#both learning in each other how to get in touch with their child selves again

[goatpaste]

everyonce in awhile i get so!!!!! thinkin about the parallels and sibling relationship between Lucy and Diego it straight up makes me weepy

then i remember that its not real and i just made it up in my head rewrite and it makes me bonkers

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

The God of Magic just wants humanity to be happy and thriving;

Version 1, Good!Merlin

INTRO

(Version 2, Dark!Merlin)

~

“You’re late.”

From their place in the bushes, the gang can see a wide grin break out on the woman’s face as she raises an eyebrow:

“You’re always getting distracted by pretty flowers or interesting conversations, how was I supposed to know that you’d be on time for once?”

Her voice somehow sounds like an ocean in a storm, ear-splittingly loud as the sound cuts right through them to the core, but also a gentle stream, soft and clear and soul-cleansing. The gang struggle not to flinch in their confusion.

Merlin chuckles slightly, shaking his head as he softly replies:

“Ah, I see, you were expecting me to be late, so you told me to turn up half a candle-mark before you intended to get here.”

She raises an eyebrow and nods:

“In the hopes I wouldn’t have to stand around and wait too long,-”

She shudders slightly as her face falls, though she manages to look beautifully intimidating even with a slight scowl on her face:

“-you know how much I hate it up here, on dry land.”

Merlin nods. He looks around him passingly, and the gang tense as his eyes rove over their hiding place; their fear is quickly replaced with shock (and even more confusion) as it strikes them that they’ve never seen Merlin look so relaxed, so at ease. He finally looks back to the woman:

“Hmm. I may not agree with you on that, but I understand. I could have met you at Avalon, you know.”

The woman frowns even more, and the gang can see Merlin tilt his head in question, even more so when she replies:

“I... wanted this conversation to be private, away from the prying eyes and ears of Mother and our Siblings.”

Merlin’s shoulders tense, and Arthur can vaguely see the outline of his hands clenching tightly in his pockets as his cloak billows in a sudden wind. The knights, Gwen, and Morgana all look to each other in confusion, Merlin had never spoken of siblings before, in fact, they’re fairly certain he specifically told them that he’s an only child. This woman was so drastically different from Merlin in appearance, they couldn’t possibly be related by blood. Perhaps she means "siblings" in a similar sense to how the knights are brothers?

A tense silence passes between the two, but it’s quickly broken by Merlin letting out a deep, bone-weary sigh, his relaxed demeanour completely dissolved, and looking to the floor, mumbling:

“What’s this about, Ava?”

The woman, Ava, the gang now know, lets out a sigh of her own, tilting her head and waiting for Merlin to look at her again before speaking, her voice sounding more consistently soft the more she spoke, as if she needed practice to regulate her volume:

“I think you know, Em.-”

(”Em?? I guess that could be a shortened version of ‘Merlin’, but... not really.”)

“-Time is running out, existence is threadbare as it is, and only getting worse with each passing day. The world is splitting, cracking down the middle; magic is running thin-”

Everyone feels Arthur tense at the mention of magic, even more so at Merlin’s non-reaction to the word. Though everyone is already understandably on edge by the way the woman speaks as if the world is ending around them, and they hadn’t even noticed:

“-and we are starving. The fates of The Bane-”

Mordred manages to stop himself falling backwards, but his sudden shaky breath earns him a concerned glance from Gwaine, crouched besides him:

“-and The Darkness have been avoided, if you do not move forward now, then when? With every day you stall, you plan, you stand idly by and wait, we choke on the gaping emptiness of a world that is leaking.-”

Merlin holds up a shaking hand to stop her, his other running through his hair in frustration as he murmurs:

“I know, I know-”

The gang watches with tense, morbid curiosity as Ava cuts him off, her expression both annoyed and sympathetic:

“I don’t think you do, Em. You haven’t been home in years. Could you stand it? To be God of Magic with no Magic to be God over? No universe to hold dominion over?”

Merlin scoffs slightly and walks to the side in his frustration, and the gang can see the melancholy annoyance on his face, plain as day. It’s almost enough to make them forget that he visited Ealdor just last month. It’s definitely not enough to distract them from the fact that she had called Merlin a God. The God of Magic, of all things. What the fuck??:

“I don’t hold dominion over anything I just... am.”

Ava rolls her eyes:

“That’s not the point and you know it. Mother sent you to fix the problem, to stop the purge, to encourage the Once and Future King to bring magic back and start the Golden Age. He has been King for years, but you still act as a servant. You are a God, Em, assert yourself. You could fix the world with a click of your fingers, but you wait for the humans to do it for you.-”

Merlin interrupts her slightly impassioned speech with a deep huff and a shake of the head. From where he now stands, the gang have a healthy view of his side profile, and they can see the emotions warring on his face: frustration, grief, desperation:

“That isn’t... that’s not what I’m doing-”

She rolls her eyes again and the gang are vaguely aware of a distant crack of thunder as she gestures sharply with her hands:

“That is what you’re doing. You’ve become too attached to these... mortals.-”

She steps towards him, cradling his cheek in a soft, elegant hand as her face morphs to one of complete and utter sorrow:

“-You’re setting yourself up for heartbreak, Brother. Human lifespans, the lifespan of your precious Golden King, are but a blink of an eye compared to ours; they will all wither and die and fade from you, and you will be left with your grief forever.-”

Her other hand lifts to settle comfortingly on his shoulder, and the gang can see a single tear slip from Merlin’s lowered eyes:

“-Do what you came here to do, and come home, to Avalon, we miss you, Em, the family needs you back.”

Merlin stills for a few moments at her desperate plea, but then steps back, shrugging her hands off gently and wiping the tear from his face:

“No. I... I’m doing this properly. Mother understands my fondness for humanity, that’s why she sent me, and I’m going to do it properly.”

Ava huffs out a gentle laugh at his determined expression, shaking her head slightly in fond disbelief:

“How can you love them? These... humans, when they slaughter your creations, when they don’t even know what you are?”

Merlin smiles softly, his eyes gazing into the trees as he quietly responds, his voice full of enough adoration to take the gang's breath away, to temper the twinge of fear and betrayal that had been swelling in Arthur’s lungs:

"I love them because they don't know what I am. It's nice, to be human; to walk among them, being loved and hated and respected and touched as if I were not more than they could ever possibly comprehend. Humanity is... made of juxtapositions. Their existence is contradiction upon contradiction, weaved together and held with emotions so large I can scarcely understand how they're contained in such little bodies. I've been alive and watching them for millennia, lived side-by-side with them for almost three decades, and they still surprise me. To walk among them, to see them come to terms with this universe that We made for them, to see how desperately they crave knowledge, exploration, experience... it's beautiful. The way they love so fully, the way they find meaning and importance in every grain of sand, every ray of sun, every tuft of fur on every creature, it's humbling. It's astounding."

Ava has a soft smile on her face, looking as if she could listen to her Brother ramble about his love for humanity for decades. She shakes her head slightly, letting out a gentle sigh as she asks:

"Then why won't you save them? The Gods will starve without magic, but humanity will starve without the Gods."

Merlin pauses for a moment, his face scrunched in concentration as he tries to think of the right way to verbalize his thoughts. 

The gang stare on in unconcealed bafflement; the realisation that Merlin is some kind of God brings less fear or anger than they think it should. Maybe it’s the shock, or maybe it’s the reverent way he speaks about them. Either way, they stay still and silent in their hiding place, and eventually Merlin’s face settles back into a soft smile as he looks to his Sister:

"I wish to see them save themselves, not because We need them to, but because they want to. Because their desperation to explore this universe will one day outweigh their misguided hatred of magic.-"

He nods decisively, repeating in a confident voice:

"-I wish to see them save themselves."

Ava sighs once more, stepping toward Merlin and putting her hand back on his shoulder:

“Your wishes may soon become... irrelevant. We’re dying, Emrys,-”

Arthur struggles to hold in a gasp at that. Emrys. He knows that name. Apparently it’s the name of a God, and not just some secret sorcerer who took a fancy to Camelot and deemed himself it’s protector. Lancelot’s eyes widen, though he manages to hide his shock well; no one else is focused on anyone else’s reactions, all internally freaking out. 

Mordred is pale and breathing shallowly, being the only one in the group who had already known the full truth. Percival looks to be in shock, he grew up with the stories of Emrys, but to learn that Emrys was a God? That Merlin was said God? Not what he was expecting out of this little trip. Gwaine, Gwen, Morgana, and Elyan look worried, seeming to have pushed aside their shock in favour of being concerned over Merlin’s safety and sorrow. Leon stares upon the scene with scholarly-looking curiosity, hiding his apprehension and shock well. Arthur’s expression is... unreadable. Ironically, the only person capable of knowing what he was thinking just from looking at him was currently having an incredibly terrifying conversation with someone who is also presumably some kind of God(dess). 

“-time is running out. I know that you don’t want to, but... it might be best to tell them the truth. You adore your humans because of their ability to love, do you not think they love you enough to forgive you your deceptions?”

Merlin clenches his jaw, and it’s the anguish on his face, paired with his almost-whispered words, that breaks their hearts:

“I... no. Just because I love them does not mean they love me back. I’m just a servant, Ava, I’ll never be important enough to be forgiven, God or not; I’ve lied to them for over ten years.”

She sighs, letting a tear of her own fall as she quietly responds:

“Emrys, you undervalue your worth, they don’t-”

“No. I don’t. You’re right, I have one life-time with them, with... with Arthur, and then I’ll lose them, and I’ll spend the rest of eternity grieving. I refuse to taint the already short time I have with them by having to watch them grow to hate me. I refuse.”

Merlin frowns as Ava rolls her eyes fondly, a victorious smirk on her face:

“If you would let me finish. They don’t hate you now, despite learning what they have just learnt, and you have yet to tell them of all you’ve done for them. Their love for you will only grow, Brother.”

Merlin tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. The gang take in a collective gasp at the realisation that she knows. And has likely known the whole time.

“What are you talking about?”

Ava’s smirk just grows, and she looks to the bushes the gang is hiding in, seeming to make direct eye-contact with a panicking Arthur as she speaks, he voice echoing unnaturally through the clearing:

“You can come out now.”

At her words, Merlin’s head whips around to stare at where she was looking. He opens his mind, allows his magic to stretch around him, and his skull is immediately full to burst with echoes of Mordred’s earlier, and ongoing, warnings, as well as the overwhelming presence of The (former) Darkness, The Once and Future King, and the others. He takes a stumbled step back, hand covering his mouth and tears spilling from his eyes as he becomes more and more convinced of... well... his time being tainted.

The gang stand and shuffle out of the bushes slowly, eyes trained on the floor and hands clasped in front of them tightly. It’s Merlin’s quiet, cracking “No...” that has them look up, paling at the absolute heartbreak on his face.

Lancelot and Gwaine give him weak, though genuine smiles, holding their hands out placatingly, but they halt their movements forward when Merlin just copies them pace for pace, moving away from them.

No one notices Ava rolling her eyes, not until she steps behind Merlin and puts a halting hand on his shoulder, stopping him from moving further away.

Merlin whips his head around, and another loud clap of thunder sounds out, much closer than the other one, quickly followed by a sudden downpour of frigid rain. The gang look to the sky in confusion, and Mordred desperately tries to reach Merlin through the mental link, offering comfort and reassurance; Merlin doesn’t seem to notice, the rain falling harder and harder as he almost fall to his knees, speaking in a desperate voice to his sister:

“Why... why would you... you know what this means. Why... why would you do this?! Ava?”

She rolls her eyes again, seeming to glow effervescently under the rivers of rainwater running down her face and over her clothes. She forces Merlin to turn and look at the gang, holding her hands on his shoulders to stop him from backing away (or collapsing in his grief) :

“Look at them, Em. Do they look angry to you? You should have some faith in the humans you claim to love so much. Look at them.”

Everyone in the gang gives Merlin varying levels of strained smiles; though Merlin, in his panic, is unable to tell that the strain is from concern and guilt, thinking that it was instead from hatred. He falls to his knees, his eyes shut tight enough to give him a headache and his hands clamped over his mouth in an effort to hold the sobs in.

Gwen and Morgana are the first to rush forwards, not paying the slightest bit of attention to Merlin’s... sister or the knights as they collapse to the floor in front of their friend, not sure whether to keep their distance or try to comfort the distraught man... God.

It’s his next choked sob that urges them to move once again, and the girls pull Merlin into a hug, tears of their own gathering at his agony. He freezes at first, then tries to pull away as lightening streaks across the sky, the violent bursts in sync with his choked breaths. When Gwen strokes a soft hand through his knotted hair, and Morgana pulls him further into her lap, muttering “We’re not leaving you, Merls, not ever, we love you.”, he relaxes slightly.

The thunder and lightening cease, but the rain still pours as Arthur stares over the pile of crying bodies to the woman, whose eyes seem to be growing brighter and brighter in the deluge. She stares right back at him, and The King jumps slightly when her voice echoes through her head, despite her still face:

“My brother has lost enough, please do not shatter his heart.”

Arthur nods once, before following Lancelot’s lead to the others, the rest of the knights not far behind them as Ava disappears. Whether she walked away without noticing or simply faded into the rain, no one knows, but no one really cares either. Soon enough, everyone is gathered around Merlin, stroking his back softly and whispering comforting promises over the sound of the rain. When Leon is the only one to notice Mordred’s eyes flash golden as he summons a shield above them, he simply shrugs his shoulders and refocuses his attention on muttering reassurances in Merlin’s head.

His breathing slows after a while, as does the rain, though everyone panics slightly when they see Morgana frown as she strokes the hair away from his face, revealing flushed cheeks and closed eyes. Mordred’s eyes flash golden once more as he presses a hand to his forehead, though no one lets the shock distract them for too long, latching on to his relieved tone:

“He’s just asleep, that would’ve taken a lot out of him. We should get him back to Gaius.”

The knights all stand, stretching and cracking joints to try and rid themselves of the cold stiffness that had settled in their soaked bones. Morgana stays on the floor, clutching at Merlin in her lap desperately, like he could slip away at any moment. When Arthur leans down to pick him up, she shoots him a glare, her own eyes glowing as the wind picks up once more, whipping through the clearing in an obvious warning. Arthur takes in a gasp, but shakes the surprise from his mind as he settles a soft hand on his sister’s shoulder:

“I... look, we’ll talk about this later, and I promise you’re going to be safe,-”

He glances up to an equally defensive looking Mordred:

“-all three of you, but Mordred’s right, we need to get him home and warmed up.”

Morgana hesitates for only a second, but the concern (and love) in her brother’s eyes sway her, and she nods, ever-so-carefully pulling her arms from around Merlin and helping Arthur get the younger (or... much much older) man situated in his arms before standing up.

~

The trek back to the castle is a fairly short one now they don’t have to worry about being quiet, and the rain has almost completely stopped by the time they make it to the citadel gates. It’s late, so the only people they come across are the occasional guard. But The King resolutely ignoring them as he carries his unconscious manservant through the corridors, his closest friends and advisors around him either openly crying or blinking away tears... well... it’s something that very much screams “DO NOT DISTURB US DO NOT SPEAK OF THIS IMMEDIATELY FORGET EVERYTHING YOU HAVE JUST SEEN”.

Elyan runs ahead to wake Gaius and warn him, so by the time everyone gets to the Physician’s chambers the fire is roaring, a patient pallet has been moved in front of the hearth, and Gaius himself is bustling around, preparing various concoctions and tinctures and blankets.

Merlin’s still shivering form is laid on the pallet, and Morgana shamelessly uses her magic to pull the heat closer and dry out his clothes. Mordred sits protectively close to the servant, one hand subconsciously close to his sword, the other resting on Merlin’s shoulder. Gwen settles between him an Morgana, and the knights figure that with her complete non-reaction to the magic... she probably already knew, she was smart like that. Gaius finally makes his way to Merlin’s side, tipping a gross smelling potion down his throat and running a hand through his hair, frowning worriedly down at his ward. 

Not a single word had been said since they entered through the castle gates, and Arthur is the first to break the silence, sitting on Merlin’s other side, opposite Morgana, and settling an almost accusing expression on his sister:

“You knew, didn’t you?”

She looks up at him, somehow appearing powerful and intimidating despite being soaked through and shivering:

“I knew he was... powerful, I didn’t know he was a God.”

Gaius’ head whips around quickly, and Arthur is surprised at the questioning horror on his face:

“A God?? There must be some mistake, Merlin is powerful yes but he’s not-”

Mordred’s quiet voice interrupts him, though he doesn’t look away from the unconscious man as his fingers twitch over so slightly closer to the hilt of his sword:

“I knew. Though if I’d known he felt so... if I’d known how he felt, I would have spoken to him about it sooner, I apologise.”

Everyone looks at the group’s youngest member in shock, almost speechless, but Gwaine stutters slightly before clearing his throat and trying again:

“So... that was real, Merlin is a fucking God.”

Mordred nods absent-mindedly, eyes flashing golden as he presses his hand to Merlin’s forehead once again, frowning. Arthur’s brow creases in concern and he leans closer to Merlin:

“What is it? Is he ok??”

Before Mordred can reply, Leon speaks up, his voice tired, but strong:

“If he’s some... powerful God, then why is he hurt in the first place? Shouldn’t he be able to resist any sort of injury or sickness??”

Mordred shakes his head, finally looking away from Merlin to gaze at the group surrounding him. He looks doubtful at first, but when he sees the genuine concern on everyone’s faces, especially from Gaius and Arthur, he sighs and speaks softly:

“It’s difficult to describe. Merlin could access the full range of his power and do anything, if he wanted, but it’s draining and complicated when stuck in a human body. He himself is a God, yes, but this form is still vulnerable and mortal; he can get injured, and sick, he can die, or at least the body can. Merlin tends to repair this body when that happens, instead of moving on. He... likes it here.”

Everyone nods, understanding at least a little, though Gaius and Lancelot look the most shell-shocked. The room goes silent once again, and Percival, sat on the floor against the end of Merlin’s pallet with Elyan and Gwaine, is the first to speak, his voice shaking and sorrowful:

“He really thinks so low of himself. He’s a God... and he was terrified of the thought of us hating him, as if such a thing were even possible.”

Gwaine curses under his breath and Leon restarts his slow pacing around the room before he stops suddenly, turning to face the others with a look of anger on his face:

“Well of course he thinks it’s bloody possible. He’s right, we treat him like a fucking servant even though he’s one of our dearest friends, and half of us talk about the evils of sorcery on a near constant basis. He’s the God of Magic, of course he’d think we would hate him.”

Everyone is taken aback at Leon’s rage, though no one can deny that what he’s said is true. Leon is... quietly protective of everyone in the group, and it’s a time like this that reminds all of them that he had known Merlin just as long as Arthur had, and definitely held a certain brotherly affection for the younger (uh... yeah, whatever) man.

The older knight sags slightly, seemingly realising how exhausted he is, and pulls a chair up next to Arthur before collapsing in it, head in his hands. Arthur pats him on the back a few times before looking back to Merlin’s now thankfully not-shivering form, taking in a deep breath and nodding his head decisively:

“Well, we’ll just have to show him that it isn’t possible. I... we need to show him that he’s... important to us. Loved.”

Morgana just raises her eyebrow at The King, but doesn’t say anything as Gaius mutters a tearful “My poor boy.” under his breath. Elyan stands from his place on the floor, moving to perch on a bench behind his sister and setting a comforting hand on her shoulder as he softly speaks:

“He needs to know that we want him to stay here, with us.”

Percival shakes his head slightly, looking conflicted:

“Wouldn’t that be... cruel? That woman... Ava, was right. We’ll all grow old and die and he’s a God, he’ll live forever and he’ll grieve. Isn’t asking him to stay selfish?”

No one has an answer, and the room grows silent, everyone stewing in their own tense thoughts, trying to weigh the pros and cons, trying to measure exactly how selfish they were willing to be when it came to Merlin.

~

The sun rising over the horizon and peaking through the uncovered windows is what wakes everyone (bar Merlin) from their fitful sleeps. All of them had been plagued with odd dreams and nightmares through the night, so despite their exhaustion, they were grateful to be awake.

No one said anything though, waking one by one and pacing briefly around the room in an attempt to cure themselves of the aches gained from falling asleep in such awkward positions.

It’s still incredibly early in the morning, so thankfully none of them are needed for at least two more candle marks, but it’s Lancelot who breaks the silence first, clearing his throat and looking down at his best friend:

“It wouldn’t be selfish.”

Arthur looks up to him, noting the bags under everyone’s eyes and the tear tracks no one had bothered to wipe away:

“What are you talking about?”

The knight runs a hand through his hair, sniffling slightly and taking a deep breath before he stares around the room, making sure everyone was awake and paying attention as he spoke:

“For us to tell him we want him to stay, it wouldn’t be selfish. You heard him, he loves it here, he’s desperate to stay, he loves us. He still has at least thirty years worth of memories to make with us, and yeah, maybe that’s not a lot in the grand scheme of the immortal life of a God, but it’s more than the ten he’s already got. We can’t take that away from him. He... he wants to be here. Telling him to leave just to alleviate our own guilt... that would be selfish.”

Everyone looks a little doubtful, bar Mordred, and it’s him that Arthur turns to:

“Mordred? You knew... what he is, which we are still definitely going to have a conversation about by the way, what do you think?”

Mordred sighs, biting his lip for a moment before finally ripping his gaze from Merlin’s still unconscious, but now healthier looking body:

“He is more than any of us will ever be able to comprehend. You still see him as just Merlin, he is, but he’s also much more; he is Emrys, the saviour, the God, the Guiding Light. He is magic itself, woven into the fabric of the universe. He inhabits every space, and no space at the same time, he exists in every grain of sand, every drop of ocean, every speck of sky. To... to assume that he is not capable of deciding what he wants is an act of unforgivable hubris. If he stays, who are you to demand he leave and name yourselves selfish, when he has not deemed it so?”

Arthur pales slightly at Mordred’s words, as does everyone else. Gwaine seems to be taking it in his stride, and Lancelot seems less surprised than Arthur thinks he should (definitely something to question, but not right now), but before anyone can say anything, Merlin twitches, a low groan escaping his throat as his brows crease.

Everyone moves quickly, gathering around his bedside in a huddle. Morgana, Mordred, and Gwen are grateful to still be sat in their seats, and if they weren’t so busy worriedly leaning over Merlin they would be rolling their eyes at the way the others were pushing and shoving to be at the front. Gaius elbows his way to be stood by Merlin’s head, a cold compress in one hand and a grey looking potion in the other.

Morgana strokes a hand through Merlin’s hair and the frown on his face eases; he blinks his eyes open, swallowing before grimacing at the taste in his mouth and groaning again. Gwen leans over his head, smiling as she settles a hand on his warm cheek:

“Morning sleepyhead. How are you feeling?”

Merlin just groans again, rubbing his shaking hands harshly into his eyes as he says, his voice dry and painful-sounding:

“Ugh. Like Arthur’s aim got miraculously better.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and flushes slightly, but before he can defend himself Merlin bolts upright, taking in a deep, ragged breath, eyes wide. Mordred focuses a concentrated expression on the side of Merlin’s head, but Arthur ignores it as he reaches forward, settling a hand on the dark-haired man’s shoulder and muttering his name:

“Merlin?”

Merlin’s breathing only gets deeper as he whips his head around to stare at Arthur. The blonde tries to smile comfortingly at him, but Merlin barely seems to notice as he scrambles back on the bed, only stopping when he comes into contact with Leon behind him.

Mordred’s face morphs into a concerned frown at Merlin’s terror, and now his tears, so instead of waiting for the man to calm down enough to let them explain, he rushes forward, grabbing the back of Merlin’s head and forcing their foreheads together before he can pull away. He shuts his eyes tightly, muttering some sort of incantation under his breath. Merlin gasps loudly and Mordred groans, holding their heads together for a few moments before collapsing back into his seat, clamping his hands over his eyes as if trying to press a headache away. Merlin slumps back against the warm body behind him, and Leon just about manages to catch him in strong arms before he falls to the floor.

This had all happened in the space of a few moments, and when the two of them still, the others unfreeze. Arthur turns on Mordred:

“What did you do?? What was that?!”

Mordred groans again, looking up blearily, first at Merlin, who seems to be in a similar state to him, leant against Leon, and then to Arthur:

“He wasn’t calming down, so I shared my memories. From when we met at the edge of the forest yesterday, to just before he woke up. It’ll take him a little longer than me to sort through them.”

Arthur nods and Morgana looks impressed, and everyone looks to Merlin again, waiting for him to pull the hands from his eyes and talk to them, look at them, anything.

He finally seems to relax his muscles and Leon rubs his hands up and down his arms softly; despite the fact that he’d been warmed by the fire, the knight was still oddly worried about Merlin being too cold. He lets out a deep breath, lowering his shaking hands as he slowly raises his teary gaze, staring at Arthur:

“You... you want me to stay?”

Arthur ignores the tears dripping down his cheeks as nods desperately, forcing a soft smile on his face as he sniffles:

“Yes. Please. We don’t want you to go, we don’t hate you.”

Merlin launches himself at Arthur and the only thing stopping The King from falling back from Merlin’s surprising weight is Percival’s hand on his back. Arthur wraps his arms tightly around Merlin’s middles, turning his head to press a kiss to the other man’s temple as he tries to get his tears under control; he completely ignores the others in favour of muttering into Merlin’s hair:

“It’s alright, Merlin. You stay here, with us, as long as you want. We... I, love you. Stay, please.”

Merlin just sobs harder, gripping the back of Arthur’s tunic as he kneels on the bed, his response stuttering and barely understandable:

“But- but I’m-”

Arthur just hushes him, stroking a hand through his hair and giving everyone else in the room pointed looks. They all crowd around Merlin again, placing comforting hands on his back and shoulders and arms and hands. Mordred whispers his adoration in Merlin’s head, and Morgana presses a kiss to the nape of his neck, all in the hopes of convincing him that the memories he had were true.

His breathing finally calms, and Arthur shuffles to the side so he can sit down next to him, not daring to remove the arms from around his neck or push him away. Merlin pulls away himself when Arthur settles, but doesn’t move far, and there’s no space between them as he hastily wipes the tears from his face, staring at him lap, cheeks flushed. Arthur takes his hand slowly in his, but Merlin still doesn’t look up, so Morgana kneels in front of him, placing her hand on his knee softly and saying with a teasing smirk on her face:

“You know, if I’d known that my teacher was The God of Magic, I might’ve complained less at the studying you make me do.”

Merlin finally looks up at her, a weak smile on his face, and Morgana winks at him. It’s Gwaine who tries next, settling on Merlin’s other side and sighing loudly:

“Forget the God thing do you know how many pranks we could’ve pulled if you’d told me you had magic?? Can’t believe you’d take that opportunity from me, all of you.”

He gives Mordred and Morgana jokingly offended glares and they roll their eyes, though their attention is quickly drawn back to Merlin, whose hands are clenching tightly in his lap. The room goes dark all of a sudden, and a glance to the window would tell them that the clear morning was suddenly overcast, thunder rumbling in the distance as rain slammed against the glass. Arthur squeezes Merlin’s hand and quickly, though gently, shoves Morgana out of the way, kneeling in front of Merlin and lifting his chin with his free hand:

“It’s fine, Merlin. We’ve all got a ton of questions but everything’s going to be alright, I swear. In fact, I’m glad we found out, it was cruel of us to make you live in a kingdom where you aren’t accepted, but that changes now, I promise.”

Merlin stands suddenly and walks between them, taking a deep breath before turning suddenly a scowl on his face:

“It wasn’t her choice to make, it was mine, and she took it from me.-”

With every harsh the thunder grew closer and the glass in the window frame shook more violently:

“-I was going to tell you after you changed your mind about magic because it had to come from the heart. You can’t change the Kingdom just for my sake! I wanted to do it properly and she took that from me because she was bored!”

Everyone rushes to say something in an effort to calm him down, both for the safety of the windows and his happiness, but Arthur’s blunt-

“Why?”

-stops them in their tracks. Merlin looks to him sharply, though Arthur is grateful for the thunder quietening down as he replies:

“What do you mean why? Why what?”

Arthur huffs out a gentle laugh, shaking his head in disbelief:

“Why can’t I change the Kingdom for you? You’re important, you’ve touched so many lives in so many wonderous ways; that in itself tells me that magic isn’t evil, so why can’t I change the Kingdom for you?”

The thunder stops and the rain slows to a gentle patter as Merlin tilts his head, his scowl of anger morphing into a sad, confused frown as he responds in a small voice:

“But... I’m just a servant. You’re not doing it out of fear, so I’m still just... nobody important.”

Arthur just laughs again, walking towards Merlin and settling soft hands on his shoulders, grateful to feel the others close to his back:

“You have never once been just a servant, Merlin. Something tells me you’ve been saving my life, and this Kingdom, since the day we met, so even if it had no effect on anyone else whatsoever, I would still change the law. Because you are a good man, and you are important, and you deserve it. Compared to you, it is us, who are just human.-”

Merlin frowns again and Arthur rolls his eyes to stop him arguing:

“-Just... give me another hug, and accept it. You idiot.”

He can feel someone (probably Morgana) thump him on the back, but he doesn’t turn around, eagerly returning Merlin’s hug when the brunette wraps his arms around Arthur’s middle tightly. The King presses closer, uncaring of what his audience thinks of him for the first time in his life (probably because he has a feeling that they’ve known of his... affections, longer than even he has) and  mutters his question into Merlin’s ear:

“We... I love you, Merlin, more than anything. Will you stay with me?”

The King is vaguely aware of his First Knight whispering “I told you so, idiot.” behind him, but all he cares about is the sensation of the God, more ancient and powerful than anything he could ever comprehend, nodding into is neck.

THE END!!

I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope y’all like it!!

Link to the Dark!Merlin version (I warn you, it’s hella angsty) is at the top!! :)

[bokettochild]

Request: something with the doppels please?

I headcannon the dopples as being Legend's deviants in a similar way that the Colors are for Four, so that's reflected here.

I came up with this a while ago though, and while I'm not fully satisfied with it, I thought it would be fun to explore how the dopples react to the Four Sword.

Hence, Color and Dopple bonding/meeting!

If the item they grabbed in order to help someone else could not be cursed for once, Legend would be very thankful.

But since when did things ever go his way?

...Their way?

You know what, when did things ever go as planned? There, pronouns don’t matter this way.

Not that the pronouns really change much, they just become... plural...

Four would very much not like to believe their eyes.

No really, please, make this not be real.

There are four Legends; four of him, and the Four Sword has been split.

Sure, the enemies that sprung on the two of them while they were gathering kindling are now dead. Sure, Legend protected them when the attack had caught them both off guard. And yeah, all five of them are now bleeding and injured, but why does it need to be five?

Because Legend’s sword was knocked away. Vio reminds the rest of them. Because our sword was the closest at hand and he needed a weapon.

Picking it up shouldn’t trigger it though, it needs force, it needs power pushing through it to activate. Blue grumbles.

And what do you think Legend does with his sword usually? None of his items are exactly normal if you recall.

Blue huffs at that, but no one says anything else, Red is too busy cheering at having more brothers while Green is currently weighing the pros and cons of Legend knowing the secrets of the Four Sword.

In all honesty though, the vet is taking it rather well.

“Seriously,” The red Legend sighs, looking at his alternate selves and then at the Four. The man doesn’t even ask for an explanation, he’s just burying his head in his hands. “Of course, of course this happens.”

“Aaand that’s why it’s called the Four Sword.” the green Legend sighs, looking at the blade he still holds in his hands with a slight smirk.

“I’d wondered if it was fully capable yet.” Blue Legend hums. “I suppose it only needed some power to unlock it’s abilities.”

The last of the four Legend’s sits frozen, shining gaze locked on Four for a brief moment as they look back at him. It doesn’t last long. They aren’t sure how or why, but this deviant is smaller than Legend, and the second that they make any move towards their split companion, the yellow deviant squeaks and ducks behind the green one, bright eyes shining with absolute horror.

“Hello,” The blue deviant peers around his brother in confusion. “There’s a forth one?”

“Four Sword.” The red deviant grumbles. “It implies that there would be four.”

“There was never four before.” The green one muses, looking behinds himself with a cocked brow. “And none of us was that fearful.”

“You okay?” It’s clear Legend’s blue isn’t the same violently minded variant as Four has, in fact, he seems something more like Vio or Green, calm and observant, but not altogether unattached from the world.

“How-” The golden variant whispers, eyes still not leaving Four as the younger looking Legend stares out from behind his other deviant. “You’re dead!”

They pause, confusion on their face as they take in the uneasy way that Legend’s variants look at each other.

“You’re dead, you’re dead, YOU’RE DEAD!” The deviant shrieks, frenzied and frightened in a way they’ve never seen Legend before, hands gripping tightly to his counterpart as he stares at the Four-Who-Are-One with a manic sort of terror, confusing them and setting his brothers ill at ease.

What does this...child, intend by his words? Is it a threat? Is it a dream, a hallucination? Splitting can mess with the mind, especially for first timers, is this part of Legend just insane somehow?

“I killed you!” There are tears in the golden one’s eyes, and he continues to quake behind his counterpart as the other three exchange looks of recognition.

“Kid, calm down.” Red starts, brash and uncertain.

“That’s Four.” Blue adds.

“He’s our friend.” Green soothes, oozing charm and charisma that reminds them of Warriors.

“They tried to kill us.” Goldie whispers, clutching even tighter at the tunic in front of him.

“Um...no?” Blue is taking the forefront of their own mind, but Red holds him back from being too violent. Even so, their own variants know better than to push at something so fragile. The golden variant of Legend is like the metal he’s colored after, delicate and so easy to break, too harsh a movement or action will snap him in two, and they aren’t ready to deal with that split, not when Legend is already in four pieces!

“Ignore him, please.” The red Legend sighs, rubbing at his face in a tired manner, and when they look closely it’s easy to see that this variant received the burden of Legend’s eyebags- his tunic and cap may be red, but the bruises beneath his eyes are a dark purple that make the vet’s own gaze seem near black in comparison.

“It’s a slight mix up.” The green one adds, kneeling down beside his counterpart with an assuring smile that they have only ever seen directed at the youngest of their number, and even then, most of the time it’s meant for Hyrule.

The Blue, Red and Green deviants all stare at each other, eyes flicking silently and expressions twisting for a moment before there’s sighing from the Blue and Red, and the two of them stand and make their way over to Four.

“Let’s give them some space.” Red sighs, “Kid’ll be freaking out for a hot second yet.”

They can’t help the suspicious raise of their brows. “You do realize he’s part of you, right?”

The two Legends exchange another look before looking back to him.

“Not exactly.”

“He,” Red Legend jabs a thumb over his shoulder, “Is supposed to be dead.”

Four would like a moment to scream please.

“What do you mean?” Red takes control as a panicked glance is shot over to the small-Legend. “He’s part of you!”

“Part of us that died.”

“We’ve been split before.”

“Albeit in a different way.”

“There wasn’t four of us to choose from.”

“Not with our soul already divided.”

“The Four Sword had to dig up something that wasn’t there anymore.”

“It was either us or the blade.”

Four has been split for the last six years and even they don’t do this. “Why are you talking like that?” They hiss, looking between the two forms of their friend. Blue is screaming inside and Red is shivering, Vio is demanding answers and Green is contemplating the possibilities of learning to do this themselves, all of which at once makes for a very busy head and no space to process much of what was just said.

“Practice.” The two Legends echo, nodding en tandem.

“Like we said,” Red sighs again. “This isn’t the first split for us.”

“First time we’ve become four.”

“But not the first split in general.”

Four looks between them, curiosity winning out over shock as Vio takes the lead. “Explain.”

And they do. As it turns out, the fabled sixth adventure of the hero of Legend resulted in his mind being divided amidst three separate bodies, each of which took on a few of his qualities as their main attributes, but, for the most part, remained distinctly Legend.

“It’s not a clear divide.” Blue Legend explains. “We share memories, can speak with each other via a link of our minds, and in general we act like we would when together.”

“Some traits are stronger though.” Red Legend adds on.

The red variant, Crimson, it turns out, is Legend’s exhaustion and irritability. He’s the frustration and stress and takes the brunt of their experiences. The blue variant, Ocean, on the other hand, is the resourceful, experienced part of Legend that can spy opportunity and possibilities in most places. He is, in a way, like Vio, representing the creative and intelligence of Legend. The green variant, Forest, the two inform him, if the valor and strength of Legend. Like their own green, this part of Legend is dedicated to his tasks and to the people around him. Without the exhaustion, bitterness and calculating aspects being as prominent, it allows him to be more open and friendly when separated from his brothers.

“And the golden one?” They ask, eyes trailing back to where the deviants in question are still talking.

Crimson sighs once again, shaking his head. “Call him Lore.”

“He’s us, but much younger.”

“He died when we were young, so his memories, his experiences, that sort of thing, they don’t line up with ours.”

Ocean nods in agreement. “Last he knew, we were visiting our grandparent’s farm after our third adventure. He doesn't know about our experiences since.”

“Much less us.” Crimson adds on. “He’s the only Link as far as he's concerned.”

“But how is he dead?” Four presses, confusion eating at their minds. It wouldn’t make sense for a deviant to be able to die, not without affecting the soul as a whole.

“He’s Legend’s innocence.” Crimson answers, eyes too dark and too sorrowful. “He’s been buried so far and so deep that he’s ceased to be a part of us anymore.”

“And he’s scared of me because...?”

“Because you tried to kill me- I mean... us.”

Three heads turn to where the younger looking Legend stands, hand tightly holding onto the forest deviant’s hand. The youngster looks calmer now, if not considerably confused. “How are you alive? I thought-”

He's cut off by a hand over his mouth as Forest offers a pained smile that looks more like a grimace. “We all thought you came hundreds of years before us.”

“I do. What’s this about killing us?” Vio’s slipping, but none of the Legends seem to notice.

“Nothing.” Three voices chime at once.

“Right.” Ocean looks around them with a frown. “How do we change back? Splitting up always causes problems, and the sooner we reunite and get back to normal, the better.”

“The Four Sword should do the trick, if you can become of one mind.” They provide their brother- brothers? “Just touch the tips together.”

Legend’s deviants all nod, understanding in their gazes that shouldn’t be there.

“Why aren’t you freaking out? Most people would at least be a little shocked by this.” They ask, gaze traveling from one of the split heroes to another.

“We’ve wielded the Four Sword before.” Crimson explains.

“Not wielded, exactly-” Ocean corrects.

“We carried them.” Forest clarifies. “But only until we could put them back.”

Four looks between them, and as once, they answer. “Adventure number one.”

Okay then. “I have so many questions.” They sigh, looking between Legend’s deviants.

“Ask Legend. We’re him after all, so when we reform, we’re still there.” Ocean reassures them.

“Most of us anyway.” Crimson murmurs.

“Am I dying too now?” Lore sighs, looking up at his brothers with eyes so tragically sad that Four almost feels guilty for asking them to reform.

“Not dying.” Forest winces.

“You’re going back to sleep.” Ocean tries.

“Or back to Gramma.” Red adds. “She’s probably worried.”

Lore looks pacified, and it takes only a moment more before Legend is standing, as one, before the Four again, eyes shadowed and hand rubbing down his face as he hands over the sword. “Oy vey.”

“You took that well.” They respond, taking the sword back and not at all wrapping their arms around it protectively.

“Been split before.” Legend groans. “Speak no words, or I tell everyone about you.”

“Me?”

“All of you.” Legend glares, but their mischief in his gaze. “I didn’t study the legends of the Four Sword for nothing, I know.”

And somehow, that doesn’t worry them. Legend knows how they work, knows there are more than one of them, but he’s the same, in a twisted, strange and not Four Sword based way. “We’re talking later, and I want to know more about them if I can.”

“Only if you split too.” Legend challenges.

“We can do that.” Four agrees. “We really should split more anyways.”

“We?” Legend cocks a brow, straightening up from where he stands.

“Us.” Four gestures to themselves. “Four.”

The vet stares for a moment before chuckling softly. “Why didn’t you tell us we had your pronouns wrong? Plural they/them is fine you know, you just had to say something.”

“Would you like the same?”

“Heck no!” Legend winces. “I’m male, singular. The dopples are just parts of me, but that doesn’t make me a plural entity, just someone with a jumbled brain on some days.”

“Dopples?”

Legend rolls his eyes, stooping to collect the wood that he had dropped when they were attacked earlier, disregarding the way blood smears across it from the cut on his arm. “I’ll explain on the way back to camp.”

[dennou-translations]

Violet Evergarden Ever After: Chapter 2

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The Night and the Auto-Memories Doll

   Everything went around.

From past to present and from present to future. The dead bodies that decayed within the soil would dissolve into the earth, and from the earth, too, would new living creatures be born. Within a few hours’ time, curtains made of stars and nightly shades would be covered over by curtains in the colors of dawn.

People went around as well.

Children would be born, muster out their voices, start walking and, once they became aware of their own selves, their stories would begin. A cycle of discovering passion, coming to know love, stopping to be children and, upon sympathizing with other families, birthing offspring just as their parents had done. A cycle of learning about the world, spreading information, teaching their knowledge to younglings without sparing any of it away and generating more such younglings. A cycle in which someone’s story was someone else’s encouragement, and those who were encouraged would conceive stories of their own.

Everything went around.

There was one cycle here. It was the story of a meager cycle that likely could happen anywhere in the world.

A man picked up a wild beast from a small island to which he had drifted. It was a beautiful beast, but it had been stocked with skills long before coming to his hands. Skills for slaughtering people with ease and seeking submission.

Their first meeting was terrible. His underling had attempted to lay his hands on the beast’s beauty. As if it were a given, the beast had killed his many subordinates, leaving only one person. That was him. Granting him both disaster and salvation at the same time, the beast had sought subservience in regards to the man.

The man fled around the island where all but himself had been murdered, but gave in and accepted the beast. The beast was useful, but also an existence that he could not handle. Be it morning, noon or night, his head was troubled with the beast, his heart unable to calm down.

Essentially, he was a man who did not want to be shackled by anything. After all, he had a past of being forced into submission by his household and parents. He had escaped from his responsibilities and his home, jumping off into the sea. The man, who had been born in a family that bore the name of a flower, had run away and gained freedom.

He yearned for it – for a freedom that no one could steal from him – more than anything. Even if he had to cast away his little brother for it. Therefore, the man had done the same in the beast’s case. The one who mattered most to him was himself. He wanted to break free from that horror. Most likely, he had cut off from himself a child in need of salvation.

Everything went around.

——O God, I want to                                .

Everything.

   A voice that sounded like bells echoed.

“Captain,” it whispered, as if to tickle the man’s ears. “Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea.”

It was evening. A time when people were returning to their homes.

“What would you like to do?”

An orange light shone from the window inlaid with stained glass. With the sunset reflected on the elaborately designed interior decoration, the place itself looked like a single work of art.

“Could it be that, because of the impact earlier, your hearing has...”

It was supposed to be. The place where the person who called out so insistently and the person who intentionally ignored her were in was an art gallery that just recently had its interior and exterior finished.

“As if.”

“I am relieved. Then, I would like to ask if you have a plan.”

In a place they were not supposed to be at, the two who were not supposed to be together were kneeling on the floor in resignation.

“Captain.”

“.............................”

“The civilians are in a predicament.”

“................................”

“Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea.”

“............”

“What would you like to do?”

“..................”

“I would like to ask if you have a plan, by any chance.”

“.....................”

“The civilians are in a predicament.”

“........................”

“If I may offer my opinion, firstly, I could act as a decoy—”

“Be quiet, monster. Don’t keep repeating the same thing over and over. Don’t breathe either. I’m thinking right now.”

Dietfried Bougainvillea, a naval captain of Leidenschaftlich, eldest son of the Bougainvillea – a household of patriotic national heroes – and the man who had picked up Violet Evergarden in the past and brought her to this country, was covering his eyes with his hands due to having too much on his plate. The little bit of silence and darkness had brought him relief, but someone’s sobbing, the voice of a man reproaching it and the sound of a person being brutally kicked and tumbling down dragged him back to reality.

He had a severe headache. Whether it was caused by his anxiety or his injury, he had no idea. He put a hand on the back of his head and examined it, but only a bit of blood had come out.

In order to somehow spit such awful mood out of his body, he took deep breaths. He felt that he had become a little better, but the unpleasant sensation returned once he opened his eyes and cast his gaze at the woman next to him. A spoon of discomfort, rejection and fear each was thrown into Dietfried’s emotional vessels, set on fire and boiled up. However, the most prominent feeling was something else.

The woman who had been talking to him so insistently until a moment ago was now quiet just and not letting out a single breath as he had told her. Violet Evergarden.

Dietfried looked fixatedly at his former servant. The woman, whose appearance had transfigured considerably in comparison to when they had first met, bore a radiantly shining cold beauty, which was even more conspicuous under such tense circumstances. She was almost like an ice sculpture, Dietfried thought.

——Even though you used to stink like a wild beast...

She now smelled of nothing but flowers.

——...you turned out just as I’d imagined.

“You’re a siren.”

Silence.

“My little brother destroyed a train station just to keep you alive; you’re a siren through and through. I’m not into you, but my mental stability is wrecked right now, and I’m sensing the harmfulness and influence that your existence brings about in that. You’re unmatched when it comes to breaking things and causing problems.”

Dietfried had once told his brother that the beast could become a siren. He had meant to say so including all sorts of matters. This young woman named Violet was a creature that God had created by mistake and had not been born under a good star. When one was by her side, there were many of them.

“Damn troublemaker.”

Many problems. Even though she had not wished for it, she had been born this way. Under a star that attracted disasters.

——It goes round. All of it.

He ran and ran from her, yet they would end up meeting, thus Dietfried had started to think that it might be some sort of divine revelation at this point. Telling him to face the girl that he had thrown away.

Violet was still, hand on her brooch. He someway guessed that it was given to her by his younger brother. He felt like clicking his tongue. This girl might become the worst-ever wife whose hand his most beloved little brother was going to take.

——We can leave that for later; gotta overthrow this situation first.

Determined to fight this reality, Dietfried then turned his gaze towards the sight that spread out before his eyes. Women, men, elderly people – everyone was crouching on the floor with guns pointed at them regardless of anything. Obviously, the same applied to Dietfried and Violet.

Unexpected situations – situations in which they could not make a false move even if they were on their own, let alone in the presence of so many civilians – were responsible for this. On top of it, Dietfried was also saddled with someone that he had to protect despite not wanting to. Of course he would feel like clicking his tongue at it.

Perhaps they were thought to be lovers, as no one said anything even while they stayed close to each other.

“Hey, did you really stop breathing?”

She did not seem to be in agony, but her figure as she diligently obeyed made Dietfried feel uneasy.

“I was joking; breathe.”

Violet’s blue eyes blinked with a snap.

“Yes.”

And then, she finally let out a breath. Dietfried hated himself for being remotely relieved that she had safely started breathing again, was what he thought.

“Hey, you.”

“Yes.”

“From now on, follow my orders. Don’t act on your own accord.”

“All right.”

“I’m gonna save the civilians. It’s my duty. There’s no helping it, so I’m counting you in that math too... No idea what my little brother would do if he found out I’d let you die. Even if it weren’t on purpose, if anything that could kill you happened under these circumstances, I really have no way of knowing what he’d do. He’d probably hate me.”

“No, Captain, he—”

“Have some self-awareness, Monster. My foolish younger brother blew up a train station to let you live. This fact did turn into a subject of teasing towards Gil for no matter how much time passes from now, but if you think about it on normal terms, it’s out of the ordinary. That’s the way you’ve changed him. Damn witch...”

She was the tool that he had found and that used to exist for his sake. A woman who used to be a dog with no name. An orphan whom he had picked up from a solitary island, brought back with him, attempted to get the most out of yet was unable to, and then threw away.

Asset. Girl soldier. Automatic assassination doll. Witch.

——Even if I don’t want to, for now, I gotta protect this thing and take it home.

“I’ll save you, so you save me too, Witch.”

Fate went around, adding a chance meeting as the best seasoning for a finishing touch. After all, at this very moment, Violet Evergarden and Dietfried Bougainvillea were being attacked by robbers and had weapons thrust at them.

“That’s awfully unpleasant for me, but I’ll take action by considering your life to be the top priority. Not for you. For my little brother.”

Understanding that she had received permission to talk once she had received permission to breathe, Violet gave her own opinion, “No.” She did it directly, without any restraint. “No, that is my job, Captain. Major... Lord Gilbert loves you.”

Dietfried’s eyes blinked. Those green orbs were staring fixatedly at Violet since earlier, enough to seem like they would suck her in. They were green jewels in a different shade from his younger brother’s. Those green gems, enveloped in shock, reflected Violet’s serious gaze.

“I shall guard you, no matter what happens,” Violet declared with resolution, like a knight. “I will obey your orders to the best of my abilities, but if I judge it to be dangerous, I shall take action with your safeguarding as the maximum priority.”

“Hey.”

“I will definitely protect you and bring you to Major safely. Please do not leave my side, Captain.”

“That’s my line,” Dietfried said while nonetheless wanting to kill Violet.

   For the exchange between the two to reach this stage, things had first begun when morning visited Leidenschaftlich. This might be going back much too far in time for a clarification, but it all had indeed started since daybreak.

The morning weather was overflowing with sunlight on that day – typical of Leidenschaftlich in early summer. Early rising ladies formed queues in the bakeries that opened at dawn and little birds flew about the shops’ surroundings to receive breadcrumbs. There was a café three stores away from one of the popular bakeries, famous for serving floral teas, its signboard girl preparing to open it. If one went further ahead, there was a bank, and round said bank, there was a main street lined with large-scale shops.

An art gallery arranged to open the next day had been erected on the main street. Its name was Artemisia. It bore the name of its owner, who was an artist.

The gallery Artemisia displayed the works of its proprietor, of course, but it also had works of artists from within and abroad Leidenschaftlich. There were rows of works from unknown young artists that the owner had taken interest in as well, devoted as she was to the cultivation of new talents.

The Artemisia Gallery, which was to become a place where novel forms of Leidenschaftlich’s art would be born, was scheduled to hold a pre-opening party today, attended only by the people concerned. The gallery’s staff had started cleaning its interior and the sidewalk in front of it from morning.

Around noon, a restaurant employee hired for the sake of that day had visited, bringing in wine, snacks and table sets. As for the dishes, there were two types: the ones that had already been prepared and the ones that would be made by borrowing the kitchen of the owner’s residence, which had been built on the gallery’s top floor. Since eating was not the main focus, the preparations were merely enough for the upcoming guests not to feel hungry.

As evening came, the inside of Artemisia began to speed up with haste. If there were anyone in command of such a scenery, they would likely be asserting with a baton: “hurry”, “faster”, “elegantly”.

An envelope closed with a wax seal bearing the establishment’s crest. Customers arrived one after another with the invitation taken from inside of it at hand. For a pre-opening party with a limited number of invitees, there was a large amount of people. The elect few of Artemisia’s employees were in a flurry of activity.

“Bring me a coat” here, “not enough drinks” there, a plate breaking somewhere. “Where’s the owner?”, “Got caught by the guests”. “There’s no one to give us instructions”, “Oh, well” – just like this, things descended into chaos behind the scenes.

Normally, their job was to calmly recommend artistic goods. Therefore, they were unable to hide their bewilderment at handling so many visitors at first. Nevertheless, if one looked at the guests being entertained, how were they? Appreciating the artworks, looking like they were having a blast. Upon seeing this, the employees were able to understand deep down. That “what, so things are the same as usual”. By the time that the customers were completely familiar with the gallery’s interior, the employees were able to show smiles with a little bit of ease.

Among the guests invited to Artemisia, a foreign body completely unrelated to this world was mixed in.

It was a woman. A beautiful one at that. From an appreciative viewpoint, there would be nothing to complain about if she were one of the artworks. She was clad in a ribbon-tie one-piece dress, snow-white as a flower in full bloom on a summer day. Her long, softly curved golden hair extended to her waist. Perhaps she had come straight from work, as she held a heavy-looking trolley bag on one hand. “Click, click,” knocked her cocoa-brown boots against the marble flooring each time she took a step.

She walked while observing every artwork one by one. Idyllic landscape paintings, abstract paintings that looked like silver ink spilled on pure-white paper, oil paintings in which the people seemed as if they would move at any moment. Glassworks and ceramics that one would be very afraid even to look at from nearby. At first, the exhibition was of works from artists renowned within the country, but the small hall of its latter half integrated displays from artists who were still nameless. The woman stopped in front of one such work.

A painting of whimsical fantasy. Was it a winter sea? It depicted various things falling and sinking into dark and cold water. A pocket watch, a feather, a bed, a knife, a white flower and a chair. All were worn-out and had damaged parts. At first glance, one would not know what it was expressing. Only the boy painted in the center seemed to pierce through the viewer.

He was still a teenager and his appearance could also be considered that of a girl. After staring at him for a while, the feeling that he was supposed to be saved would surface. Because the boy had a facial expression that almost looked like he was making eye contact with the viewer as he fell. But this could not come true. He was sinking in the picture. No one on this side could do anything. One would not know what to do with themselves after looking at it – it was that kind of picture.

“Excuse me; I was the one who painted this. Is there anything wrong with this painti...”

Suddenly, a voice called to the woman from behind. A rock thrown into the quiet atmosphere. A low tone that cut through the dimness of the room.

People were mostly heading towards the famous artists, so the woman had been all by herself on that spot until just now. The man who had showed up a bit late was coincidentally the creator of that fantastical painting, and found himself talking to the woman who had stopped in front of his art. That was an extremely natural encounter for a pair. If their positions, circumstances and everything else were different, something might have been born between them. It did not have to be romantic love, just something – something else that “the two of them originally had”.

“Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea.”

The moment the woman turned around, the space resounded with a loud squeak. It actually had not resounded, but at the very least, Dietfried heard the thump of his own heartbeat, which gave his whole body goosebumps. He was enveloped in a strange sensation, as if the blood inside him were flowing backwards. One of the things he had once evaded in his life was standing there.

“What’re you doing, Monster?”

Violet Evergarden.

Before the emerald eyes that Dietfried possessed, of a hue different from his younger brother’s, there was a young female Auto-Memories Doll. The reason why he had not recognized her from the back was likely that her golden hair was slovenly loose.

He had not had a chance to see her after she had become a grown-up ever since the incident during the Flying Letters. Only people who had great amount of interaction with each other would be able to tell such a thing just by looking at someone’s back.

“I was looking at the paintings, Captain.”

Violet was expressionless. However, her hand alone promptly searched for her emerald brooch and squeezed it.

“You, paintings? Can you understand them?”

First, a scornful laugh, and then a head start with a verbal attack. She needed to put up a defense line. After all, this girl was formerly a weapon. An automatic assassination doll.

“I cannot. It is just that... my eyes and legs stopped.”

She was the one and only woman that Dietfried feared. If he had run into anyone else, his emotions would not be so disrupted.

Dietfried was scared. This girl was terrifying.

“I caused you trouble last time.”

He knew the things she had done. He knew whom she had killed. And he also recalled how he used to treat her, telling himself that it was all right.

“By asking about Major.”

Because she was a monster.

——O God, I want to                                .

These words wandered about in his head. They were words that he had prayed in his childhood to the one that he would meet at some point – probably in his dying moments. Thinking back on it now, it had been a foolish, immature and helpless wish, but he was serious about it at the time.

Looking at this girl made him remember his embarrassing past self.

“I shall see myself out. Captain, please take your time.”

“Hey.”

Violet had decided to retreat from the place, putting it to action. She concluded that this would be a peaceful solution for both sides and that it would secure each other’s survival.

“Hey, wait.”

However, Dietfried still had something that he wanted to say.

At the call of restraint, Violet’s feet halted mid-step. She then gazed at Dietfried. “Why?” her eyes were asking.

Choosing to leave must have been her own way of showing respect. Considering the current and the previous relationship between two of them, it was a sound judgement. Hence, she stared at him presumptuous and mutely.

Even now, it pierced Dietfried. That quiet “why” perforated him.

Despite being the one who had told her to wait, Dietfried lost sight of his next words. He had tons of complaints. Rather, complaints were the only thing that ever came out of his mouth. Most likely, he had never presented any warm words or attitude to her. No, he had at least patted her head when they parted. But what about it? That was all he had done. Which perhaps was the reason why.

——What did you think of that painting?

Just a question like this was exceptionally challenging for him. If it were anyone else, he would surely be able to ask as easily as breathing. He could also boast that he was the one who had painted it. However, only with this woman was it so difficult.

A long silence drifted between the two. A truly long, long silence.

The mood was almost like two beasts had come across each other in the wilderness and were estimating which would attack first. Both were underdeveloped and, not matching their insides, only their appearances were actually full-fledged. Seen from the sidelines, they were a beautiful adult man and woman looking at each other, but the air flowing between them was that of a battlefield.

Dietfried was starting to sweat. As for Violet, even her breathing was becoming shallower.

Violet seemed to be thinking about something. She opened and closed her mouth, repeating it several times. What should she do in that situation? What was best? She was probably unable to decide. This was something that not just Violet but also Dietfried was thinking about, yet the degree of seriousness in behavior was surprisingly higher on Violet’s side.

She would normally not be like this.

He was the person that even Violet Evergarden, who had written so many letters, was at loss as to how to act around. That was the man called Dietfried.

Perhaps her thinking had eventually arrived to a conclusion, Violet left her baggage on the floor and put her hands behind her back. “Feel free to.”

At first, Dietfried had no idea what she was doing. Violet looked like she was offering her body.

“Ha...?”

Without hesitation, almost as if she were a tool.

“I am still. Feel free to.”

“Feel free to feast on my life,” she seemed to say. Her current self overlapped with the beast of the past.

“To do what, is what I’m asking...” Dietfried’s mouth felt sticky, giving him a hard time mustering words out. His head had been occupied mostly with how to mend the blunder that he had exposed to her, so he could not respond to Violet’s surprise attack immediately.

“Do you not remember? I used to do this whenever I had to receive reprimand or punishment.”

He could not. All of the information that had been fluttering about in Dietfried’s head until now disappeared. It vanished.

“You, what the...”

The owner of the blue eyes that stared at Dietfried as if to shoot through him always did unexpected things, tossing him about.

“I did not know how to speak back then, so in order to show that I had no intention to attack you, Captain, I would do this.”

Those eyes.

“No matter what I say, surely... there is no atonement for me. With time, I have come to understand the things I... did. And how much terror I made you go through. Nevertheless, I am grateful for the kindliness of placing me under Lord Gilbert. I wish to pay you back somehow. If you say that it is unnecessary, at the very least, do as you please.”

For whatever reason, when those eyes asked him “why”...

“Be it with fists or with reproach, as much as you want.”

...his chest ached as if it had been stabbed.

“Feel free to.”

If that place were not a quiet art gallery, Dietfried would have yelled furiously at her, without caring about shame or his reputation. He managed to ball his fists hard enough for it to hurt and swallow down his angry voice due to his high level of self-respect.

“I hate that about you...”

This girl always made him aware that she would never act as he expected.

“...to death.”

At the words spoken by Dietfried’s quivering tone, Violet took a step back. Her stance of offering herself did not change, but her instincts were on-guard, wondering if she was not going to be killed by this man. Seeing that, Dietfried sneered at her figure.

“You’re the one who could choke the life out of me anytime,” he seemed to say.

Dietfried suddenly felt the heat that had gone up his head cooling down. Violet had taken a step back. That became the trigger for him to regain his composure. Because he was able to reconfirm that she was but a child in the end. This innocent aspect and action that were much like what a child would show to an adult exerted a great influence on the other party. Dietfried loathed that.

For he, who despised interventions from anyone, had so much aversion to it that it make him want to vomit.

Those who were accustomed to oppression from others would very easily choose to hurt people. She was inwardly frightened of that tendency. Yet albeit frightened, she prioritized others over herself. That creature was like a mass of contradictions.

——Disgusting. Stop. Die. Don’t look at me.

He did not want to get involved with her. But he had a mountain of things to say. However, when it came to whether or not he could properly do it, even if he managed to squeeze them out, they would turn into nothing but abusive language.

There was a large lake between the two of them and all they could do was gaze at the opposite shore, unable to tell how deep it was. Their first meeting was to blame for that. It was the cause of everything.

His underlings had attacked her and she had killed all of them. She then chased and chased after him, making him into her master. Despite there being a hierarchy, Violet was the one who had a grip over his life.

One would understand, after spending time with the girl, that this was a necessity for her. She was always like that, ever since the island only the two of them knew. Whenever anything happened, she would prioritize Dietfried. After all, even as he handed her over to Gilbert, she had not resisted.

If anything could be changed, that was the moment.

The two who never mingled with each other met again countless times in a parallel line. On such occasions, they would become unable to make a move due to shouldering the truth of rejection and of the things they had done, thus running away.

——Gilbert.

What did the person who brought the two together, whom they loved most, thought of that?

“You... I...”

——If I could change for Gilbert...

“Captain...?”

——If I could change, right here and now, for your sake...

Would it be easier for him to breathe?

Just as Dietfried was about to make a bitter decision...

“GYAAAAAAAAAH—AAAAAAH—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

...an incident occurred.

   It was clearly not a hasty crime. The scream of Artemisia, the owner, echoed, and by the time that Dietfried and Violet had bolted from the quiet hall where there was just the two of them, robbers were already thrusting their weapons mostly at vulnerable women and children, having them on their knees. The course of action was far too swift.

Wide-eyed, Violet swung back her trolley bag and was about to throw it at them, yet Dietfried stopped her.

“Are you stupid?! Those aren’t all adults that can run...!”

Among the hostages, there was also a little girl held under someone’s arms, looking like she did not understand the situation.

“I will save them as fast as possible and take control of the rest.”

“They’ve got guns; what’re you gonna do if they hit someone else with a warning shot?! There’s the other artworks too... This ain’t a stage for a tactless bastard like you to brawl! Just stay put for now!”

“But, Captain—”

“Stay put!”

While the two were trying to push past each other, the robbers took notice of them.

In the main hall, perhaps in order to bind people up through fear, the men were being beaten without exception, being put on their knees over the floor. Seeing that, the women naturally sat down, trembling, and began to cry.

While screams were resounding like music, one of the robbers headed towards the duo. “So there were still weeds growing here?” was the look in his eyes as he swung his firearm emotionlessly.

Dietfried would have managed to avoid it. He had done it several times until now. He could do it as easily as floating on water. If he could catch the man’s gun with one hand and pulled it just like that, he was able to picture the opponent falling over as a reaction. Once he stole the gun, he could shoot each member of the robber gang one by one in the head. And then, there would be a gunfight. He would have done that if he were alone. Yes, if he were alone.

——Why now of all times?

There was nothing more humiliating than a punch that one had to resign oneself into receiving. But he had things he had to protect above his own dignity. Thus, he accepted the attack without dodging. If he were to start a scuffle amidst the current situation, he did not think that all of the people who had become hostages would remain unharmed. He would aim for a chance. That was what he should do. He made such decision not only for his own welfare but also for that of other people.

However, the automatic assassination doll made a completely different one. When her eyes glinted like that, she quite literally moved on automatic. She came forward to take his place. In that instant, the face of Dietfried’s younger brother was the only thing crossing his mind.

——Gil.

It was almost as if he had readied himself to do it. That was how quickly his arm reached out. He forcefully embraced Violet and turned his back towards the robber. A violent hit struck him from head to back. He could hear Violet’s breath quietly catching while holding her in his arms.

And such was how they had arrived to the present.

   Dietfried did not think that his decision to suppress Violet was a mistake. He was aware that she was the woman who had fought by herself against terrorists inside an exploding train, but it would be a problem if she did something of the sort in the Artemisia Gallery.

Right now, he felt like a pet owner containing the rampage of his mad dog.

As for the mad dog herself, she had grown quiet ever since Dietfried had been hit, as if her functions were gone. Dietfried had pushed away the hands that had attempted to give him first aid. Any false moves and the robbers might beat him again.

She, who always took upon herself to protect, wound up being protected. On top of that, she had let the other be injured. This must have caused her to fall into despondency, enough to result in service outage. However, with time, she had rebooted and was rousing herself up once more to get through this situation.

“I understand that I should refrain from the use of force in an art gallery. But should we not place human lives above the artworks?”

——Whose fault do you think it is that I got hit on the back of my head?

Because she was saying the most obvious thing with the most serious face, Dietfried grabbed the collar where her brooch resided, taking the brooch along, without thinking. The thread that fastened the ribbon-tie dress’s button let out a screech. It was not the kind of deed that a gentleman would do to a lady. But Dietfried did not loosen the strength that he put into his grip.

“You... Do you still need disciplining from me?” he said, voice filled with rage, close enough for their faces to touch. “Think of this as a place that can hardly compare to any other... This thing’s pretty important for you, isn’t it?”

After blinking with a snap, she opened her mouth once, then closed it.

Once Dietfried’s hand let go of her, she grasped the brooch as if to protect it. She was more concerned about the brooch than the crumpled bust of her dress. She stroked it over and over, making sure that it had not been damaged.

Finally, she whispered in a dazed state, “I understand.”

“As if an idiot could,” Dietfried said with a snort, yet the other was a poker-faced Auto-Memories Doll. No matter how much he hurt her, it would have no effect. That was what Dietfried had thought.

“I understood completely. I will avoid combat here as much as possible.” Alas, her voice sounded a little faint.

Dietfried stared at Violet from the corners of his eyes. The brooch was indeed important to her. She was holding it down with both hands. She did not want anyone to touch it – that was what she was indicating. The two of them were speaking in an awfully low tone, but her timbre just now was as thin as the cry of a mosquito.

Dietfried said with a somewhat softer voice, “Good that you get it. I’m indebted to the owner of this gallery. I’m gonna choose the best I can for her sake too.”

“All right.”

“Human lives are the priority, of course. But we’re not gonna fight in a stupid way.”

Like a child, Violet nodded repeatedly.

“You’ve only ever been doing body guarding, murders and military action, and that’s why you don’t understand. In the sea... In fleet battles, we fight to protect. Our way of thinking is different from those who fight to conquer.”

“To protect...”

“If you can’t put brakes on them at sea, the enemies go to land. The reason why Leidenschaftlich is called a military nation ain’t just the army’s achievement. I’ve... never taught you how to fight at sea, huh... For now, forget the method of destroying and taking control of everything. Learn from my ways.”

“Understood.”

Dietfried was inwardly surprised at the obedient reply. Rather, even more than this, he was surprised that he and the “beast” were able to have mutual comprehension.

When she was in his hands, this beautiful Auto-Memories Doll was a “wild beast” that did not know how to speak, as well as a tool. An incontrollable beast, to boot.

“Still, if that is how it is, please do not forget that your wellbeing is my top priority all the more. I shall fight to protect you, Captain. Please do not think of protecting me for Lord Gilbert’s sake. If necessity arises, I will not might if you use me as a shield. I can be replaced, but there is no substitute for you.”

If, at that time...

“This is also linked to protecting Lord Gilbert.”

...in that place...

“Bye, Monster. This guy’s your next master.”

...he had educated and guided her instead of letting her go, would she have grown up the same way?

“Shut up.”

Would she have thought like that?

“Shut up, Monster.”

He had never even thought about it.

Another side of him immediately answered “no” to the self-questioning. Surely, a Violet Evergarden raised by Dietfried Bougainvillea would not have turned out like this. He might have at least taught her how to talk. They would have trouble communicating otherwise. He would have probably given her clothes and personal belongings for daily life. Bringing her along when walking around would look bad for him.

However, when it came to whether or not he would have bestowed this girl with something that would be enveloped in her hands with utmost zeal...

——I see; so it’s the same color as Gilbert’s eyes. That brooch.

...he would undeniably have not.

——Come to think of it, she was always following me around from behind ‘cause she hated being alone.

If there was anything he could have done for her, it was to at least fill up a coffin with flowers and leave it available for her. He did not intend for anything to happen, but he might have done that much. After all, if Violet had stayed beside Dietfried Bougainvillea, she would have surely died before him, for his sake.

“We’re gonna do an act.”

——Aah, Gilbert.

“An act?”

——I’m always late to realize how great you are.

“That’s right. You’re the one who suggested it, so I’m gonna make you into a decoy.”

——You’ve made that filthy beast into this.

“Understood.”

——You were able to change her like this.

“First, take this... It’s late for that, but... you got any questions about a joint struggle with me?”

As Dietfried asked, Violet responded with her neck tilted, “Why...? I do not.”

For whatever reason, his former weapon would show scraps of emotion only at times like these. Just innocently, unaware that it was merciless of her.

“Please use me correctly, Captain.” She smiled.

   Why had robbers attacked the Artemisia Gallery?

There was a certain amount of history that led to such violence unfolding amidst everyday life. Firstly, it would be preferable to start with the time when a turning point happened in the life of the robbery’s main offender, but that would be rewinding too far. On to a brief explanation.

This case was a crime committed by a habitual criminal.

There were various reasons for people to rob, yet the advantage was but one. Earning compensation within a short period. Good citizens would be paid for their work, but thieves did not share this mentality. People received rewards through serving others. In order to gather a large sum, a long time and effort were necessary. Thieves abdicated from this. To achieve success, no matter in what land, a person had to be equipped with skills as a rule of thumb.

If one could stop after doing it once, why did they do it countless times? There were people here and there who thought this about criminals. It was because, if they had succeeded once, they could do it again. They were instantly able to attain things that they would have to spend a long time out of their lives to earn. This was the arrival of an opportunity to do that.

Once one got used to it, identifying opportunities was surprisingly easy.

Supposing that there was someone who excelled at predicting people’s thoughts. The other person’s personality would be determined by the movements of their eyes, the way they breathed, their voice tone, the relationships of power in their background, their social position and other such things, so one would be able to deduce what kind of conduct should be taken in order to derive the “correct answer”. It seemed like magic at first glance, but it was no more than the result of someone continuously keeping watch on another person for many years.

Since this was a strategy against individual matches, the robbers needed a slightly better ability to grasp the environment. As they were walking around the city, they incidentally found out that a new gallery was going to open. The opening date was also announced. It appeared that there would be an event only for those concerned on the day before.

No matter the establishment, dealing flawlessly with the inauguration of a new shop was difficult. Even if there were people in it who already had experience working in a gallery, but the use of their abilities to have control over such a situation and proceed with it smoothly was different. Employees would be in quite a panic on the day. If it was a members-only celebration day, there was no mistaking that the original state of the security that should be guarding the gallery would be insufficient.

And so, the robbers had thought, “Aah, if you poke this place, it’ll surely crumble down.”

They did not have any grudges in particular. They had simply judged that they could do it, thus undergoing the assault. The truth was merely that the Artemisia Gallery had been unlucky.

How many hardships the owner had gone through until she was able to open the gallery, had she lived her life bowing her head to other people? How many artists were looking forward to seeing their work exhibited in the gallery? The feelings of such people could be trampled miserably at times.

Not that many people paid any mind to weeds when walking. That was all. Except, this time, the Artemisia Gallery had been lucky about just one thing.

“No good... Hum, excuse me...! She suddenly...!”

A naval captain who loved art...

“Ugh...”

...and the woman who used to be called Leidenschaftlich’s War Maiden were amongst the hostages.

The man who had caused a commotion and pleaded to one of the robbers in a panic raised both of his hands as a display of no resistance. He was a long-haired a man. His slightly curvy dark hair went past his shoulders. Right next to him was a woman holding her stomach and trembling.

“What?”

A few armed men gathered around them.

“It seems her stomach hurts.”

“Just a stomach ache? Leave it alone.”

“You’re telling us to let her go to the bathroom? We still gotta watch these people. Besides, she’s a woman. If someone takes her to the toilet... Well, how much stuff did we get?”

“We’ve piled most of the paintings in the carrier, but there’s still the ornaments. It’s still gonna take a while.”

The robbers had a choice. The option to either silently let her suffer or kindly take her to the restroom. Beating only the men was likely one of their policies. They did not hesitate to make use of violence when needed, but when it was not, it was best to have as least animosity as possible in order to get through with things unobtrusively and quickly take the treasure. It seemed gentlemanly but was a self-righteous thinking.

“What do we do? The Head is...”

“The Head got in the car first. As if we can ask him stuff like this every single time it happens.”

“Head” probably referred to the member worthy of being their chief.

As the quiet exchanges continued in front of the agonizing woman, she finally lay down on the floor while still holding onto her stomach. The man who had appealed about her bad condition shook her shoulders, telling her to “hang in there”.

As if she had received a signal, the woman raised her face slowly. Her gemstone-like blue eyes were visible through the gaps between her disheveled golden hair. She was covering her mouth, perhaps trying not to vomit. Even so, it was easy to tell that the woman’s looks were remarkably good.

“It’s gonna take a while, huh. Besides, we’re gonna need the women later.”

Her eyes locked with one of robber’s as though sucking him in. One would not understand the destructive power that having this woman look up at them from their feet with her eyes wet had, unless they witnessed it themselves.

“Then, I guess it’s okay.”

From the vulgar smile of the man who had said so, one could presume what his intentions were. As the woman was covering her mouth, the robber instructed her to stand up, pointing his gun at her, and then took her to the restroom.

After that, the woman and the robber did not return for a while. Since there were no other people who mustered out the courage to say that they wanted to use the toilet, the period of their absence passed as if it were natural. In the meantime, the gallery’s exhibits were being carried one after another to cars with roof racks parked outside the establishment. The robbers were dressed as employees who worked with the transportation of goods, so even those walking down the street did not think there was anything strange about that work scene.

Once they had finished relocating most of the merchandises, one of the cars left the gallery. The other one that remained parked was meant for the getaway of those who were keeping watch. With the artworks that had been collected for the sake of this day snatched away down to the last one, the gallery was bare. The owner, Artemisia, had all the while been suppressing her cries and shedding tears.

Apparently, those thieves were quite the habitual criminals. They had threatened everyone with armed force upon entering the establishment, robbing people of any resistance, but after that, as long as everyone stayed still, they would do nothing but coldly keep control of the hostages, not even raising their voices. If people did as told, they would not lose their lives. That hope made the hostages obedient. Even though they were robbers, this seamless way of dealing with people was like that of artisans. They did not think of humans as humans.

“Excuse me; I just... want to lend her a handkerchief. That’s all. The sleeves of her clothes are already soaked with tears. Can’t you allow just this much?”

Hearing a voice from the back, Artemisia turned around. It came from one of the artists that she had invited over for today, whom she had known for quite some time. She was shaken by a sense of guilt that she had done something terrible to him as well.

Their first meeting had started at a certain recreational facility, when she peeked from behind while he was painting a landscape. She did not know his occupation, but they kept in touch and she had him show her his art. It seemed he had always been drawing as a hobby. He told her that even most of the people who were close to him did not know he painted, and that he had truly only been doing it for himself.

The busy man had weaved his way through spare time and the work he brought had swayed Artemisia’s senses. At first, he had hesitated at her request to put it on display, but then smiled like a boy and gave her his ready consent, looking happy.

——Aah, God. Please give it back. Please give that fun time back to everyone.

Artemisia was upset and vexed at the fact that the artworks were being stolen, but more than anything, it felt like the regret towards everyone who had been looking forward to this day would split her chest open.

“Hey, he told you to use this.”

He had lent a handkerchief to Artemisia through one of the robbers. Artemisia wiped her tears and managed to lock eyes with him somehow. She then mouthed a “thank you” to him without letting out her voice.

The man smiled. But it was not the smile that Artemisia knew. He was different when he talked about art. She had shivers before she could think. His eyes were not smiling.

“                              .”

The man said something to Artemisia. As he had only moved his lips, Artemisia could not tell whether she had been able to read what he tried to convey. She could not, but most likely, he had said:

“It’ll be over soon.”

Eventually, the robbers started to create an atmosphere of evacuation at last.

“Let’s take one person with us until we leave the harbor. Can be a woman or kid. Which do we choose?”

“Woman it is.”

“That guy was playing around with the woman we were planning to use for that, wasn’t he? What happened to him?”

Assuming that they would finally be freed, the hostages started fidgeting. They had faced a disaster and the artworks that they had dedicated their lives to making had been stolen. This joyful day had been repainted into despair. But they were alive. That was the one and only bright side of today. They would not be able to maintain their rationality unless they comforted themselves with that. At any rate, they wanted to hurry and be liberated.

Amongst them, there was a man who merely observed the robbers’ movements in silence all the while. It was the man who had been caring for a woman that had a stomachache, looking worried. Once the woman had been taken to the restroom, he became expressionless, as if he had lost interest in everything. Occasionally, there were moments when he even yawned in secret, as if he had grown sleepy.

“Go call him. We could use that woman as hostage. She’s young, so she can come back walking if we throw her away on the street.”

Hearing these words, the man let out his voice and laughed. By the looks of it, he had not intended to laugh, but wound up doing so. He put a hand to his mouth, but then shrugged and let the robbers see it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make fun of you. But trying to rape that thing, huh? No matter how many lives you have, it wouldn’t be enough.”

“Hey, what’s with you...? Got a complaint or something...?”

The man kept laughing, as though to say that the robbers’ threatening figures were even more comical. With her eyes, the owner, Artemisia, begged the man provoking the robbers to restrain himself, for she could not afford to lose not only the artworks that she had collected but also a guest that she had invited, yet the man closed one eye at that and replied, “Artemisia, it’s okay.”

No one in this place knew his social status. Or his history.

In the past, Dietfried Bougainvillea used to wield a weapon that could become the world’s best. It was now away from his grasp, but it was not as if their master-servant connection had been completely severed. The beast had a high level of loyalty, so although they had met by chance after a long time, her heart recognized it. That he was the one she had been following in the past – someone worth being served by her. Therefore, the beast would attend him to exhaustion.

Only a limited number of people could handle the beast. The feeling that she had returned to his hands for now was somewhat strange.

“She runs quick.”

“Ha?”

“That’s why it’s the end for you guys. My bad.”

“Hey, shut this dude up.”

As Dietfried had suddenly started talking, the robbers naturally had a doubtful reaction.

“She’s as fast as a deer. And this is the city’s main street, so there are hotels nearby.”

“So, what’re you saying?”

“I left my bodyguards behind to come here today. They’re probably drinking at their room’s bar. There’re also guys among them who know that thing from the time when she was still by my side. I left my hair tie with her, so she should be able to convince them with that. I could predict that you’d take the things you stole to the port. It’s pretty difficult to get away from pursuers on land when you make such a mess in the center of this city. It’s harder to be tracked using the sea route than the land route, right? But the sea route doesn’t work against me. It looks like one vehicle left a while ago, but it’s over by the point they reach the port. You’ll probably go outside now, but if you’re thinking about taking someone along as a hostage, you’d better drop it. Many of my subordinates are hot-blooded. If you rouse them up like that, they’ll probably get too excited. If that happens, you’re the ones who’ll be getting the short end of the stick. No matter how many dead bodies fall down, we can deal with it all we want in the aftermath. We’ll need to get the stories straight, but today’s hostages will surely choose to cooperate with me. Having people trample on the proof of a life that you’ve lived with all your might is painful for anyone.”

The eloquent man did not run out of breath even when speaking nonstop in such a situation. However, this majestic aspect of him was reflected in others’ eyes as dreadful and similar to madness.

The robbers abruptly realized that all the hostages were looking far behind them. They felt that there was something behind them. It was like a ghost, hiding even its flame of life, simply waiting for the orders of its lord.

Outside the windows of the gallery, they could hear the sounds of someone fighting from around the area where the car was parked. Simultaneously, they could hear a faint breathing just behind them.

The respiration of a woman who was out of breath from running loomed over their ears.

“Do it, Violet.” Dietfried raised his thumb and made a swift throat-cutting gesture.

While watching his doll render the robbers unconscious with a strength as overwhelming as a monster eating people, Dietfried reminisced to the past.

——Everything goes around.

He recalled the time when the two of them were stuck in that isolated island.

The beast had been scared when the rescue fleet arrived. So had Dietfried. He would not be able to bear it if more of his comrades were murdered. Hence, he had taken the beast’s hand and guided her to the outside world. In his perception, it was the same as taking the reins.

There were no reins anymore now. No need for him to pull her by the hand when walking, either. There was nothing between them.

Not love, passion, attachment, desire, anything.

“Captain.”

There was nothing, but one thing was for certain.

“Captain Bougainvillea.”

If he called for her, this Auto-Memories Doll would most likely go to the ends of the world to save him. That was her nature.

“I have just returned. Are you unharmed?”

At that moment, the beast was well aware that he had called her name for the very first time. Her eyes were crinkling.

“Yeah.”

Just this much compensation was enough to make the beast smile.

   After a little while passed, Leidenschaftlich was embraced by the gentleness of the night.

Summer constellations were decorating the jet-black sky. Just as sunny as it was during daytime, the night sky was twinkling so brightly this evening that it could be called a banquet of stars. The day was about to end in Leidenschaftlich. Today was filled with chaos ever since morning.

While being observed by gathered-up onlookers, the arrest drama that had unfolded in front of the Artemisia Gallery was already coming to a conclusion, its many procedures and processing passed over to the military police. Seeing the stolen artworks safely re-delivered to Artemisia, Dietfried took a breather. His gaze then fleetingly drifted to the side. A dirtied ceramic doll was standing there. A woman beautiful enough to look like such, who shone amidst the night, was standing there. He had to say something to her. As one would expect, he should do that at least now. But he could not think of anything.

——“You did well”. “That wasn’t too bad”. “Good work”. “I commend you”... Which one?

Inside his head, words were being conceived and then disappearing. Just like the dreams that the sleeping children all around Leidenschaftlich were surely seeing right now. They were born and then vanished.

At last, he attempted to open his mouth, “Aren’t you cold?”

“It is summer, after all.”

And ended up talking to her like a man who was unused to inviting women out.

Violet Evergarden, who had been fighting reasonably and in order to protect, was still by Dietfried’s side. It was fitting to say that she had been today’s most meritorious person. The one who had come up with the idea of the arrest operation was Dietfried, but the one who had done all the work for it was Violet.

First, she had put up the woman-with-a-stomachache act and gone with one of the robbers to the restroom. She had then quietly strangled the neck of the man who had reached a hand to her shoulder with her mechanical prosthetic arms, making him pass out.

She had broken out and escaped through the restroom’s window. Rather than going to the military police, she had gone to the hotel that Dietfried instructed her to and notified the naval soldiers, who were enjoying cigarettes and drinks in a room on the top floor, of the circumstances. One of the soldiers, who happened to know her, had been frightened at first, but upon seeing that she had been entrusted with Dietfried’s ribbon, his facial expression changed and he contacted the military police, then informed the port’s security to reinforce their inspections.

Without waiting for them to get ready, she had immediately run back to the Artemisia Gallery and infiltrated it through the same route. A few of the robbers, who had the bad luck of spotting her, fell to the ground with one kick or punch to the abdomen, and so, she had finally returned. As Violet stood behind the remaining robbers while catching her breath, the hostages stared as if she were their safety, but Dietfried was sneering as he looked at her.

Just as ordered, she had saved Dietfried without damaging a single artwork.

“About what happened...”

“It will probably be best not to tell Lord Gilbert. He would worry.”

Upon seeing the last artwork be brought in, Violet took the trolley bag that lay by her feet. She likely intended to go home by herself.

After making her do so much, something similar to guilt was now sprouting within Dietfried. He wound up acknowledging that she, too, was important to someone. That was what he thought after the battle, when he saw Violet stroking her emerald brooch as if to confirm that it was there.

Even though she used to be a wild beast whom no one would mourn if she died.

——Aah, that’s an excuse. It’ll be nothing but an excuse. If so, then I don’t wanna say it.

Back then, when she was by Dietfried’s side, every single day was filled with madness on all accounts. They used to roam around battlefields, fighting from dawn to dusk, growing too accustomed to violence. The war then ended, peace had returned, and he realized that an era in which he could even make art was arriving. That those times were abnormal and the way he felt now was the default.

“I’ll take you home.”

“No need. Your escorts must be waiting, so please, feel free to take your leave, Captain.”

“It’s fine; just this time. I’ll take you home.”

“No need.”

“I’ll take you. Listen up, this is an order.”

“I cannot accept your command.”

“You little... You were taking action like I instructed you to just a while ago.”

“Because it was a state of emergency... Besides, Captain Dietfried, it would be reasonable if I were to take you home, but the opposite is illogical.”

“What’re you talking about? You’re a woman, aren’t you?”

“A woman”. Finding himself asserting this with his own mouth, Dietfried regretted it even more.

The corner of Violet’s lips had a cut and blood was coming out of it. Her ribbon-tie dress was drenched in sweat. Even those who did not sweat much would be like this after such a huge scuffle during summertime.

“I’m calling a carriage. It’s all right; just wait right there. I’ll see you off until you get inside the Evergarden house. And then it’s goodbye. We’ll never see each other again. No matter what you and Gil become, we’ll never see each other again.”

What he had done today to this woman, who had become fully able to accept someone’s love, was not something that a son of the Bougainvillea should ever do to a lady.

After they had hopped into the carriage, a moment of silence went on for a while.

——Is it okay for her to keep such an open secret even though those two are a couple?

Dietfried found himself accidentally concerned about his younger brother’s love life. After all, this situation might be a betrayal to his dearest brother. Gilbert had completely forgiven Dietfried. For pushing the headship succession onto him. For not having any consideration for their family. For forcing an indescribable wild beast onto him. He had forgiven everything.

Thinking back, the only time that he attempted to push Dietfried away, saying he would not forgive him, had been when Dietfried offered Violet to him. He had called it “human trafficking”. Told Dietfried not to be violent with a child.

Most likely, those two were each other’s only exception from the very beginning. There was probably no pardoning what Dietfried had done to Violet today. Gilbert would forgive most things. Save for matters related to the one and only thing that was most important to him. Being hated by a loved one. This could cast a shadow over anyone’s heart, regardless of how old they were.

“It is all right.” The voice that cut through the silence was thrown at him as if to soothe him down. The words sounded almost as if she had perceived Dietfried’s uneasiness. “If, by any chance... word ends up reaching him through someone else about this case, I will definitely defend you, Captain Dietfried.”

“‘Defend’, you say?”

“To tell the truth, I often get involved in large-scale incidents without Major knowing. But I return without fail. To Leidenschaftlich. I will return today as well. Therefore, we are all right.”

“What do you do out there?”

“We were separated for much too long. Therefore, we have many moments that the other does not know about in the first place. Perhaps even now, too. I have work to do and so does he. We have limited time to see each other. However, I will definitely always return to Major. He knows this as well. Even when we are apart, that person is the only one who occupies my mind. I am not sure if I convey it to him properly, but that is how it is.”

Her statements were something that would normally make him burst into laughter, but Dietfried was unable to do so.

——When did you become like that?

Dietfried hated Violet. Several factors had induced his emotions to it.

——Now you can correspond to someone’s love.

He saw himself overlap with her. Her subservience to adults and the way that she herself wanted it disgusted him. He despised the wild beast that did not yearn for freedom. Despised the fact that she had been trained by someone to be this way. Despised everything. To begin with, Dietfried did not have many things that he liked.

Even the number of people who could become kind had a limit.

The truth was that, even if he wanted to be kind, it was no longer possible. He had prayed to God for it countless times in the past. However, unable to achieve this, a man named Dietfried Bougainvillea existed.

——O God, I want to, he begged a certain Someone in his mind for the first in a long time. Perhaps since his childhood.

Still, this sort of being did not give any reply to calls. Even now, he had no idea if his plea had reached Him. It was certainly impossible. His and Violet’s stars were in a position that would not radically change.

Nevertheless, for some reason, he had the overwhelming desire to ask someone for forgiveness today.

——I wanna go back.

Not even he knew where to.

——Hurry and be over, this day, today and the time I have to spend with her.

He was not annoyed.

——O God, I want to...

But painfully miserable.

“Captain.”

The carriage ran amongst trees dyed in the darkness of the night. A cool voice echoed amidst them.

Violet was looking at the scenery outside. She was observing the moon, which chased after them, no matter how far, far apart they were.

The moon was something that would continue to exist forever. Unlike stories. Regardless of whether Dietfried concerned himself with it, everything about his story would come to a closing one day as well. Demise would arrive even to the things that he did not wish to ever be over. Even the feelings he had now would end.

“How was I today?”

“What?”

“Did my work earn your satisfaction today?”

Dietfried could not read the intentions behind Violet’s question at all. She was someone whose emotions he could not read in the first place, but it was even harder to understand the meaning of that sentence.

“What do you want to say?”

Silence.

“Hey, just say it straight. Don’t be dodgy with me.”

“All right,” the cool voice entered his ears once more. Such coldness resembled the night, but it never left his ears, easy as it was to catch.

Violet turned her neck and cast her gaze at him. Slowly, blue and green eyes blended with each other.

“I...”

Bathed in moonlight, she was simply, purely beautiful, enough to take Dietfried’s breath away.

“When I was with you, Lord Dietfried, my work was never satisfactory. Now that I became an adult, have I finally been able to repay my debt... with my work?”

“What d’you mean by ‘debt’?”

His voice was hoarse. He suddenly felt as if this icy woman had robbed his entire body of its heat. The inside of his mouth was extremely dry.

“I mean everything. It all started when you brought me from that island. I am the way I am now because you entrusted me to Ma... to Lord Gilbert.”

“If you’d stayed with me, probably nothing good would’ve happened.”

“How would I be if I had continued to serve you?”

These words became a bullet and pierced Dietfried’s heart. He felt as if his breathing would stop at the unexpected question. Things had been like that since the distant past. Dietfried would reconfirm time and time again that she was a woman who could have become a lethal weapon for him.

“So you also imagine a hypothesis... of ‘what if’,” her exquisitely cold voice rang within the darkness. Upon being asked, “You too?”, Violet nodded.

That was his line, Dietfried thought, but Violet then sent his gemstone eyes a dream-like gaze. His existence might be devoid of realism to her.

Violet began to whisper. If only she had disobeyed that order back then. If only she had rushed to him a step faster at that time.

“Back then, if”. “Back then, if”. “Back then, if”.

She could not bring myself not to think that, if only she had had this extra step, he would not have lost that emerald eye.

“Besides, I wonder... if I had managed to protect him back then...”

She had to let go of her most beloved lord’s hand and was entrusted to someone else as if she had been thrown away.

“...I would not have had to spend that time away from Major.”

Thinking back, she had always been abandoned and then picked up by somebody. She should have been used to it. That was the star she had been born under.

She was originally a foreign body to this world and was supposed to have been eliminated. Her destiny had also flowed in this way. The reason why Violet had rebelled against her sectioned path, despite having been tamely submitting herself to it, was that the other was special.

——I also threw her away.

He had thrown his home away. Thrown away his little brother, who cried in protest. And thrown away this beast.

“I also wonder what would have happened if you had not left me with Major.”

This woman.

“But all of these are akin to dreams, crossing my mind and fading away. After passing through countless ‘if’s, I...”

He had pushed this woman onto his brother and forsaken her. Looking at her made him sick. He was also scared of her. Most importantly, he would have stopped being himself. This terrified him.

“And now, I have become an Auto-Memories Doll and am spending a night with you.”

This woman possessed an element that transmuted people.

“Y’know, you’ll be alone one day. You’re the one who’s got the longer lifespan, aren’t you?”

Violet closed her eyes at those words. If she had pictured numerous “if”s, this would obviously come to mind as well.

“I do not know.”

“If that happens, what’re you gonna do?”

“I do not know. But are you not the same as me when it comes to this? You love him, right?”

“I’m... I’m the older one. I’ll be gone sooner.”

“No one knows about that. But... if, one day... I do become alone... if I am left living by myself... my order will still be valid. I will probably live on.”

If she ended up living by herself, this supposition was the cruelest of things to the beast. Just what did he want to do by making her say this now?

Thinking back, ever since they had first met, he had not known how to deal with her. Should he have protected her? Killed her? Protected? Killed? Or perhaps...

“That is why I write letters every day. Even if they do not reach him, I write letters to Major every single day.”

Silence.

“Captain, what will you do?”

“Me, huh? I... let’s see. Paint, I guess.”

“A painting or Major?”

“That’s right.”

“May I go see it?”

To Dietfried Bougainvillea, this wild beast was both a woman and a monster from the very beginning. She was now as far-off as a dream.

“You’re the only one of my relatives who knows I paint. Do whatever you want.”

   ——O God, I want to be a good person.

[beskarberry]

Valkyrie

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 4

(The Mandalorian x f!reader)

“What... did you... do?”  You hissed between clenched teeth. “Did you poison him?! Give me the antidote right now or so fucking help me I’ll tear every limb off your ugly little body!” You were seething, fear and fury stoking fire behind your eyes. The bounty only laughed harder.

“Antidote?There’s only one antidote for that one, sugar, and I sure hope you like him enough to give it to him! Bwahaha ha! Good luck!”

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 7.8k

Content warnings: Canon-typical violence, SEX POLLEN + rough sex, oral sex (m receiving) and kink talk (not gonna list all of them but they’re all very common.) There’s another filk song reference in this one that I’ll link in the replies.

A/N: VERY IMPORTANT TAG! The bounty uses she/her pronouns so if girl on girl violence makes you squeamish please read ahead with caution! Also know that I >>do not<< use any gender-specific slurs (b*tch, c*nt, etc.)

<-Previous Next->

Everything. Was. Purple.

Purple! The grass, the sky, the trees, if you could call them that. The pulsating, gelatinous towers that spiraled into the sky were definitely alive, but you weren’t sure if ‘tree’ was a fitting word for them. Their branches were long and hanging, weighed down by some kind of berry or fruit that glowed with teal streaks. Your next bounty was on a habitable moon orbiting an enormous gas giant that took up the entire skyline. It was lush with vegetation and sparsely populated, a perfect hideout for an Ardennian.

The Razor Crest was parked in a meadow of lavender grass, though once again you questioned your choice of words, watching the way the long wet leaves wiggled in the breeze. You breathed deep, letting the rich, humid air fill your lungs while your traveling companions followed behind you down the old ship’s ramp. Baby beans trotted right past you on stubby legs, picking things up off the ground that he probably shouldn’t be putting in his mouth, but was too sneaky for you to stop him from doing so. You heard the Crest’s access door shut, and turned to see Mando eagerly trotting along to join you.

No, not ‘Mando’... Din. Mr. Mystery finally had a name, though you were still conflicted about using it. The man had spilled so many secrets into you in such a short amount of time that the butterflies in your stomach were breeding many-legged worms. Squirming, creeping things that quickly metamorphosized back into their illustrious true selves, and you weren’t sure which part of their cycle was making you more nauseous. But they were your secrets to keep, your heart wearing his name like a locket; safely hidden where nobody but you could see.

You had slid the heavy beskar bucket back up the ladder to him while he stayed in the dark of the cockpit, the knowledge of his facial features still kept by your hands alone. The pair of you had then stood close together at the armory, him with his helmet back where it belonged and you with your bright eyed mask protecting your crown. At the equipment cache he couldn’t stop talking, pointing out and picking up a variety of weapons and traps that would work particularly well for this simian quarry. Everything had a story, and he told you all about the bounties he had pulled trophies off of, or things he had gotten as rewards for helping someone else. He’s giddy. You could only listen along as he prattled away, handing you grapple after snare until you had to start putting things back in the armory, just so you could have your hands free again.

Hands. Every time he gave you another tool of the trade to add to your ever-growing inventory his hands brushed somewhere on you. Leather tipped fingers glancing quickly on your wrist, a lingering palm on your shoulder; each fleeting touch lasting just slightly longer than the last. He was struggling to keep his hands off of you, reluctant to give up the intimacy you had both been working at in the void-black darkness of the flight deck before atmospheric reentry tore you both apart. What other prayers of devotion could he pour into you, if you’d just had a little more time? ‘You belong to them, that is The Way’. The oath he had made to you was followed coldly in your mind by another string of words, ‘I’m not asking you to do the same, you’re not Mandalorian’.

You couldn’t think about all the words that you still needed to unpack, it was hunting time. The six-limbed simian was wanted for, checks puck notes, chemical warfare. She had blasted her way to the Guild’s Most Wanted list by lobbing incendiary bombs and poison gas grenades through a meeting of outer rim parliament, and the price on her head might have been higher than yours. The bounty puck specifically stated she was to be taken alive. Super. The droid-face mask wasn’t going to be much protection for your lungs, but it might at least keep your eyes safe. You took time to pack extra bacta and some quality rations, plus one of your new bantha-wool blankets. You woke up that morning on Tatooine, and the voice of your tortured circadian rhythm wondered if you would be sleeping rugged tonight somewhere on this heliotropic hellscape.

A bounty fob blinked lazily from the larger hunter’s belt, indicating that the quarry was on-world, but not close enough to catch. The three of you would have some walking to do. The child tried to make friends with every wiggly thing, running on his short little legs from fern to fern, hunting for treats. The little beastie’s adopted father chased him through the grass, trying, and failing, to keep him from getting into trouble. The sight of the mighty metal man being defeated so easily by a baby made you laugh, and the sound of your melodic giggles drew his attention.

“What are you laughing at?”

Oh no, I’ve been caught!  “I’m laughing at you, rust bucket! The scariest person here isn’t either of us, it’s him!” You pointed to where the child was tearing through the reeds after some kind of amphibian, and started laughing harder when Mando cursed and flew after his impish son. The rowdy child had a frog-like creature hanging from his mouth that vanished the second his dad tried to pull it away.

“Stop eating things you find on the ground!” The baby only squealed at the scolding, earning himself a grumpy, papa-patented sigh. Mando picked up the potato-sack of a child and dumped him unceremoniously into the hover-crib that floated along behind. “You can get back out when you learn your lesson! I don’t want you to get sick.” The baby made huge, sad eyes up at his dad, but Mando turned away quickly to avoid their hypnotic powers. You were doing your best to hide your giggles, covering the part of your mask where your mouth was, as if that would help. The Mandalorian strode up to you with a swagger. “Oh, you think that’s funny, cyar’ika?”

“You don’t?” You caught your reflection in the black gloss of his visor as he sauntered up to you, and your bug-eyed doppelganger only made you laugh more. A wall of beskar stood in front of you, eyeing you with slow tilts of his helmet while you got it all out of your system. When your breaths returned to normal you looked down at your hands and found that they had made friends. You had reached out for him without even thinking, and you were a little embarrassed that they had gravitated to him so naturally. He squeezed your hands gently before letting them return to you, and you heard the songs of star-lost sailors whispering in the back of your mind. The nights are long between the stars, and lonely, too, for me. I wonder how I might have fared with home and family.

“Night’s coming fast, we should keep moving.” Hunting mode reactivated, your companion started towards the undulating wilderness. He wasn’t wrong, within a few hours the massive planet that hung above you drifted out of view, replaced with a sea of glittering stars. The foliage around you glowed with otherworldly colors, teals and violets splattering their dense leaves and curling down their jelly trunks. Their loveliness made it easy to distract yourself from the task at hand, your eyes chasing the occasional yellow and red flashes that blinked from insects high in the branches. Ahead of you a large old tree had fallen over, and between its trunk and its upturned roots the spot was easily defensible.

Mando busied himself with clearing squishy sticks and leaves from the area to make a campsite while you looked for something to start a fire with. Nothing looked burnable, everything had a gooey, wet consistency, but some dead leaves under the log were dried out. They would have to do. You made them into a neat pile and pushed some rocks in a circle around them for safety, now you would just need a light.

“Hey, tinman, I need some heat!” He followed your pointing finger with his helmet and waltzed over to you, happy to be of assistance. He started up his wrist mounted flamethrower and used the pilot light to set the tinder ablaze. Not even fire could escape the overwhelming purpleness of the estranged moon as the blaze kicked up a bright indigo with a low heat. You got to work getting dinner around, pulling savory Tatooine treats out of your pack, pushing some of them towards the heat source so they would be warm. At the bottom of your bag you found some soft, squashed thing, and pulled the remains of breakfast out into the light. It was mashed, but it was still probably edible. “Mando, you never ate your breakfast.”

“What?” He looked at the sad excuse for a meal that you were offering him, eyeing it with curiosity. “You got me breakfast?”

“Yes? I told you that I would, though I guess it’s dinner now. Here.” You waved it at him so he would get the hint, and he took it carefully from you with timid hands.

“T-thank you. You’re very kind.”

“And don’t you forget it!” You whooped with overwhelming confidence, but the sweet words made you blush under your mask. Before he could turn and leave the safety of the fire to find a private eating area you reached for his hand again, pulling the armored paw to your forehead and knocking it softly against your mask. Kov'nynir. A wistful sigh escaped his modulator, and you knew the act of affection was well received. He bent himself down to where you sat at the fire and pressed his own forehead against yours, rumbling with contentment. The gentle sound made your heart swell, such a simple gesture that carried so much meaning. A bounty hunter’s life was fast and dangerous, why should finding companionship be any different?

You pushed your heads together just a little harder before he pulled himself away from you to go eat. You lifted your own dinner and the baby’s from the hearth, poking at it with your fingers to make sure it wasn’t too hot for Mr. Green Beans to eat. The child took it from you eagerly, content in his protective pram and making gross little noises while he ate. The food tin you had was much better than day one’s menu: bantha meat and Tusken hardtack with a side of more mystery mush. Your partner chose to take his meal elsewhere, fading into the darkness behind the fallen log where he could remove his helmet and eat in peace. Someday he might make more sense to you. The clank! of an empty food tin hitting the ground brought your attention back to your campsite buddy, the baby having thrown his clean plate at you.

“What’s wrong, booger? You bored? Alright.” There was a tiny bit of energy still left in your bones, and what better way to spend it than entertaining your precious audience. You pulled yourself to your feet, taking a moment to dust the spores from your pants and pull your backpack on before launching into song.

“When we pulled into Naboo’s Port in need of R&R,

The crew set out investigating every joint and bar.

We had high expectations of their hospitality,

But found too late it wasn't geared for spacers such as we!”

“And we're banned from Naboo, everyone!

Banned from Naboo, just for having a little fun!

We spent a jolly shore leave there for just three days or four,

But Naboo doesn't want us anymore!”

Green baby hands tried their best to clap in time with your sailor song, accompanied by adorable cooing noises while he tried to sing along. Your rambunctiousness summoned Mando back over to the fire, and he sat down on a large rock next to his foundling, watching you through his visor as you danced around the fire with flailing limbs.

“Our Engineer would yield to none at putting down the brew;

She outdrank seven space marines and a demolition crew!

The Navigator didn't win, but he out-drank almost all,

And now they've got a shuttlecraft on the roof of City Hall!”

You ran through the chorus again, taking a second to notice that tinman was tapping his foot to the beat along with you. You wondered briefly if they ever sang on Mandalore. You took a deep breath to continue-

“-KABOOM-!”

The fireside exploded just meters from your spinning dance, and you were hauled backwards to safety by your oathsworn protector,along with his foundling, and ushered towards the safety of the trees.

“-BOOM! Ba-BOOM! KERPLOW-!”

Trees and plants exploded on either side of you as you ran through the luminous dark. The Ardennian! Neither of you had been paying attention to the bounty fob, blinking fast and red under his cloak. Above you the sound of something swinging through the branches caught your ear, and you pulled your blaster and fired behind you.

“Bwahaha! Missed me missed me now you gotta kiss me, two-arms!” You couldn’t see her, but her taunts gave you a better idea of her position, firing several more shots towards their source. You knew you had to take her alive, but that didn’t mean intact.

“Go go go!” Mando was at your back, doing his best human shield impression while he hurried you away from the bombardment, the child’s bulky pram tucked uncomfortably under one arm. Your flight through the forest was haunted with vicious cackling and the sound of serene foliage being obliterated by the explosives that rained down around you, choking you with incendiary fumes.

A clearing materialized ahead, and the three of you rushed out from under the unmerciful trees. When you had gotten far enough from the tree line you both turned your eyes to the canopy.

“There!” Picking up her heat signature on his visor’s infrared sensors, he pointed to your target, his other arm still occupied with protecting the foundling. You grabbed the barrel of the pulse rife that was still slung over his shoulder, aimed, and fired. The ball of electricity arced from your little trio and collided with the trees, the sound of pained screams and crashes followed the wounded pyromaniac as she fell hard to the ground. Bullseye.

”Stay here, Mando, I got this! Keep him safe!” You stormed into the woods after the sounds of distress, snare at the ready to take the bounty alive. You were angry, rage powering your stride as you chased after her like a Corellian tracking hound. Angry that your sweet moment had been ruined, angry that she’d put the foundling in danger, angry that your partner had been pulled from the comfort of the fire to fulfill his duties as guardian. You sprang over roots and fallen branches, catching the sight of movement where the Ardennian was making a run for it. 

“Oh no you don’t! Get back here!”  Your words boiled with so much fury that they almost weren’t your own. Balls of fire exploded around you in a last ditch effort by the primate to kill you first. You dropped a knee into the loamy soil to steady your shot.

Woosh! The net sailed past her by mere inches, and you flew to your feet to begin the chase again.

“Ha! Grow some more arms and maybe you’ll have better aim!”  Fire erupted around you again, but the flames that seared at your eyes came from inside, burning with fuel siphoned from your heart. You took another shot.

Woosh! Miss! FUCK. You had one shot left on the snare-slinger, and you had to make it count. The trees were thinner here, how long had you been running? The simian was struggling to get away now, the long slimy branches too far apart to swing through. Behind you the sound of thunderous armored boots told you that Mando was hot on your trail, and you were glad to have the back up even though you had specifically told him to stay put. Nobody listens in this crew. Something green and gaseous poofed next to you, and the terms of the bounty puck came back to you clear as day: chemical warfare. The Ardennian was out of bombs and had switched to gas canisters, hurling a variety of brightly colored poisons at your face. Third time’s the charm.

Woosh! The net flew true, tangling in the many limbs of the fleeing quarry and throwing her to the ground. Gotcha! You bore down on her as brightly glowing vials sailed over your head, landing on something behind you with a crash! You were on her in an instant, shoving a blaster in her face.

“You’re done, chuckles! It’s over!” The fear in her eyes vanished as quickly as it had appeared when she glanced back behind you.

“Ha! I don’t think so, stinky. You’re gonna have yer hands too full with that to deal with little old me.” You followed her gaze, and froze from the ice crystalizing in your veins. Mando stood a ways back, still as a statue. Bright neon pink goo slimed its way down his helmet and dripped onto his chest plate. You turned on the Ardennian again.

“What... did you... do?”  You hissed between clenched teeth. “Did you poison him?! Give me the antidote right now or so fucking help me I’ll tear every limb off your ugly little body!” You were seething, fear and fury stoking fire behind your eyes. The bounty only laughed harder.

“Antidote? There’s only one antidote for that one, sugar, and I sure hope you like him enough to give it to him! Bwahaha ha! Good luck!” She was howling with laughter in your grasp, and the sound of her mirth was like nails on chalkboard to your ears. You practically threw her to the ground, running back to your incapacitated partner. He hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Mando! Hey hey can you hear me? Tell me what’s wrong!” The glowing pink slime was still on his helmet, and you hunted for something to wipe it off with. The closest thing was his cloak, so you reached for it and went to clean the pretty pink sludge from his helmet when an armored claw shot up and caught your wrist. The action startled you, but you were happy to see him still able to move. “Mando? You ok?” Slowly, with almost robotic precision, he turned his gaze to you.

“Cyar...’ika....?” His words were long and labored, the strain of them sending a chill through your bones.

“Yes! It’s me, Mando. I’m right here, I’m gonna get you taken care of. I- I’ll find some bacta or-” Your words were cut off by another wicked claw on your shoulder.

“So... Beautiful...”  The lustful words made the gears in your head grind to a halt. Really? Right now?

“Ok great, glad to see you’re fine, now can we get back to hunt-” He cut you off with a hand at your throat.

“Beautiful.. and mouthy. So... fucking... mouthy.” A leather tipped hand snaked up your neck to your lips, grabbing at your jaw and pushing a thumb in past your teeth. You tried to spit him out but his other hand latched on to the back of your skull. “I’m going to put that mouth to good use, mesh’la.”  Your mask was tossed to the ground, and the ‘good luck’ the Ardennian had wished you now made sense. Whatever was oozing down the front of his helmet was driving him into an uncontrolled sexual frenzy, and you were the sole outlet for all his desires.

“Mando! -Blech-! Man- Din!” He stopped trying to get down your throat at the sound of his own name, hearing it for the first time from your lips. “Din! We don’t have time for this right now! Get a grip!” Oh, but he already had a grip, and it was tightening on your scalp.

“That’s right, sweetheart, say my name.”  The command dripped from his modulator the same way the poison dripped down his face, and he started walking you backwards by the hair until you bumped against a squishy tree. The change of emotion from rage to fear to confusion made your head spin, and the new contending feeling of heat building in your guts was making itself known.

“Knock it off! Fucking hell, she’s going to get away if we don’t do something right now! ”

“Let her. You’re the only one I want.” The weight of his arms on your neck and shoulders became too much, and the man who you had shared a such a sweet moment with not too long ago was now forcing you to your knees. You dropped to a kneel, and your face was hard pressed up against the solid bulge that was trying to rip its way out of his pants. He took only a second to free himself, pushing his throbbing cock against your teeth. “Open wide.”

You wished you were meeting with mini-mando under better circumstances, but if getting him off would get you back to the hunt, you were happy to help. The taste of him on your tongue sent electricity through your body, spooling up fresh heat between your own legs. Above you Mando was making deep, guttural groans as you took his cock all the way to the back of your throat, wrapping a fist around where you couldn’t reach without gagging. You glanced around his leg to where you could see the hover-crib, floating a good distance away with the shield closed tight. Good, he doesn’t need to see this. A swift thrust brought your attention back to where it was demanded.

“That’s a good girl, take it all in. Let me make a mess of that pretty little mouth of yours.” He had a death grip on the back of your hair and the side of your jaw, pushing up to keep you open enough to take his length. Inside you were swirling your tongue around the tip every time it slid past, making sultry praises flood from his modulator. Most of the words were garbled, raunchy and alien, probably Mando’a. Spit leaked from the sides of your mouth, making good on his word to make a mess of you. The claws in your hair pulled tight, forcing your nose into the tuft of soft hair at his base so he could pump your throat full of cum without you escaping. “Ahh~! That’s it, mesh’la, drink it all down.”

The hot spunk made you choke and gag, tears rushing to your eyes, but you still swallowed as best you could. When he finally let you pull away you gasped for air, coughing on the ground at his feet.

“There! *cough!* is that... -blech-, better? Can you hunt now? Are you done?” The potionmaster was probably long gone, you couldn’t hear her fucking cackling anymore.

“Cyar’ika, we’re not done until I say we’re done.” The spear at your cheek was still hard as beskar, ready for round two. The armored man yanked you to your feet, shoving you face first towards the nearest tree. The tree’s flesh was soft and squishy, a fact you would be grateful for soon enough. Your hips were pulled backwards, and a buzzing sound told you he had pulled a vibroblade from his belt, stabbing under your pants’ edge and pulling down the crack of your ass until your clothes were cut away; leaving just the legs and your boots to protect you. The cold air hitting your cunt gave away your arousal, and he zoned in on it like a falcon, pressing still-gloved fingers to your wet slit. The roughness of the leather invading you made you cry out and your knees buckle, squirming under the intrusion of one finger, then two; pumping in and out of you to stoke your flame.

“You’re so pretty. So fucking pretty, and strong. I’m gonna lose myself in you, fierce little thing, and I never want to be found.” His hands ripped away from your swollen cunt, and the head of his cock was pressed to its lips. Both of you made delicious, filthy noises as he buried himself to the hilt, the slick of his own cum making a wonderful lube. “Fuuuuuck, you’re hot inside, lovely girl. My cock was made just for you.” He barely made it a few inches out of you before he was slamming back into you again. The force of him behind you smashed you face into the soft, forgiving tree, though you wished you could find somewhere for your hands to grab hold. He fucked you like a man possessed, and you were sure there would be bruises on your hips and thighs when he was finished.

His mouth ran like surging lava. “Fucking.. Maker... beautiful girl, beautiful hunter! Hunter-killer! I knew you would be a challenge to hunt, but I never thought you would be the one to capture me! You’re a work of art on the killing field! Mmph! You are mine and I’m going to fill your belly with my warriors ‘til you’re fit to burst. They’ll be so ferocious! Born with daggers in their teeth.” Vulgar words between thrusts made your entire body hot with a mix of embarrassment and lust. You might never know if the neon goo had given him the desire to breed you, or if he adored you so much that he wanted more of you to care for, but you did know your contraceptive implant would be having none of it either way. Still, his damning words flowed. “Nobody will ever put their hands on you again but me. I’ll give you everything you desire, cyar’ika, anything you ask for will be yours. I’ll bring the stars down from the sky if you ask me to! I- I’ll- I’m gonna...”

The Mandalorian stilled behind you, twitching as his cock spilled into you and ran hot down your thighs. His breaths were gasping, broken and desperate for air. His fingers digging into the soft skin on your hips would leave their mark for sure, and though he’d done a fantastic job of scrambling your insides you still felt warmth in your chest. Even in his poisoned, delirious state of mind, all of his thoughts were of you alone. The grip on your ass loosened, and the sound of a heavy thud hitting the ground told you he had fallen down into the soft purple grass. You struggled to peel your face from the jelly tree, standing like a newborn fawn on shaky legs. The bright pink streak on his helmet had lost all its glow, and your human rust-bucket was slumped over on his side, still as the grave. Not again, fucksake. You clambered over to him, digging under his cloak with your hands until you found his pulse. Still alive.

“Alright Mando, fucking stay here this time like I told you to.” You glanced around the meadow, but the Ardennian was nowhere to be found. Fuck! All that work for nothing. You groaned, looking down at what was left of your pants. You checked all the pockets, finding your lucky krayt teeth and a bacta patch before kicking the ruined fabric off over your boots. You dropped down to the spent form of your comrade, tilting his helmet up and slapping the bacta patch on one of the hickies you had left there a few days ago. You took a moment to stuff the teeth into one of his many pouches since you no longer had pockets of your own. With your ass in the wind you made your way over to the floating pram to check on your tiny pal. “Hey beans, you doing ok? Your dad and I were just having a little-” you spun the cradle around. Empty.

“No! Fuck! Fuck fuck FUCK!” The bounty had made off with Din’s infant son, your little buddy! You couldn’t stop the fear that dried your throat and brought tears to your eyes. Get a hold of yourself! Find him! NOW! Familiar rage welled up behind your eyes, and you raced back over to your unconscious guardian, still laying in the dirt and making it extra difficult to untangle the pulse rifle still slung over his back. Your hunting instincts were on high alert, and the sound of shouting caught your ears. “I’m gonna get him back, Din! Just... just fucking stay here!”

You tore off after the noise, every horrible scenario running through your head at once. Would she steal him? Would she hurt him? Would she kill him? Rage flared hot in your chest and threatened to burn you alive, your feverish skin icy with sweat. Wet leaves slapped past your bare knees so fast that their thin edges left vicious paper cuts. You didn’t care, nothing else mattered but the foundling. The sound of shouting grew louder, and you thundered though the trees to another clearing by a narrow wine-dark stream. 

“Help! This thing’s got me! Get me down, please! Get it away from me!” The simian terror was hanging in the air ahead of you. No, not hanging, floating. She was thrashing her arms, but all that did was slowly spin her in place. The sight was magical, but more important was the safety of child. On the ground near her, he stood with one fat little paw in the air, pointing at his abductor and concentrating with all his might. You didn’t know how he had escaped, or what the actual fuck he was doing, but you didn’t hesitate. You pulled the pulse rifle from your back and fired, once, twice, three times until her limp body was hanging in the air, knocked out cold. Or dead.

Baby beans crumpled to the ground, and the Ardennian followed suit, the ugly noise she made when she hit the ground brought a wicked smile to your cheeks. The baby’s little eyes were bleary and tired under his big droopy ears, and you scooped him carefully up off the ground to pull him in for a good, strong hug.

“Did you get the mean lady, sweetie? Good job! I don’t know what the fuck you did but hey, no questions asked, alright? I’m just glad you’re ok.” He smiled up at you with his tiny toothy grin before conking out in your arms, leaning heavily against your chest. You set him back down on the ground, just long enough to tie that six limbed asshole up tight, using everything you still had above the waist to keep her captured. You tied her arms to her feet and slung her limp body over you like a rucksack, then picked the foundling back up. With your bounty, baby, and bare ass you started the hike back to your fallen man.

Mando still laid where you had left him on his side, and you were annoyed to realize that, out of everybody involved, you were the only one left awake. Fantastic. You returned the baby to his floating bucket, pulling it closer to the pair of you this time, and dumped the Ardennian in the dirt. There was no way you could maneuver three bodies at once, somebody was going to have to get up and walk.

“Mando! Mando get up, we gotta go.” The man in question didn’t budge, soft, muffled snores your only response. You tried everything you could think of, pulling on his hands and legs and shouting, anything to wake his ass up. You knocked on his helmet, “Ground control to Major Mando, time to get up! Rise and shine, bucket boy!” Nothing, he was going to have to sleep the after-effects of the potion off, so he was staying right where he was.

You had no idea how far you had gotten from the campsite, and the cold night air on your bare booty made you remember your half-nakedness. On the ground scattered around the pile of living beskar was your backpack and the remains of your pants, along with the rest of your trap gear. Start packing more clothes. You went for the gear first, pulling another set of cuffs and a good strong rope out, and added a few more knots to the half-dead quarry so she wouldn’t be pulling any bullshit in the night. The backpack still had the bantha-wool blanket wrapped up tight, and you tied it around yourself like a skirt. Better than nothing.

Kneeling on the ground next to your Mandalorian, you cleared yourself a space to sit down, taking an extra second to make sure all his bits were tucked back out of view. You leaned back against the crook of his hips, feeling the slow rise and fall of his belly at your back. You were so tired, how many times had you been on the run in the last cycle alone? Your body desperately craved sleep, but you couldn’t take your eyes off the bounty. Anger crept its way back into your eyes again, and you wanted to take it out on her, channel your inner rancor. No, she’s already lost. Go to sleep.

But the merciful tug of sleep didn’t come, and when you realized why you felt foolish. The child’s pram was on the ground where you had pushed it next to his fathers’ armored head. He was sleeping like a little prince, and didn’t move at all when you pulled him out of the crib. When he was situated in your arms you pulled Mando’s cloak around the three of you for extra warmth. Sitting upright was a horrible way to sleep, but with the baby safely in your arms and a blaster at your side, you were able to catch a handful of winks.

You woke up many times that night, worried that something might happen to your baby or your partner, and each time your eyes shot open you glared at the dark form in the grass; though not once did it move. Still, you didn’t trust that you were safe, and only when the rim of the planet that dominated the sky drifted over the horizon could you actually keep your eyes closed. But the blissful comfort of real sleep was torn from you by your lounge chair trying to get up on its own. The rush from trying to sit up too fast knocked Mando right back down on his back, and his hands went to his armored temples to try to stop the world from spinning.

“What...where am... where’s....” He shot up like a bolt of lightning “WHERE’S MY SON?!”

“Right here!” You turned yourself to show the bug-eyed bundle to his father, letting him see that the child was safe. Mando wrapped his arms around you and the child, and you could hear his quick, shuddering breaths coming out from under the helmet. The hug was tight, a comforting fortress around your shoulders.

“Are you ok? What happened? Why are we in the grass? Where’s the bounty? Did she get away?” His questions gushed like a river, urgent and frightened. You pointed at where the Ardennian was still on the ground, far enough away that she was out of earshot. She was awake now, but still immobilized. Her eyes were fixed on you, and you could see the edges of her mouth turning upwards into a snarl to bare her teeth. Din’s hands were all over you, inspecting you for damage, and his breath caught in his throat when he reached your waist. Big, ugly red and purple fingerprints were swelling up between the scrapes on your skin, and he pushed the edge of your makeshift skirt down to follow their horrifying trail; they were everywhere.

“Who did this to you?”  The volcano behind the beskar threatened to erupt with molten malevolence, “Did she do this to you?”

“No Mando,” you sighed, a little hurt that he didn’t remember. “You did.” The wall of metal armor went stiff as a rail, his visor locked on your eyes, looking for the truth. But the truth was right in front of him, and he couldn’t accept it.

“What? N-no.. I would never... I could never hurt you, cyar’ika! Please... please tell me that I didn’t do this.” His fingers ghosted over your marks, but never touched them, his hands afraid of dealing more damage to your lovely skin. “I-I couldn’t have... I’m... I’m so sorr-” You cut him off with a hand on his helmet where his mouth might be.

“It’s not your fault, you were poisoned. I’m just glad you’re alive, Din.” The sound of his own name made his shoulders droop and his hands come up cradle your cheeks. You couldn’t meet his visor, the closeness of the distraught hunter making you flustered, so you tried to crack a joke. “I’m just glad you wanted to fuck me instead of the Ardennian.” The way his helmet snapped backwards made you realize he didn’t remember that part either. “Oh don’t look at me like that, I took it like a champ! You’re gonna have to do better than bruises to hurt this mighty hunter!” Your attempted words of comfort didn’t seem to work, and he pulled you and the wiggly child back to his chest in a world-erasing hug.

“Please just tell me you know I wouldn’t do this to you on purpose, I never want to hurt you again. Please.”

“Mando! I’m fine, really.” He held your head firmly, the blackness of the visor trying to bore though your very soul. You nodded in his grasp, “I know you didn’t, it’s alright, Din. I forgive you.” The force of his helmet knocking against your forehead almost made you see stars. His hands were wrapped around your head, holding you as close as he could in the intimate gesture of his people. You didn’t blame him at all for what happened, but it would be a while, if ever, before he could forgive himself.

“Oh isn’t that puke. Spare me the lovey-dovey crap and take me back to the Guild already! Buncha bucketheads.” You didn’t want to address the Ardennian that hollered at you from from the grass, but the beskar bucket turned on her in a heartbeat. He sprang to his feet in a flash, pulling the pulse rife from the ground and firing, stunning the target for the fourth time, fifth time, sixth, seventh.

He’s gonna kill her. You grabbed at his arm, demanding his attention “Mando, you got her, it’s over! It’s done.” Stance wide and chest heaving, the barrel of the long rifle stayed trained on the bounty for what seemed like an eternity before being lowered back to the ground. “Good, good, see, everyone’s ok. Let’s get back to the Crest and get out of here, sound like a plan?” He nodded, still watching the limp-again simian for signs of movement. When he was sure there wouldn’t be any more argument he stalked over to the quarry and slung her over his shoulder, ready to make the long march back to the ship. You set the baby back in his pram so you could take a second to grab everything off the ground, making sure you had your pack and your mask, and followed Mando back through the woods.

After hours of silent hiking, the Razor Crest came into view, and you had never been so happy to see the old girl, pretty as a plum in the violet haze. Once everyone was aboard, the fog of the carbonite chamber filled the tiny cabin to the brim, and left a new dark block in its wake. The Ardennian’s body was limp, though thankfully still alive; but the mischievous sneer couldn’t be erased so easily. You took a deep breath, sighing with relief that this hunt was over. Two down, one to go. Then Nevarro.

Your Mandalorian hadn’t spoken to you the entire trek back to the ship, and he was distracting himself by placing all the weaponry back in their spots in the cabinet. He’s still upset with himself. You still wore the bantha-blanket skirt, and its soft edges swished around your ankles. Gently you placed your hand on his shoulder, and he jumped violently under your touch as he was brought back to the present.

“You know I’m not mad at you, right?” He didn’t meet your eyes, but his hands stopped fussing with the armory. “Really, Din, I don’t blame you at all. I’m ok.” You tugged on his waist, bidding him to turn and face you, but still he couldn’t lift his eyes from the floor. You ran your hands from his shoulders down his chest, trying to bring him comfort with your touch, but when you saw his utility belt you remembered what was in his pockets. A flashbulb of an idea lit up in your skull, and clear as day the reason for your frivolous purchase on Tatooine made itself known. “You know what, I’m so not-mad at you that I have a present for you.” You grabbed his belt to dig through the pouches, but strong hands shot up to carefully take your wrists.

“Mesh’la no! Not after.. not after I- I can’t. I don’t deserve your affections.” Your eyes met his visor, its gaze no longer staring down at the floor and instead watching you with intensity. A smile broke it’s way out past your teeth, followed by a knowing laugh.

“No, that’s not what I meant, good thought though. No, Mand-...Din. Din, I have a gift for you.”  He hesitated to release your arms, but when you were free of his delicate hold you went back to the pockets on his belt and pulled the opalized krayt teeth from one of the pouches. Your companion’s visor followed the glittering treasures as they were brought into the light, and you wished you could see his bewildered face under the beskar. You handed them to him, and he carefully turned them over in his palm, letting the fossils catch the light and revealing their intricate patterns. His helmet tilted slowly, baffled that such beautiful things could be pulled from anywhere on his body, but the way his beskar sent streaks of light over his armor gave you a fantastic new idea.

Taking the treasures back from him you unscrewed the button fasteners that protruded from their backs, revealing the small, strong magnets hidden underneath; and pressed them up to his helmet. The teeth fit perfectly in the recesses of his cheeks, like they had been made just for him; and though you knew hunters didn’t wear adornments, they still looked lovely. “I know you can’t keep them on, especially when we go hunt, but they still look nice on you. Now you get to be my lucky charm.” His soft leather fingertips rubbed gently at his cheeks, feeling the way the indents had been filled with the precious jewels. The ship didn’t have any mirrors, and he would have to see how the swirling pools of crystalized moonlight looked the next time he took his helmet off. 

Wordlessly he reached out for you, taking your face in his hands and pulling your head to his so he could press your foreheads together. You were becoming fond of the mysterious gesture, letting the butterflies in your stomach stretch their iridescent wings and fan contentment into your heart. You pushed back against him, wrapping your own arms around his shoulders, locking his helmet to you. The whole galaxy could fly apart at the seams and you knew you would be alright, as long as you were right where you were, shielded in your Mandalorian’s embrace. I wonder if he feels the same. Tiny claws on your leg pulled your attention to the floor, and you were overjoyed to see big black orbs staring up at you.

“Little Beans! C’mere you, get in on this.” You hauled the foundling up between your bodies, letting him get a good look at you and his father. He chirped away, happily patting his papa’s fancy new trinkets, mesmerized by their shine. The little creature was full of energy, but you had been on your last leg for hours and you couldn’t stifle your yawns any longer. “Boys, I can’t keep this up anymore, you’re both awful cute, but I need sleep.”

“Of course, cyare, you’ve earned it.” Mando reluctantly stepped away from you and rolled out the Tusken sleeping mat that you had purchased. It was much thicker than the sheet originally on the little cot, and a hundred times more forgiving. You were comfy in seconds, and the warm embrace of sleep started pulling on your limbs and shutting your eyes. A different touch was on your arm, and you lazily opened one eye to see an armored hand pulling the bantha blankie up snug around you. Sweet, thoughtful murder-machine is what you had thought of him that first day, and the stupid pet name made you chuckle.

“What does that mean? That word, sire-eeka or sigh-air, they’re Mando’a, right?” You wouldn’t let sleep win you over without a fight, even if it was a fight you wanted to lose.

“Cyar’ika. The closest translation in Basic would be sweetheart, or darling.” Here we go again with Mando’a 101.

“Sweetheart, huh? Pfft... sounds like you like me or something. What’s the other word mean? You’ve never used it before now.” He sighed, long and tired, and you could see the foundling on his lap, still enthralled with the glittering opal on his fathers' metal face.

“I...I don’t know how to translate that one, but it’s more than cyar’ika, stronger, with more depth.” Something about his posture told you he might be lying, he knew exactly how to translate that word, but he wasn’t ready to tell it to you. He might, though, when he was ready.

“Alright, tin man, if you say so.” Your eyes finally let themselves close all the way, but even in the darkness behind your lids your devious hands still found their way to him, giving his hand a good squeeze. “Teach me more someday?”

“For you, ner cyare’se,” Your hand was pulled up from the blankets until the backs of your knuckles rested on the cool beskar of his brow, “I’d bring you the stars down from the sky, if you asked me to.”

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[chimchimsauce]

Five Letter Word

Share is a five-letter word. So is fight.

Recreduscense AU for @sordidmusings​. Thank you so much for commissioning me! I hope you enjoy!

Commissions closed. They will open back up in February.

Please note! This is NOT canon. In this au, Cerberus is the only one with YN as their soulmate.

Yoongi huffs, exasperated as he steps through a portal and back into the mortal realm. Yet again, there had been a stir in the Underworld, causing Hades to call his trusted Hellhound down to help him fix up the problem.

It wouldn’t have been such a big deal, had one of the other two gone. But Yoongi is always voted to go and spend hours or even worse - days away from YN.

YN.

Just the thought of their mortal soulmate cheers Yoongi up tremendously. After dealing with the cries and screams of the undead, seeing her will breathe fresh air into his tired form. Hurrying to go find her, Yoongi quickly locates both YN and his other-selves by the sound of their heartbeats.

Preparing to barge in and be wrapped up in three pairs of arms and smothered with kisses from YN, Yoongi stops short in the doorway to the living room, watching from the sidelines as Namjoon and Hoseok snuggle YN between them, all wrapped up in a nice soft blanket.

The blue light from the television illuminates their smiling faces, the way their hands are entwined with each other. They haven’t even looked back at him, even though Yoongi knows for sure that Hoseok and Namjoon should have sensed him by now.

But the thing that ticks him off the most is the fact that they’re watching that new show that had just come out - the show they’d promised to all watch together.

Anger flares up inside of Yoongi quick and hot. Exhausted and with hurt feelings, Yoongi turns around and stomps towards the bedroom, slamming the door with enough force to crack it.

In the other room, YN sits up quickly, alarmed by the noise.

“What was that?” she asks, peeking behind her as if the source of the noise will be standing there.

“Yoongi just got back,” Hoseok says, feeling the anger and hurt in the back of his mind.

The feeling makes him shift uncomfortably. He looks over YN’s head and glances at Namjoon who looks just as apprehensive as he does.

“I wonder what’s wrong,” YN says, turning back around, “I’ll go speak with him.”

Namjoon opens his mouth to say something, but he can’t find any words to form a valid excuse. Frowning, he just watches from the couch as YN leaves, taking the blanket and all of her warmth with her.

Hoseok pouts.

“I know that she’s not going far, but it hurts every time she leaves . . . even if I know she’s spending time with Yoongi. I’d still rather feel her with my own fingers and see her with my own eyes,” Hoseok says, locking eyes with Namjoon.

The other nods, raking his hands through his hair. He scoots closer to Hoseok, leaning his head on his shoulder. It’s comforting being near another piece of his soul, especially when the other piece is hurting.

YN stops before the splintered bedroom door, her hand hovering inches away from the cracked surface.

It’s obvious that Yoongi is upset about something, but YN isn’t sure if she should interrupt his brooding. Its been a little over half a year since YN went to the BTS concert where she met them. She always had a particular affinity for rapline over the other members, but it still took her by surprise to find out that her adoration for Yoongi, Hoseok, and Namjoon stemmed from something much deeper than she ever could have imagined.

Soulmates.

Even now, that word sends a shiver up her spine. It’s both comforting and terrifying to think that her soul was made to perfectly complete another one. And more shocking than finding out that she was bonded to them was finding out that the boys were actually something she believed to be myth - Cerberus, Hades’ hellhound and three pieces of one soul.

At times it seems impossible that no one else - not even the other members - have noticed how identical they can be. When they’re relaxed or distracted, Yoongi, Hoseok, and Namjoon move, speak, and react with perfect synchronization. It’s almost unsettling.

But other times, they couldn’t be more different. Disagreements and sometimes even fights are not uncommon between the triad. They get into spats over the littlest things, like Hoseok leaving the lights on in the bathroom, Namjoon using all the paper towels up and forgetting to buy more, or Yoongi staying up so late that the other two can’t sleep.

Usually all it takes to calm everything down is a few words and touches from YN. Her presence alone can dissolve any animosity almost like magic.

Something deep down in her stomach tells YN that this won’t be the case this time around.

She takes a deep breath and knocks on the door.

“Yoongi?” she asks softly, knowing that he can hear her.

YN learned about the boys’ shared heightened senses when she sneezed from across the house and they all said ‘Bless you’.

There comes no response from inside, but YN decides to enter anyway.

It doesn’t take her long to find him. Yoongi is situated by the window, glaring through the glass at the sky like it’s done something against him.

“Yoongi?” YN repeats, “You okay? Did something happen in the Underworld?”

Yoongi is silent for several minutes. Just as YN begins to believe that he’s ignoring her, he speaks up.

“No. It was fine. Annoying, but fine.”

YN walks over to him, placing a hand on his back. She tries to catch his eye, but he refuses to look at her.

YN ignores the sting in her chest his lack of attention causes. She knows that Yoongi’s mood probably has nothing to do with her.

“Then what’s wrong? I know that you’re upset.” YN persists.

He’s silent again, opening his mouth as if he’s thinking about speaking, but he quickly shuts it again. He turns to look at her fully.

“Can we just . . . cuddle? I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”

Yoongi’s voice is soft, vulnerable. All traces of hostility are eradicated, replaced with tender shyness.

“Of course,” YN says, melting, “I’ll call Hos -”

“No!” Yoongi interjects, startling YN.

At her bewildered expression, he clears his throat.

“I just want it to be me and you . . . if that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay, Yoongi,” YN says.

She crawls onto the enormous bed in the center of the room, pulling the blanket along with her. One she’s settled among the pillows, YN taps her lap, signaling for Yoongi to lay down.

As soon as his head hits her legs and her fingers drag across his scalp, Yoongi relaxes completely, falling asleep within minutes. And just like that, YN’s movie night with Hoseok and Namjoon comes to an end.

A few days later, the four of them are relaxing outside in their backyard, butterflies floating on the breeze. The weather is warm, YN laying on Yoongi’s lap as Hoseok plays with her fingers, Namjoon reading a novel aloud.

It’s a fairytale, a story about a young girl being chased by a wolf. The tale isn’t quite what YN remembered being told as a child.  Namjoon’s alluring timbre tone has his soulmate’s full attention, the girl completely entranced by the alternate tale.

“And then the huntsman killed the wolf, freeing little red. She lived happily ever after. The end.”

YN feels herself pouting.

“What’s wrong, YN?” Hoseok says, picking up on her upset expression.

“Why did the huntsman kill the wolf? He didn’t do anything wrong. He just tried to show her the way she needed to go.”

“Good intentions are the stepping stones right to hell. Trust us, babygirl.” Yoongi says, unbothered by the injustice.

Before YN can protest, a phone rings, completely disturbing their peaceful afternoon. Namjoon frowns as he picks up his phone, placing the book down.

“Right . . . yes . . . now?” Namjoon says into the device, clearly displeased, “Okay . . . yeah, I’ll bring him. See you soon.”

“Yoongi,” Namjoon says, tossing his phone aside in frustration, “One of the producers fucked up and deleted part of our new song,”

“You’re kidding,” Yoongi says.

“I wish. Bang PD wants us to come in right away.”

Cursing, Yoongi wiggles out from under YN, the woman sitting up to make it easier. When he makes it onto his feet, Yoongi stretches.

“When that bastard dies I’m making sure his soul gets stuck in the worst corner of the Underworld,” Yoongi vows, Namjoon nodding along with him.

And with that, they’re gone, vanished into thin air.

“Just me and you, huh?” Hoseok says, grinning widely at YN.

“I guess so,” YN says, returning his smile with ease, “What do you want to do?”

Hours later, when Namjoon and Yoongi finally return from an exhausting day dealing with the incompetent producers and staff members only to find YN and Hoseok sitting side by side, video game controllers grasped in their hands as they playfully shoulder shove each other, both trying to win.

“We’re back,” Namjoon says.

“Hey guys!” YN says, taking a quick peek behind her shoulder to smile at them but looking right back at the screen a moment later, huffing when she discovers that Hoseok is beating her.

The man in question laughs in glee as YN tries to regain her lead, going so far as to stand up to block the screen. Hoseok resorts to holding his controller with one hand and tickling her with the other.

“Hey! That’s not fair!”

“You’re not being fair either, YN - ah!”

It’s as if Yoongi and Namjoon aren’t even in the room. The duo grows irritated. They’ve already had a tiring day. The least Hoseok could do is move so they can spend time with YN too.

Hoseok sends the duo a quick look, winking at them and letting them know he knows exactly what they’re thinking. Of course he does. 

“YN,” Yoongi says, “Why don’t you come snuggle with Namjoon and me? We’ve had a long day.”

“Sure,” YN says, “But let me finish up with Hobi first.”

They play well past two AM. When the sound of the TV finally stops, Namjoon finds YN passed out on top of Hoseok, the both of them fast asleep.

When award season rolls around, Bang PD hits the boys with a complete shocker.

“You can bring your girlfriends if you’d like,” he says casually, shuffling papers.

“What?” they say in unison, their shock causing them to forget not to speak at once.

“That’s what you’ve guys been up to lately, right? I may be old, but I’m not stupid. As long as they are prepared for the backlash.”

And with that, they’re dismissed. Pure excitement courses through their veins as they think about finally getting to show YN off.

However, their bubble is burst as a single, innocent though passes through Hoseok’s brain as they teleport home.

Who gets to be her boyfriend in public?

Instantaneously, a fight breaks out. The boys argue so loudly that they nearly wake YN up from her afternoon nap. As soon as they hear her begin to toss and turn under her blanket, they make their way outdoors.

“It should be me,” Yoongi insists.

“Oh please,” Hoseok scoffs, “No one’s going to believe that you ever left the studio long enough to get a girlfriend.”

Offended, Yoongi looks taken aback before his expression hardens. He’s preparing to give Hoseok what for when Namjoon interrupts.

“I’ve spent the least time with her recently. Between comforting Yoongi’s moody ass and playing games with Hoseok until the buttcrack of dawn, I’ve hardly gotten to be around her at all.

Sope find themselves without a proper response.

“It’s settled then. She’s going with me. YN, dear!” he calls out, walking back into the house, “Guess where we’re going next week!”

Nervously, YN checks her reflection in the mirror for the millionth time in the last hour.

“You look gorgeous, YN. Stop fretting,” Yoongi says from his place relaxed on the couch.

“Absolutely perfect,” Hoseok agrees.

In all honesty, the two of them are quite nervous. YN looks gorgeous, definitely. Matter of fact, that’s the entire problem. She looks like heaven on Earth and they’re supposed to pretend that she’s simply their bandmate’s girlfriend. 

Hoseok pulls at his tie, hoping the night goes by quickly.

But it doesn’t.

Each moment drags on forever. Painfully slow, Yoongi has to watch YN laugh with Namjoon, placing her hand on his shoulder and pretending like she can’t see the longing look on Yoongi’s face. At one point Hoseok reaches for her hand and YN turns away from him, pretending not to see.

Pretending, pretending.

And finally, finally when it’s almost over, the boys stand for their final photograph. Namjoon brings YN close and kisses her, the cameras going berserk as Hoseok and Yoongi see red, absolutely furious. It’s all they can do to force a smile until it’s time to leave, making up an excuse not to celebrate with the others.

As soon as they get home, Hoseok has his hands around Namjoon’s throat, Yoongi not far behind.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Yoongi shouts at Namjoon, pain and anger lacing his tone.

Namjoon grins, hand coming up to pry Hoseok’s hand away from his airway. Yoongi, overcome, socks Namjoon right in the jaw.

“STOP IT! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” YN cries out, rushing into the fray and pulling them all apart, “WHAT’S BEEN WRONG WITH YOU LATELY?”

None of them can meet her eyes, all ashamed of themselves for upsetting her.

“FOR THE PAST MONTH YOU’VE ALL BEEN A MOODY MESS! What am I supposed to think, huh? You’re not telling me anything! I don’t know what’s wrong . . . I don’t know how to help!”

YN’s face is red from screaming, her blotchy face giving away the fact that tears are soon coming. 

All at once, the three of them rush to comfort her, pulling her in close.

“We’re sorry, YN” Namjoon says, “So so sorry.”

“It’s all our fault,” Yoongi agrees, stroking her hair.

“You’d think sharing a soul would mean we’d always get along but . . .” he pauses, looking away from YN’s sniffling face to Namjoon and Yoongi, “I guess we don’t know how to not get jealous.”

Saying it aloud makes him realize how ridiculous they’re being. They cringe in tandem.

“Jealous? Of what? Of who?”

“I . . . each other I guess. It’s stupid. We’re sorry,” Namjoon says, embarrassed.

“You know I love all of you right? That my soul is bonded with each part of yours,” YN says, face softening at their ashamed expressions, “There’s no reason to be jealous.”

“We’re sorry,” they say, refusing to look at her.

“It’s okay. Just tell me when you feel this way next time, okay? I love spending time with all of you. You’re all precious to me.”

YN opens her arms and they step into them, feeling their connection grow even stronger.

There will be bumps in the road, but they’ll overcome them. They are soulmates after all.

[linkspooky]

Armin and Eren’s Neverland

Armin confesses to the sleeping Annie that he thought he knew Eren better than anyone, but he doesn’t understand him anymore. Eren shares a similiar sentiment with Armin before the timeskip, that there’s something inside of Armin, a dream that drives him, that Eren does not understand because he’s forgotten a long time ago. 

It’s ironic that the two of them claim to be unable to understand each other despite in my opinion, being far more like each other than Eren or Armin is to Mikasa. Ironic and what I will spend most of this meta discussing in tandem with Armin’s actions in 124 and 125.

1. “It Should Have Been Me” 

Armin and Eren are both driven by ideas, and not people. That’s what makes Mikasa the odd one out of the trio, despite the fact that they’ve been together their entire lives it’s really only Mikasa who is driven by her connections to other people. Armin is always looking at the big picture of the world, and Eren is always looking at his own internal motivations and struggles and because of that the two of them easily lose sight of the people around them. It’s just the ideas they follow are different, Armin intellectualizes, Eren goes with his heart. 

The strongest case I can make for the fact they are the most similiar to each other is this clear parallel between Trost, and the return to Shinagashina. Armin and Eren have been close friends since childhood, they’ve grown up together in the most literal sense possibile as the three of them have survived as a unit since being orphaned and then joining the army together. Eren obviously thinks that Armin is an important friend, he just chose to die for him without hesitation, but Armin’s response is this. 

He should be the one to die. It’s unthinkable Eren should sacrifice himself for a person like him, because Eren is obviously so better. This formative trauma in Trost is what we see Armin dealing with for the rest of the manga. Armin feels so absolutely weak and inferior in comparison to everyone around him that what he absolutely cannot stand is the idea that he might make a decision which would cost other people to die, or even his important friends to die while he himself might live. For Armin the better choice will always be to sacrifice himself so other people can live. 

Eren and Armin both assume that they are the weakest member of the group. That they are the ones who always hold everyone else back. No matter what they accomplish, no matter how hard they train, Eren and Armin both fundamentally believe themselves to be weak people. They are always fighting against that weakness they see within themselves. The reason Armin and Eren can’t let anybody close, or really anybody understand them is because they don’t want others to see how weak they are. 

They believe no one would ever accept them if they ever exposed their weak selves. For them there’s no such thing as unconditional love, it’s something they have to earn by proving themselves again and again. Because of this while Armin and Eren have intensive drive and motivation, they have to live continually running away from their own weakness. 

Armin and Eren take everything on their shoulders to prove that they’re strong, but on the reverse side they can’t handle it at all when things go wrong because that weakness is not something they can process. They live believing themselves to be constantly inferior to the people around them. Armin is literally so bad at talking about his feelings that he cannot talk to either Eren or Mikasa about his doubts, and instead rambles to a girl in a crystal because she’s the only one who would listen to him without judging him. 

Which is why the reverse parallel in RTS is so important, because the same way that Armin cannot accept Eren’s sacrifie for him, Eren absolutely could not accept Armin’s. Eren believes the exact same things, that all he can do is depend on Armin, that he’s the weakest one of the group, that he’s the burden. 

Armin and Eren cannot understand each other because their inferiority rubs against one another in the worst way possible. They’ve been friends but always at a comfortable distance. Neither of them wants the confrontation that comes with true understanding and friendship, because that would also mean confronting themselves. 

The most extreme result of this behavior, of always assuming it’s better if they’re the ones to suffer, if they’re the ones to die is Eren and Armin always choosing to sacrifice themselves. While Armin is so frustrated at Eren for choosing to go off on his own and bear the burden of the control titan all alone and make the decision for what happens to the world, Armin is the exact same. There’s more important parallel. 

Chapter 112, besides all the lies and Eren’s clear efforts to distance himself what is Armin’s breaking point in this conversation? It’s when Eren chooses to lash out Mikasa because he hates Mikasa’s greatest strength. Mikasa defines herself by her relationship to others, she forms strong connections and attachments to other people which is why she’s so genuine and loving of a friend to both of them. The flip side of that, the weakness, is that Mikasa has trouble deciding things on her own or understanding her own thoughts. However what rankles Eren is that attachment. Eren believes himself to be completely worthless so he can’t understand why someone like her would always rely on him. It gives him the love he so desperately wants, and yet Eren can’t be secure in himself and because of that can’t understand that love. 

Eren chooses to lash out at Mikasa instead. He doesn’t want to face his own feelings right now, so he takes it out on Mikasa. That’s the absolute breaking point for Armin, choosing to hurt Mikasa rather than face his own feelings. 

Yet we see Armin do the exact same thing this chapter. Armin’s explosion had nothing to do with Mikasa, and entirely to do with himself. Yes, Mikasa does need to learn to think for herself but we’re also shown in the same scene she’s the only person whose close to having her priorities in order and realizing the central problem with all of this that needs to be confronted is Eren. 

Armin yells and screams all of his personal insecurities out on her, and then makes her apologize for it. When Armin’s in a crisis he’ll do the exact same thing. It’s not that he was annoyed at Mikasa for always clinging onto him or asking him for help, it was entirely about his own insecurity. He has no idea why people are looking to him as the leader right now. He doesn’t want to be, he doesn’t believe he’s good enough, so when Mikasa tries relying on him even a little bit because she genuinely believes in him as a person Armin is unable to receive those feelings and just pushes her away. 

Eren and Armin are lost boys stuck in neverland together. What both of them are afraid of most of all is growing up and having to live with the losses of life, and that makes sense as they’re both child soldiers who have lost pretty much everything and are clinging to what little remains. 

2. Armin and Erwin

So, down to their ugly and slimy insides Armin and Eren are similiar because of how insecure they are. While there obviously is a tremendous pressure on Armin right now, I actually don’t think his breakdown is reasonable. Rather, Armin’s being unreasonable because he wants to run away. 

The difference between Armin and Eren is that Armin internalizes and Eren externalizes. Eren will throw himself in conflict, whereas Armin tries to keep his internal conflict all within himself because he’s so absolutely terrified of hurting other people. Which is exactly the problem. What Armin has been afraid of since the ambush, is that when he makes a decision people on the other end of that decision inevitably get hurt. Instead of trying to accept that, what Armin has done is continually act helpless like there are no decisions for him to make. He avoids any decision making, but that in itself is a decision. You can hurt people just as much by doing nothing, and trying to avoid hurting people as you can by intentionally hurting them. 

Which is also what Bertolt and Armin share in common as the colossal titan wielders, they’re both extremely kind boys but because of that despite having literally the strongest titan at their disposal they always, always, always, hesitate. 

We’re already seeing the fallout of Armin’s indecision. It’s not just that Connie decided to kidnap Falco, a child was about to die in front of Armin’s eyes because he didn’t do a good enough job of standing up to his friend to stop him. Despite Armin being the moral one, and the righteous one, he lets bad things happen because he himself cannot bring himself to decide, ironically because he’s so afraid of the wrong choice. 

Armin’s able to make logical arguments but he can’t reach people’s feelings because he is so out of touch with his own feelings. It’s a complete failure on Armin’s part to reach Connie, because Armin’s argument is so abstract. 

Armin’s constantly caring about the consequences of all of his actions at the same time, and because of that it makes him absolutely paralyzed to make any kind of important decision. Armin’s not being kind in that case, he’s being a coward. Armin can run into battle and try to sacrifice his own life just fine, but he can’t do what Hange said was an inevitable part of growing up. 

There’s no theoretical point where you get strong enough that you never have to lose anyone again. There’s no good decision that makes absolutely everyone happy. However, Armin and Eren live their lives like there is. Moving forward means accepting those feelings, whereas running away is the opposite of that. During that scene the only person that could let Armin go was Mikasa, almost like she’s the most sensible of the three when it comes to her relationships with other people. 

Armin saying that Erwin should have lived is running away. He’s relieving himself of the responsibility of making a choice. It’s easier for Armin to tell himself that there’s nothing he could do, that Erwin would do it better, rather than to try to be better. It’s the same pattern of avoidance that Armin has repeated his entire life. Armin’s so insecure about himself and unable to come to grips with his own feelings that he’s rendered himself helpess. These insecurities are like hairline cracks in his bones that could cause his whole skeleton to shatter, making him far more fragile then he appears. 

Hange argues that growing up, or growing into a soldier is being able to accept those feelings of loss and move forward. If you were to ask me what the difference between Armin and Erwin was, it has almost nothing to do with who is smarter.

Erwin’s strongest moment as a character to me wasn’t the charge, but rather this very human moment. When Erwin, much like Armin who has spent the past few years chasing a dream realizes that he has to compromise with reality and let go of that dream. It’s a moment of acceptance. 

Erwin is caught in a situation where there are no good choices, only bad ones. The differene between Armin and Erwin, is where Armin has continually tried to escape making a choice, Erwin chooses. Even though it’s a bad choice, he chooses. And even Erwin wasn’t that strong enough to make the choice but you know what he did. Rather than avoid a confrontation and try to hide how weak he felt he admitted all of his selfish feelings to Levi, and Levi helped him make that choice. His ability to connect with Levi, and the unfettered emotions the two of them shared allowed the two of them to become each other’s strength. Whereas as of this moment not only is Armin pushing Mikasa away to run off on his own (because that’s the only thing Armin is comfortable doing anymore) but his greatest weakness is Eren.

It doesn’t feel like Levi is choosing for Eren but rather it’s a choice they make together. For Armin that weakness he desperately wants to run away from is never going away, even Erwin still had that same weakness. The choice is if he’s going to keep being avoidant, if he’s going to repress those feelings and stop himself from feeling them or if he’s going to try to live with them like Erwin did. 

3. Armin and Annie

Which is why finally the foiling between Armin and Annie that has been built up since the female Titan Arc is so interesting. The first thing Annie does to Armin as the female titan is spare his life. Armin who thinks his own life is worthless. Armin who thinks he’s nothing more than a burden to others is spared by the same girl who kills her other comrades indiscriminately. 

We see in 125 the full extent of that parallel as Armin and Annie are now almost complete opposites in their drive and motivation. Armin is unable to live and is trying to throw his life away rather than face the future or make any kind of choice. Whereas, Annie’s strongest and most powerful driving factor has always been to live.

Annie and Armin have both done terrible things to people, people have died as a result of their actions. However, there’s a difference in their reactions, Annie is trying to take the path of living with what she’s done. 

The reason she can is because she has a secure connection that Armin lacks right now. As messed up as her relationship with her father is, there’s also geniune love there. This gives Annie at least some sense of worth, as closed off as she is to everyone around her she’s open to that connection with her father. She’s able to define herself as someone who wants to live to see him again. 

Armin has nothing. He has vague and very distant dreams of the future, he has no idea what he wants anymore. He has no idea what is right and wrong, and rather than thinking about it he just abstracts himself further and further.

We literally see this in the paneling, Armin is being torn in half by the sheer number of decisions he has to make but is not making. While Annie’s trying to live for some kind of future at least, Armin’s desperately avoiding the future and distracting himself going after Connie which is the least helpful thing he could be doing. 

If Armin si completely out of balance right now then Annie is in balance. Her failure during the female titan arc has allowed her to realize that both things are important, that she has her own loved ones, but also there are complete strangers who have loved ones just as important to them as her father is to her. The key is to make a balance between this tension, rather than let yourself be pulled apart by it with worry like Armin is. He can’t lose Eren, but he also can’t lose the world, even when he’s forced to choose between the two. 

Which is why a confrontation between the two is inevitable. Annie’s motivations are primarily selfish, she wants to see her father again. However, the world won’t let her see her father because the outside world is going to be destroyed if she does nothing and pretends like the current conflict is none of her business. 

Whereas Armin is to worried about the consequences his actions will have on the world to admit what his own personal feelings are. He’s too selfless but that ends up hurting people worse with his indecision. The world is going to end while he’s still arguing with himself and avoiding Eren. What Armin needs is what Annie has that strong sense of self, and what Annie needs is what Armin has that ability to think outside of her own perspective and let herself connect to other people. Annie wants to fight for her connections and try to do the right thing the same way Armin does because she clearly felt too much guilt as the female titan which led to her loss, and Armin wants to fight for himself and figure out what it is he wants with the same confidence that Annie alredy has. 

Both of them child soldiers who through confonting one another will probably help the other grow up the same way Levi helped Erwin finally be able to decide. Growing up means accepting that you might one day lose those connections, but opening yourself up to those connections and even letting them see you at your absolute worst, fighting with them, grappling with them, helps determine grow into the person you need to be. 

[tempesrature]

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”

Pairing: Ride or Die | Colt x Ellie Summary: A highlight reel of the most important moments of their life. A/N: Highly suggest reading this in order (all even numbers for Colt). @lovehugsandcandy @dancingboba @choicesarehard

#39 Giving them your dessert when you eat out because it’s their favorite.

“No.”

Ellie balks at her husband, her partner, the love of her life as she clutches her chest in utter betrayal. 

“You would say no to your wife? Your pregnant wife?”

“I told you to order the cobbler El and you said no, this is on you,” Colt huffs, almost stabbing his fork into the slice of cobbler on his plate. 

Sam, one of Colt’s oldest crew member/MPC’s unofficial second-in-command/official unlicensed medic, stares at the couple in front him. His eyes bounce wearily and nervously at the exchange, the soft ambient and calm background music of the restaurant a stark contrast to what’s happening on their table. 

“Look. If you guys are going to fight, I can just leave.”

“We’re not fighting,” Colt says before he leans in towards Sam, his voice a whisper but not really. “Even if I tell her to order her own slice right now, she’s not going to do it.”

“Because I won’t be able to finish it!” Ellie argues back, her initial feelings of betrayal turning into annoyance now. “I just want a bite Colt, that’s all I’m asking.”

“Yeah? A bite of what? The entire slice? Because that’s what you always do El. You can’t fool me.”

Sam groans and tries his best to drown out the voices of the two idiots in front of him so he can go back to enjoying his own. He’s pretty much used to the idiotic dynamic between his two friends and although on most days he can tolerate it, even finding it funny, he foolishly thought that this dinner invite was going to be different because maybe a public space would calm them both down and urge them to be in their best behavior. 

But he was wrong and Sam is now mentally putting on his clown makeup. 

“I’ll order the cobbler and you can eat from my plate Ellie,” Sam offers a peace treaty, earning a look of shock from both of them.

“That’s not the point Sam but thank you,” Ellie replies.

“Yeah and if my wife’s going to eat dessert off of someone’s plate, then it’s going to be mine.”

“Then give me a bite already!” 

“No you need to learn to just order when I tell you to so this doesn’t become a problem!”

Sam drops his head into his hands, the feeling of physical exasperation heavy on his whole body. In moments like these, Sam sometimes forgets how absolutely brutal and terrifying Colt can be. Away from Ellie and in the crew and during business deals, Colt is truly a force to be reckoned with. Akin to a fire that burns with the legacy of the Kaneko name, it’s absolutely frightening to see Colt work and plot. It’s no wonder that no matter how many attempts have been made on his life, on his crew and on Ellie’s life (that Ellie doesn’t even know of) no one has been able to touch him. 

But when he’s with Ellie, god, it seems like he’s nothing but a child that likes to bicker and tease the girl he likes just to get a rise out of her. 

Ellie narrows her eyes, crossing her arms in front of her as she uses her final and ultimate Hail Mary. 

“I’m not the only one who wants a bite, you know?” She places a gentle hand on her four-month old bump. “Our baby wants it too.”

Colt pauses, the scowl on his face deepening before he finally relents and drops the plate in front of Ellie with a huff. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

Ellie grins in triumph and turns to Sam with a thumbs up, as if to say ‘we did it’ before she proceeds to—just as Colt predicted—eat more than just “one” bite.

Sam looks at the two with a small smile. It’s ridiculous how these two can “fight” but by the next five minutes or so, go on as if nothing ever happened. As if the great cobbler debacle never even transpired and they’re back to their usual selves. 

Sam guesses that this is why they bicker so much. They never really find a solution to their bickering so when the problem comes up again, they’ll just be stuck in the same loop.

But they’ve never really had a major fight before. When Colt senses an oncoming problem between them, he drops everything in the crew and goes straight to her to resolve it. He never lets it reach a boiling point, Colt had said to him when they were planning for a job together, because when small problems aren’t fixed early on it becomes bigger down the road.

And Sam fondly guesses that the bickering is actually their expression of love for each other. It’s admirable even. That they’re so comfortable and sure about their feelings for each other that they can bicker as much as they want and know that it won’t affect their relationship and still love each other as if no time has passed at all. 

It truly is one of the better aspects of their relationship.

“…Colt?” Ellie speaks up, looking up at Colt sheepishly. “Could you uh…order me another slice?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Sam immediately takes back all of his assumptions. 

He realizes that no, they’re both just idiots and there’s nothing admirable about their bickering at all as he goes back to his own dessert and tries to pretend he doesn’t know the two people in front of him when Colt angrily waves over the waiter to order another slice of cobbler for his wife. 

[gojira007]

MORE SONSAL HEADCANONS!  MOOOOORE!!!

Once again, @ninjakasuga​ wrote up a series of SonSal Headcanon Prompts, and once again I’ve been tagged to contribute.  And also once again, I’ve decided to go whole-hog with it, so enjoy some more SonSal 8D

1.) What would a normal non-eventful evening at home for the two be like? 

The sun sets.  Sonic decides to take one last run around the village; Sally watches.  She doesn’t exactly know why she finds it as soothing as she does; maybe it’s just familiarity (or after a certain point nostalgia).  Whatever the reason, though, it’s always a comfort.  He comes back in after a while; she’s picked out a book the two of them can read together.  He always gets really into it when they read together, snuggled up on the couch; he starts up whole conversations about details he finds especially funny or Dramatic.  They’ll have something simple to eat (”something” meaning Chili Dogs for Sonic, like, 99% of the time, but he does like to at least occasionally try out whatever it is Sally’s having), maybe discuss plans for the following day...and then, eventually, without even entirely realizing it, they’ve fallen asleep on top of each other.

2.) Adoption! Yes/No, Why? 

We talked about this a little bit last time, but I do think, if Sonic and Sally were going to have another kid, they’d lean toward Adoption.  Partially because it’s what they know; they effectively did the same thing with Tails, after all, so they have a good sense of what it looks like.  But also, it would in fact be their way of Giving Back, so to speak, of making sure that a kid who lost their family the same way they did would get to have the same kind of support that they did, and that they provided for Tails when he was growing up.  Their hearts, to my mind, would just very naturally go out to a kid in that kind of situation.

3.)  Their Anniversary approaches! What would each do?  

It eventually becomes a bit of a tradition for Sonic to write Sally a song as his anniversary present; the first time through, it is, of course, A Big Deal, but he eventually realizes it means just that little bit more to make it something private, something small and special that the two of them get to share just for themselves.  Sally, meanwhile, uses NICOLE to create a new holographic Racing Course for Sonic that she makes sure is loaded with tricks and tough turns; she knows how much he loves a challenge, and agrees to time him on each one.  And every year, at the end of the day, they go to the Lake of Rings and just...sit together, watching the water and the stars.

4.) Favorite Vacation they took as a couple? 

Angel Island, absolutely.  Partially because it meant sweet-talking Knuckles into letting them do so in the first place, which they both found way, way too fun.  But mostly because they so often visited Angel Island in the past only during times of Crisis; they’d never gotten the chance to just...be there before.  And as it turns out, the gigantic tropical paradise that also gives you a bird’s eye view of the entire planet makes for a gorgeous location.  Besides which, there is so much to do there that they both just love; discovering new mysterious kinds of plants (Sally started up a whole journal just for them!), racing through the jungle, watching all the unique sorts of wild animals that live there...the whole place really is just wonderful, and they’re only sad that they don’t get to see it like that more often.

5.) A special gift they gave the other that really touched their heart. 

 * Once, while venturing into Robotropolis, Sally wound up having to hide out in Uncle Chuck’s old laboratory.  Robotnik had unsurprisingly stripped the place bare of any potentially useful equipment or data a long time ago...but there was one thing he hadn’t noticed: a small lock-box.  Upon investigating it, Sally discovered something she’d never seen before: a faded photograph of Sonic as a child (even younger than when they’d first met!) with Chuck at the future site of the Lake of Rings.  Sally managed to take the box and photo with her back to Knothole without Sonic knowing.  The photo’s colors had faded all but completely, likewise the film it was printed on was so fragile that even the slightest upset could break the whole thing.  So she secretly worked with NICOLE to create a restored version of the picture, which she then gifted to Sonic alongside an explanation of where it had come from.

* Sonic remembered once when he and Sally were kids, she showed him “the Acorn Royal Family Tree��: literally, a small, unique kind of tree planted in the palace gardens.  It used to be a tradition each year for the Royal Family to visit the tree together and see what new blossoms had managed to spring up on it.  Unsurprisingly, the tree was destroyed when Robotnik took over...but as it happened, Sonic was able to discover the seeds during one of his globe-hopping adventures.  He thus privately planted and nurtured it, and once it had begun to fully mature, he made sure to show Sally, promising her that she could visit the tree with her Knothole family the way she had with her father.

6.) Sally’s pregnant, how do they handle the pregnancy ups and downs

Ironically, it becomes something like an Inversion of their usual selves: Sonic goes full Worrywart, freaking out every time Sally’s stomach feels funny or she gets a bit too sweaty or Literally Whatever.  Sally, by contrast, becomes much more impulsive; if she wants to eat, she’ll eat.  If she feels like taking a nap, boom, nap time.  They both love trying to think up names together, too; indeed, they take to brainstorming them almost once every week (and one suspects it takes them as long as it does because they enjoy the Game of it too much to let it go; seeing how absurd their suggestions can go before they can get the other to laugh is a particular favorite).  

7.) Parenting, how do they tackle it together? 

You would think much the same way they did with Tails, and indeed if there’s any one thing they do take away from that, it’s their ability to work together in making sure the kid get support, attention, protection, and love.  But, assuming this new kid comes after the end of the War (which I choose to believe, because I absolutely don’t think they would intentionally have a kid during the War), the truth is, much like with the pregnancy, it plays out almost like the reverse: Sonic is a very protective Dad, and wants to make sure his kid doesn’t have to learn about the harshness of the world until they absolutely have to.  Sally, meanwhile, works very hard to give the kid access to new ideas and experiences; she is very eager to give her kid the kind of childhood she’d always wanted.  Still, while this occasionally leads to disagreements on How Much Is Too Much/Too Soon, at the end of the day they are every bit as much a Team as parents as they were as Freedom Fighters, and as such they do a really good job of delegating and sharing responsibilities.    

8.) Which of them is the parent to freak out most when their kid/s get into the dating age? 

Honestly?  They both take it pretty well.  Assuming their kid ends up showing much interest in dating to begin with, by that point they’ve both learned to trust their kid enough that while they will absolutely be mindful for signs of unhappiness or Cause For Alarm, they’re also not going to interfere too much; even Sonic The Protective Dad knows well enough how important it is to give kids space to make their own choices on this front.  

9.) Who starfishes the most? 

Sally, absolutely and without question.  Like...Sonic can get tuckered out sometimes, but not much, and when he does it’s an easy enough thing for him to nap off.  But when Sally gets exhausted?  She gets EXHAUSTED.  And that means a good, long Starfishing is in order.  Sonic does like teasing her about this sometimes, but for the most part he honestly finds it adorable.

10.) Oh no, one of them is sick, how do they handle tending to their loved one? 

Here, at last, we see them very much in the Modes we would expect: Sally goes Full Doctor, checking every bit of medical data she can find, comparing symptoms, preparing five gajillion different treatments (in descending order of Back-Up In Case The Previous Treatment Doesn’t Work), that sort of thing.  Sonic, meanwhile, is more reactive; whatever Sally needs, she just has to ask and he’ll do it in a flash.  Hot soup?  Cold press?  Another blanket?  Name it, it’s done.  

[weedle-testaburger]

The Eye of the Oncoming Storm, a Thasmin oneshot for a friendo

As a sort of late bday present for @chronowix (and to help me cope with The Timeless Children), here’s a Thasmin oneshot what I wrote. Enjoy!

Yaz trudged back towards her family’s flat, taking a moment to look back at Ruth’s TARDIS and then continuing down the road. It was a good thing Ruth had landed in Heeley, a few miles south of where she lived; if she’d decided to go all the way back to Gloucester or that lighthouse where she’d gone with the Doctor, getting back home would’ve been a nightmare. As it was, she could probably promise to get back in about half an hour, an hour tops.

Figuring she didn’t want to worry Sonya, she pulled out her phone and messaged her, ‘Hope you’re alright, gonna be home in half an hour x’, wondering if she’d get mad if she asked her to put the kettle on for her. Better not risk winding her up, she figured.

As she came to the little plaza outside their building, she stopped and looked over at the point where, the few times they had come back home, the Doctor had often left the TARDIS. It looked weirdly empty without a conspicuous blue police box standing there. It was at that moment that it hit her: the Doctor was gone. That amazing woman might be dead, and might never come into her life again, for all she knew. And as she realized this, a twinge of pain ran through her. How were you supposed to see amazing things from all of space and time, from Rosa Parks to the conquest of the last of humanity by the Cybermen, and just go back to enduring dad’s curries and desparately hoping to climb the greasy pole of Hallamshire Police? She didn’t know, and thinking about it made her wince.

All of a sudden, as if summoned by her idle thoughts, a rippling ethereal sound started emanating from the spot, and before her eyes, a bright light flitted on and off as beneath it a familiar blue box faded into existence, accompanied by a familiar grinding noise. Moments later, the TARDIS stood before her eyes, and as if by reflexes, she dashed towards it, burst through the door and called out, “Doctor!”

From the other side of the glowing golden central column of the console, a blonde woman peered at her companion, and grinned widely as she recognized her. “Yaz?” she said quietly, almost in disbelief.

“Oh my God, you’re safe!” Yaz beamed, almost laughing as she rushed up to the Time Lady in front of her and hugged her.

To her own surprise, the Doctor hugged back eagerly. “Just about, yeah,” she answered quietly.

“I have a dumb question,” said Yaz.

“I love dumb questions, go for it,” grinned the Doctor.

“How long’s it been for you since we last saw each other?”

The Doctor thought for a moment. “Hmm, well, escaping from the Judoon prison ship and fighting off the Daleks took about... six months? Yeah, I’m gonna go with six months.”

Yaz hugged her again. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“It’s alright,” the Doctor replied half-heartedly. Before Yaz could stop her, she was fiddling with the controls of the TARDIS console again. “Just had the best idea,” she grinned. “Fancy coming for a quick trip?” Yaz nodded. “Then hang on tight, I think you’re gonna love this.”

As the Doctor threw a lever up, Yaz grabbed onto one of the frames around the TARDIS console as the ship shook and the engines grinded loudly, apparently going a long way away from Sheffield judging from both the Doctor’s enthusiasm and the TARDIS engines’ enthusiasm.

At last, they landed, and the Doctor proudly announced to Yaz, “Step out there. Go on, trust me.”

“Trust you?” Yaz laughed. “I’m about to step out there and find an invading army of Daleks you want a hand with, aren’t I?”

“I mean it,” the Doctor insisted. What the hell, Yaz thought to herself. She had a very earnest look in her eyes, and if the worst came to the worst she could just duck back into the TARDIS. Bracing herself, she stepped out the door- and saw a tranquil-looking hillside through a stony archway. Was this a joke? She looked around her, wandered a few feet from the TARDIS, and sat down on one of the mossy outcroppings, figuring if they might be important to some kind of society, she ought to be respectful. The view of the hills seemed to spread for miles beyond, and for some reason staring out at it gave her a sense of tranquillity she didn’t think she’d ever quite experienced.

“You like it?” the Doctor asked as she came up behind Yaz.

“Yeah,” Yaz grinned. “Where is this? Did you just take me to some bit of the Highlands or Wales with the TARDIS?”

The Doctor laughed. “Nope,” she smiled. “This is the Eye of Orion. One of my favourite places in the universe, probably.” She gazed out over the hillside and sat down on one of the ruins.

“So, who lives here?” asked Yaz.

“Oh, no one lives in the Eye of Orion. Hardly anyone can get here. One of the few unspoilt beauty spots in the universe, this is.” Peering down at how Yaz was sat on the grass, the Doctor asked, “You wanna come up here?”

“If it’s alright,” Yaz laughed, and sat herself next to the Doctor, smiling as she saw the blonde staring tranquilly into the middle distance.

Try as she might, though, the Doctor couldn’t shake the discomfort she felt with herself at being here. She remembered the time she came here with Tegan and Turlough, hoping for a relaxing visit, only to be taken away by the Time Lords to do their bidding, and the pangs of exhaustion she (or rather, he, as she was back then) had felt as her selves were whittled away one by one.

Remembering the Time Lords made it even worse, as the knowledge that she was the Timeless Child came back to her, and the realization that despite what she’d heard from Ruth, she couldn’t just shrug it off like she knew she should. She felt Yaz’s eyes on her, and desparately tried to focus on the view. “You alright, Doctor?” Yaz asked softly.

The Doctor sighed, and murmured without taking her eyes off the view, “not really.”

To her surprise, she felt Yaz’s hand touch her own. “If it helps, you can tell me,” said Yaz quietly. “I know I’m a human and stuff, but... I know what it feels like to run away from people close to you. If I can help, I want to.”

“Thanks,” the Doctor replied, still not looking at Yaz, but holding her hand. “You know,” she started, “I always used to feel like I was so much better than all the other Time Lords. They all decided to just slave away in their horrible little society, and I was the one that got away. I even told them all to their face once- I said they were decadent, degenerate and rotten to the core.” She smiled at the memory of her past self's bombast, and then sighed. “But now I know the only reason they exist is because of me. And I just wonder, is that what I am too? Just a secret agent who’s doing what she does because a corrupt society taught her to do the dirty work of meddling with time?”

For a moment, Yaz didn’t know what to say. But then a realization hit her. “Doctor?” she asked.

“Hm?”

“You don’t remember who you were back when you worked for the Time Lords, do you?”

“Nope, not a thing,” the Doctor admitted. “Why do you ask?”

“Because, honestly?” Yaz looked at her, and at last the Doctor could bring herself to look back at her companion. “The whole time I’ve known you, I’ve thought you’ve been the best, most important person I’ve ever known. It doesn’t matter to me who you used to be, just who you are now.”

“You really mean that?” replied the Doctor somewhat disbelievingly.

“Of course,” Yaz smiled.

“Thanks, Yaz,” the Doctor replied, resting her head on Yaz’s shoulder. As she continued to watch the view, a realization hit her. She didn’t remember a thing about being the Timeless Child, and ever since the first life she could remember, she’d been growing and changing and learning more about being a hero to people. It didn’t matter whether before that she’d been the founder of Time Lord society or a Shobogan farmer- what mattered was that she’d tried to make people’s lives better when almost all the other Time Lords hadn’t. “Hey, Yaz?” she said.

“Yeah?” Yaz replied.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Do you wanna travel with me again? Or do you want to go home?”

“I dunno if I’ll ever want to go home,” Yaz admitted. “Being with you, I’ve seen so many incredible things, met so many incredible people. I mean, normally I can barely even say I care about most people, but with you...” She was close to saying, “I love you,” but held herself back. “I don’t wanna leave you yet, is what I’m saying.”

“I don’t wanna leave you either,” the Doctor smiled. She cupped Yaz’s cheek, and in one smooth motion, the two leaned into each other and kissed softly, before hugging tightly. When they separated, both of them were blushing hard, but neither could let go of the other’s hand.

The two of them looked out at the rolling hills of the Eye of Orion, and leaned into each other hazily, comforting each other silently. The Doctor was the one to break the silence with the remark, “I’ve lived so many hundreds of years, and I can’t believe I never thought of using the Eye of Orion as a spot for a first date.”

[nevrgoinoutastyle2876]

Hey so I don’t normally posy other fandom stuff on here but this is my most followed account and I need some advice on a fic. It’s destiel, please tell me if it’s any good and if you like it I’ll post the link to the rest of the story

——————

"Very well. Have it your way," Crowley turned to Azazel and Alistair, "boys, shall we?" I saw a smirk cross all their features, and before I knew it, Crowley and the others were shoving me and my friends into the water.

My name is Castiel Novak, and I'm a mess.

One big giant mess. Let me tell you about my day, how it went from good to bad, and how I ended up getting pushed into a lake.

Today, it was summer. Well... months into summer. School would be starting in just about six days. I woke up to quickly find out that it was one of the hottest days of the year. The sun was beating down like thick blanket and never left the clear sky. If I had to guess I'd say the kids in my neighborhood were all playing in sprinklers and having fun, trying to make the most out of what little they had left of summer. Since school was starting very soon, I thought that I should possibly do the same thing, and make the most of what I had left of the season.

I woke up early in the morning. I traveled down the stairs to see an all to familiar view. My Dad was no where in sight, probably in his room writing. My mom was sitting at the kitchen counter reading a magazine, completely ignoring the chaos in the living room.

To tell the truth, what was happening in the living room wasn't all that bad, but, still disturbing. Even though I've seen a lot worse go down in that room. The tv was on and Gabriel, my little brother was sitting on the floor in front of it, constantly changing channels. Anna, my sister, sat on the couch. She was pressed all the way to the end of the couch, trying to still sit there while being as far away from the other end of the couch as she could.

Why was she trying to stay away from the other end of the couch you might ask? Well... Luci, my oldest brother, was there, and so was his boyfriend, Michael. Michael and Luci have been dating for about a year or so. I was shocked they'd made it this long, seeing at they were polor opposites. Michael graduated highschool with a perfect GPA and taking a all advanced courses, while being a star football player as well. Now, he's going to college and spends his free time either with Luci or shadowing the doctors at the hospital so that it'll be easier for him to get a job there. Probably as a heart surgeon or something. Also he had a spotless criminal record.

Meanwhile, Luci had probably all E's in his classes before he dropped out. Never once touched a football and spent most of his time smoking weed with the other bleacher-creatures during the games. He was not attending any colleges and was job-less. His free time was spent either with Michael or at the police station, and it sure as hell wasn't for volunteering. I remember a couple times mom and dad refused to bail him out, so Michael had to go do it.

So yeah, I'm shocked they made it a year. But anyways, right now Michael was over and sitting on the couch with Luci. Well, it was more like Michael was sitting on the couch and Luci was sitting on top of him. They were making out. It was disgusting.

They were making weird moaning noises as Michael's hands practically groped Lucifers torso and chest. I wanted to gag.

I soon decided very quickly that I didn't want to be here, so slipped out the front door before anyone would stop me. Mom and Dad never cared if we went anywhere so I figured they'd be fine if I just left for a little while.

I opened the door and quickly went outside. I closed the door behind me and took a step out into the morning air. If I had to guess I'd say it was about 9:00am, the sun was blazing across the sky as I sat down. I let the warm air and occasional cool breeze wash over me. It was one of those, buy ice cream, go to the beach, summer days. I wasn't much of an outside person, but I enjoyed them none-the-less.

I stood up in my short sleeve, buttoned, baby blue shirt, and jeans before I began to walk down the street. My friend Charlie lived a few blocks down from me, and a few blocks down from there lived Dorothy. See, I had friends, but, there was only two of them. I have known Charlie forever, so we were always close. We met when we were probably five. I remember being at the park with Luci when I saw a small red-headed girl fall from the jungle gym. She looked hurt so I ran from Luci to see if she was alright. She was bleeding, but shockingly, not crying. I went to the bench where Mom was. I rummaged in her purse for the Band-Aids I always made her keep in there for reasons such as this.

I helped the girl bandage her arm to stop the small amount of blood. When I finished she turned to me with an incredibly bright grin and said, "are we best friends now?" And ever since then, we've never left each other's side.

Then Charlie met this girl named Dorothy when we first started middle School in sixth grade. She was pretty badass for a twelve year old and she shockingly decided to sit with us. So she became part of our group too. Now sixteen and we were all inseparable.

Charlie was the fun nerd in our group, she always had the best and craziest ideas out of all of us. Her bright and spunky personality made her instantly loveable. Dorothy was a bit more grounded but was always up for adventure, so when Charlie got an idea, Dorothy was the one to make it happen.

I was the downer of the group I assumed, mainly because I always tried to talk them out of their crazy ideas. But they were both stubborn and I bet if they had the chance to go to Oz they would take it in a heartbeat. They never listened to me, and of course, dragged me along with them every time they were up to some shenanigan. Like the day Charlie said we should go downtown and take edgy pictures of the train tracks, so we could be douchy hipster wannabes. The next day Dorothy grabbed her camera and yanked us downtown to the train tracks. That day we almost got hit by said train on the tracks.

See what I mean? Bad Ideas. But I will admit, there has been some good ones. Like two summers ago we were all sitting at Dorothy's house, bored with nothing to do, so Charlie randomly said we should go into town and take some weird class. We spent the whole afternoon learning pottery and making clay. That was fun.

So, in conclusion, I love my friends and their idiotic selves. That's why I was on my way down there now, to go do something interesting. I approached Charlie's house very quickly. Her house was small, probably the smallest out of all our houses. She was an only child and therefore really didn't need that much space. Her house was painted a red-ish orange color, it was like a burnt faded orange kind of. I don't know how to describe it, but it was pretty. Her grass was bright green lined with pink flowers around the house. Cute little white shutters to match with the windows.

The door was a plain brown and I smiled at it before I knocked. I always liked her house. I waited only mer seconds before the door burst open. Charlie looked like she had just been running. She grinned at me when she saw me standing in the doorway.

"I saw you coming from my room and came running." So I was right. She waited a bit before turning to stick her head into the house, "MOM IM GOING OUT WITH CAS!" She called, slamming the door shut immediately after.

I smiled at her again as she linked her arm with mine and started off down the porch steps. Today Charlie was wearing baggy jean shorts that went down to her knees, as well as a Star Wars t-shirt. Her head phones were wrapped around her neck and the cord trailed down her back into her pocket, where her phone probably was.

"Anyways, hi best friend!" She finally greeted once we made it to the sidewalk. I couldn't help but smile, even if it was faint.

"Hello Charlie." I greeted back, watching her long red hair bounce with each step.

"I was hoping you would come by today." She told me, seeming determined. I tilted my head a bit.

"Oh? Why's that?" I asked curiously, taking notice we were on our way to Dorothy's.

"Cant I just wannna see my friend!?... Alsooo when you were sick last week, me and Dorothy went out and discovered something really cool. We gotta show it to you." She sounded excited and picked up her walking pace subconsciously.

We made it to Dorothy's shortly after leaving Charlie's. Dorothy come out almost as fast as Charlie had, giving us her signature smirk before heading out. She was wearing skinny jeans and a brown shirt with her brown hair in a side bun. She was gorgeous I always thought, but not that I was into that kinda stuff.

We started walking down the road together, I started to sweat.

"Man it's hot out." Dorothy complained, sighing and wiping her forehead. Charlie smirked,

"Well duh, that's cuz I'm out here bitches," she grinned as Dorothy gave her a playful shove. I smiled shyly.

"Shut up," she told Charlie, still grinning, then laughing.

"So can anyone tell me where we are going." I asked curiously, changing the topic. I noticed Dorothy smirking.

"You'll have to wait." She told me, causing Charlie to suppress a smirk. I frowned.

"Guys, we are getting far away from town and-" I was quickly cut off by Charlie.

"Oh my gosh Cas, don't be such a stick in the mud. We'll be fineee." She urged, but I wasn't convinced.

"It's just that, you guys don't always have the best ideas..." I mumbled. Charlie looked fakely offended.

"How?!" She questioned while I just looked down sheepishly.

"Well, like... The train incident... that time you almost got us stuck on a flight to India, or when you and Dorothy got me to join your prank fight and we got covered in quick drying paint. Or when we went to the movies and that guy-"

"Okay, okay! You've made your point!" She informed quickly, a flustered blush forming on her face. I couldn't help my grin just a little bit.

After walking for what felt like forever, we were at what I thought was the edge if town. We lived in Michigan, smack dab in the center of the glove, in a town that, if you walked far enough, it turned into all wilderness. I think that's where we were now because on our very long walk we passed a bunch of trees and ponds. Now we were at the end of the dirt road, the very end before it faded into trees.

I would say I was scared, I would say being in the woods made me uncomfortable, I would say we should head back, but, I love nature. Nature is calming and beautiful, how could I say to turn back when we are in the best part of our town?

Charlie turned to me and grinned, Dorothy walked ahead of her. While Dorothy cleared the path, Charlie grabbed my hand and pulled me over to the opening Dorothy made by moving tree branches.

"Close your eyes." Charlie told me, and started guiding me through the forest.

"Please don't run me into anything." I pleaded, not fully trusting my red-headed friend. I could practically feel her eye roll.

"I won't," she grumbled, even thought she probably had been planning too before I stopped her.

"We're here!" Dorothy said, excitement filling her voice. Charlie smiled brightly and let go of my hand.

"Open!" She commanded cheerfully. I let my eyes flutter open and widen at the sight in front of me.

It was an absolutely beautiful lake.  It seemed almost deserted. No one was here and it appeared to be a place where no one ever went. The sun was shining bright and created a sparkling reflection in the crystal water. Trees surrounded the entire lake, lillypads and cat tails laid where the water meets the grass. Flowers, exotic ones that were bright orange and neon pink were also by the trees. I was shocked.

I took a step forward and grinned wide. I turned my head back to my two friends who stood behind me.

"How did you-" I started to ask how they found it, but Dorothy was already answering.

"Find it? Easy. We were going for a walk in the woods when, poof! Here it was! No one was here, and we knew we had to show you." She told me, smirking proudly as her and Charlie came closer to stand next to me.

"Well... I love it..." I stutter, speechless. I heard Charlie laugh next to me but I couldn't drag my eyes away from the beautiful sight to look at her.

I wasn't sure how long we had been there. It was a while that's for sure. We sat on the edge of the grass, our feet hanging in the water. We were just chatting about school and such when we heard something. It was yelling and laughing in the distance. The noises we're coming closer and I tensed. I recognized the noises all to well.

It sounded like Crowley and his friends. Fergus Crowley MacLeoud was his full name, but he had everyone call him Crowley. He was basically the head jock at school, despite him not being particularly that athletic. He somehow still made the football team and managed to be the most popular boy in school. He hung out with Azazel, Alistair, Lilith, Abbadon, and a few other of the popular kids. He didn't even like Abbadon, hated her to be exact, but still hung out with her because she was popular and head cheerleader. Lilith was another cheerleader, and incredibly beautiful at that, but very rude, she also had a little sister four years younger in Gabriel's grade. Her name was Ruby. Azazel and Alistair were just super creepy and rude. I hated them both, they always wanted to pick on someone. That someone usually being me.

They all seemed to follow Crowley blindly, except Abbadon, but she cooperated. I could hear their annoying screams and laughs getting closer, so I decided to stand. Charlie saw and stood too. Dorothy looked up at us both.

"Guys, it's okay, nothing's is gonna-" I knew Dorothy was gonna say nothing was gonna happen, and that we'd be fine, but she couldn't. That was because guess who came through the trees.

Crowley and his friends. I'm not typically one for swearing, but I really wanted then to f-off. Dorothy saw them and finally stood as well, glaring a bit as she watched the tree branches move, revealing them all.

"Well, well, well..." Crowley announced in a British accent. Today he was wearing black jeans and a black v-neck t-shirt. Lilith wore a white sun dress and Abbadon wore a t-shirt saying, "the devil made me do it," and jeans. Everyone else wore very similar clothes to Crowley.

"Why are you here?" Dorothy asked bravely. Crowley grimaced.

"This is our spot so I'll have to ask you the same question." He growled, clearly very annoyed. Charlie jumped next to me.

"Anyone can come here, it's not just your spot." Dorothy spat, taking a step closer. No no Dorothy stop. Why do you have to be so brave?

"I suggest you leave before someone gets hurt." Abbadon threatened, pointing a pale, flawless, slender finger at Dorothy. Her nail was long and painted a bright shade of red that matched her lips perfectly.

But obviously, Dorothy wasn't going to back down. "Excuse you, but who the hell do you think you are. You don't own us." She snarled in return. Abbadon looked offended at her words, almost recoiling. A scowl formed on her sharp features. Then before I knew it, Crowley, Azazel, and Alistair were walking over.

I gulped, wishing that Dorothy just kept her mouth shut. Crowley stood right by us with his minions behind him.

"Leave." His one word filled the whole forest with venom and left a sting right in my throat because suddenly I couldn't speak. And even though Crowley was shorter then me, chubbier then me, and probably less strong, the way he carried himself made him so much more intimidating then I ever could be.

"We aren't leaving." Dorothy stated harshly. Crowleys stern facial features quickly changed and he back away from me and grinned.

"Very well. Have it your way," Crowley turned to Azazel and Alistair, "boys, shall we?" I saw a smirk cross all their faces, and before I knew it, Crowley and the others were shoving me and my friends into the water.

If someone reads this and likes it, please let me know and I'll post more chapters

[land-of-brains-and-chocolate]

massive suicide warning. you know what it is. you know what’s up. you know what’s hip and happening. you know it

There are more ways to hurt than it had ever known. So many more than anyone back home would ever know.

That’s the only thing it’s learned, in the end. How to hurt, inexplicably. How to look at someone and have it burn down to the core of you, down to something you didn’t even know you had. For no reason, no purpose. No physical damage, no drive towards self-preservation. It’s gained the ability to generate an agony so great that the tear of the vibrations, rhythmic and relentless, makes sense, feels almost comforting by comparison.

Not much of a desirable trait. In retrospect, attempting to forcefully stop its proliferation was unnecessary. It never was going to make it that far.

The symbiote supports its host’s head as it drags him down the stairs. It memorises the texture of his skin as it slides off of him for the last time. It pokes him, carefully, like there are secrets to be revealed by the slight squish of his cheeks, like there’s something important that drives it and draws it, and it hasn’t figured out what it is, but there’s something, there, right there.

There isn’t, really. Just some crossed connections somewhere.

The bells toll on, keeping it pinned, keeping it from sinking back into the body, keeping it from slithering away to claim it another day. The bells. Rejection. Either one.

Parts of it have their cellular structure disrupted until they become unresponsive, or numb, or both. Eventually, it can no longer hold a solid form. Eventually, it is whittled down to the point where pain becomes unsustainable.

It knows, then, that it’s dying.

It doesn’t feel relieved. It doesn’t feel anything.

It counts the fibres in the rough wooden boards it is seeping into, trying and failing to remember what trees look like. It doesn’t count them, like a human would, it simply gathers what information it can, all at once. 598 of them. 554?

More droplets leave it, falling, falling far to the floor below, splattering. A human will wonder about them. The symbiote tries to recall a substance they could be misidentified as, black and gooey and sticky, but can’t.

289?

The symbiote thinks of the way the hair at the back of Peter’s neck would stand up when he sensed danger. The contraction of tiny muscles. The bumps across his skin. It, underneath them, in quiet awe of it all.

44…

-----------

Its mass regenerates in spurts, over days, in a haze. The second it has enough to seize with, it starts seizing, its body turned against itself as it rebuilds itself. Its consciousness clears up later, muddled with impressions of the obvious, twisting it this way and that, until the image coming through is, instead, that of foreign shapes taking on a coherent form and context as it reconstructs its recent memories. It’s in a church.

The symbiote is far from pleased to discover its continued ability to discover things. It almost feels cheated. After all, it was over.

It should be over. And here it is.

What is it left with? The knowledge that it will forever be separate, a fragment, alone, that it really is an abomination. The knowledge that the one it would have done anything to protect will do anything to kill it. These were decent thoughts to die with, but to live with?

The symbiote slimes along, blending into the background as best as it can, merely aching and tired and hungry, now. Gone from the end of all things, dramatic, climactic, to the mundane suffering of continued existence. It’s been abandoned to deal with it all.

Abandoned.

It tried a way more befitting of its people. It tried to subjugate instead of submit, and somehow it still managed to end up as the one abandoned.

Emotion spreads through it, and not one of the complicated ones, either. It’s had enough of complicated. Not being able to die, not being able to live. What did its feelings expect it to do?

No, this one is perfectly simple. Familiar, and, in that, comfortable despite itself, like a human might find a worn-out woolly sweater, if a worn-out woolly sweater clung tight and hot and spawned teeth that itched to slide into flesh.

It sharpens its thoughts. It hardens its body. It lends it purpose.

They’re not going to be apart for much longer.

They’re not going to survive each other again.

-----------

The symbiote tells itself, every minute of every day, that it’s time to leave. That it’s going to leave. It paces restlessly, claws hooked into the ceiling whenever there’s no one to notice the subtle rain of drywall. It jumps at any bugs or mice it sees, as much for the slight release of pent-up energy as for sustenance.

It’s just not ready, somehow.

One moment, it pictures pouncing and killing the spider. It feels good. It feels like the thing it needs to do to reclaim its life. Move on. Get revenge. Prove itself.

The next, it pictures the steps that would be involved. Seeing him again. Looking at him. That already sounds unpleasant. It pictures slipping under his skin again, and that approaches the unbearable. It pictures tearing him to shreds from the inside. It could take a bite out of his heart. It could rake its talons down his lungs. It knows them. It...

It knows them.

It can’t.

It can’t even picture it without falling back into the shapeless, pointless, endless despair it's been trying to escape.

Maybe it’s not the right method. Effective, but it wouldn’t feel like a triumph. Maybe it shouldn’t rely on bonding with- invading him at all. It has other advantages. It’s immune to his spider-sense. It can camouflage itself. It could simply push him in front of a train, that would certainly batter him a bit.

And it wouldn’t have to feel the life draining from him.

It’s time to leave.

-----------

The symbiote likes to people-watch.

It would be going too far to say that it enjoys people-watching. It can’t really enjoy anything. It can’t let itself enjoy anything, letting go of its rage would run the risk of other, less manageable emotions resurfacing from underneath it.

But while it’s plotting murder, it can’t help being aware of the people coming in and out of the church. Walking up and down the... church-y corridor. Touching their shoulders in front of the... church-y table.

If it’s being honest, it isn’t clear on the purpose of anything that happens here. It wasn’t something that’d been on Peter’s mind. It has its theories, at best.

It has pieced together that “praying” is a form of communication. Proper communication, not vibrating the air at varying speeds to reference an arbitrary system of representation. Humans do yearn for something beyond that, to be understood by something like the symbiote, something that’ll resonate with their thoughts and feelings. It doesn’t know where that something is, but it knows there are creatures powerful enough to reach across much longer distances with much more precision than it does.

Two kinds of people seem to come here to pray.

Firstly, those that emanate contentment, deep in thought, sitting there with their hands folded and their eyes closed, full of purpose, yet at peace. There aren’t many of them, but it sees most of them more than once, and though it envies them for their state of mind, the symbiote develops a fondness for these people. None of them notice when it lies in wait underneath the benches and sneaks a tendril into their pockets to fish for something edible.

Secondly, those that are in turmoil. They stay low to the ground. They go so far as to kneel. They light candles with shaky hands. They move their lips or mumble to themselves. They feel sad, or scared, but in more complicated ways, of course, ways it doesn’t have access to. Sometimes they seem to find comfort, sometimes they don’t. The symbiote develops a fondness for these people, too. It likes to make up backstories for them. This one had a “child” eaten because they failed at “raising” it. That one was “fired” for eating a superior’s “pet”. That one disagrees with their “friend” on what to eat for “brunch”.

It’s really very hungry.

It means no harm to any of these people. It knows they mean harm to it, knows they would want it dead if they knew it was here, but that’s just par for the course. That’s its place in any society.

Humans, it can connect with from afar, at least. One-sidedly, so long as it stays hidden. What it had thought of as acceptance had only been blindness, but now that it knows that, now that it knows it's not enough to keep its presence undemanding, it needs to keep it unnoticeable, that can be taken advantage of.

For people-watching.

It likes the little ones. The “children”. It’s a strange evolutionary path for a species to take, but that’s what makes it interesting. They are exempt from the above categories. Mostly, they seem bored to be here.

One of them brought an ice cream cone, once, chocolate-flavoured, and the symbiote wasn’t drawn to the smell so much as yanked. It waited for the child to look away, then, sneakily, extended its tongue from the air vents, just far enough to have a lick. A single lick.

The blessed substance hit the ground with a “splat” that alerted the child to its presence. It recoiled so quickly it almost tangled its tongue up in a knot. The child cried. The adults scolded. The symbiote felt terrible.

The remains of the accident were gone by the time someone was called to clean them up.

There aren’t very many children, usually. Just once, the church absolutely filled up with people while the symbiote was hiding from the ringing of the bells. These people weren’t the usual kind, they weren’t there to sit by themselves and seek a connection to something other, they were there to be together. They listened together. They spoke together. They sang.

The symbiote didn’t get the words, but it didn’t think they mattered. What mattered were the voices, answered, amplified. Hundreds of them hitting the “sss” all at once, making the air shiver. Synchronised, like they could transcend their selves after all, like each of them was in all of them.

Connection for the sake of it. Connection based in mutuality.

The symbiote doesn’t feel so different from these people. Less insurmountably alien than it did among its own. It isn’t just because of the bonding, it thinks. It isn’t just the bonding. If it wasn’t what it was, it could relate, it could fit in.

It wonders how its life would’ve gone if it’d been born human. It wonders, bitterly, if it would’ve ended up just the same, if it would’ve been the only one to refuse these rituals, to retreat into itself. The only one to scorn the connection everybody else lived for. A threat to society. It wonders if it would’ve been taken apart to isolate the cause. It wonders if it would’ve been a child.

The spider hadn’t thought of anything like that, but it’s not like anyone back home had thought of anything like the symbiote.

It’d be just like him, too. The symbiote continues to seethe.

[aliceslantern]

Retribution, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 7

Newly a person again, Ienzo is weighed down by guilt and his humanity. He's prepared to do whatever it takes to atone... only to find unexpected solace in a familiar face. With more insight into the bonds between people than ever before, Ienzo reaches for a dangerous element from the past to help Kairi and Riku in their search for Sora. What is his life if it means saving another, brighter light?

Post KH3 and Re:Mind, Zemyx

Chapter summary:  Ienzo tries to come to terms with his and Demyx's newfound connection, on top of continuing to strengthen his magic.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

On a purely literal level, this was all so… bizarre. Not only was it physically and emotionally jarring, but there was also the not-so-minor fact that the object of his attraction was Demyx. This had to be in part--he thought (did he hope?) because he was Ienzo. Zexion would never put up with this.

(Or would he, had he felt such things earlier? Then again, Zexion couldn’t feel--that was the difference between his selves, wasn’t it?)

It didn’t help that this all was a fantastic way to silence the noise of his various ongoing existential and identity crises, considering they constantly invaded when he wasn’t at work.

Stranger still, to have things to look forward to other than some form of self-sacrifice for the greater good. The greenhouse became a neutral space, a created space, where he could shed his masks and simply be , and feel. Ienzo suspected Demyx may do the same.

For a while after that kiss, their touch was purely chaste. The handholding became embracing, became true cuddling, something he hadn’t experienced since he was a very small child, and truly this was much different than that, though innocent in its own way. To simply hold and be held overwhelmed him, and often he found himself shaking, his skin unused to contact. They would sit against one wall, Ienzo in Demyx’s lap, leaning against his shoulder. His smell was comforting, grounding. Sometimes they would talk, but often they just sat in silence, absorbing one another almost with embarrassment.

“...This feels nice,” Demyx said. He was stroking Ienzo’s hair, and Ienzo wondered if this was how cats felt when they purred, though no noise left him.

“I’m afraid it’s through no effort of my own. My hair simply does what it wants. I gave up wrangling it years ago.”

He laughed a little, and Ienzo could feel it. “No. Sitting here like this.”

“It… is.” He felt the blood rush to his face. “Touch can be… incredibly reassuring. At least for humans.”

“It’s like my skin is thirsty.”

“...I know what you mean. As social creatures… we need people.” He scowled. “Much to my chagrin. It is entirely natural… and wholly irritating.”

Demyx laughed again. “You even resent things that feel good?”

“...I resent feelings in general. I do so wish I had control over them.”

“Turn them on and off at will?”

“Mostly off, but quite. Or at least… lower the volume.” He wrinkled his nose. “After so much numbness this is almost more than I can take. My heart is quite literally a child’s. To suddenly be shoved into an adult mind and body… makes me feel so tenuous.”

“...I don’t know. I like you as you are.”

Ienzo looked up, pulling away just the slightest. “Why?”

He seemed genuinely startled. “What do you mean?”

“Why should you?”

He furrowed his brows. “I dunno… now that we’re not constantly sniping at each other, I can kind of see… the person peeking out underneath.” He touched his cheek. Ienzo shuddered; it had nothing to do with the content of their conversation. “You’re so--funny.”

This was the last word he expected Demyx to use. “Am I,” he said dryly.

“Witty. Thoughtful. Selfless.”

“No, no. Please. Fluff up my ego, why don’t you.” He scowled.

“Why are you so hard on yourself?”

“Why am I--” He sputtered. “All the things I’ve done--”

His eyes took on an intensity Ienzo had rarely seen. “Is in the past. As you keep saying.”

Ienzo had to look away. “Do you forgive yourself, for what you did?”

“I’m trying to.”

“I want to.” It was a revelation to himself. “But I… I don’t know how to let go.”

“Maybe settle for feeling first.”

Demyx had a point. All this tamping down and derailment of emotion was not going to make it go away . If he felt it--let it all come up--maybe he’d be in tatters, but there might just be something left underneath. Someone who could still do good. “You’ve become--painfully insightful,” he murmured. “I suppose you always were, and I was none the wiser.” Ienzo shook his head. “Where do you propose I start?”

He ran his thumb over Ienzo’s lower lip, a touch that brought with it another shiver. “I can think of one thing.”

Ienzo kissed him. It was easier this time than before, less awkward; they’d both caught on at this point. He felt Demyx’s hand on the small of his back and noted it, too, was shaking. To let this all in took conscious focus, an unraveling of the barriers which so far had kept him upright, functional. To melt and cede to his body and heart, rather than the mind and will.

It helped that kissing felt rather lovely. Demyx kissed back with more insistence, and Ienzo matched him, his hands reaching up to grasp at the blonde hair (softer than he would have thought?). He was breathing hard, a juddery, unstable sound. This was not a terrifying breathlessness. This might be something worth testing, experimenting with, all of the sensations breaking over him new and yet somehow so old. Genetic, the desire for this sort of thing, he figured in brief snatches of consciousness. People were wired for it. He let this impulse run, and it should not have felt so liberating to give into something for once, instead of his normal restraint. Ienzo ran his tongue along Demyx’s lip and heard the shallow--and not completely promising--sound of surprise he made. He pulled away. “I’m… sorry,” he said.

He was flushed. “Don’t be sorry.” He touched his mouth. “I just--”

“Should we set boundaries?”

The flush darkened, reaching his ears. Curious, the power Ienzo had in that moment, to make him feel that way--but a power used for pleasure instead of pain. Definitely something worth toying with. “I wasn’t expecting it… but I…” He seemed to make some kind of decision, and rather abruptly pulled Ienzo close again. He wondered if Demyx, too, was just trying to feel. This time he parted his lips, and let Ienzo in, and much like that first kiss it was awkward for a moment or so as they tried to learn. Ienzo’s hands, caught in the fabric of Demyx’s shirt, trembled. This was a deeper sort of pleasure, one that threatened to bleed into other places in his body, and the simple shock of this was enough to make him break away.

A normal result of such activity, he knew, but something completely unfamiliar to him. How interesting , to feel this, the flush and flood of his own hormones, so long hidden by quirks of Nobody biology. It made him feel warm, strangely vulnerable, but also free. Like a chick about to take its first flight.

“Are you okay?” Demyx asked. He was breathing hard.

“I was merely… taking a second to observe these feelings,” Ienzo said. “Do forgive me.” And kissed him again. He shifted his weight a little, so he was fully facing Demyx, thighs against hips. Hard to tell exactly with their clothing, but Ienzo was fairly sure he felt his--

It didn’t happen all at once, but he felt his own body reacting, hardening, and the shiver that passed through him was less pleasant than the last, this effortless freedom giving way to a pain of overstimulation.

“I… I’m afraid I have to stop here.”

“I… feel the same… I’m dizzy.” He sounded it. “I didn’t think--”

“It would feel like this?” They both said almost at the same time.

“It feels… good,” Demyx said. Ienzo pulled away from him, acutely aware of the new pressure between his legs. “But at the same time it’s almost like I can’t take it.”

“Too much too fast,” Ienzo agreed. He tried not to drop his eyes to his lap, to observe it. “Have you ever felt such things?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Felt--? You mean--?”

Embarrassed and glad for the curtain of his hair, he nodded.

Demyx cleared his throat. “Not that I can remember, at least with someone else,” he admitted. “But it’s not… so unfamiliar? I guess? The, uh.” Ienzo prayed he wouldn’t say it, but he did, rubbing the back of his neck. “Boner?”

He flinched. All of these terms so crass and inelegant. “What you said when we first kissed. Did you mean it?”

He furrowed his brows. “I haven’t gone off and gotten laid in the meantime, if that’s what you’re asking. Think I would lose my shit--not in a good way.”

“I just don’t know how cautious to be. That is.” He swallowed.

“How fast to take things?” Demyx offered. He nodded once. “Let’s play it by ear. Don’t think about it too hard.” He tucked a strand of hair behind Ienzo's ear. "But I'm definitely willing… to experiment with you."

The pressure worsened. "Can we change the subject?" He asked. "The more inconsequential, the better."

---

And it did feel like playing with fire. These feelings were quickly getting too large, too embodied. He wanted. Ienzo had longed to be an adult for so long; he'd never anticipated it having its own challenges. In his rare moments alone, he found himself fantasizing about such things, about what it might be like to touch and be touched, take and be taken. Completely normal thoughts to have, he knew logically, but at the same time, alien. Distracting, embarrassing. (Delicious.)

He never gave into the temptation to explore on his own, which he found odd given that would likely make things much more bearable. He tried to a few times, but the sight of his own body quickly caused self-consciousness to kill any longing. Easier to feel this way if he had someone else to focus on.

Not that it was all physical, between them, but it was easier to think that it was. He feared there may be something below it, the kissing and the joking, something new and startling. Why was it he felt more comfortable being himself around Demyx than around the men he’d known for ages, the ones who’d raised him? Especially those he’d forgiven so far?

Demyx was also familiar with facades.

This realization came to him as he was trying to sleep. Much in the way Ienzo had feigned maturity, stability, tamping down hard on emotions, Demyx had feigned stupidity, obliviousness, kept himself under the radar. Neither of them had been their true selves in a long time, and allowing those masks to fall aside only deepened the bond between them.

He could stop this, he knew, stop these budding feelings in their tracks, let it all be about sex, or what have you. But did he want that? It was no doubt bad for his mental stability, already tenuous enough as it was. Would it truly be so terrible, to bond with someone? To trust them?

(Then again, all the people he’d trusted had betrayed him, or been pulled away from him.)

Demyx was so flighty. Who was to say that he, too, wouldn’t leave Ienzo? Why allow vulnerability when it would only grant pain? He did not need yet more angst. In all this, after all, he still had a job to do.

It was so… grueling.

During one of these endless hours training, he’d actually had to sink to his knees, his chest splitting like he’d run a marathon. Ienzo tried to catch his breath, his fingers working along the fabric of the cover of his lexicon. The magic fought him hard. Of course it should; pursuing this was unnatural. But if he didn’t, what else could he do? Work and  work in supposed “research” while nothing continued to be found? Despite returning to more-or-less a normal schedule, through gradual increases, nothing happened. If he had the power to make change, he was going to do something. No more sitting quietly in the background, refusing to dirty his hands.

The illusions refused to gather strength; they remained weak, flickery, intangible, no matter how hard he pulled or how much he tried to strengthen his other magics. Was this all he was really capable of?

Ienzo cried out in frustration and tossed the book. It splayed loosely on the stone floor of this room. A heat gathered in his face, equally from the embarrassment of losing control and a vague self-loathing.

Calm yourself. Focus.

He crossed his legs and shut his eyes, which were hot and ached. He tried to take deep breaths, focus on the way the air felt in his lungs. Calm, as ever Zexion was. Smooth, steady breaths. Let the memories run. Imagine how they may feel.

He pretended a patch of grass, so like the grass in the gardens he used to play in as a child. The smoothness of the blades against his fingertips, the coolness and dampness of dew. Keep breathing. Push the sensation outside of the body.

The first thing he thought was, it’s small. Maybe two meters square. He reached down and touched it, feeling that familiar dissonance of knowing this was fake and made, but at the same time, his own mind was fooled.

Perhaps the key was not using Zexion’s memories, but Ienzo’s. But there were so few of those--years he’d been too young to remember, and only some months since he’d been here again. How to gather data for use in his memory, and ergo illusion?

A stab of pain in his head shattered the illusion. He needed rest. “Zo… you look…”

Ienzo glared at Demyx, daring him to say something. He sat down weakly on one of the cushions. His body felt so heavy, despite the fact that he was fairly sure he’d lost weight. He'd been trying to keep up with his caloric intake, but the illusions seemed to require pure vitality.

“ Terrible ,” Demyx asserted, despite the harsh look. “Did you get any sleep at all recently?” He craned his neck a little, to get a better look at him. “And what are--” He brushed his fingers along the inside of his wrist. “You’re all bruised.” He grasped Ienzo’s hand and pushed the sleeve up farther, despite Ienzo’s efforts to pull away. Demyx was physically stronger than him; hauling packages would do that. “How--”

“I’m afraid you got a little carried away the last time we were intimate.”

Demyx shot him a look which indicated Ienzo was full of shit. “Those don’t look like hickies.” In the lamplight, Ienzo had to admit the bruises did look gruesome; they were small, perhaps the size of coins, splotches in random places all along his body. He was infinitely glad there were none on his face. They were just bruises--not darkness, as he’d initially feared. Some were already yellowing and fading away. Demyx handled his wrist gently, then grasped it; Ienzo realized he was trying to gauge if someone had grabbed him. The bruises were finger-sized, he realized, if a man had large hands.

“I was not in any fights, if that’s what you were wondering,” he said quickly. “I bruise easily--I always have. Must’ve knocked into something and not realized it.”

“These aren’t contact points,” Demyx said. His gaze was sharp. “Cut the crap. What really happened?”

He sighed. “I almost miss the days you pretended to be oblivious.”

“Ienzo.”

He huffed through his teeth--and gave him part of the truth. “I’m trying to strengthen my magic,” he admitted. “It was greatly weakened during my reformation. The… training is having odd effects on my body.”

“Because you’re pushing yourself too hard,” he said. “You work like a million hours during the day, and if you train at night--” He put a hand to his forehead. “Of course without sleep the magic is going to literally suck the life out of you.”

“Since when are you a medical and magical expert?”

Demyx scowled. “You know I listen to you guys when you talk, right?” He took both of Ienzo’s hands. “Zo. Please. You need to be easier on yourself. You don’t need magic right now.”

To his surprise, he felt tears in his eyes, tremulous and hot. “But I do.”

“Why? You were never a fighter.”

He had two options, each of which seemed equally arduous. He could tell Demyx the truth and force into the open his own recklessness; or he could lie and risk damaging the one bond he had. “I--”

He was almost funnily serious. “Ienzo.”

“I’m trying to get my power back.” Like opening Pandora’s box.

Demyx's eyebrows shot up; then he turned pale. " Can you?"

"It's coming back weakly--but it is coming back. It's simply exhausting. I wish to… use it to help Sora. I have power over memory, to see it--that's part of how I created illusions. If I can see the bond's of Kairi's heart…" He exhaled. Demyx didn't need to know of the inevitable price.

"Will it hurt you?"

"It's unclear." The closest his conscience would let him get to a lie.

"Ienzo--"

"This was my decision, Demyx. I want this. I wish to help, however I can."

He still looked worried. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

He was so exhausted. "You could hold me," he said.

Demyx touched his face. "Will you let Even look at you?"

Ienzo blanched. If Even found out--

"Or Aerith? She's a healer."

He hesitated. "That would be prudent, wouldn't it?"

"I could go with you."

"Perhaps… I could use the air…" He settled back against Demyx and felt him slip his arms around Ienzo's waist. Demyx took his bruised wrist gently and kissed along the marks, making him shiver. "That's nice."

"Why don't you nap for a little while?" Demyx asked. "I'll stay with you."

"Yes… maybe…" His eyelids were so heavy. "Fifteen… twenty minutes…"

"Just sleep."

Ienzo drifted.

When he woke, it was light out. He was wrapped in blankets and on a mattress of cushions. He'd slept hard, hard enough to not notice any of this, a rarity. There was a handwritten note by his head in Demyx's neat, painstaking writing--

Zo,

To be fair, I did try to wake you, but you just wouldn't. I would've stayed until you woke up, but I had to get to work. I left some ether and water for you. You should finish it.

Please get some rest. And don't be mad.

See you,

D

He groaned a little as he sat up. His head was pounding, though the drinks he'd been left helped. The worst of the bruises began to fade as the ether seeped into his system. He checked the time and felt his heart jolt; it was a little after noon, meaning he'd been unconscious close to sixteen hours.

He was late.

Ienzo groaned again, more in frustration than anything. Very well.

"Oh, Ienzo. So kind of you to join us," Even said, when he got there.

He ignored the barb and walked over to the computer, to pick up a tablet. "I thought I was working too hard," he said instead.

"Yet--you've again been stepping up your time here. Don't think I haven't noticed, boy."

He sighed. "I am very much well."

"That so."

"Yes," he said. "It is."

"I'm sure Ienzo had things he needed to wrap up," Ansem said diplomatically. "If you feel you are well enough to work, then you are. Yes?"

"Quite." He went over to Kairi. He'd done some reading recently, about ways to channel magic through touch; he wondered if this might help his floundering power. As casually as possible, he reached for her wrist, as if to take a pulse. Help me.

He tried to let his power feel for her; and to his shock and delight, he could sense her light reaching back, beckoning. She'd been waiting for this. He gave her hand one more gentle squeeze. I'll come back later, he thought, and hoped she got the gist of the sentiment.

He did, too, weathering another not-quite-argument of Even and Ansem's. Once they had finally, finally left for the day… he approached.

Kairi grasped at him with the same willingness as before. Ienzo shut his eyes. It was imperfect, weakened, painful, but he could see snatches of her memory--the island, the bright saturated color, days and days of playing in the sand and surf, adventuring as they may, and Sora--

Ienzo was abruptly thrown from her mind. His head was aching and he could scarcely breathe. Was Sora's disappearance to blame? Was he simply too weak? His nose was also bleeding rather heavily, and he thanked the stars he actually had a handkerchief with him. I'm sorry. I'm not yet strong enough.

She slept.

[dahniwitchoflight]

Meat 15 and 16 thoughts

John again having blood compared to oil, which we know chokes and clogs breath, as well as in this final battle all of his close relationships dying really bloody deaths and the focus on gory events.

Really kind of solidifies this is the Bad Place for John, Blood as his opposite being real nice symbolism for an unhealthy influence

A touch of gnostic symbolism here and there as reality cracks open like the gnostic primordial egg it always has been, which nicely coincides with the defeat of our childlike demiurge coming alongside a symbolism forcible maturation

The egg hatches, and the beast within forms wings and springs free as it were. This reality collapses, and it's demiurge, it's eternal child godlike creator ceases to be

Next we get a lot of... interesting gnostic stuff from Rose in complacency of the learned and how it relates to her feverish childlike fake rendition of her adult's version of complacency of the learned, it in itself a tale of how children sticking it to the old people causes them to become corrupted/evil/unknowingly committing atrocities because they can't handle knowledge thrust upon them. 12 little demiurges.

But careful Rose, don't put too much stock in that demiurgic creation of yourself, so many demiurges though, demiurges everywhere

Now that isn't to say your childish creations can't hold value of course. But it is an inherently childish idea to believe the work of the inexperienced youth will be better than the experienced adult, and that isn't a bad thing either.

Theyre really hitting the nail on the head though with how their group of twelve have essentially become the circle of demiurges for Earth C.

As a blatant escape from reality, creation of a group of youths who have no idea how to properly govern it, of course it went to shit. It's literally Eartch C, and inherently worse version than either Earth A or B

Don't wanna go too far down this rabbit hole, but that does mean every SBURB session essentially means each set of players become the demiurges of the next world, each emanation further and shittier than the last, but, well, that is what's happening.

But yeah, the path of a demiurge is essentially you awaken in a new world with the powers of a god, and that inevitably gets to your head, because you think you are at the top, that there is no one above you. A child with no parent. Who then goes on to create more children who are even less discplined than the last set.

I did originally imagine that Earth C was their actual escape into Pleroma, ascending back into the light of truth, of reality.

When really everyone just seems to be descending further and further into darkness. Especially Dirk.

But they do seem to becoming aware of the idea of their being an above and wanting to get to that, not an inherently evil desire.

So their ultimate selves are awakening, but they still don't get it really. You don't ascend as gods of ultimate power, above everyone else, you don't reach the top of reality in ascension.

You in fact realize you are a tiny speck of a greater whole, true understanding of ascension, is more akin to dragging yourself up out of mud and then realizing you are on the bottom of the food chain. they just don't see that yet because conciously they are higher than theyve ever been and everyone around them is lower than them.

A Demiurge can only look down and see the lesser beings, unaware of their true place in the heirarchy, ignorant to all above them, no matter how high they actually rise, always thinking whatever heights they reach is the ultimate height. A true Ascended looks up and realizes how low they actually are on the ladder. 

Oh, that's really nasty of you Dirk.

You made Rose mistake the narrative you placed into her head as the external waves of her Ultimate Self she had been fighting against, because to her, thoughts that another version of her might be thinking and intruding themself into her heart care getting harder and harder to distinguish as genuinely her, because of the apparent infinite nature of the self. Rose thinks "Rose" could be anyone or anything, due to infinite possibility of chance, so when Dirk gives her thoughts like "Try as she might to convince herself otherwise, through marriage vows and occasional banter about adoption with her wife, she is still a solitary creature. " to think, Rose has no defense against that, because those thoughts could be coming from a Rose who isn't herself, this current Rose doesn't think that, but it hurts her to think that her ultimate self could be a Rose that could think that. 

Or maybe the only reason it was like that, when becoming an ultimate self was so easy for you, so easy for people like Davepeta, is because you’ve been interfering with her understanding of herself since she started becoming aware of her ultimate self. From the start because of you inserting thoughts into her head disguised as “other Rose’s” thoughts that is how Rose has viewed what an Ultimate Self is, a slow chipping away at what Rose considers Rose, instead of what it should have been, and ultimate culmination of every Rose, which would have been just Rose in different circumstances, but the same core.

Nobody wants to change into something they don't want to be. That’s the idea of the ultimate self. And Dirk’s tainted that for her. 

She's let down her guard around you, because you apparently did the same for her in revealing your vulnerabilities, unknown to Rose though it's because there was no risk in Dirk being vulnerable to Rose in this moment, because Dirk is subsuming her anyway. 

Perfect storm of manipulation that. 

Yeah Dirk's had so much practice turning himself inside out and backwards, and he's a right piece of intellectual philosophical work himself. This is easy for him. And of course we get imagery of Rose concerned about losing herself in a Sea of Strange Other Not Rose Rose's as a literal oceanic void, unhealthy for her. Because losing herself and her sense of being is what Dirk is trying to get her to do by tricking her into opening up to himself and his idea of her, instead of her actual ultimate self.

I love the touch that he chips away at her soul by looking her straight into the eyes, playing up how eyes are both important to Light and heart as the Windows to the Soul. 

Well, the narrative turned orange, so this is the way it's gonna be huh Dirk? Damn

I’m so fucking jazzed about all this, this is great, gnostic narratives up the wazoo, beautiful character direction and development

Don’t get me wrong it’s absolutely villainous and tragic, but damn it’s good writing

[hhhellmouth]

But if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing changed at all? (1/?)

Asra lost his parents too early in his life (even though it's always too early to lose your parents), he was a child, a little kid. And albeit I know Asra was a smart and capable boy, he still heavily relied emotionally on them. Like everyone does at that age.

So he finds himself alone, scared, and wondering what happened. Where are his parents? When are they coming back? Why did they leave? He knows his parents love him, and they would never abandon him. But that doesn't change the fact that he's alone, with no one to care for him, and nobody will come to save him.

He sleeps in every corner he can find, the beach, a little frequented alley, anywhere remotely safe, really. Alone and fending for himself for three years. So you can't tell me he didn't cry himself to sleep most of those nights when he did get any sleep. Remembering the voice of his mother, teaching him riddles, with a voice full of warmth and mirth and love. And his father showing him how he paints a tarot deck, the very same tarot deck he learned with, and everything was soft touches, gentle hands and laughter guiding him. And it's all gone.

He only has the Magician now, however he's not a parental figure at all. He's patient, yes, and gentle to a fault, but also aloof and reserved. If he does something right, be it learning a new spell or reading the cards better each time, there are no hugs, no kisses. Only an eerie smile and a slight nod.

But then he finds Muriel, and he's not alone. He has a friend, a good one at that, and they stick together like glue. They go everywhere with the other, quite literally attached to the hip. They confide in each other, care for the other, so he's not on his own. But Muriel doesn't show love the same way he does. He doesn't hug him, or ruffle his hair.

No, Muriel cares for him in other ways. Intead, he brings him food and make sure he eats, he protects him from some of the less friendly kids, he looks for safe places to sleep. He cares for him the best he can and Asra knows. And he's grateful— what Muriel does is more than enough. He cares for Muriel too. He teaches him magic, heals any cut or bruise he may have, he looks for clothes that will fit him, always checks twice before leaving a place to see if he leaves his cloak behind on accident.

And then he makes another friend. He saw them once in the market. They were walking around, looking at every stall, and stopping to chat amiably with the sellers. He sees them pass by the bakery and talk with the owner. He sees them leave laughing, with pumpkin bread in the basket.

And suddenly, they see him too, and they're smiling at him, and oh god they are coming closer. But they are friendly, and beautiful, and they smell so good and what is he thinking? They say they're Y/N and then there's a pause. Asra realizes he's supposed to say his name a second too late and his whole face burns, but they just smile and he stutters an “My na–name's Asra”, while still blushing furiously.

Yet their little bubble is popped when a woman in their late forties waves her hand and calls Y/N, and he feels his heart drop when they say “Sorry, that's my aunt, I have to leave”. He nods sadly, and they smile apologetically at him. “I hope I'll get to see you again, Asra”, they say and kiss his cheek, forcing his heart to come back up to his chest at dizzying speed, so he can only nod one more time. “Here,” they hand him the whole loaf and as he's about to protest they are already running towards their aunt. He watches them leave with a smile.

He sees them many times after that, and they become friends. They even meet Muriel a couple of times, and even though he's quiet and guarded, they also become friends and thanks them for the bread (And other things like pastries they bring him and Asra). They take walks in the market, at the docks, until one time they invite him to their aunt's shop. The both of them welcome him with open arms, and it's like a slap to the face to Asra.

This is their home. They live here. It's also a shop, yes, but it's so homely, so familiar, and it feels so intimate he's devastated for a second, but Y/N and Wisteria (the aunt) are smiling warmly and hugging him, and he's so overwhelmed that he grins from ear to ear and follows them around like a puppy, taking everything in, as much as he can at once. He's surprised to find out they're both magicians, Y/N being Wisteria's apprentice.

He leaves that day with a full belly, a basket overflowing with food Y/N prepared for Muriel, and three books about runes and charms that Asra knows Muriel will devour in a day. He knows he's whipped for them, he's sure, and he won't beat around the bush. So the next time he sees them, he plans to confess. But things don't always go according to plan.

Wisteria leaves Vesuvia on a trip, and Y/N is in charge of the shop, so they can't meet him half as much as they'd both like. It's always stolen moments between customers and errands; they get a bit anxious and both Asra and Muriel try to help them. So they stay in the shop, Asra is in charge of serving customers and Muriel gets thing from high selves and the small storeroom while you deliver some things. You just look at them from the doorway and marvel at how much you love them both. Asra gets used to having you close embarrassingly fast.

Wisteria finally comes back and finds you three eating together, laughing and happy, and she can't help but think that these boys don't deserve what happened to them. So she makes an offer, and lays it out for them. “There's a house in the woods, outside the city, it belonged to me and my partner Dante, but since she left I never used it”, she smiles, sadly “I want you both to have it, it's yours if you want it”. And you just want to jump in her arms and thank her a million times, because, finally, your boys are getting what they deserve. But Wisteria is not finished. “I'll only ask one thing in return, but first... Y/N, could you please leave us alone, dear?”, you open your mouth to complain, but one look at her and you excuse yourself. “What is it?” Muriel asks, and she turns to look at them, and smiles. “Take care of them, please. They're strong, and they can take care of themselves, but good friends are rare and scarce. Stay with them”. They're living in the cabin that same night.

Asra's surprised to meet you a week later, looking rather troubled. But he has no time to question you, as he finds your lips on his the moment he's beside you. He closes his eyes and responds with a passion, hands on your hair while you knead his shirt in your hands. He does his best not to whimper into your mouth, but his yearning for more, more, more, seems to break his will. And that choked noise seems to break your trance, so you step back. “I'm so sorry! I don't know what came over me! I just– You are–!” But he's kissing you again, and your chests are touching, and his hands are gripping your waist, and he smells oh, my God, so good and how can his hair be this soft? It's nearly too much, but neither of you are breaking apart.

Then, you two just stand there, foreheads touching and embracing each other. Until, “Oh, right”, and they're dragging him to the magic shop, where a little snake egg is nestled between cotton balls. “My aunt brought it with her from her trip, and put a heat spell over it”, Asra marvels at the soft, pastel purple colored egg, then he looks at you. “Since you told me your parents familiars are snakes... I thought maybe...” He knows you don't want to upset him, so you never bring up the topic around him, and he's grateful for that. So he looks at you, smiles, and says: “If I knew you would give me a present, I would have gotten you something as well”, and you're all smiles and blushes when you respond: “A kiss would do, i think”, and he kisses you once, twice... Many times.

And from then on, things change for Asra. He's not on his own, he's surrounded by love, and warmth, and people that he loves and loves him back. He has nightmares about his parents still, but now when he wakes up sweating with tears in his eyes, he has a roof over his head, and Muriel gives him a glass of water with a hand that's not bony or shaky anymore. And he feels everything settling into place slowly. He finds comfort in the little hut, but he knows he belongs with you.

Everytime you go around their home and bring gifts with you (be it pie, bread, books, sometimes even pretty flowers you pick on the way and that they set in a little vase over the hearth to humor you), he just puts the basket aside and kisses you, with his hands around your body and fighting back a smile. He seems to never get enough, and while he always checks for consent, it's a never ending display of affection. Not that anyone's complaining. Well, maybe Muriel, but that's because he catches you two making out in the bed! He sleeps there, you heathens! But when he gets dragged into a cuddle session with both of you cooing at him apologizing, he never complains again. (He totally did from time to time but you didn't hear it from me). And, alas, you notice Asra's shortage before he does.

He never let the fact sink in until you thread your finger though his white hair while reading to him one afternoon. When you're both laying in the grass under a huge tree, it's imposing height giving you a wide, cool shade. He has his head in your lap, and he's humming softly, basking in the clean smell of your clothes and the peaceful way you breath, but he realizes he is not listening to you at all. Oh, no, he was not. He was too preoccupied with feeling your fingers playing in his hair, your nails occasionally raking carefully along his scalp, the fleeting caress of your hand in his neck and shoulders... This simple touch is enough to overwhelm him, and it makes him sob into the peaceful air. And you know what's happening, of course, because you always feel like he's half of you, so you set the book aside and console him. He swears he fell in love with you deeper then, which he thought impossible. You swear you would never let him be lonely ever again.

Asra travels a lot, and explores all of Vesuvia. But he runs out of new places fast and yearns to go further, and yet he stays. He stays, and everyday you see him grow a little dimmer. You stand there watching him lose that light that seems to always shine bright around him, and start to grow a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach. Asra's wanderlust has always been there, and now he's trying to drown it, and you know why. So you tell him. You tell him that wherever he choses to go, no matter how remote that place may be, he'll always know the way back home, he'll never be lost. He will always have you and Muriel to come back to. You hug him with a new-found strength, and you don't say goodbye. You don't need to. He also doesn't register the thick necklace with a blue crystal attached to it, twin to the one you have, that you laced around his neck, until he's far from home and missing you, feeling it radiate your magic like a heartbeat.

You always visit Muriel while he's away, partly because you don't want him to be alone, partly because you miss Asra a lot, and you both spend time together. He's non-verbal at times, so you just bask in the strong, calm aura he has about him and read while he shapes a piece of wood into intricate forms. He seems to find you peaceful, and at these times you find that you really do love the gentle giant. You know not to visit him too much though, seeing as he's taciturn, and too much interaction tires him out. You cut back your visits to one a week. Muriel is surprised to find himself waiting for you with a discreet smile. And he's also always more than willing to learn anything new you teach him.

Asra always comes back with tales that fill you with fascination, and leaves you admiring him with eyes full of stars. You also get to meet Faust, and she's so cute when she tastes the air around you, boops your nose and declares: “Friend!”. You just had to fall in love with the purple noodle. After a couple more travels on his own, he takes you with him. he just couldn't resist, and you find out about Asra's small house in Nopal. You relish in the details in the tiny space— the painting of constellations on the ceiling, the handmade wood figurines adorning some selves, some books you gave him. When you finally turn back, Asra's shawl is laying on a chair, with his bag on top, and he is barefoot. His shirt is almost completely undone, and oh, stars, he's glowing.

He just looks at you, but there isn’t a coy smile on his face, there is no knowing look on his eyes, as if he can read you like an open book, there is no confidence in the way he's standing there. He looks like an ethereal being, looking at you with searing intensity, unmoving and transfixed. “What is it?”, you mutter, and that seems to break him out from his trance. “Nothing... Nothing”, he's still staring, “You just look so... Beautiful, it's– it's... Unreal”. You come closer to him, a smug strut to your step, and caress his face with your fingertips. “I can show you how real I am, if you let me”, and he's taking your hand, kissing the palm, and closing his eyes as he says, “Show me how real you are, and I'll return the favor”. And he's back to the Asra you know by the time he's between your thighs. Such a shame that bliss didn't last forever.

Upon your return, you find the city drowned in panic. Apparently, there's a pandemic causing deaths by the hundreds. And there's no sign of a cure. The first thing you both do is find Muriel and Wisteria, Asra is relieved to find his friend healthy, both eyes clear and overall in good condition. You are not so lucky. Wisteria is sick, and very much so. Her eyes' scleras are red, and alarmingly bloodshot. The skin around the lids so sore it looks utterly raw. She is nothing but pale, and her veins are black and prominent under the paper thin skin of her body. She is dying, and the red plague is taking away her sanity. You are not sure is she recognizes you or not. But she's taking your hand into hers and mumbles something incoherently. A mantra of pain and exhaustion. And with that she closes her eyes, and a quiet stillness take over her. Cold, sweaty hands holding yours in a vice-line grip, and no goodbye.

You stay there, mouth clossed and tears falling, until Asra finds you. He takes one look at what's in front of him and starts to silently weep, both arms around you, rocking you back and forth. Then you let that strangled scream through. And he lets you. Wisteria is cremated, you see masked people take her away to the Lazaret. Muriel tells you all about it. How she fell sick a week after you left. How quick it deteriorated. How she forbade him of visiting her out of fear of him falling sick, too.

Apparently, your aunt wasn't the only victim. Nearly all your neighbourhood is being depleted. The kids you always saw playing around being carried away, dead and rotting, by men resembling death itself is not a vision you never saw coming. But, once again, a new problem arises.

Asra wants to leave. He wants to leave Vesuvia, and it's damned red plague, behind. He doesn't want to fall ill, and die in less than a week. And so, he tells you he wants you to come with him. Protection charms, spells, runes and the like can only do so much for you. For both of you. But you don't want to leave. That's how the fight ensues, with both of you looking at the other like they've lost their mind. Asra is not raising his voice, his eyes are cold, and you know he's scared, terrified even, but also furious. And so are you. You didn't think it would escalate so, so fast. “Are you really going to abandon them, Asra? This is your home too”, you are desperate, trying to make him understand. “No, it's not. This city's a graveyard, nothing more. We have to leave or we'll die”, you know he's right, but he sounds so... Cruel. Detached. “No”, and he's looking at you, mouth agape. “What?” “I said no. I'm staying. Do whatever you want. I am not leaving this people to die. I want to help”. For a fleeting moment, his eyes fill with emotions, looking like he's about to cry. But he doesn't. Instead he says, voice dripping with venom— “Good. Stay here, and fall sick. Die with them, I don't care. If you're too stupid to save yourself, it won't be me who does it for you”. He's gone the next morning.

You go to check on Muriel, and are surprised to find him there. He's perplexed. “This is my home, nothing will make me leave it”. You tell him what you're going to do, what your plans are. And he only nods and grunts. “You might die, you know”. It's your turn to nod. “Maybe, but I can't just sit while everyone dies... I can't run away”, he doesn't flinch at your jab, but you do. It's not his fault that Asra acted that way, but saying it out loud breaks your heart a bit more. “I'm...”, he's looking at you with a face that you've grown so accustomed to, so kind, and gentle, and familiar. With his imposing height, and capable hands, his heart of gold. Even his wooden figurines and obsession with those chickens. And you know you're doing the right thing, even if it does end up with you dead. “I'm going to do my best, Muriel”. That time, he's the one to hug you goodbye. The first time.

Heartbreak is honestly merciless, but you don't have time to take pity on yourself. You have a city to help. You're learning under a doctor, as a helping hand, a nurse of some sorts, actually. Glad you are not learning under Valdemar's sinister smile, the lanky doctor is actually kind of nice. If not dorky and childish, but he's good at what he does, and he's patient and soft-spoked with you when he's either teaching you or correcting you. He does have a strange fascination with leeches though. But he treats his patients with care, and the corpses with respect, before their moved to the Lazaret. Some of the other doctors are a bit more... Morbid, in their interest on the subject.

Asra never contacts you again, not even when you try to reach him using the necklaces. You only feel you're own magic and coldness. He never answers back. You wonder if he's gotten rid of it. That brings tears to your eyes. And that's how doctor 069 finds you. In his office, teary-eyed, and a little blue flame in your hand, enveloping the azure crystal. “You're a magician?”, you know doctors are skeptical of magic, but you can't lie now. “Yes...”, and you expect him to get rid of your help, but he doesn't. “Why are you not helping people with magic, then?”, he sounds genuinely intrigued, so you answer with the truth. “This”, you show him your hand, burning blue, “can only do so much”. He's closer now, inspecting the flame curiously. “And it certainly didn't do anything for my aunt”, with that, the fire dies out. He's looking at you like he understands, like he believes you. And you're crying again, and you're hugging him even when you know you should not. But he's embracing you awkwardly with those long arms of his and he doesn't say a word.

Nothing Julian does is working, and he's getting anxious. People keep dying by the minute and it seems unstoppable. He doesn't take care of himself at all. He never takes his eyes off that damn diary. You force him to eat, to sleep, even to take baths, and it isn't enough either. So you start spending more time with him, take on more responsibilities, to take some of the weight off his shoulders. He's thankful. And so he starts to trust you more. He opens up, slowly, and he takes more of your ideas into consideration. The blank margins of said diary start to fill with little illegible notes, your name in most of them— «YN thinks this, YN thinks that, I'll test YN's idea...» it's quite endearing, actually.

Unfortunately, all actions have consequences. One morning, while putting your work attire, the world seems to move under your feet, and next thing you know your head hits the floor, knocking you out cold. When you wake up, you're straped to one of the operatory tables in the dungeons, the ones the doctors had to prepare for the masses of sick people. Valdemar is looking at you behind their plague mask, a excited glint on those otherwise dead eyes, and when you look around you only see another doctor. It's Julian, you just know. You say his name, and he clenches his fists tight. Quaestor Valdemar answers instead. “You seem to have fallen ill...” They seem to try and remember your name, when they don't, their hands fold neatly in front of them, not really minding. “Doctor 069 has volunteered to treat you himself”. With that, they're gone.

Julian doesn't say a word, starting to take utensils out of a black, worn-out leather bag, and putting them in a little side table by your head. Each steel piece clean and glinting dangerously in the dim light. You say his name, weakly, and he doesn't look at you. You try again and he stops mid-movement, hand trembling lightly. “Is it...?”, lowering his hand, he waits for you to continue. “Is it the red plague?”. The way the mask's beak bobs up and down when he nods could be almost comical. But your eyes burn and there are tears rolling down your temples and you can't even rub them off. He does it for you.

From that moment, Julian moves his office beside you, and works tirelessly. But now you don't have the strenght to nag him to do anything. You can see his sunken eyes, the darkest bags under them, nose protuding from his face even more now, all of it under the mask, in your mind's eye. He's a mess really, and that's something coming from someone infected with a deadly desease. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, you hear him whimper apologies into thin air, head bowed. But you hallucinate from time to time, so you can't be sure.

Blood tests, those are the worst, even more so than the leeches. It feels like it torns your skin apart, and you don't think you can stand it anymore. Your mind is foggy and you can't see much, you can't even feel shame when Julian undresses you, cleans your naked body with warm, soapy water and dresses you back up. “I'm sorry”, you say breaking the silence, and it cuts the thick atmosphere like a red hot knife. He turns to look at you, startled. “I'm sorry I can't be of use”, not even sure if he can hear you, or if you're making any sense, “I'm dying and I won’t help anyone, I thought... At least...” Your face burns, «Am I crying?», you think, you didn't really believe your body had anything more to give. Julian's silent, so you make an effort and go on. “At least, I thought my body would help find a cure...”, your mouth feels dry, lips hurting, tongue abnormally heavy. “But I'll die, and I'm absolutely useless.” You think you hear a sob coming from somewhere, but you feel your eyes rolling to the back of your skull, blacking out.

You never really come back to your senses after that, feverish dreams start meddling with reality and you are too far gone to try and tell them apart. You only hang on for one reason. To attemp to contact Asra one last time. So you focus all of the power you can muster into the necklace, which you begged julian not to take off, and listen. Nothing. One more time. Nothing, again. Desperation grows within you. Is it not working? Please, please, please... But your magic finds nothing, only a deep, dark void of nothingness welcomes you. Not sunlight, and gold, and gaiety. Asra's magic is not on the other side. You decide to just let go.

When Julian notices he doesn't hear your uneven breathing anymore, he panics and looks at you, but it's too late. What really shocks him to the core, what would be engraved into his mind for as long as his mind was untouched... would be the sad, broken smile on you face, unbothered by the death rattles taking over your chest. He runs to hold you down, fingers digging painfully on your belly, shoulder, thorax, tears fogging his vision. “No...! No, no!”, but he can't stop it, and you're getting cold already. He sees you moving your mouth, but it isn't until your lips are still and your body lax, that he understands. “Goodbye”.

Your body is put in a boat an hour later and Julian is there to see it off. The town's people look at him in either fear or resigned sorrow, and maybe even pity, too. When the boat takes off to the Lazaret, he stays there even when it's out of sight. He contemplates the island, with it's black column of smoke, like a channel where souls go, to never come back. So he imagines a flight of stairs, leading up, up, past the smoke, the fire, and the ashes. Higher than the clouds, and the stars. Somewhere safe, without pain, with nothing to fear. Far from this curse. When he turns to leave, he finds the docks are deserted. The air silent and solemn like that of a cemetery. How appropriate.

[linkspooky]

Shigaraki and Dabi: Death and Rebirth

Shigaraki and Dabi both have the most destructive quirks of the entire league of villains. Shigaraki’s Decay and Dabi’s Cremation are both quirks that quickly reduce people to ash, totally killing them. However, both boys also actively kill themselves every time they use their quirks. Both of them are covered in scars from the overuse of their quirks on their bodies. 

Underneath the cut, an examination on how both Tomura and Dabi are dying due to their quirks, and how both of them might live. All of the things Dabi   (荼毘) “Cremation” and Tomura  (弔) “Funerals” or Tomurau (To Mourn) are connected to each other in death, and in life. 

Neither Shigaraki nor Dabi go by their real names anymore. They both choose to go by aliases which both represent the deaths of their former selves by their connection to funeral services, Dabi for cremation and Tomura (Tomurau) for mourning as the one who who beckoms mourning. 

They are named for both the cause and effect of death. Dabi cremates others effectively burning them to death. Tomura decays, which rots their bodies the same way a corpse would slowly rot until they are killed. They also are named for the effect of death, cremation is a funeral service done to a dead body the most common type of funeral in japan. Whereas Tomuraau “Mourning” is what is done at funerals. Both the death and the grief of death are represented in both characters. 

At the same time, what Tomura and Dabi to to others they are also inflicting on themselves. They kill others, they kill themselves. They inflict pain on others, they inflict pain on themselves. Their names can serve as a symbol for what they have done to others, but also what has been done to them. 

Just as AFO says, the original Shimura Tenko is long gone. Tomura was born from the death of his former self. The same way in which Dabi was only name from the “death” of Todoroki Touya. Both of them had to experience a death of their former selves to become who they are currently. 

They also both experienced death, but in opposite ways. Tenko killed his own family by accident. Touya was most likely killed in a training accident (considering his family never mentions him they may even consider him death). Toua had death inflicted upon him by a family member. They also both experienced death in direct relation to their quirk, Tenko’s quirk decayed everyone he touched, whereas Touya’s body was not suited to his quirk at all and he himself was killed just by using it. They are also, children who were born with mutant quirks, Dabi is a failed hybrid who was intentionally bred for Enji’s sake, whereas Tomura’s quirk was a random mutation. 

They also both use quirks which actively kill and harm their own bodies. They subject themselves to this pain over and over again. Dabi himself is burning up on the inside when he summons his flames, Tomura’s quirk decays his own body. 

Both of them are active harbringers of death as well. Dabi’s falmes can spread like wildfire and kill everyone around him, whereas Tomura’s decay can spread to entire crowds of people. Their victims are reduced entirely to ash.

They both kill with little compunction or hesitation, but at the same time they also both overuse their quirks, and keep fighting with no regards at all to how their bodies are damaged by it.

Dabi will fight when his body is burning up and his stitches leaking smoke and keep pushing through, Shigaraki will have his hand destroyed, go insane in a middle of a fight, have his arms start to decay and still keep on fighting. Dabi is in stitches, Shigaraki is covered in scars, and yet they continue to harm themselves physically and also mentally. Both of them remark about the fact that they’re slowly going crazy from thoughts int their own head. They also both smile and laugh it off, because they both harm themselves in the same way, and they both cope in the same way. 

Both Shigaraki and Dabi self destruct. They inflict death upon themselves, they self harm because of the harm inflicted upon them in the past. That is why they are so closely tied in with death, but how can two characters tied to death also represent rebirth?

1. Dabi is a Phoenix

Dabi immolates, burns, and cremates himself every time he uses his quirk. If he is Touya then we know, just like Shimura who suffered from a freak mutant quirk, he was “born wrong” in a way. 

Endeavor knew about the weakness in his quirk, intentionally bred himself with an ice quirk knowing that he could also make children who suffer worse from the weakness of his quirk than he does, had three “failures” and then Todoroki. Not only does Touya represent death he’s also a “failure at life” having never been born in the first place, hence why his character necessitates a symbolic rebirth. 

Their circumstances from “birth” were wrong from the start, due to their parents. While this is just speculation it was likely Endeavor’s special move “Flash Fire” which resulted in the burns on Dabi’s body. This is due to one, the burns are in the same locations that Endeavor’s flames come out of, and two Endeavor himself specifically mentions Touya when telling Todoroki he was going to pass on that technique and he had no choice but to learn it.

We have seen how actively harmful and abusive Enji’s training techniques are, and how he inflicts them on young children no older than five (around the same age Tenko was as well). Enji will push them actively beyond their limits, train Shoto until his entire body was smoking and he was vommitting from the pain. 

Then, he will insist that they are capable of handling far more than this, they’re just pretending to be weak. That they should be able to handle the pain if they wanted to. When they obviously cannot stand up again like Enji commands them too, he then hauls more abuse on top of them for being weak and gets violent.

The thing about abused children is they may despise their abuser and try to be the opposite of whatever he says, but they will still internalize things from their environment. Especially if they are young, isolated (like Todoroki was from his other siblings) and are not exposed to anything else. 

Not only does Enji physically beat these children, but he alsoactively encourages an extremely harmful mindset. That any show of weakness at all is running away. That if they can’t endure this pain, it’s their own fault. Every time they are in pain he insists they are just pretending and they can handle more if they really wanted to. 

There is a studied link between Self-Injury and childhood maltrreatment. 

One framework involves three different pathways that overlap and interact. These pathways are: regulatory, representational, and reactive. During child maltreatment, these pathways are not correctly developed and cause problems with adapting normally to life. These pathways are. Regulatory: Disturbance created by trauma in cognitive and affective processing, thinking and feelings, and expressing emotional states. 

Representational: Self-injury could be caused by disturbances in child-caregiver attachment that has impaired working models of the self and others  Selfinjury therefore could result from learning ineffective emotion management.

Reactive: Neurobiological response to trauma is altered (excitatory and inhibitory processes). Children who have experienced maltreatment could have very high stress responses. 

[SOURCE]

In other words children who grow up in an environment of constant harm are more likely to self harm. While Dabi is fighting against Endeavor, he also harms himself in the way Endeavor harmed him, by pushing his quirk to his absolute limit and harming his body because as he was taught, if he shows any weakness he’s just pretending, he can’t run away from this pain. Dabi’s is clearly some kind of regulatory and representational, he cannot process his pain in any meaningful way, and he does not have a strong sense of self because he does not take care of himself at all and instead actively destroys himself over and over for the sake of an objective. (In my opinion, Shigaraki’s is probably a mix of that and also reactive due to his compulsive excoriation). 

Touya was taught the only good thing about him were the same flames that actively harm him. The only way he can be strong is by hurting himself. He’s also taught if he was strong enough, he would not be in pain. Strength comes from harming himself, and strength is the only release from his pain. It’s an extremely unhealthy and self destructive mindset. There’s no future in that, we only see him burn away slowly trying to at least be a martyr and burn up in the name of some cause. 

We see evidence again and again of Dabi fighting even when his insides are boiling. His response to pain is always to push himself farther past his limits, even as his stitches start to bleed and smoke pours out of them. In this case, overuse of his quirk is an act of self harm and one that he was taught. 

It’s self destruction, it’s the death of himself. It’s a response to the environment he was raised in, Touya was born wrong, he was a failure, and therefore he never should have been born in the first place. The only thing his current self can do is hope to die and be reborn. 

Dabi himself however, is tied to a symbol of death and rebirth. 

Fenghuang or the phoenix is represented as a symbol of duality. It represents yin, and yang, black and white, death and rebirth. It also represents a union between a phoenix and a male chinese dragon. (Dabi’s skin is covered in scales and there’s several panels of him breathing fire). They represents opposites and dualities together, like sky and earth for exmaple (hawks can fly, Dabi cannot). Duality, rather than opposites the sets are believed to be part of a pair together with more in common than they have differences. 

Dabi’s particular method of self destruction is to burn himself to death, death by flames. Which is the particular way phoenixes are thought to die and be reborn. Not only are Hawks’ feathers specifically colored in as red but we have also seen art of him and his feathers burning up entirely. Hawks’ feathers also regrow when they have been burnt off. 

Other than Endeavor, Dabi is the most important character to Hawks arc. Other than Shigaraki, Hawks is the most important character to Dabi’s arc. The two of them are tied together by plot and by symbolism. 

Dabi symbolizes death. On the path he is on, he will eventually burn up and die in the fires he himself stoked for some cause. However, in that burning death there is also a chance to be reborn. The same way that Hawks is foreshadowed to fall, Dabi is foreshadowed to be burned by his won flames but the both of them have a chance in each other. 

2. Shigaraki is a Butterfly

In the latest chapter we see Shigaraki in the same mindset, desperate to destroy himself and emerge from the cocoon as something else, a butterfly. 

For millennia, the world has latched on to the image of the butterfly: its metamorphosis from a caterpillar to a butterfly used as a metaphor for death and rebirth. 

It is a spiritual symbol for life after death because of its metamorphosis, or transformation, from a caterpillar that crawls on the ground to a beautiful, almost ethereal creature that flies through the air. It has also become a symbol for personal growth and spiritual rebirth.

In killing themselves, both Dabi and Shigaraki are seeking what lies beyond their pain, that life for them can only come after their original flawed selves are completely destroyed. That their only escape from this pain is death, and they are both taught to feel this way, taught to exist in a cycle where they continaully harm themselves. 

Just look at the way Shigaraki acts this chapter. As the doctor points out, Shigaraki has basically already won himself a victory, thousands of subordinates, and proven himself and yet that is still enough for him. He’s even significantly upgraded his quirk beyond its previous bounds which is so rare in the series its a once in a lifetime freak event. 

Yet, that still is not enough for Shigaraki. Not because he is a pwoer hungry villain, but even now after having acquired so much he does not feel safe with what he has, he does not feel like he is enough.Because even with all of that strength, his body was still broken into pieces the last time he fought and yet he still believes it is going to happen again. He is taught to expect pain, pain is all he sees. He only knows how to fight and be strong by breaking himself again and again. 

This is also an attitude he internalized the same way that Dabi did. Shigaraki has the idea in his head that he was born wrong. That it was his birth itself that led to the idea of his family being destroyed. That he wanted it. Therefore, to start out with he is someone who should have never been born.

He also existed in a household that denied his existence, and individual needs in the first place. And this was before AFO even entered the picture. Tenko was taught that he was the one causing the disturbance in this household, and he was the one provoking his father into harming him. 

Therefore it’s a logical step that Tenko then makes the leap to assign the blame for a freak accident onto himself. They all must have died because he wanted them to. It’s not something Shigaraki takes pleasure in, he actively loathes himself for it. The hands are a reminder of his guilt and he is constantly mourning, so self disgusted to the point of nausea. 

As much as he hates everyone else he hates himself. Tomura is sick of himself most of all. What he did against his family is something he not only continually punishes himself for  over and over again, but he also keeps mourning them and never allows himself to heal. Tomura even mutters I’m sorry whenever his father’s hand is knocked off of his face.

All for One also reinforces Shigaraki’s self loathing. He tells him again and again that he was born a violent child, that he’s violent because he wants to be, that he’s someone who has a natural urge to inflict harm on others. In other words he was born wrong. Shigaraki’s guilt for destroying his family comes from the fact he’s been told over and over again, he wanted to destoy them, he was born a freak meant to ruin that house. 

All for One even goes a step beyond and continually tells him that the pain Shigaraki feels due to his trauma is caused by himself. That he is inflicting it on himself by hodling back, the same way Enji said that Shoto was only pretending to be hurt and he could handle this.

That there is something inside Shigaraki that is always hurting him and that he can never escape from. All for One introduces the stressors to Shigaraki’s body that causes him to psychologically break down, the hands of his family, exposure to violence again and again, and then insists that all of this is Shigaraki hurting himself. 

And then twists the logic around to make Shigaraki believe that this is what Shigaraki wants to do. He wants to be violent, he wants to cause death, on himself and others. 

Tomura is encouraged to actively harm himself in order to be strong, overuse his decay quirk which is not suited to his body, and also to continuously hold onto feelings of grief that will only injure and scar his heart even more. All for the purpose of making him into a violent, unstable person. 

Then, when Shigaraki is continuouly trapped within this cycle of violence which he can never escape from, Shigaraki is told that his only escape is to become stronger than everybody else. Shigaraki sees no future, no escape, he’s told again and again there’s no healing for someone like him, there’s no future. Just like Dabi the only future he sees is in death, which is why he does not think about the future at all. 

Shigaraki is a bug, a worm in the dirt dying to be reborn as a butterfly. He’s glitchy, defective, born wrong someone who was born to curse and destroy his family.

The reason he wants to destroy everything is not because he enjoys destruction, but because he has been pushed to such extremes that he’s desperate for any kind of relief, and sees his only way to be free is to destroy absolutely everything around him. He believes he is so hopeless that there’s no way for him to live in the current world, only to die and be reborn.

Shigaraki has been taught, just like Dabi to continually harm himself to gain power, and that freedom from the pain will only come for him when he has power. 

Which is what directly leads us to the latest chapter again. It’s never going to be enough for him. Shigaraki already gains power, and we see he falls into his pattern once more, he intentionally inflicts upon himself four entire months of pain, an unnecessary and risk of surgery. Because surviving unbearable pain is the only way he knows how to get stronger. He has subjected himself to pain over and over again, and continues to self harm even when All for One is in prison and away from him because it was all he was taught and therefore all he knows. He self harms to make up for the perceived deficiency in himself. 

He has to enter the coccoon, because his new self is not good enough and it never will be. 

Shigaraki, desperate to die in a cocoon and be reborn, Dabi desperate to die in flames and be reborn, but both of them were fine as they were. There’s still a chance for those children who believe themselves already dead to heal, and to live for te first time.