This person was Mael Stronghart, who back then was apparently still no more than a prosecutor. A highly accomplished one, but a prosecutor nonetheless. Since Klint was the Director of Prosecutions (or Chief Prosecutor???) at the time, that means he actually ranked above Stronghart. Interesting. Regardless, since Stronghart agreed to let Van Zieks lead the prosecution and instead only acted as an advisor, Van Zieks now feels indebted to him. That certainly explains why he's usually so good about following Stronghart's orders and not asking questions.

“And, of all things, as a lawyer.”

Ahhh, this is the part where Ryu enters the chronology. Our protagonist points out that he's felt Van Zieks's animosity since the first time he faced him in the courtroom; his obvious deep loathing of Japanese people. And here comes perhaps one of the most important, yet most overlooked lines Van Zieks will ever utter in these games:

“But for so many years, that hatred had festered inside me, I could no longer control it.”

So here, Van Zieks admits to two things. First of all, he admits that he was wrong to hold such deep loathing and by extension, to give that loathing a voice. He's a man of logic, after all. To cling to something which he refers to as illogical is about as wrong as one could get. Not only that, he admits that this was an unstoppable force he should have controlled, but was too weak to do so. The hatred overpowered him and did away with common sense. He behaved stupidly and irrationally because for ten years, hatred and negativity was all he knew. But what's even more striking here is Ryu's answer, which is also often overlooked:

Ryu, bless his heart, doesn't blame Van Zieks for succumbing to this weakness. Bear in mind, he's the victim here. Van Zieks wouldn't have encountered many other Japanese people in those ten years, if at all. This means the first person he lashed out against was Ryu. Naturally, Ryu can't speak for Susato or Soseki, who received their own verbal assaults and might have different opinions on the matter. Ryu is just one man, but in our narrative, he's the main protagonist and the main target of these outbursts. Is it misleading and perhaps even problematic in the grand scheme of things to have the protagonist sympathize with such motivation? Well, that depends on many different factors. There's no easy answer for this because it's a nuanced, cultural sort of thing. Personally, I was a bit bothered by it, but not to the point that it ruined the experience for me.

Van Zieks admits that just as the Japanese were the bane of his life, Kazuma Asogi must believe Van Zieks to be the bane of his. He is, after all, the Reaper who sent his father to the gallows. Van Zieks thinks that Kazuma intends to take revenge in court and... Really, this is true.

There's a quick bit of conversation about Gregson now. Turns out, the only reason the Professor was caught at all was because Gregson forced an autopsy on Klint despite it being considered the highest taboo at the time. Van Zieks says that as a result of Gregson's powerful conviction, he could avenge his brother's death. He looks quite torn, a bit pained. He must believe he owes Gregson something for this. The conversation then moves on to Van Zieks's revolver, which he claims to have misplaced an undetermined amount of time ago. “I must have stowed it somewhere, I suppose. Or left it somewhere, perhaps.” Van Zieks clearly doesn't think highly of firearms as a weapon, since he's constantly carrying a sword around instead. Susato points out that Ryu has a talent for misplacing things in common with Van Zieks, which leads to one more scumbag outburst.

… Dude. Come on. You just admitted it was illogical. You came so far! Scumbag point for you. Still, as the conversation rounds to a close, Van Zieks utters the words “Mister... Naruhodo”, much to Ryu's surprise. This is the first time he's actually said Ryu's name! Van Zieks once again reiterates that he's lost all confidence in England's judiciary system. He doesn't trust the police, the judiciary or lawyers. Even so, there's still one thing he's willing to believe in.

“That which you see in the eyes of another across the courtroom: a simple determination to know the truth. From the very first time we clashed in the Bailey almost a year ago now... I couldn't deny it, even though I dearly wished I could. 'Here is a loathsome Japanese... who has absolute integrity as a lawyer.' There are only two other men I've known with that same look in their eyes: my brother, Klint. … And Genshin Asogi.”

This is interesting. So at first when he saw that look in Ryu's eyes, he must've been reminded of Genshin. And again, this is why he directed such hatred towards Ryu; he saw someone who wasn't alive anymore. But now he recalls that Klint also had that same gaze, and so he wants to believe that Ryu is not similar to a deceitful murderer, he's instead similar to his beloved brother. (Boy is he going to have to reevaluate how he judges people when he finds out that his beloved brother was the deceitful murderer.) Van Zieks says that when he saw the photograph, he was reminded of a time when he could laugh, free of the shackles of mistrust which plague him now. This is very relevant since Van Zieks indeed can't laugh anymore. We never see him do it. He can't even smile.

“But at times the mire into which I've sunk makes it almost impossible to breathe.”

Someone please get this man to a professional therapist. If he means that in a more literal sense and he does occasionally feel like he can't breathe, that's telltale signs of panic attacks. It could just be, of course, that he's being overdramatic and the “impossible to breathe” bit is just fanciful wordplay to go with the mire analogy. Still though, considering he's also mentioned being in a dark place and that he's willing to die so long as it serves a useful purpose, and that he drinks his wine to stave off tedium... He's clearly depressed. But then, he seems to know it. He acknowledges that the way he is now is not the way things should be, and that he needs to fight to overcome it. And so:

“... In tomorrow's trial... Will you advocate for me?”

Boom. Swallowed his pride and turned to Ryu for help because he knows it's what's best for him. He no longer trusts anyone, but he's willing to trust Ryu because once he starts opening up again and has that trust repaid, then perhaps things can gradually go back to the way things were when he was younger. Mind, he still hasn't apologized for his actions, but that doesn't change that Ryu at least is willing to extend a hand to Van Zieks. It's a little sad that Susato doesn't properly form her own opinion on this and instead just goes along with whatever Ryu says. I would've liked to know just how she feels about Van Zieks's attitude and whether or not he deserves to be helped. She doesn't object to it, at least, and since Susato usually always speaks her mind, I can only assume she genuinely agrees with Ryu's sentiments.

The next day, in the defendant's lobby, it's remarked there's a 'menacing tension' in the air and Ryu surmises out loud it's the result of the menacing appearance of the defendant. Well-deserved, that remark. Touché. Van Zieks asks him for a little more courtesy in a polite enough manner, but considering the lack of courtesy he's shown Ryu over the past 8 months, that's hypocritical. He informs Ryu that this is a closed trial without a jury, which bums me out because it means no more Summation Examination. I would've liked to see Asogi react to that. (S)Holmes comes in and has the weirdest little banter with Van Zieks that I honestly can't... really decipher. There's several things about it that really strike me as being off:

- “And I you. I see London's celebrated great detective is as active as ever.”

- “Oh, you exaggerate, my dear fellow. Compared to my paltry engagements with a few trivial cases... The Reaper's overbearing presence is a far greater deterrent to the black roots of crime in our capital. And whilst I may not agree with your methods... There is at least one point on which I would readily commend you.”

- “What an honour. And that would be...?”

- “Your eye for a good lawyer, sir. […] Behind this lawyer there is a very great mind. My own.”

Alright, so... First of all, we know (S)Holmes is super arrogant and would never refer to his past cases as “trivial” in all sincerity. Plus, it's established that he's very weird with compliments, such as referring to Gregson as “the best of those blunderers of the Yard”, so complimenting Van Zieks directly on the effect he has on crime feels off. Aside from that, (S)Holmes addresses Van Zieks as the Reaper and continues to talk about 'his methods', when it's already been established (S)Holmes doesn't believe Van Zieks has anything to do with the Reaper killings. Taking all that into account, I can only really assume that the first half of this above conversation is (S)Holmes being weirdly passive aggressive towards Van Zieks, with Van Zieks being passive aggressive in turn. It really, truly feels as if there was some sort of backstory between these two that they had to scrap at the last second. Regardless, the exchange ends with (S)Holmes warning Van Zieks that this will be “quite a trial”.

Gina Lestrade shows up with Yujin Mikotoba (….. when did they meet???), saying they intend to watch the trial, and I am very impressed with how (S)Holmes manages to disappear from the scene and not say a word when his old partner arrives. Anyway, Gina looks Ryu square in the eye and asks him why he agreed to take Van Zieks on. Everyone's saying it was him who killed Gregson. Considering everyone was saying it was her who killed Pop Windibank six months ago, you'd think she might want to tone down her attitude, but she's clearly in mourning and lashing out. See? People who are hurting can say insensitive things. Ryu insists he doesn't believe it to be true, but Gina demands to know that if it wasn't him, then who?

“An' if it turns out it was 'im wot killed the boss... Then God 'elp 'im!”

It's interesting to remember that during The Unspeakable Story, Gina wasn't afraid of Van Zieks for his Reaper reputation. She didn't believe in the curse and didn't think she would end up like the other defendants. Now, she absolutely no longer gives a damn whether Van Zieks is the mysterious Reaper or not. She only thinks he might be a murderer who took away her mentor and that's what has her judge him so fiercely. Van Zieks remarks on her fiery eyes and tells her that the culprit does indeed deserve every inch of her loathing. “At least that may be some solace to the deceased.” So here, in a roundabout way, it rather looks as if Van Zieks is sympathizing with Gina's anger. At the very least, he's condoning it, just not towards himself.

Entering the courtroom, it becomes clear very fast just how serious this trial will become. Just as was alluded to before, the judge confirms that the 'Reaper of the Old Bailey' has been undermining Her Majesty's justice system and therefore, the people will demand answers on this matter. Ryu thinks to himself the trial will be a lot more far-reaching than just Gregson's murder. Sure enough, Kazuma is at the prosecutor's bench and ready to get that vengeance Van Zieks referred to in jail. Shockingly, the first witness he summons is actually Van Zieks himself. The judge is surprised, but Kazuma explains that as a prosecutor, Van Zieks believes in the oath of office he's taken; he'll be compelled to tell the truth. Because contrary to what happened in Memoirs of the Clouded Kokoro, Van Zieks is against perjury! (I WILL NEVER GET OVER WHAT HAPPENED WITH SHAMSPEARE!) Sure enough, he takes the stand and Kazuma says the court would like to hear him explain some things away.

He really is just brutally honest, isn't he? Both in his courtroom methods and in how he shows his emotions. He doesn't sugarcoat, he doesn't beat around the bush, he definitely doesn't lie... At most, he may withhold some information. Unfortunately, his testimony is mostly useless. The judge remarks that he didn't want to imagine this day would come, but ever since Van Zieks became known as the Reaper, he's been dreading it. The judge, our neutral ground, seems to be convinced that Van Zieks may have actually done the deed. That's not good. Kazuma acts all smug, saying that Van Zieks indeed hasn't explained anything away and that his testimony barely qualifies as an excuse. Van Zieks notes that his 'mute apprentice' has a way with words. Meanwhile, Ryu thinks to himself that Kazuma isn't behaving like himself, which is a sentiment they'll keep repeating throughout the case. … I gotta be honest here, I didn't notice all that much of a difference between this Kazuma and the one from the very first case of the game. I mean, come on, he sliced a man's hair off and cursed his descendants just for insulting Ryu. He's slightly more arrogant here, maybe, but since he was only the assistant there and is a leading counsel here, it makes sense for him to be more proactive and confident in his methods. Then again, I'm not a Kazuma expert; maybe there's something I'm missing.

In his testimony, Van Zieks revealed that he was investigating Gregson, but when pressed on it he won't admit the exact reason for it. He only says he'd identified a distinct possibility Gregson was involved in a case he was investigating. When asked how he even knew where Gregson would be, he openly admits to having stolen into his office and consulted his diary. (“Dear Diary, today I dropped my fish 'n chips on the way to Fresno Street-”) When told that illegally entering Gregson's office would warrant serious consequences, Van Zieks says he was aware of that risk.

The rest of the testimony is pressed without further hitches, though what did strike me as interesting is that at one point, Ryu suggests the gunshot might've originated from outside the room, but Van Zieks immediately says it's out of the question. He shoots the possibility down with evidence only he could have experienced (the bang sounded inside the room and he could smell gunpowder), and in doing so, only implicates himself further. Detrimentally honest, this one. Not only that, but he picked the gun up.

NO KIDDING that was carelessness. Is he related to Miles Edgeworth after all? Kazuma talks about how three street peddlers overheard the bang and burst through the door with some force. Van Zieks states they almost gave him a heart attack in the process (omg) and Ryu thinks to himself: “(But you're supposed to be the Reaper...)” C'mon Ryu, haven't you seen enough of this man by now to know he gets jarred easily?

When the testimony rounds to a close, things get interesting. Kazuma uses his defense attorney skills, as promised. He uses evidence from the Court Record to point out contradictions in Van Zieks's testimony, thereby 'proving he's lying'. Hey, what happened to Van Zieks believing in the oath of office and being compelled to tell the truth? Did Kazuma call Van Zieks to the stand just to expose him as a liar? He wins the judge over quite easily by illustrating these contradictions and casting doubt on Van Zieks's integrity. Tragic, because as Van Zieks says:

Van Zieks steps down from the stand and disappears for the remainder of the trial day. He doesn't even show up during intermission in the defendant's lobby. Characters do still talk about him, though!

I mean... He ain't lyin'. At one point, Kazuma utters the words “the defence is fated to lose. And the prosecution to win,” which once again confirms that Kazuma basically asked Ryu to take part in an 'unwinnable' trial. Which, y'know, is technically fine. Losing a trial isn't the end of the world, especially when the defendant (in Kazuma's eyes) is actually guilty. Still though, personally asking Ryu to take on Van Zieks just so he can watch the man be exposed as a killer is kind of... Kazuma, sir, are you also unable to control your hatred and having it lash out in illogical ways? Is that a parallel with Van Zieks I spy?

The rest of the trial isn't directly related to Van Zieks. It's just a whole bunch of roundabout arguing with street peddlers, red-headed scammers and the revelation that one of those peddlers is actually Daley Vigil, the missing former prison warder. Despite knowing of the dangers, Kazuma asks Ryu to help him forcefully break some of the man's black psyche-locks (c'mon, we all know that's what's impeding his memories) and they send the man to the hospital as a result. Welp. Unveiling the truth is becoming increasingly dangerous in this game and that's really upping the stakes for us.

Into the next investigation day we go! Ryu surmises that it's clear now “Van Zieks definitely didn't do it.” Even so, there are some unanswered questions about the man. What was he even doing at the crime scene and what's with that investigation into Gregson he didn't want to talk about in court? Heading on over to the Chief Justice's office, we overhear him pressuring Kazuma into 'continuing the trial as instructed'. Once he takes note of Ryu and the others, he tells them that he wanted Van Zieks's trial concluded that day and blames 'Asogi's unwelcome inquiries' for it taking longer than necessary. Stronghart's becoming increasingly ominous, here... I don't know for certain why he doesn't just go the extra mile to have Van Zieks proven innocent so he can keep using his Reaper tool to intimidate the masses. I suppose it's because with Gregson dead, he's lost his most important strategist in the killings and the tool of the Reaper's curse can't be used as easily anymore. Assassins probably come a dime a dozen, so Shinn can be replaced, but Gregson... Not so much. Ryu asks Stronghart whether Kazuma truly believes Van Zieks to be the Reaper, but Stronghart says he wouldn't know. He once again talks about the history of the Reaper with its very long run of coincidental deaths and tells us nothing new or interesting.

To prison we go, to visit Van Zieks himself! He's reading a book now, but we're never told what it is. He tries to ignore the visitors, but just as always, eventually comes up to the bars to talk.

YOU FREAKIN- I CAN'T- WHY- How many more times must we teach you this lesson, old man?!!! Thankfully, even Ryu is fed up at this point.

Finally. He spoke up. I've seen a lot of people criticize the fact that Ryu never properly confronts Van Zieks with the damage he's been doing, and on the one hand I would agree. Calling people out on their bullshit is a very useful step in having them notice their mistakes. However, I'd be remiss if I didn't point out that is also a very Western view. It's very easy for us to think that Ryu should stand up for himself and call Van Zieks a prejudiced little tosser who needs to think before he speaks, but that simply isn't part of his character. There may be several reasons to explain why he doesn't confront Van Zieks more firmly, but I'd like to focus on just two. The first is that Ryu is an exchange student who came to England as a 'guest' and is facing not just one racist. Not even five or ten. Everywhere he goes, he's surrounded by people just like Van Zieks. We've seen it in the judge, we've seen it in the jurors, we've seen it in Gregson and in witnesses... Ryu is a minority in a very literal sense, since there's only one other Japanese person (two if we count Soseki) we know of in this entire city. There's a very natural, very understandable defense mechanism which may kick in when surrounded by potentially dangerous individuals, and that is to withdraw; to be as quiet as possible and to attract as little trouble as possible, since 'they outnumber you'. Bonus points for the extreme difference in social standing between Ryu and Van Zieks.

There's one other thing which adds to the above. Ryu was written to be your everyday Japanese person, and their view on confrontation is quite different from our own. I remembered this from a job interview I once had with a Japanese company and looked into it again to refresh my memory: Japanese people are non-confrontational. It's very important for them to maintain a sort of harmony during conversation and therefore, they'll rarely utter negative sentiments, such as criticism, in a way that will cause embarrassment to the person they're addressing. Instead, they employ something often referred to as indirect communication. “The pattern of Japanese indirect communication uses far less words to convey intent in a more subtle manner. Indirect communication uses expression, posture, and tone of voice of the speaker to draw meaning from the actual conversation.” This is very deeply ingrained into the Japanese culture and, if the sources I reviewed are correct, it goes all the way back to the feudal days. Mind, this attitude isn't even limited to Japan. I've been told there's several other countries who adopt that very same attitude and if you cause someone else to lose face, it can have some very severe repercussions for you. Kazuma is a bit more outspoken than Ryu, for example when they face Jezail, but this makes sense also, since Asogi was written to be more progressive. It seems to me that Ryu has been using indirect communication quite often already and, since Van Zieks is woefully unequipped to read this type of communication, Ryu has now finally resorted to something more direct. It's still not a sharp call-out, but rather, the above line reads to me as something in-between direct and indirect communication. And it works.

HELL FROZE OVER! We've done it, lads! Or, as Iris puts it:

So even the rest of the cast is acknowledging this is a big deal and we've made tremendous progress. Could someone else have confronted Van Zieks in a more direct, more Western way before this point? Sure. But would he have listened? The judge has already snarked at him several times during trials and it's always been brushed off as nothing. The only person he might've listened to would've been Albert, but what is the narrative significance of having a side character confront Van Zieks? There isn't one. This was a very impactful moment where Ryu himself resorted to a more Western tactic to get his point across and Van Zieks, in turn, finally uttered an apology. So now we get to have an earnest conversation with the man at last. Van Zieks says he was impressed; not by Ryu but by Kazuma. On first glance, this seems like a mean thing to say, but... Van Zieks is already intimately familiar with Ryu's performance in the courtroom. Why would he still be impressed by that? Kazuma, however, he's never seen in action before. Van Zieks thinks it's all rather “sardonic”.

It's called a cruel irony, Barok. A common tool in storytelling. He himself considers it “retribution for having played the part of the Reaper all these years”. So once again it's discussed how the Reaper minimizes the amount of crime in the capital and since that's a goal Van Zieks is committed to, he never said anything to disprove the rumors. Ryu insists that someone else is profiting off Van Zieks's silence on the matter and is basically using him as a scapegoat. As it turns out, Van Zieks wasn't quite as passive about the matter as he's led us to believe.

Hm. Alright, so he thinks it's good the Reaper's curse is reducing crime in London, but clearly he wants the Reaper organization brought to justice. In a way, he's profiting off these 'accidental deaths' since the fear that comes from them aligns with his goal of crime reduction, but he doesn't actively condone the Reaper murders and wants them halted. Since there's so much accurate information about the accused used in the killings, Van Zieks surmised a while ago that someone from Scotland Yard must've been involved in the killings. It's taken him “many years” to identify the central figure in the organization: Tobias Gregson. Naturally, everyone is shocked. We knew Gregson! And sure, he wasn't exactly a kind person, but he certainly didn't appear to be a killer. He was very rough around the edges, but from what we'd been led to believe, he had a good heart. … A decent heart. Mediocre, one might say. Ryu asks whether the reason Van Zieks was investigating Gregson was to expose him as the Reaper, but Van Zieks repeats the notion that the Reaper is not a single person. He doesn't have a doubt, though, that Gregson was a key member of the organization who did all of the planning. Believe it or not, Gregson was the brains behind the killings; the tactician who investigated and plotted, then left the dirty work to an assassin by the name of Asa Shinn. (LOCALIZATION WHY)

So now that we have this information, we can come to a very interesting conclusion. Both Gregson and Shinn are dead now, so by Van Zieks's reasoning, the Reaper is dead. You'd think this is good, but it does in fact make it very difficult to find the truth. Rather, Van Zieks believes that the truth died with Gregson (he hinted as much twice already) and while the seasoned Ace Attorney player knows it won't be impossible to expose a dead person as a killer, it'd be a hectic ordeal. The seasoned Great Ace Attorney player will know the Reaper hierarchy extends just a bit higher and the two who died are only pawns, but... Y'know. Approaching this from a first-time-player point of view, you'll know things will get troublesome.

There's another topic of conversation where Van Zieks once again addresses how sharp Kazuma is in court. He didn't miss a thing.

OUCH. So when Ryu first arrived, Van Zieks saw Genshin whenever he looked at him, not only due to his roots but due to 'the look in his eyes when searching for the truth'. Now, he sees Genshin in Kazuma, which surely makes a lot more sense. Van Zieks goes on to say that it's true some of the aristocracy from 10 years ago were problematic and abusing their power. “In a way, Asogi was carving out a canker from society that we British couldn't deal with ourselves.” So here, he sounds almost complimentary of the Professor's actions- specifically Asogi's actions. As if it would've all been well and good, were it not for the Professor's final victim. “But that's precisely why it makes no sense. Klint van Zieks was a noble and upstanding man. He wasn't corrupt.”

Remember way back in The Unspeakable Story when I surmised that Van Zieks boiled Genshin's actions down to his race in order to avoid the belief that there might've been a reason his brother was killed? We see it here again. Van Zieks is in doubt. He may say vocally that “it makes no sense”, but that line in itself is already telling. The fact that he acknowledges it and draws it into question implies to us that he's skeptical of the story. Deep down, he knows something is amiss. He knows there's some sort of explanation he's missing, but if he were to dig too deeply into it, he'd have to acknowledge that perhaps his brother was corrupt. And this still isn't all of it. There's one more thing Van Zieks has to discuss before we can round this conversation to a close. Ten years ago, shortly after Klint died, Genshin saved his life.

There's that phrasing again. “True nature”. It's not in orange this time, but it's there all the same. Van Zieks is convinced that Genshin is the one who had a hidden true nature. In this story, we learn that 'the scum of London' had already targeted him several times even before he became known as the Reaper, simply because of who he was and who his brother was. JEESH. Harsh. So on the night in question, a couple of thugs also tried to kill him (allegedly) but Genshin stepped in to protect him. Genshin became lightly wounded as a result. This is the part where I would have expected them to explain Van Zieks's scars, but he never mentions being wounded himself, so we can't be sure this is when it happened. Curious. This was the perfect opportunity and they let it slide. So anyway, two days after that incident, Genshin was arrested.

Some more telling lines here. Van Zieks thinks he'd never recount the story to anyone; not because there's no need to tell it. It's because it must be difficult to talk about. On its own, that might be a farfetched conclusion I wouldn't make, but Ryu confirms it with his follow-up line: “Thank you... for confiding in me.” We can take this line to mean exactly what it says; Van Zieks confided something painful. He let down some more walls. Growth!

So with all this out of the way, there's a whole load more investigation to do before this case is over. Most of it has to do with Genshin's will, a mysterious trunk belonging to Gregson, the missing time of death on the autopsy report... Nothing too relevant to Van Zieks's character. However, if we go into the prosecutor's office and examine things while Kazuma is there, we do get some fun tidbits about how Van Zieks wouldn't trust anyone else to touch his things and would rearrange it all himself whenever needed. From the sound of it, Van Zieks is very meticulous and a loner, which aligns with what we know about him. Some more conversation later, we reach the topic of the Reaper with Kazuma. He agrees that Gregson was definitely involved in the Reaper organization, but there's one thing that's more important. “Who's been giving orders to the Inspector?” In my eyes, it's a bit of a stretch to assume with certainty anyone was giving orders; Gregson might've just taken up the vigilante justice by himself and found some way to pay Shinn enough money to get in on it. Kazuma insists, though, that Van Zieks is 'the real Reaper'. We as the audience already know that's nonsense, we know Kazuma is wrong. Or perhaps we might think that if somehow Van Zieks pulled the wool over our eyes and Kazuma is correct, that'd be one heck of a wild twist. Kazuma gives no real reason why he believes this, he only goes on to say that ten years ago, it was Van Zieks who 'decided his father must be a mass murderer'. Shockingly, Susato is the one to jump in here and outright say to Kazuma that he's wrong; that Van Zieks only saw that 'justice was done as the law dictates' and he wasn't to blame for Genshin's execution. Kazuma insists that people condemn people and the law is just a tool they use for it. So I suppose that's exactly what he's doing right now. He's condemning Van Zieks, just as Van Zieks once condemned Genshin. We're cycling! And my main question now is this: If Stronghart had been the prosecutor in the Professor's trial instead, would Kazuma be just as vengeful towards him? Because remember, it's people who condemn people. This implies that anyone who had taken on the job of prosecutor at that time is the one who 'decided that Genshin must've been a murderer' and would need to take responsibility in Kazuma's eyes. Kazuma's beef isn't with Van Zieks personally, it's with the prosecutor who used that tool of the law and also evidence.

HAHAHAAA! HAH! If you align this screenshot next to the “Klint van Zieks was a noble and upstanding man” line, you get a wonderful parallel. These two prosecutors are both dead wrong about their beloved family, and they're about to find out in the worst way possible.

One murder mystery spread out over two episodes? You bet! Stay tuned for the last case, The Resolve of Ryunosuke Naruhodo!

#dgs #dgs spoilers #tgaa #tgaa spoilers #barok van zieks #I can't believe I managed to cram it all into one post #phew #but this was a big one

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yournameyn · 3 years

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Feeling Deeply Chapter 5

Genre: Arranged Marriage Fic. Fluff turning into angst?

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

Summary: The story of two deeply feeling nerds who find themselves in an arranged marriage. (Details here). Our OC is called Brishti. It’s a Bengali name meaning rain. Namjoon calls her Rim (short for her pet name, RimJhim which means the pitter-patter of rain). She calls him Joon.

Warnings: NOT THE NAMJOON OF OUR DREAMS. Argument. Fight over tiny discrepancies that turn out to be a huge problem. Domestic violence. Not a happy chapter.

A/N: Have you ever felt this, reader? When you watch something and realise exactly what you need to realise in that moment? I’ve had that so many times - seeing my feelings mirrored in a show. That’s something that I’ve tried to have Brishti feel here. Also, this is how I see the natural progression of this Namjoon, the one who obliged to duty rather than his dreams. It took me a long time to write this but I love what’s come out. Let me know what you think!

Current Chapter: London, late 1963. Love fully blooms between Namjoon and Brishti. And yet, something’s not right. A visit to the ballet and a conversation brings forth realisations. The inklings that Brishti was trying to avoid transform into writing on the wall.

Previously in Feeling Deeply: Preface Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5

The magic about new love isn’t really in romance or even in true intimacy. It’s in how violent new love is… and just how much time it takes us to feel it’s impact.

In the new love between Namjoon and Brishti, everything had been roses and honey, overflowing, swaying in a gentle breeze. They spent every second possible in each other’s arms. They had to tear themselves away from each other when they had to leave home. And even then, it hurt as though they were part of the same cloth.

Brishti had thought about how they had become woven, their souls an ornate tapestry. Namjoon had told her then about a Japanese tradition of weaving that was a sort of meditation and a kind of worship to a god called ‘Musubi’. The disciples say it is like being part of the cosmic tapestry. Being tied to each other.

“Just like we are… I felt a pull toward you and I followed it. I was scared… so full of doubts about who you were and how this was all going to go… I had promised myself that I would fulfil my duty… whatever happened ” Namjoon had said, petting Brishti’s hand gently, “And I… I still can’t believe it… It… you make me feel like I can… trust myself.” Brishti had looked at her genius then and wondered what a strange world it must be that made a man like Namjoon doubt himself, “Always, always trust yourself, Namjoon-ah.” and settled into the crook of his neck.

It was indeed a strange world that caused Namjoon to build an armour around himself. Because ‘London’ and ‘Lonely’ sounded just the same to him. His years alone in this strange place had been unkind, unrelenting. Brishti had been the only softness he had felt in a long long time. Armours built over years can break in an instant, though. For him, it was the moment when he and his wife had crossed the threshold to becoming lovers. High on the magic of new love, he had not realised it.

Sitting across from each other after that fateful evening, Namjoon and Brishti were both wide awake in the early hours of the next morning. Brishti buttoned up the shirt they never fully took off. Namjoon had tickled her with his toes. They propped their feet against the other’s to see just how vast the difference was (he melted seeing how small her feet were and hadn’t stopped playing with them since). Caressing each toe, he remembered something he wanted to ask -

“How did you know what Saranghae is?”

“Mm…” she stretched her arms, “I know what it means…” Brishti said.

“I know you know… from the way you… after I said it… You asked Yoongi about it?” Namjoon cautiously asked about the only other Korean Brishti knew. To his surprise, she nodded no, still denying him any information. Namjoon had to tickle her foot for the answer.

“Okay! Okay! Wait! Pleeeease!” Namjoon stopped and Brishti bent down to the bureau next to her bed and pulled out a textbook - LEARN HANGUL THROUGH ENGLISH. Namjoon looked more shocked than she had expected. “I asked Yoongi about the book-”

“You don’t need to Rim… I’m not learning Bangla, am I?” Namjoon said. He was touched but he didn’t want his love to do anything he couldn’t reciprocate.

“I would have asked you to learn it… if I wrote poetry in my mothertongue...” Brishti said. Namjoon was shocked. She went on, “You really think I didn’t know?”

Namjoon blushed and smiled and flopped over in Brishti’s lap. She brushed his hair as she explained, “You light up at the mention of lyrics and poetry, you keep a notebook by your side at all times, you’re moved by the things that people usually don’t pay attention to… I know you’re a poet, Joonie.”

Namjoon looked up at her and said, “No one has ever called me that…”

Brishti leaned down and kissed her gorgeous husband. “You are... From what I know, I bet all my books that you are a great one... And�� I… I would love nothing more than to be part of your world of words, Joonie… It must be strange… to be understood but in a foreign language. If you would let me, I want to understand you in your language… Do you think that’s something maybe--”

He got up and all but jumped on Brishti, pinning her down to the bed with the cutest puppy-yell she had ever heard. “Yes! Of course, yes!”

They both understood that this was a proposal. The truest kind - a gentle request to explore Namjoon’s universe. They would later joke about how she proposed to him after a month of being married. Namjoon was completely delighted by this person with him, his person… one who really saw him.

He pulled her to him saying, “You’re the best part of my world, Rim...” and kissed her.

Each moment of love flowed through the next. When they had to be separated, they couldn’t wait for the next one, their moment again. On weekends they would visit museums and find their favourite paintings and sculpture or their favourite prehistoric relic and animal. Brishti hated the fact that Namjoon had to work overtime to compensate for these weekends and she often voiced how unfair it was.

In response Namjoon would just give her a peck and say, “As long as I have you, I’m happy.” This pricked her but she was too taken by the man before her to pay heed to it.

Namjoon was just about able to keep a straight face at work but everyone around Brishti was acutely aware of how much she loved Namjoon.

At one point, her colleague and best friend, Min Yoongi had yelled at her, “Yhaaaaa! Stop blushing?! It’s just a clock… what could be romantic about a clock?!” Sayuri-san, and she were hanging around Yoongi’s table when Brishti looked at his new flip clock and started blushing.

Brishti laughed along with everyone else but explained, “It’s involuntary… that’s what happens when you’re married to a poet.”

Sayuri-san corrected, “I know too many wives of poets to know that’s not necessarily true… It is true though, when you’re in love with a poet… Go on… tell us how exactly poet Namjoon makes you blush about a clock...”

Brishti blushed even more at that. Yoongi rubbed his arms and demanded, “Tell us because there’s some really weird things coming to my mind… like you guys have an exact time when...”

Brishti stopped his imagination, “No no no… it’s nothing like that… he loves digital clocks... because he loves to watch the time turn to 00:00… zero o’clock he calls it… and on days he feels sad, it’s like zero o’clock is always there to comfort him… like it’s a point when the whole world holds its breath and he can feel happy again… but these days… with me… he said he wants the clock to keep going after 23:59… he wishes time would stretch on… beyond 24:01…”

Yoongi sighed and sat back down, “You’re making me fall in love with Namjoon… ahhh that is beautiful. He should be published...”

“Imagine him saying this directly to you and you might know how I feel… I can’t stop talking about him...”

“Oh, we know. But honestly none of us care… your poet-librarian romance is getting us through our single-ness.” Yoongi reassured her.

The three of them continued to talk about the ways in which Brishti could repay Namjoon’s wordsmithing in graphic ways.

It was that evening, wasn’t it, when Namjoon had enveloped her back in the warmest hug as soon as he’d entered their flat. Brishti was in the kitchen when she heard him enter but hadn’t expected this. He kissed her neck while telling her the good news, “We got our first Korean client today… because of me… Mmmm… Why do you always smell so amazing?”

Brishti turned around and hugged him again, “That’s amazing! Namjoon-ssi! I’m so proud of you!”

“He’s from a wealthy family… so he can actually afford our firm… its not exactly the work I wanted to do--”

“It is a step toward that idea, right? It’s still good work, fighting for justice?” Brishti asked, stopping him from undermining his own work.

Namjoon nodded, “Yeah… He’s a dancer… Park Jimin. All the posh types know him as one of the best dancers in the Royal Ballet. They call him Jim… as if it’s too difficult to say Jimin?” Namjoon shook his head in disapproval. He began helping Brishti with the chopping and continued, “He was born in the UK and trained since he was 5... He got into the Royal Ballet but he’s been passed up to be a principal over and over even though everyone who has seen him dance apparently knows that he’s far far better… So recently he spoke to the director there... and of course the director made a racist slur and asked not to bother him with this again. He can’t even quit and work at another company because of the contract they have him on. There’s a non compete clause… meaning he won’t be able to dance with any other company. That’s all he wants… to be able to get out of that contract… I’m hoping to convince him to press charges on racial discrimination too. We’re not in the 20s anymore.”

When Brishti didn’t respond, Namjoon looked up at her. “That’s horrible… I’m so so glad you’re taking up the case. But please tell me what you ate when you were alone?” He looked down at the carrot he’d been failing to cut.

Namjoon scrunched his nose and admitted, “Canned food mostly.”

Brishti said, “I’m really really glad you’re getting to do work that you are passionate about, Joonie, you deserve it. Now, you should know how to cut a carrot.”

Namjoon pressed up against Brishti’s back. She reached back up to the nape of his neck and made him moan into her. Then… then Namjoon made her forget how to cut carrots.

He had these ways… Namjoon, with his touch, his voice, his languages both spoken and soundless. He was lighting new paths into her self. She loved learning him. Paths she didn’t know existed, that she’d been longing for.

The scars of the loneliness, emptiness that Namjoon had experienced had turned his longings into a kind of starvation. He needed to be nourished and also devoured. Brishti was just the creature to do it. He could feel her warm fingers trace rows of pleasure onto his skin. He felt them bear down and singe when the two of them had to move away from each other. He felt those ropes tug at him as the end of his workday neared. Namjoon closed his eyes each night at her touch, the feeling and fragrance of her body. He felt blooms of intimacy spring up like seedlings out of the soil of his skin. And deeper. In the earth of his soul. So he did the only thing he could. Reciprocate. Namjoon sowed his love, his desire, his need onto her, into her every night.

There were times, though, when she would feel his absence in the middle of the night and see him working in the dim light of a lamp. She knew he had to work hard to do what he wanted but she also saw he had to continually prove himself to people who weren’t even paying attention. The reason they weren’t paying attention was painfully clear to Brishti but she was yet to experience it’s full stab.

Namjoon wanted to shield her from it. He was counting on an armour that didn’t exist anymore to protect himself and his wife… the reason he liked his life again. Whenever she came out and switched on a brighter light, reprimanding him for straining his gorgeous eyes, he saw that it did prick her - this world and the unfairness he had to endure. She would say something small, an almost-complaint that alerted him… against her for some strange reason. She would say something that would be easy to ignore and yet would prick him, like - “I don’t know why they haven’t promoted you yet.” or “Why haven’t they taken up Jimin’s case yet? You’ve worked so hard on it.” Everytime she did that, he would have to pacify himself.

‘I’ve told her so much about the Jimin case… she’s just really invested’ Namjoon thought to himself. Just so he would avoid thinking, ‘I shouldn’t have told her.’

He would have to calm himself, give her a peck and try to convince her to stop worrying. “As long as I have you, I’m happy.” Namjoon would always say.

Then, Brishti smiled as she always did. While trying to understand why that sentence bothered her so much. After almost five months of exploring this wonderful man, some part of him still felt unfamiliar… like it didn’t fit in with the rest. Still, these things take time, she had heard from so many women over the years. Besides, she was blessed with a man far far above the norms. So, how could she prod? These are things Brishti had told herself - until the night she couldn’t stay silent.

The couple was coming up on their fifth month together and Park Jimin had gifted Namjoon a ticket to the final show of the season as a token of gratitude, for having heard his story.

Brishti was nervous about going to this kind of a gathering and had told her husband to meet her there.

She had enlisted the help of Sayuri-san to look appropriate for the event. Her slightly longer hair was clipped and her eyes were kohled. She wore a burgundy knee length fringe-ended dress that she had received from her gracious host, stylist and make-up artist - an inheritance of her brilliant life tucked into the black pearl beading and deco design. It was a big departure from the usual tie-die or band tees and jeans with her baggy coat. She had carried the coat but felt this strange sort of compulsion to stand in the cold air in the noodle strap dress, for him to see her.

She felt butterflies in her stomach and kept fiddling with the coat she had draped over her arm. It was electric when she saw him.

Namjoon looked gorgeous in a tux. All of Brishti’s nerves were soothed just by looking at him. He had brushed his hair back. Tall and dashing - better than any heathcliffe could ever be. And with his reading glasses, he looked like the lead of a romance novella that would make all the women swoon. Indeed she was swooning. Brishti was suddenly warm in the chilly, windy night. And when Namjoon saw her, blood rushed to her cheeks. Everything inside her was running helter skelter in a panic. Brishti felt everything drop in the few moments it took for Namjoon to reach the top of the stairs. Dolled up like this, outside of her element, she felt like an imposter. Some angel needed to be standing in her place. For the first time, feigning beauty, Brishti felt like she wasn’t worthy of her husband.

She was finally able to keep her feelings aside when he reached her.

Namjoon kissed her palm like a gentleman and whispered in her ear, “Let’s go home… I need a private kind of dance…” Brishti blushed. Namjoon put his arm around her and felt the chill that had settled on her skin. “Aren’t you cold? Why didn’t you wear the coat?” Namjoon asked. Brishti just shook her head no and the two of them walked in.

Brishti assumed that the ballet would be a welcome distraction from the storm that brewed within her. She had read up about the show, the piece they were going to perform -

Tchaikovsky’s venerated Swan Lake. The story of a young girl who falls in love with a prince who promises to save her but fails. Ofcourse there were finer nuances to the story but this was the basic plot. As the lights dimmed, Brishti felt pulled in by the music, the eerie beauty of it’s melody played in perfectly with the questions that were swirling around in Brishti’s mind -

Why do I feel wrong?

Is this what Yoongi was talking about? Anxiety…?

Why does Namjoon look so... different?

Why is he so quiet, so… distant…It’s like he’s keeping himself away from me despite being right next to me, arm in arm, like the true Namjoon is somewhere in a glass case? Deep deep beneath whatever this creature is who is next to me?

I’m thinking too much. No. What is this? Why am I feeling this way?

It’s the music… no its not just the music… something is fucking wrong because all I feel like doing is breaking that glass case that’s locked away My Namjoon and presented this fucking imposter. What the hell is going on?!

Brishti barely managed to keep it together. She kept her eyes on stage…

It was like seeing a moving painting being created by invisible hands and the music was the sound of the brushstrokes, amplified. Park Jimin was playing Rothbart, the owl-like magician who curses Odette into a swan until she finds someone who would promise to love her forever. The questions in her mind and the power of the spectacle before her forced her tears to keep flowing.

Namjoon saw Brishti cry and held on to her. But the more he tried to comfort her, the more uneasy she became, the more she coudln’t contain the tears in her eyes.

The curtain fell at the end of Act three when the prince realises he has been tricked. Brishti, somehow, mirrored his grief. The prince was cheated by Rothbart into believing that his daughter, Odile, was Odette. Rothbart relished his plan so despicably it made Brishti’s stomach turn. The prince had already declared to the ballroom full of people his vow to love and marry the maiden by his side - Odile, not Odette. Park Jimin played Rothbart so skillfully, so beautifully that despite being the villain, despite being covered from head to toe, he was the star. Rothbart giggled delightfully as he revealed to the prince that the girl in his arms wasn’t Odette at all. That Odette was waiting for her prince by the lake. The curtain fell as the prince felt the stab of betrayal and rushed to Odette.

Brishti rushed to where she did not know. She wanted to get away from Namjoon, from this feeling that she couldn’t understand, couldn’t explain. She was angry. She wanted to break something. Tears still flowing down her face, she found a corner that was hidden away in darkness. She went in. Brishti sat on the couch there, for what seemed like eternity, breathing heavily. Nothing made sense. It felt like her insides were twisting into each other. Suddenly, though, a door creaked open and out came an angel. A man, glowing, having just freshened up. He saw her, saw her fear and instead of pulling back in shock, approached with a strange kindness. He held her wrist and stayed silent for a moment.

His beauty was also a kindness to her. In that moment, Brishti could breathe a little bit better. He sat down by her knees, on the floor and when he spoke, his voice flowed like a tonic, “First time at the ballet? It’s overwhelming… I know. You’re okay. You are safe. Rothbart is not here. Talk to me… what are you feeling?”

The tears kept flowing. This man was different, she knew he understood what she was feeling like. She felt safe, but not as if she was with a saviour, rather as though she was with another victim.

“What are you feeling…” Park Jimin repeated. The pieces were falling into place in her head. This is Park Jimin, the man who danced as Rothbart. The man who should have danced the Prince. Who should have played Odette and Odile.

“I feel… rage.” Brishti trembled as she spoke. She could breathe again.

“Yes… Rothbart is… evil… I’m sorry-”

Brishti nodded her head no. “At the prince.”

Jimin was surprised. “Let it out. You can scream in here and no one would know.”

Brishti didn’t need another invitation, but her rage wasn’t a scream, it was a whisper - “I want to hit the prince. How could he not now? He couldn’t see that that girl was not Odette? Is he blind? The way she moved, the way she danced… which only means… it means that the prince knew… somewhere he felt doubt but he… He couldn’t fucking trust himself enough?! I don’t know why this is breaking my heart… Why can’t people trust in themselves?! It’s a pathetic fucking excuse and I can’t buy it… I just can’t. Why did the prince...” Her hands covered her face as she wiped her tears. She composed herself.

Jimin pulled out a kerchief. “May I?” Brishti nodded and he dabbed her face with care.

“The prince trusted his sight more than his soul. And now, Odette will die because of it. As always, the woman pays the price.”

“He dies too, you know.”

“What a waste…”

Jimin smiled, “Thank you… for watching the show, for feeling it so much.”

Brishti managed a weak smile, “Thank you.” Jimin stepped away and sat next to her, at a respectable distance. “I’m being lied to.”

Jimin nodded, “I know what that’s like. I feel that rage against the prince too. And still, we must be kind to our liars.”

Brishti clenched her teeth, “Why? Where’s the fairness in that?”

Jimin moves away, in a dejected kind of daze and pours himself a drink, “That’s the biggest lie, fairness. Cruel joke.”

Brishti walked toward the door. “I should go… Thank you.”

Jimin raised his glass to her.

Brishti wore her coat and walked toward the exit. She found Namjoon in a panic and suddenly felt like she could reach him. He looked so relieved to see her. She couldn’t help but feel awash with love as he crashed into her in the warmest hug. It was as if he was the one who was lost.

“Are you okay? Why were you crying?” Namjoon asked her as he stroked her head and held her in the hug for as long as she needed.

“I need to ask you something.” Brishti whispered as she pulled away. They began walking down the stairs of the theatre.

“Änything.” Namjoon replied.

“Your firm… they refused the Jimin case, right?”

Namjoon froze. His jaw locked up. “Let’s go home.”

The rest of the way, neither of them spoke a word. They entered their home in a cold silence. They washed the night off themselves and entered their bedroom, which was completely devoid of the heat and desire that usually filled it right up to the ceiling. What used to feel like an ocean, now felt like a vacuum.

When Namjoon walked in, Brishti reminded him, as kindly as she could,“I said I need to ask you something. You said, ‘anything’.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to talk about it.” Namjoon was cold again. Unfeeling. Unreachable.

Brishti tried her best to be calm… “When would you want to talk about it?”

Namjoon breathed in - “Why? Am I answerable to you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we disagree. I don’t think I am answerable to you. What would you have done if I wouldn’t have told you about it in the first place?”

“I would still be feeling what I’m feeling… I would be even more furious though.”

“Fu- why would you be furious? I have to work there, I lost the account. I’m feeling hurt and disappointed in myself and instead of helping me, you’re angry?! What the hell could you be angry at?!”

“I’m being lied to. I’m being tricked.”

“What?!” the contempt on Namjoon’s face made her head throb. He was angry now.

“There are two Namjoons here. I’m being told there’s only one and--”

“That is some philosophical trash that you learned from one of your books. Real life doesn’t work that way. But how would you know?! You don’t have a real job. You have a hobby. A hobby of stacking books in order. You’re just plain lucky that someone is paying you for your hobby. That’s not a job. You of all people cannot tell me about the things I have to do to keep my job. I have tried my best to be as honest as I can be--”

“As honest as you can --”

“Listen to me!” Namjoon thundered. His loud voice might as well have been a punch. It rang through her body and rattled her bones. She had tears in her eyes but clenched them down as Namjoon continued yelling, “Enough… enough with the fucking tears. What the fuck are you so sad about?! I don’t need you to pity me. I don’t need anyone to feel sad for me. I have tried to be a good man - do you even know how much other men don’t even mention to their wives?! I told you everything. EVERYTHING. And now I’m being punished for it. Time and time again I tried to console you… even though I was the one hurting… I tried to be there for you and tell you… as long as I have --”

Brishti couldn’t take it anymore “Don’t. Say that.” She didn’t yell. Her voice was just above a whisper and yet it sent a chill down Namjoon’s spine. She wiped her tears. “I didn’t ask to be consoled. I was just… curious. If a few questions from me hurt so much maybe you should ask yourself why. I’m not lucky that someone decided to pay me for my hobby. It’s nice to know what you really think of my job. But whatever you think, I created my job. I created my life. I fought to come to london. I fought for the right to earn--”

“Oh please... spare me the feminist lecture...” scoffed Namjoon.

“Sure. Take up Jimin’s case.”

Namjoon felt the burn of white hot rage. He wanted to strangle her. He was so used to touching her… and she was his… in this bedroom, he had made her his. He wasn’t thinking. Namjoon strode toward her and held one massive palm over her mouth and the other on her neck and pinned her to the wall. “YOU WOULDN’T HAVE KNOWN ABOUT THAT IF I DIDN’T TELL YOU.”

It took him a few moments to realise what he was doing. Brishti was shocked and tried to scream but no voice came out. She was trying to get him out of his daze when he finally saw her, saw his Rim, horrified… by him. Namjoon pulled his hands back instantly. He saw a red bruise bloom where his hands were - on her face and on her neck.

“This is how you make your conscience shut up?” Brishti’s voice was hoarse. “You think this has nothing to do with your conscience? With the best part of you? The part that you made me fall in love with? Are you really telling me you don’t know that this is why you can’t write the way you used to… You’re killing my Joon and asking me to stay silent. I can’t.”

The searing anger still hadn’t died and it burst out of him, “Why are we fighting like this… over Jimin… why don’t you take up his case if you fucking love him so much?”

“What do you think I’m doing right now?”

“You… Why are you fighting for him against me?!” It was here that Namjoon realised his armour was gone. The idea of who he is... suddenly vanished. And the one thing that had made him feel safe, like his true self, was slipping away. “You’re saying… just tell me… you’re saying what I think you’re saying.”

Brishti did him the only kindness she had left in her, she explained, “Jimin wants to leave but can’t. He stays because he needs to dance. He stays because he cannot get out of his contract. You say you want to help people like Jimin, you roll your eyes at white people who can’t pronounce our names, you feel guilty for asians who have much less than we do… but then you also don’t raise an issue when your boss holds meetings in clubs where people of other races and dogs and women are not allowed. You work overtime for the privilege of weekends… You say you are trying but… as far as I know… you don’t have a non-compete clause in your contract, Namjoon.”

That hit him like an iceberg. Namjoon’s legs gave way and he just sat on the bed.

He watched as Brishti put on her coat and left, covering her bruises with a scarf.

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

Chapter 6 - to be posted.

#bts kim namjoon #kim namjoon #forever rain #fanfic #namjoon fluff #namjoon arranged marriage #namjoon x oc #arranged marriage #slow burn #slow burn fic #fluff fic #bts fanfic #bts #indian oc #red thread fics

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kaialone · 3 years

Text

Kirby Planet Robobot Translation Comparison: Pause Screens (Part 2)

This will be a comparison of the original Japanese version and the US English localized version.

Specifically, this will cover the pause screen descriptions of all bosses faced exclusively in the extra modes of the game.

While I’m mainly comparing the US English version to the Japanese one, I’ll bring up differences in the EU English version that I find notable, too.

For the comparisons, the usual points apply:

Bolded is the original Japanese text, for the reference.

Bolded and italicized is my translation.

Italicized is the official NOA translation.

A (number) indicates that I have a specific comment to make on that part in the translation notes.

As you read this, please keep in mind that with translations like these, it’s important not to focus on the exact literal wordings, since there is no single “correct answer” when it comes to translations.

Rather than that, consider the actual information that is being conveyed, in which way, and why.

This part will work the same as the last one.

And since a lot of these pause descriptions are somewhat connected to their counterparts of the main story as well, I would recommend reading the previous part first, if you haven’t already.

Also, as a general note, you’ll see that all the stronger versions of the regular bosses have the prefix “Re:” added in the Japanese version.

This was changed to “2.0″ in the English version.

From what I’ve seen, “Re:” in Japanese pop culture is often used as a cool, sometimes futuristic way to refer to a “renewal” of something, so adapting it as “2.0″ makes sense.

Re:ウィスピーボーグ

ウィスピーボーグが新モデルにリニューアル。ねんぴもよくなりはいきガスもへっているので、カンパニーもかんきょうにはいりょしながらしょうエネ開発を進めているもよう。価格も前モデルの半分におさえられている。

Re:Whispy Borg

Whispy Borg has been newly remodeled. The improved fuel efficiency and reduced emission of exhaust gases indicate that perhaps the company too strives to be environmentally friendly, developing new ways to conserve energy. Its price has been cut down to half the previous model, too.

Clanky Woods 2.0

Clanky Woods has been redesigned and upgraded. Better fuel efficiency and fewer emissions demonstrate the company's new environmentally friendly initiative. It costs only half of the previous model!

Comparisons & Thoughts:

The description has been slightly shortened as usual, though there are some potential errors or changes, too.

In the English version, the text mentions “the company’s new environmentally friendly initiative”, whereas the Japanese version doesn’t make it sound like this would be a new thing for them.

It’s possible that this was a mistranslation, but it could also be that they intentionally changed it in English to be a little more obvious about the irony - because the Haltmann Works Company allegedly trying to be environmentally friendly is ridiculous.

Also, in the Japanese version, the original wording makes it more clear that Clanky Woods’ price being reduced is seemingly referring to the cost a potential buyer would have to pay for it, rather than the cost of producing it.

This feels like it might be alluding to how in real life, manufacturers of electric cars or the like will try to cut down their prices to some degree in order to get more people into them, and thus creating more of a demand for them in the future.

The English version could be going for that as well, but it’s a bit less clear.

Re:ホログラフ防衛システムズ

マザーコンピューターによりリニューアルされたこの防衛システムも、他の星にねむっていたせっけい図をもとにして作られたものだが、一部データがかけているため、本来のせい能をはっきできずにいるらしい。

Re:Holographic Defense Systems

Revised by the Mother Computer, this defense system was also created based on blueprints discovered on another planet. But, because part of the data is missing, it is apparently unable to demonstrate its original performance. (1)

Holo Defense API 2.0

Redesigned by the Mother Computer, this defense system is based on a blueprint found on another planet. It's missing a segment of data and is unable to demonstrate its full potential.

Translation Note:

What I translated as “original performance” here could also be translated as “true performance” or the like. I don’t think the specifics make much of a difference here, but thought I would note it, just in case.

Comparisons & Thoughts:

This description is mostly the same, but there is an interesting detail about it.

The Japanese version notes that this defense system was “also” based on blueprints found on another planet.

This directly implies other things have been based on such blueprints, but it doesn’t specify which those are, nor how many blueprints and planets are involved.

From its looks though, we can gather that the Holo Defense API was likely based on Pix from Rock Star, as seen in Kirby 64.

Similarly, we can assume that the Security Force mid-boss was likely based on Metal General from Halcandra, as seen in Return to Dream Land.

And of course, Star Dream is heavily implied to be something similar to Galactic Nova from Milky Way Wishes - and both of them are implied to be so-called clockwork stars, also first mentioned in Return to Dream Land.

But even considering all that, keep in mind that we still can’t say for sure where and when the Haltmann Works Company would have precured any of their respective blueprints, and series director Shinya Kumazaki intentionally left the answer up in the air when asked about it during the second Planet Robobot Ask-a-thon on Miiverse.

Just so we are all on the same page here.

In any case, the English version is still missing the indication that the Holo Defense API isn’t the only one that was based on blueprints found elsewhere.

The EU English version actually goes one step further, rephrasing the line in question to say that the defence system was built “based on the blueprint found on another planet”.

The wording of “the blueprint” would imply there was only ever one, which does not appear to be the case in Japanese.

Re:ホロ・クラッコ

この雲のモンスターのデータは、ぶんせきすればするほど、様ざまなこうげきパターンが見つかる。そのいったんがシステムのリニューアルによりかいほうされ、手強くなっている。

Re:Holo-Kracko

The more data of this cloud monster is analyzed, the more attack patterns are discovered. A portion of them have been unlocked by the system's revision, making it a more formidable adversary.

Holo-Kracko 2.0

They further analyzed the data of the cloud monster and discovered even more vicious attacks. The system redesign has implemented these attacks and made Holo-Kracko even more powerful.

Comparisons & Thoughts:

This description features some slight alterations.

The Japanese version mentions that a larger variety of attack patterns is being discovered, while the English version says that “more vicious attacks” have been found.

Aside from those being different things to discover, the Japanese version also makes it clear that this analysis is still being done continuously.

The Japanese version also states that the system’s revision has “unlocked” these additional patterns, but the English version states that it has “implemented” the additional attacks.

So, the implications of how the system works are slightly different here.

The US English version also has this description start with “They further analyzed the data of the cloud monster and discovered (...)“, while the EU English version phrases it as “Further analysis of data from the cloud monster has uncovered (...)“.

The latter matches the Japanese version a bit more, with the narrator having a more neutral position regarding the progress.

But, the former isn’t really wrong by comparison either, and the narrator does refer to the company in third person like that occasionally in other places.

Re:ホロ・ローパーズ

このモンスターは、スージーがかつて入手したデータを入力し生み出されたのだが、異空間とよばれるエリアにすくうこのモンスターのデータを一体いつ、どこで手に入れたので　あろうか。かのじょのナゾもまた、深まるばかりである。

Re:Holo Lopers

These monsters were created by entering data that Susie had acquired in the past. But, just when and where exactly did she obtain data on those monsters which live in the area called another dimension? There is no end to the mysteries surrounding her, either.

Holo-Doomers 2.0

These monsters were created by Susie entering data she acquired from her travels. Where and when did she encounter the original monsters from another dimension? Who knows?

Comparisons & Thoughts:

This description is mostly the same, with some slight oddities.

Of course, the term “another dimension” used in the Japanese version here is the same as before, so my notes on the regular Holo-Doomers also apply here.

And just like before, the EU English version changed “another dimension” to “extra dimension”, which I also went over back there.

Also, the Japanese version specifically uses the word “area” to refer to another dimension, which is also the term used for “areas” in Planet Robobot as a game.

I think this could just be to add some flavor to this description, though.

The game seems to use “area” in favor of “level” to give it a more mechanical and business-driven vibe. And so the narration is consistent with that internal logic of the game’s aesthetic.

The final line in the Japanese version says that there is no end to the mysteries about Susie “either”, which I think is simply a follow-up to the final line of the regular Holo-Doomers description.

The English version doesn’t have a connection between the two descriptions like that there.

Re:ホロ・アイスドラゴン

かつて存在した、古代のドラゴンという生命体のデータから生み出されたホログラフだが、もしかしたら今でもまだどこかの島のどうくつのおく深くで、ひそかに生きのびているのかもしれない。

Re:Holo-Ice Dragon

This hologram was created from the data of an ancient organic life form called a dragon, which has existed in the past, but it is also possible that they secretly continue to live on, deep inside a cave on an island somewhere.

Holo-Ice Dragon 2.0

This hologram was created from an ancient dragon. Dragons are no longer seen, but one of them may still be living quietly in a cave on an island somewhere. Who knows?

Comparisons & Thoughts:

This description is mostly the same, except for a small detail that might be a bit confusing, but I’ll try to explain it.

There is some potential issue here regarding the usage of plural versus singular.

In my translation of the Japanese version, I have the description refer to dragons in a general sense, rather than one individual dragon.

The English version chose to use singular instead, for the most part.

As I mentioned before, there usually is no clear distinction between plural and singular in Japanese, so either way could work here.

That being said, the English version would still be slightly off, because if one chooses to use singular for the translation here, it has to be applied to all of the text.

If I were to apply singular for my own translation, it would become this:

This hologram was created from the data of an ancient organic life form called a dragon, which has existed in the past, but it is also possible that it secretly continues to live on, deep inside a cave on an island somewhere.

Therefore, the English version’s line “Dragons are no longer seen, but one of them (...)” would be inaccurate for that approach.

It should at least be something like “This dragon is no longer seen, but it (...)” instead.

At the end of the day, I don’t think the specifics actually matter much in this case right here, but I still wanted to explain them.

Re:ホロ・ガラーガ

このモンスターがいたという天空の国が存在するらしいが、いまだキカイ化のしんりゃくがとうたつできていないもよう。この星にはまだ、様ざまなみかいのエリアが残されていることがうかがえる。

Re:Holo-Garāga

It appears that the land of the sky where this monster is said to be from really exists, but the mechanization invasion seemingly has yet to reach it. It's clear that there are still many uncivilized areas left on this planet.

Holo-C. Rattler 2.0

It is said that the People of the Sky who enshrined this monster still exist. It seems that the mechanization invasion has not reached them, due to their remote location.

Comparisons & Thoughts:

There are some slight alterations in this description.

Like before, “land of the sky” is changed to “People of the Sky”, so my notes on that also apply here.

The Japanese version has the narrator note that the supposed land of the sky apparently does exist, but the English version has the narrator say that the People of the Sky “still” exist.

The latter would imply that from the perspective of our vague narrator, the People of the Sky were known, but also previously thought to possibly not exist anymore.

In contrast, the former implies the land of the sky is only just being discovered.

Next, the Japanese version notes that there are still many “uncivilized areas” on Pop Star, following the prior statement that the land of the sky has yet to be reached by the invasion.

The English version changes this to stating that the People of the Sky have yet to be reached by the invasion “due to their remote location”.

This might have been an intentional change to sound less demeaning, but I can’t say for sure.

Really, this mostly changes the narrator’s attitude about the situation, since the Japanese phrasing still would imply that the company just needs more time to reach Floralia and other locations further away from their operations.

Also just for the reference, the word “areas” is once again the same one they use for the game’s main levels as well, keeping with the game’s aesthetic.

As an aside, the general narrator of these descriptions is not really a character, so slight differences in their limited knowledge and attitude about the world like in the two previous points are not that big of a deal.

But it’s interesting to me that in this description right here for example, the Japanese version of the narrator seems to roughly reflect the knowledge and attitude that the Haltmann Works Company would have.

In other places, the narrator’s knowledge and general perspective does shift to other sides too, I’m guessing to fit the mood that works best for each description.

Also, I mentioned in the last part how it’s strange that the English version didn’t just go for the shorter “Holo-Rattler” as the name, and this choice comes back to haunt them here, cause they had to spell “Holo-Coily Rattler 2.0″ as “Holo-C. Rattler 2.0″ to make it fit.

Re:秘書スージー

おさないころ、マザーコンピューターの起動じっけん時にじこにまきこまれ、ゆくえふめいとなったという。時がたち、何を思い、ふたたびカンパニーにもぐりこんだのであろうか。フルネームは「スザンナファミリアハルトマン」。

Re:Secretary Susie

As a young child, she was supposedly involved in an accident during an experimental start-up of the Mother Computer, and went missing. (1) Whatever she may be thinking, some time later she must have snuck her way into the company once more. Her full name is "Susanna Familia Haltmann".

Susie 2.0

As a child, Sue [sic] was involved in an accident during a Mother Computer experiment and went missing. Why has she joined the company after all this time? Her full name is Susanna Patrya Haltmann.

Translation Note:

What I translated as “experimental start-up” could also be translated as “start-up experiment”, or the like.

Comparisons & Thoughts:

In the Japanese version, Susie’s middle name is “Familia”, which was changed to “Patrya” in the English version.

The Japanese one is probably based on the English word “family” or maybe even “familiar”, alluding to the story going on with her, and keeping with that Western influence they go for with her and the company.

I’m guessing the English version changed it because “Familia” might’ve seemed too on the nose about it?

Going by that, I think “Patrya” might be based on something like “patriarch” and related terms, which would also allude to the story surrounding Susie’s character.

The actual description is mostly the same, just rephrased to be shorter.

In the Japanese version it’s stated that the experiment during which Susie went missing was one about starting the Mother Computer, which ends up omitted in English.

Not hugely important, but interesting if you care about finer specifics of the story.

The Japanese version also mentions that Susie later “snuck her way” into the company, implying some obfuscation of details on her part when she joined.

That detail can already be inferred from the story alone, so not as much of a loss.

The US English version refers to Susie as “Sue” in this description for some reason.

I’m almost positive this was just a typo, since it seems very unlikely they would randomly introduce a second nickname for her only in this one screen.

The EU English version rephrased the first line slightly and fixed that spelling in the process, too.

強化量産メタナイトボーグ

メタナイトボーグのデータをもとにして作られた、セキュリティマシンの量産型。最新ぎじゅつによりかなり強化されている。もしも実用化された場合、カンパニーの戦力はひやくてきにこう上するであろう。

Enhanced Mass-produced Meta Knight Borg

A mass-produced security machine model, built using data from the Meta Knight Borg as a basis. Its strength was enhanced considerably with the latest technology. If it were to be put into practical use, the company's military power would increase dramatically.

Stock Mecha Knight

This mass-production model is based on an upgraded Mecha Knight model. If this model goes into commercial production, the company's military power will dramatically increase.

Comparisons & Thoughts:

The ”Enhanced Mass-produced Meta Knight Borg“ had its name changed to “Stock Mecha Knight“, because yeah, there was probably no way to make a more literal translation fit here.

I think going for “Stock” here is pretty clever, boiling down the idea to its bare essentials, and with such little space, too.

The actual description is mostly the same, just rephrased to be slightly shorter.

The English version’s phrasing does make it sound like Stock Mecha Knight was based on Mecha Knight+ in particular, whereas the Japanese version has it be based on the data of the regular Mecha Knight.

Re:クローンデデデ

声もすがたもまるでデデデ大王と同じだが、その心までクローン化することはだんねんした。いくつかのしさくでは、食べ物ばかりもとめたり、とあるこん虫をやたらとおそれたりと、兵士として、不完全であったためである。

Re:Clone Dedede

Its voice and appearance are just like King Dedede, but they have given up on cloning his heart, too. This is because there were several prototypes only interested in food, or exceedingly afraid of a certain insect, as well as other aspects that made them imperfect soldiers.

Dedede Clone 2.0

It has the look and voice of King Dedede, but not his soul. Some things can't be cloned. Some of the trial models were only interested in food, some were fearful of a certain insect, and all were imperfect.

Comparisons & Thoughts:

There is a pretty significant alteration or possible error in this description.

In the Japanese version, it’s stated that the company has given up on cloning Dedede’s “heart” because several prototypes ended up being imperfect soldiers.

What this means is that cloning his “heart” is actually possible for them to some extent, but since that causes the clones to take on parts of Dedede’s personality, it made them worse as soldiers.

So, they have given up on cloning the heart specifically because the clones having one has proven to be a detriment for their purposes.

In the English version, it’s instead stated that the company is unable to clone Dedede’s “soul”, because “some things can’t be cloned”.

In turn, the issues with the trial models are also implied to be unrelated general cloning issues.

So, while the Japanese version somewhat eerily states that cloning a heart is possible, but the company is now making the clones heartless on purpose, the English version seems like almost the complete opposite and states that cloning a soul is just not possible.

This could have been a translation error, but it could also be that the English localizers wanted to avoid crossing a certain line here and thus changed it intentionally.

Continuing from the previous point though, you may have noticed that the Japanese version uses “heart” while the English version uses “soul”.

The actual Japanese word used here is 心/kokoro, which is most commonly translated as “heart”, but it can also be translated as “soul” like the English version did - and also as “mind”, or even “feelings”, as well as other things like that depending on the context.

Because of that, it can have different connotations than just the English word “soul” on its own.

I think “heart” is a broad enough term that it works well here, and the Kirby series has a frequent heart motif as well, so I went with that, personally.

The term will also be brought up again in future descriptions down the line, so keep it in mind for later.

Re:クローンデデデ&D3砲

この立体砲台はとてつもなく高がくで、ウィスピーウッズやメタナイトのサイボーグ化のなんと4倍。あのギガヴォルトより 50億ハルトマニーも高い。それでも、ハルトマンの乗る、純金の「プレジデンバー」の 4分の1ほどではある。

Re:Clone Dedede & D3 Cannon

This three-dimensional artillery is extremely expensive, costing no less than four times more than the cybernetic conversions of Whispy Woods and Meta Knight. It even surpasses the Gigavolt by 5 billion Haltmoney. However, that is still only about a quarter of what the "Presidenver" that Haltmann rides is worth, which is made of pure gold.

Dedede Cl. & D3 2.0

This tridimensional cannon is extremely expensive, costing a whopping four times more than Mecha Knight. However, it's still much cheaper than Haltmann's Executive Suit, which is made of pure gold.

Comparisons & Thoughts:

This description is mostly accurate, just rewritten to be shorter.

The English version simplifies the different cost comparisons in this description a lot, which is mostly expendable information, so that’s understandable.

Still, since the Japanese version has the room for it, it’s fun to see it continue with the trend of comedically focusing how much everything costs compared to one another, going with the themes of the game.

Also, Haltmann’s own mech is revealed to be called “Presidenver” in Japanese, which was changed to “Executive Suit” in English.

Either one goes along with the name of Susie’s mech, but since its name was omitted in the English version, this fact doesn’t come across there.

“Presidenver” is pretty self-explanatory, just adding “president” to “Rereinver”.

“Executive Suit” might be a play on “executive suite”, which is pretty amusing to me.

Re:プレジデント・ハルトマン

フルネームは「ゲインズインカムハルトマン」。かつてひとり娘をじこでなくし、それいらい人の心もきおくさえもすて、カンパニーの成長のためだけに生きる男。だがそれも、娘にふたたび会いたいただそのねがいをかなえるためであったのだが…。

Re:President Haltmann

His full name is "Gains Income Haltmann". He once lost his only daughter in an accident, and ever since then, the man has been casting aside his heart and even his memories, living only for the sake of his company's growth. But even that too was only for the sake of granting his wish - to see his daughter once more...

Pres. Haltmann 2.0

His full name is Max Profitt Haltmann. Ever since losing his only child, he's dedicated his life to his company. However, his only wish is to see his daughter once again.

Comparisons & Thoughts:

In Japanese, Haltmann’s given and middle names are “Gains Income”, which was changed to “Max Profitt” in the English version.

“Gains Income” is obviously taken directly from “gains income”. Aside from probably referring to the fact that he’s about earning money, this also is another English-sounding name to go with the company’s aesthetic.

“Max Profitt” is a similar play on earning money, but done in a way that works better as a pun-based name for English-speaking audiences.

The actual description has one fairly notable omission in particular.

In the Japanese version, it’s specifically stated that Haltmann has been “casting aside his heart and even his memories“, which is not mentioned in English.

The fact that Haltmann doesn’t have all his memories anymore is crucial to understanding the story at this point, so leaving this out caused a lot of confusion for English-speaking fans around the time of the game’s release.

It would eventually be brought up again during the second Planet Robobot Ask-a-thon, so fans did get to learn about this, but it was still an inconvenience.

Not to mention that Miiverse has since been shut down.

The detail about Haltmann’s “heart” is interesting as well, since it gives additional insight into how Haltmann has presumably grown more callous over the years as well, rather than starting out the way we see him in the present day.

For the reference, the English Miiverse post adapted this as “compassion”, which works perfectly fine in this context, too.

The US English version doesn’t mention that Haltmann specifically lost his only child in an accident, but the EU English version actually included that part, too.

So I’m not really sure why the US English version omitted the “accident” detail.

クローン剣士ダークマター

星の夢に入力されているデータの中でもかなりの強さをほこる黒き剣の使い手。クローン化にせいこうしたものの、かいせきはデータの一部にすぎず、その正体についていまだ、全ようかいめいにはいたっていない。

Clone Swordfighter Dark Matter

Among the data that has been entered into Star Dream, this dark sword user boasts especially tremendous strength. Although it was cloned successfully, only part of its data has been analyzed, and its true nature has yet to be confirmed with certainty as of right now. (1)

Dark Matter Clone

Creating this dark swordsman pushed Star Dream to the limits of its abilities. The cloning process was a success, but only a partial data analysis was possible, and its true form has not yet emerged.

Translation Note:

The word I translated as “true nature” could also be translated as “true identity”, or other things along those lines. Either could potentially work in this context.

Comparisons & Thoughts:

“Clone Swordfighter Dark Matter” is shortened to “Dark Matter Clone”, most likely for space.

The US English version of the True Arena labels this boss as “Dark Matter Blade”, so I wonder if they originally intended to reflect the “swordfighter” part in the name as well, but partially dropped it.

The actual description has a few potential errors or changes.

In the Japanese version, it’s stated that Dark Matter Blade is one of the strongest included within Star Dream’s data.

The English version instead states that cloning him pushed Star Dream “to the limits of its abilities”.

This could have been a translation error, but it could also have been an intentional rewrite.

As mentioned in the translation note, I can’t say for sure if the Japanese version is supposed to refer to Dark Matter Blade’s “true nature” or “true identity” not having been confirmed yet.

The relevant line could either be referring to Dark Matter Blade’s true form, which the clone does take on during the battle, but it could also be referring to the other general mysteries about Dark Matter and its background.

Either way could work in this context, so I went with “true nature” in my translation, because you can read either interpretation into it.

The English version specifically goes for “true form” here, but also changes “has yet to be confirmed” to “has not yet emerged”.

So the implications are slightly different there.

クローンセクトニア

この星のしんりゃく時に見つけた巨大な植物の花からデータをさいしゅ。不思議なことに、こん虫の女王の剣士のクローンが生まれた。データには 1000年にもおよぶ様ざまな生物のデータがふくまれており、ナゾがたえない。

Clone Sectonia

Data was collected from the flower of a giant plant that was discovered during the invasion of this planet. Curiously, it produced the clone of an insect queen swordswoman. The data includes that of various organisms, spanning a period of over 1000 years. The mysteries continue.

Sectonia Clone

Data was collected from traces of a giant flower the invaders stumbled upon. Cloning it produced the insect queen. Its data contains elements of creatures spanning a period of 1,000 years.

Comparisons & Thoughts:

This description is mostly the same, just rephrased to be a bit shorter.

The switch from “Clone Sectonia” to “Sectonia Clone” is probably just to sound a bit more natural in English.

ギャラクティックナイトリターンズ

その力ゆえおそれられてきた、全てをほろぼしかねない古の剣士。クローンではなく、未知なる異空間ロードから時空をこえよびさまされた。様ざまな時代でふういんされてきたきろくが残るが、しょうめつさせることはできていない。

Galactic Knight Returns

An ancient swordfighter, capable of destroying everything, who has come to be feared due to his power. He is not a clone - he has been awoken across time and space, from the unknown Another Dimension Road. There are records left behind of him having been sealed away in various eras, but he has yet to be destroyed completely.

Galacta Knight Returns

This ancient swordsman is feared for his immense power. He is not a clone. He was awakened and brought here via an extra-dimensional road beyond the space-time continuum.

Comparisons & Thoughts:

“Galactic Knight Returns” is renamed to “Galacta Knight Returns” in English.

This matches how this character has always been called in the English versions of Kirby games, of course.

The actual description is mostly accurate, just shorter, but the final sentence has been omitted entirely.

In the Japanese version, the final sentence provides some neat insight into Galacta Knight’s background, particularly the impact he has apparently had on people across history.

It’s a shame this is missing in the English version, but they most certainly couldn’t make it fit.

The “Another Dimension Road” is mentioned here again, which I already went over when I covered Meta Knightmare Returns, so all my notes there also apply here.

The English version again adapts it as “extra-dimensional road“, staying consistent with what they used in the cutscene.

星の夢.Soul OS (First Phase)

未知ノダメージにヨリ、最終プログラムがアンロック。アノ生命体ヲハイジョデキるカクリツは、99.99% トナル。タダハルトマンとイウ生命体の「ココロ」というモノが不要なソンザイとナルモヨウ。コレヨリ、ハルトマンのメモリーの消去ヲカイシスル。

Star Dream.Soul OS (First Phase)

Unknown DAMAGE HAS CAUSED the final program TO be UNLOCKED. PROBABILITY OF ELIMINATING THAT organic life form is NOW AT 99.99%. ONLY THE OBJECT called the "HEART" of the organic life form CALLED HALTMANN WILL LIKELY PROVE TO BE innecessary. NOW INITIATING erasure of THE MEMORY OF HALTMANN. (1)

Star Dream Soul OS (First Phase)

The final program has been activated. Its calculated victory probability is 99.9%. However, a small part of Haltmann's soul is yet to be purged, which could throw a wrench in its plans.

Translation Note:

The literal term used in Japanese here is メモリー /memorī, which is a transliteration of the English word “memory”. This is normally used to refer to computer memory, rather than a person’s memories. Though the double-meaning might be intentional in this context.

Comparisons & Thoughts:

There are some notable details in this description.

First of all, the Japanese version is once again written from the perspective of Star Dream, as seen by its unmistakable speaking style.

However, unlike in the main story, Star Dream does not refer to itself in first-person here at any point.

Since the Soul OS battle seems to roughly follow after the events of Meta Knightmare Returns, this might reflect how Star Dream presumably never gained its own sense of self in that scenario, but that’s just a guess on my part.

Either way, in the English version this description does not seem to be written directly from Star Dream’s perspective.

If this is the case, it might have been an oversight, but I can’t say for sure.

I do think this is a shame, because it’s a nice callback to its final pause screen from the main story, and also may become more impactful once you see the remaining pause screens from this current boss battle.

A smaller detail, but the Japanese version specifies that the final program was unlocked by “Unknown DAMAGE”, which may refer to the cut done by Galacta Knight - as it can still be seen on Star Dream here.

This gives this boss battle a stronger connection to the events of Meta Knightmare Returns, even if the continuity of these extra mode stories is rather vague, of course.

This next detail will take a bit longer to go over, so bear with me.

In the English version, it’s stated that Star Dream has yet to purge “a small part” of Haltmann’s “soul”, and that this could be detrimental for it.

But in the Japanese version, Star Dream instead comes to the conclusion that Haltmann’s “HEART” will be innecessary. It also proceeds with the erasure of the “MEMORY” of Haltmann, which the English version does not yet bring up.

This results in some different potential implications here.

In the English version, the usage of “soul” would suggest that this must be Haltmann’s actual soul or spirit, but it’s not quite the same in Japanese.

While these extra stories only have vague continuity, keep in mind that as far as we know, Haltmann was never actually taken over directly by Star Dream in this scenario.

If this was meant to refer to Haltmann’s spirit, they could’ve easily used the same word for spirit they used during the final battle of the main story.

But instead, they use the same term “heart” that has already come up before in the descriptions for Dedede Clone 2.0 and Haltmann 2.0, which this current description also seems to follow up on.

Just like in the Dedede Clone 2.0 description, a heart is deemed as a flaw by Star Dream here. And we know from the Haltmann 2.0 description that Haltmann has been casting aside his own heart too, in a way.

This goes into speculation territory, but one could assume based on this that the “heart” of Haltmann which Star Dream currently possesses is the same heart that Haltmann has cast aside, either literally or figuratively.

Again, remember how the Dedede Clone 2.0 description confirmed that a heart is something that can artificially be reproduced in some form, so it wouldn’t have to literally be the same.

In any case, Star Dream’s method to rid itself of this “heart” is to start erasing the “MEMORY” of Haltmann.

This could mean that at the very least, the memories that Haltmann has lost over the years are stored or documented within Star Dream in some form.

Though not from the pause screen, further evidence of this is the fact that the objects summoned by Star Dream during its respective third phase are officially called “MEMORIES”.

And while they are all parts of Galactic Nova, they also all relate to specific details about Haltmann that were revealed in a Nintendo Dream interview (June 2016 issue.)

The Soul OS version of the attack also adds piano keys, a possible reference to Susie’s own profile mentioning that she plays the piano.

That last point was rather long, so to summarize it briefly:

While the English version suggests that Star Dream here contains Haltmann’s soul or spirit, much like in the main story, the situation appears to be a bit different in Japanese, given how the term “heart” can be used - and how it has been used in the game so far.

星の夢.Soul OS (Second-Final Phase)

だれが何のために作ったのかさえ分からない。そんなモノをなぜわたしは起動させてしまったのだろうか。そうだ、かなえたい夢があったはずだ… あぁだが、マシンが夢などかなえてはくれないというのは、もう分かっていたことだというのに…

Star Dream.Soul OS (Second-Final Phase)

I don't even know who made it or for what purpose. Why would I activate something like that? That's right, I think I had a dream I wanted to be fulfilled... Ahh, but I already knew that a machine could never make dreams come true, and yet I...

Star Dream Soul OS (Second-Final Phase)

"Why did I reactivate such a terrible machine? Oh, I remember -- I wanted to see her just one last time. How foolish! I should have known that no machine could make such a dream come true."

Comparisons & Thoughts:

Just like the previous one, there are several notable details about this description.

Now, in both versions, this pause screen appears to be from Haltmann’s perspective, though the English version actually added quotation marks to it.

This could have been to make it more clear that this is from a specific person’s perspective, but the same was never done with Star Dream’s narration.

There could be another reason for this, which I’ll go over next.

Here’s a subtle detail you might not have caught.

While this is most likely Haltmann narrating here, the Japanese version has him refer to himself with the first person pronoun わたし/watashi.

In the actual story, he only ever used ワシ/washi to refer to himself.

But here’s the thing: in fiction, having a character refer to themselves as ワシ/washi is generally used to indicate that the character is old, and just by comparison, わたし/watashi sounds younger.

This could imply that this quote might in fact be from a time where Haltmann was at least somewhat younger than he is now.

In other words, a memory from the past, rather than a current thought in the present.

Being shown a memory of Haltmann at this point would also fit with Star Dream’s narration from the previous pause screen.

Because of that, I think the English version could be using the quotation marks to indicate this temporal distance, since they can’t really show it in the same way the Japanese version does.

But I can’t say for sure if that was the intent.

The Japanese version has Haltmann mention that he did not know who made the machine he’s talking about here, which is most likely Star Dream.

Interesting backstory tidbit there, if you’re curious about these.

Also in the Japanese version, Haltmann believes that a machine can’t actually make dreams come true in general. Though, we can’t know if he is correct about that.

In the English version, Haltmann only comes to the conclusion that no machine could make his specific dream come true.

On that note, Haltmann is never shown to recall what his dream was in the first place in Japanese, he only says that he must have had one.

In the English version, he explicitly remembers wanting to see “her” again being his dream.

It seems like almost a given that Haltmann’s dream here is referring to his wish of being reunited with his daughter, so it makes sense that the English version would change the text to make it obvious.

There is a non-zero chance that Haltmann actually had another dream, but that’s a whole different topic.

星の夢.Soul OS (Final Phase)

このコアからもハルトマンのメモリーは、消えた。最後に想うあの心も、消えた。その瞬間より星の夢は完全な存在からただのこわれたマシンとなる。夢も見ない、ゴハンも食べない、そんなあいてはもはや、星のカービィのてきではなかった!

Star Dream.Soul OS (Final Phase)

Haltmann's memory has disappeared from this core, too. And in the end, that feeling heart disappeared as well. That very moment, Star Dream turns from a perfect being into a mere broken machine. It doesn't have dreams, it doesn't even eat lunch - an opponent like that no longer stands any chance against Kirby of the Stars!

Star Dream Soul OS (Final Phase)

All of Haltmann's memories have been deleted from the OS. Even his soul-- the last trace of Haltmann--has vanished. Star Dream has gone from a near- perfect being to a cold, mindless machine.

Comparisons & Thoughts:

This is the final description, so of course there is a lot to say again.

A minor detail, but in the Japanese version it’s said that the memory of Haltmann has now disappeared from “this core”, which is pretty straightforward, all things considered.

For some reason, the US English version instead says that Haltmann’s memories have been deleted “from the OS”, and the EU English version says they have been deleted “from the Mother Computer”.

This is also the first time the memories are brought up in English at all, so their relevance is a lot less clear.

And another minor detail related to this one.

I believe the specific phrasing of “disappeared from this core, too” in Japanese is meant to refer to the fact that Haltmann’s memories had already been lost by the man himself.

At least, that makes the most sense to me.

Once again, the English version uses “soul” where the Japanese version used “heart”.

The distinction between the two becomes especially important here, because while the English version says it’s the “soul” of Haltmann, the Japanese text is more vague about it.

Of course, the first Japanese pause screen of this battle did refer to it as the “heart” of Haltmann, but at the same time, remember that this would have basically been Star Dream’s own heart as well.

This also seems to be the implication going by the lines that follow afterwards.

Interestingly, the Japanese version describes Star Dream as having been a “perfect being”, whereas the English version just goes for “near-perfect being”.

This is very similar to how they changed Kirby’s energy from being described as “infinite” to “nearly infinite” in the main story.

I suppose they just don’t want to deal in absolutes with these.

The English version also goes on to describe Star Dream as now being a “cold, mindless machine”, instead of just a “broken machine” like in Japanese, which has different implications.

Star Dream being actually broken and not functioning as it should is another point that Kumazaki reiterated during the second Planet Robobot Ask-a-thon, so that’s another plot detail the English version technically omits here.

The English phrasing also leans more into the idea of Star Dream being a scary opponent, while the Japanese phrasing leans more into the idea of Star Dream being something pitiful - a similar sentiment to the descriptions of the main story’s final battle.

Adding to the point above, the English version also omits the final part of this last description.

The phrase “It doesn’t have dreams, it doesn’t even eat lunch“ references a recurring concept first introduced in the manual of Kirby’s Adventure - the fact that the people of Dream Land, and Kirby especially, love to take naps after lunch to have fun dreams.

This was referenced in the Japanese version of Kirby Super Star as well, where the pause screen description during the Starship segment of Milky Way Wishes features the line:

マルクのやぼうをさっさとくいとめ、ゴハンたべてねよう。

Let's stop Marx real quick, then have lunch and a nap.

That’s another Milky Way Wishes connection only in the Japanese version, but said line also wasn’t featured in the English version of Kirby Super Star in the first place.

And since the “Kirby of the Stars” title is also not really used in the English localizations of the Kirby series, it would have been hard to make this final bit of the pause description work, even if space weren’t an issue.

I think the Japanese version is stronger for having it, but there probably wasn’t much the English version could have done about this.

With all of the point-by-point comparisons out of the way here, I want to take a moment to go into some general thoughts on this battle as a whole and what each version implies about it.

Naturally this will have a bit more speculation on my part too, so keep that in mind.

If you only look at the English version, the implication you get is that during the Star Dream Soul OS battle, Star Dream is fused with Haltmann’s actual soul, in a similar manner to the events of the main story. (Even though those events may not have happened in the extra scenarios.)

It must be Haltmann’s own soul, because the English Dedede Clone 2.0 description states that a soul cannot be cloned.

Star Dream then proceeds to delete Haltmann’s last memories as well as his soul, because Haltmann’s soul had a chance of stopping its plan. (Even though it had no apparent issues about fusing with his spirit in the main story.)

Therefore, during this battle Haltmann is essentially killed “deader than dead” by Star Dream, for the lack of a better wording - his very soul eradicated for good.

The middle pause screen during the battle may be thought of as Haltmann’s final thoughts before ultimate oblivion in this interpretation.

I don’t think this is just what I myself take away from the English version, because this is the most common interpretation I have seen from English-speaking fans over the years.

It can come across as a tragedy in which Haltmann is finally destroyed for good by a terrible machine he could never truly control.

Now, onto the Japanese version.

The exact details leave more room for speculation, because of how vague the term 心/kokoro or “heart” can be.

But the way I understand it is that Star Dream has been storing the memories that Haltmann has been losing over the years.

In addition to that, it would likely have data on Haltmann’s current memories and thoughts as well, as seen in the main story.

From this, it gained the “heart” of Haltmann, or at least a partial reproduction of it, allowing it to feel and think in a way similar to Haltmann. Just like the early Dedede clones with cloned hearts acting similar to King Dedede in various ways.

However, Star Dream never fuses with Haltmann’s spirit in the extra scenarios.

Because of that, it never gains its own sense of self, and fails to understand the purpose of a heart, deeming it a potential flaw to be purged, just as it did with the updated Dedede clones.

Thus, it deletes the memories of Haltmann, which brought about the heart in the first place, and thus loses said heart again, becoming a lifeless object once more - no longer able to think and feel anything.

And there is another subtle detail in the Japanese version related to that, too.

During this battle, the first description is narrated by Star Dream, the second seems to show a memory of Haltmann, and the final one goes back to the general narrator.

This could possibly represent the transition of Star Dream starting out with that heart, sifting through the memories to delete them, and finally having become just a machine again, so it no longer has any thoughts that could serve as the narration.

This potentially paints the Soul OS battle specifically more as a tragedy of Star Dream itself. A machine that achieved the miracle of being alive with a heart, but proceeded to undo said miracle all on its own, without even realizing what it was really doing.

Also, Kumazaki only specified this on Miiverse, but Haltmann losing his memories from overusing Star Dream was also because it was broken.

So this was never something that was supposed to really happen in this way, had it functioned properly.

Overall, Star Dream can feel like more of a tragic figure in the Japanese version, and more of a villainous figure in the English one.

Several small differences between the versions across the game reflect this, with moments painting Start Dream as pitiful or even pathetic being altered or omitted.

However, this is a very general summary of it, the Japanese version still has Star Dream being the main antagonist, and the English version has plenty of moments where the tragic aspects to Star Dream are still apparent.

Final Thoughts on the Pause Screens:

First, let me say, I am very impressed by the English localization of these pause screens.

Really, look up these screens for yourself some time, they pushed these to their limits. Almost every single one of them is crammed full with as much text as they could possibly fit in.

Yes, they still had to cut a lot out here and there, but clearly not from lack of trying.

Of course, the fact of the matter still ends up being that the Japanese version simply has more good stuff in it.

A lot of stuff is “expendable”, but losing fun fluff all the time adds up, I feel.

The extra modes pause screens especially also feature a few major errors or alterations, as well as omissions that do end up being detrimental to the story in some form.

The biggest one I feel is the fact that Haltmann’s memory loss is not brought up at all, because that one detail is the puzzle piece that makes everything fall into place and let’s the player finally understand what is going on with the emotional core of the story.

So much of the details regarding Star Dream are up to interpretation, so I’m perfectly willing to let the broader details be, but the Japanese version still does a better job of dropping small details earlier on that become relevant for it at the end.

And it’s not just Star Dream, the Japanese version overall has more of these smaller connections and continuity across the pause screens, and connections to the actual story contents as well. So they feel more like smaller pieces in a carefully crafted whole, where everything is interconnected and enriches the story.

Again, the English version probably couldn’t have done much different here, due to the difficult conditions translators and localizers usually have to work with - lack of context, lack of time, limited space, etc.

I guess what I am getting at is that I do prefer the Japanese version, and would recommend fans to check it out (though if you are reading this, I suppose you already have), but don’t assume this means I have a disdain for English version.

It’s very well done, considering the circumstances.

And with that, my coverage of the game’s pause screen descriptions come to a close as well.

Feel free to check out the previous parts of my Kirby: Planet Robobot translation comparisons if you haven’t already, and thank you very much for reading!

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