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elyvorg · 1 year

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Kazuma Asogi: Behind the Paragon

The Great Ace Attorney is so very great that it’s become my favourite Ace Attorney game, and it’s also given me a new all-time favourite Ace Attorney character, in Kazuma! Despite him getting quite a bit less screentime than the other major characters, he’s just so fascinating and has so much going on under the surface that’s perfect for me to get my analytical teeth into. So here's a big analysis post in which I break all of that down and talk about Kazuma’s character in great detail. (There will be spoilers for Resolve, too.)

Now that we’re safely beyond the readmore, I can add that a lot of this comes from me having spent all of Kazuma’s screentime during my first playthrough of Resolve very intrigued but also very confused. I kept constantly switching my perception of what the hell was going on in his head, desperate to figure him out, determined to make it all make sense even after I’d finished the game and still couldn’t quite fit it all together yet. And, well, I’m confident that I have now! This is something of a record of my achievements in unravelling the fascinating puzzle that is Kazuma. But also even aside from that, he’s just delightful and full of so many issues, and all of it deserves to be talked about.

Because I used every scrap of canon Kazuma content I could get in order to get as much insight into him as possible, I’m going to be mentioning some stuff not from the main game here and there. There’s the Escapades, bonus scenes that can be found in the game’s special contents menu, the first two of which feature Kazuma. And then there’s some much more obscure bonus content: the original Japanese 3DS release of DGS2 came with a pre-order bonus of two mini cases, one set in Japan, the other set in London. These unfortunately cannot ever be republished and localised due to legal reasons, but fan translations of them can be found on Youtube if you search “Japan DLC”/”London DLC” along with Dai Gyakuten Saiban. (They’re technically not DLCs, but that seems to be what people have settled on calling them.) They can both be assumed to be canon, and as the Japan one features Kazuma as the POV character, it has some good relevant content for our purposes here. I highly recommend you go check them out! (The London one lacks Kazuma but is also good, especially if you like van Zieks.)

Part 1: Japan

Losing his father

Originally, I felt like I ought to start this off by talking about just how much Kazuma idolised his father when he was alive. But then I realised there’s not much opportunity to do that when we don’t actually see any of his time with his father, beyond that one photograph. So it says a lot that we don’t need to have seen any of it to still be able to appreciate just how much Kazuma’s father meant to him, because it’s already so clear from the way his death shaped Kazuma’s entire life.

That said, we see barely any of it on the surface. Kazuma never talks about anything directly to do with his father at all until the Professor case is right in front of him and he can no longer avoid doing so. Even Ryunosuke went their entire friendship until Great Britain seemingly not having any inkling of the fact that Kazuma’s father was so important to him, let alone anything involving his death. From Adventures alone, we get basically no indication of the single most fundamental part of Kazuma’s entire character.

The one way in which Kazuma’s devotion to his father is even somewhat apparent on the surface – the only part of any of this that he ever freely talks about – is in how precious Karuma is to him. Kazuma is very firm about his belief that a Japanese man’s sword is his soul, and he mustn’t be parted from it. It’s true that this was a belief held by samurai in those times, but I’m sure that an even bigger reason why Kazuma is so insistent on never being parted from Karuma is that, by that same token, it also houses his father’s soul. So long as he keeps Karuma by his side, his father will always be there, watching over him. That must have been an immense help and comfort through his grief. (Very much like how Karuma was to Ryunosuke when he thought Kazuma was gone!)

No doubt the time Kazuma spent honing his swordsmanship with Karuma ever since he inherited it was a way for him to feel closer to his father. I like to think that the reason Kazuma’s so boastful about his Asogi Sword-Drawing Technique (something we learn about in Japan DLC) is that it was a technique his father had mastered, one that little Kazuma always admired and wished he could do too but could never manage it, until he had Karuma himself, when it was too late for his father to see and be proud of him. Calligraphy, too, is a pastime Kazuma most likely took up because, as he mentions in one bit of easy-to-miss dialogue, his father had a passion for it.

Mind you, Kazuma would be nothing if not used to chasing after his father’s absent back, what with how Genshin spent six years prior to his death still being decidedly Not There in his son’s life. But I’m sure Kazuma would have had an easier time handling his absence then, when he knew it was for a good reason – no doubt Genshin had told him all about how important it was that he studies in Great Britain in order to make Japan’s judicial system the best it can be. (Though even then, living without his father must have been harder for little Kazuma than he’d have wanted to admit.)

But it’s not the same at all when he’s simply gone forever and never coming back and this never should have happened. Kazuma’s not seen his father in six whole years, and now he never will again. It’s a strange, atemporal kind of bereavement. When did Kazuma lose his father, really? The day he learned of his death? The day several months before that on which Genshin actually died? Or the day six years past, the last time he ever saw his father alive? That’d be hard for anyone to cope with, much less a child – even less a child whose bereaved mother is unable to be emotionally supportive, leaving him in the care of a new guardian he doesn’t know all that well.

Living with the Mikotobas

It’s a little unclear exactly when or even why Kazuma moved in with Mikotoba. Our only real indication is that Susato says he came to live with them “after she’d got used to having her father around”. Given that she was only six years old at the time, I can’t imagine that would have taken her that long – maybe a few months, tops? So Kazuma’s reason for coming to live with them couldn’t be because his mother had died, since that happens later. However, given that his mother eventually passes from grief, it’s easy to imagine that within those few months after learning of Genshin’s death, she became mentally unwell enough to be unable to look after Kazuma, and thus Mikotoba had to take him in. So that’s how I imagine it happened.

As for Mikotoba – well, we already know that he’s not the greatest at dealing with grief. Even coming back to Japan with the resolve to finally face his family again and be a proper father to Susato wouldn’t necessarily have made him any better at the emotional side of things. The pain from losing Genshin, his good friend, would still have been raw, and everything that happened was so awful and sudden and unresolved, and so… he chose to lie to Kazuma about the circumstances of his father’s death, feeling that would be better than having this bereaved teenager learn the horrible truth.

Kazuma always suspected Mikotoba had lied to him, even before the letter. He idolised his father as the Greatest Person Ever – there must have been a part of him that felt that surely someone that incredible could never have been taken by something as mundane as illness. (And perhaps, in some sense, he wanted it to be more than just that, because he didn’t know how to cope with all this grief and desperately wanted there to be somebody to blame.)

Still, Kazuma couldn’t really begrudge Mikotoba for lying, because he could understand that it was out of a desire to protect his feelings. But on the other hand, it must have hurt, having so desperately wanted to know the real truth about what happened to his father, and having that hidden from him out of pity, as if his feelings were too fragile.

This is bound to have shaped Kazuma into the mindset that if he ever wanted to learn the truth about his father, he needed to stop having feelings, because if anyone saw that he was hurting in any way, they’d pity him, and coddle him, and think he couldn’t handle it. And besides, Mikotoba, his only remaining parent figure, would have been not at all someone Kazuma felt he could open up to and be vulnerable around, because Mikotoba himself doesn’t know how to be openly vulnerable with grief either. (And Susato? She was far too young to burden with this.)

So Kazuma learned to shut it all away. He is far, far too good at suppressing his emotions about his father’s death, to the point that even he doesn’t consciously realise most of them exist. I’m pretty sure that the way Mikotoba approached the whole thing has to be a lot of the reason why.

The life-changing letter

The timing of when Kazuma received that fateful letter is harder to pin down. The only real indication is that he talks about how it revealed what had been hidden from him “for all those years”, which suggests it was several years after his father’s death, but I don’t know if that feels right? First of all, it seems odd that the anonymous writer of the letter, who did so out of uncontainable grief and resentment, would wait several years to get that off their chest. And I also feel like it ought to have been fairly early on in the timeline, because it very much feels like Kazuma has spent the majority of the ten years since his father’s death knowing about his execution and desperately wanting to put things right. It’s possible that Kazuma says it was “all those years” only because his sense of time has become warped by grief – and because the last time he saw his father alive was six years before his death, which would make it feel like longer than it really was.

Whenever exactly it happened, receiving the letter would have had a massive impact on Kazuma and been a huge turning point for him. When he’s finally telling Ryunosuke and Susato the truth about his father’s fate in the scene in his office, this is the one part where he gets somewhat vaguely close to expressing something of how he felt about it – that is to say, he says that it “changed my life”. That’s not an exaggeration.

All along, he was right to have assumed his father wasn’t really taken by illness, that there was more to it, that Mikotoba was lying to him – but this is so much harder to cope with. Even worse than him having simply died, even more horrible than him having been simply murdered. It’s wrong. It’s not fair. And perhaps more importantly than any of that… there’s someone he can blame.

I’m very sure that Kazuma’s hatred of van Zieks extends all the way back to the day he received that letter. The letter itself probably didn’t mention van Zieks, but it also came with a newspaper clipping to prove its legitimacy – probably a headline such as “Barok van Zieks Avenges Older Brother in Glorious Courtroom Victory against the Dreaded Professor!” There’d certainly have been plenty of reasons for the newspapers to have mentioned his name when reporting what they were allowed to disclose about that case.

The main reason I’m really sure that Kazuma’s hatred of van Zieks is so long-lasting (long enough to support the idea that he must have received the letter quite early on) is because of how heartbreakingly irrational it is. If it’d been something that Kazuma only latches onto in the eight days after regaining his memory and realising this was the man who’d prosecuted his father, he’d have been nowhere near as desperately fanatical about it in the ensuing trial. This is a deeply formative grudge that’s festered for the better part of ten years, born from the rage of a broken, grieving teenager who had no idea what else to do with all of that pain.

Because he certainly couldn’t talk to anyone about it. Susato was still just a child, far too young to burden with any of this. Mikotoba had already lied to him in an attempt to protect his feelings, leaving Kazuma unwilling to trust him with the exact painful truth the man had been trying to shield him from. And when he went to Jigoku, someone less close to him whom he maybe thought would be more likely to just give it to him straight, he got laughed off, after seeing for a moment in Jigoku’s eyes that he knew and was lying about it too. No wonder Kazuma internalised the idea that he cannot ever tell anybody about this, so powerfully that that concept even persisted in the amnesiac voice that drew him to London, telling him ”no-one else must know”.

When grief became determination

Even so, even after receiving the letter and learning the awful truth, Kazuma didn’t immediately fixate on his goal to go to Britain and put things right himself. No doubt he would have wanted to, and thought about it and imagined the idea of it. But it must have seemed so unreachable – for him, to become the very best law student in all of Japan in order to be chosen for such a rare opportunity as an exchange to Great Britain. And then, to somehow be able to pierce through the lies and find the truth, against corruption so powerful that it even destroyed someone as impossibly amazing as his father…? That’s nothing but a fleeting dream. Lost among his grief, he must have felt so small, so powerless to ever achieve something that huge against such impossible odds.

But then, a year after Kazuma received the letter, his mother died too, finally succumbing to her own grief. Not only did Kazuma find himself with even more unbearable pain to deal with, but he was also faced with a very stark illustration that grief can literally kill you.

And, in Kazuma’s own words, that’s when he made up his mind: that one day he would make it to Great Britain and seek the truth, no matter what it took. It was that additional agony of losing his mother to the same horrible injustice that took his father, and the fear – no doubt subconscious; I can’t imagine he’d have ever consciously broached the thought – that the grief would kill him too if he didn’t find some way to cope with it and push it down and turn it into purpose, that led to his unbelievable determination to personally put things right.

Kazuma really is incredibly strong. He’s had to be. He even frames it to himself as “I had no choice”, when really, of course he made a choice to do this. But it doesn’t feel that way to him, not when the only alternative he could see was to let himself be obliterated by grief and helplessness.

Perfectionism and Fate

Kazuma’s sheer determination to fulfil his mission at all costs ended up shaping a lot of other little things about the kind of person he is.

It’s subtly notable in a number of places that Kazuma is kind of a ridiculous perfectionist. Escapade 1 in particular is a great source of it – he literally wears that headband as a constant reminder to himself of the time he messed up a tongue-twister once, what a dork. One might think that this simply comes from him being an Asogi; van Zieks comments after his first trial day that Kazuma’s “flawless performance very much reminded me of his father”, implying Genshin was also a lot like this. Then there’s the whole thing about the, uhh, Karuma clan having originated from an apprentice to Genshin. But while that’s probably part of why Kazuma’s like this, I don’t think it can be all of it. Genshin was a good dad and I cannot imagine him being so brutally strict as to ingrain such an overwhelming standard of perfectionism into his eight-year-old son.

The real reason Kazuma became so incredibly intolerant of the slightest mistake or flaw is that he felt like he had to be, in order to achieve his goal. Only the very best of the best could ever be chosen to study abroad in Great Britain, so he couldn’t afford the slightest failure. And it’d take someone even greater than that to be taken seriously as a foreign student in the British courts – where he knows his father must have not been – and to pierce through corruption so strong that it even defeated his father. Kazuma must have felt like he had to become nothing short of perfect.

But even then, even if Kazuma devotes everything he has to studying and manages to become the most perfect, skilled, disciplined lawyer the world has ever seen… there’s still a chance that might not be enough. There are certain parts of his goal of getting to Britain that are out of his hands and are basically down to nothing but luck. What if the Japanese government just never offers another British study tour? What if he gets passed up for some arbitrary reason such as being too young, or them not accepting defence lawyers, that has nothing to do with his ability?

This leads into another interesting subtle trait of Kazuma’s that grew from this, which is that he appears to have particularly strong ideas about fate. It’s right there in the official localised title of his character theme, for one: “Samurai of Destiny”. The amnesia voice – which is made out of thoughts ingrained deeply enough in him that they weren’t completely forgotten – tells him that his destiny awaits him in London. During a press dialogue in 2-4 when Sandwich is mumbling something about fate, Kazuma chips in with, “The defence is fated to lose. And the prosecution to win,” which comes across as very forceful and weirdly uncalled-for of him.

But Kazuma has to believe that coming to Britain and winning this trial and avenging his father is his destiny. He has to believe that fate is on his side for all of the parts of his mission that aren’t under his control. The possibility that he could fail anyway, despite all his effort and hard work, purely due to some random chance… that’s just a completely unbearable thought. There’s a very telling line he delivers at the end of Japan DLC, which sounds like a principle of his that he lives by: “If you hold onto your will, then the winds will blow in your favour.” Kazuma has had to convince himself that so long as he works as hard as he can for the sake of his goal, Fate itself will reward his determination by granting him the opportunities he needs to achieve it.

Unexpected friendship

One thing Kazuma very much wasn’t expecting Fate to do for him, mind you, was to give him a best friend. As we learn in Escapade 1, Ryunosuke and Kazuma meeting really was complete happenstance that could easily not have come to pass. Ryunosuke just happened to be Kazuma’s final opponent in the speech competition, and then Kazuma just happened to be bad enough at tongue twisters to flub his final line (about filial piety, because of course Kazuma’s speech was about filial piety, aka respecting one’s parents and elders), such that Ryunosuke won the competition and registered in Kazuma’s head as a person of note.

(I also love how their meeting in the speech competition mirrors their actual dynamic in a lot of ways. Kazuma went into his speech with a strict and perfect plan, and then choked when he made a small unexpected mistake, while Ryunosuke just kinda bumbled along with something much simpler and more instinctive but didn’t stop for anything. As such, Kazuma ended up being the one to idolise Ryunosuke, despite that Ryunosuke would never imagine that was the case. Plus it’s just very fitting that they first met as opponents and rivals, given their eventual opposing roles in the courtroom.)

Kazuma approached Ryunosuke after the competition not even out of any attempt to befriend him, but simply to ask him how he doesn’t trip up on his words – in other words, Kazuma just wanted to learn how to be perfect again after his “failure”. And yet, Ryunosuke, the precious earnest dork that he is, saw that the super amazing star student Kazuma Asogi seemed to want to get to know him, and just kinda friended at him real hard? And it worked… and all of a sudden Kazuma found himself with a best friend, completely without having intended it.

Having a friend like Ryunosuke brings out another side to Kazuma that’s very rarely seen – that of a more normal person that he otherwise might have kept being if he hadn’t lost his father. It’s difficult to realise just how rare and remarkable this is, especially for the first half of the game, as we experience everything from Ryunosuke’s perspective and so only see what Kazuma is like around his friend. But we can see glimpses of it in how he interacts with other people. Even with Mikotoba, who’s Kazuma’s surrogate father figure and someone he’s known for most of his life – Kazuma stands to attention when speaking with him and seems a lot more formal and guarded compared to his relaxed, open body language with his friend. He basically never smiles at anyone except for Ryunosuke (and sometimes Susato too, but it’s a lot rarer), because their friendship is the only source of genuine happiness Kazuma has in his life. Without Ryunosuke, Kazuma would probably never smile, and barely even remember what it felt like to be happy… and I doubt he’d even realise how unusual and tragic this is, because something like happiness isn’t relevant next to his mission.

It might seem from Ryunosuke’s perspective, with how much he idolises Kazuma, that he’s the one who benefitted the most from their friendship. But really, Ryunosuke would have been fine without Kazuma – a little aimless, perhaps, but he’d have lived a perfectly decent life. Kazuma, though? Without Ryunosuke, he would have found his burdens so much harder to bear, and might even have lost himself to his demons entirely in Great Britain. Kazuma was always the one who needed Ryunosuke, not the other way around. I suspect that it was Kazuma who started calling Ryunosuke “partner” first – he’s the one who uses the term more – out of noticing that Ryunosuke seemed to feel inferior to him and wanting to make it clear that they should be equals. He respects and looks up to and is grateful to Ryunosuke so much more than he could ever say.

On the surface, though, Kazuma mostly seems to show his affection with plenty of biting snark, and also a lot of stern nagging at Ryunosuke to study harder and be less scatterbrained and things such as that. He’s basically a dad friend! Which feels very appropriate for Kazuma, for obvious reasons. Hopefully Ryunosuke helped Kazuma out in his own, opposing way, by encouraging him to take breaks sometimes and not work himself way too hard. I’m sure that Ryunosuke, being an English student – a subject he chose probably just because he likes words and wordplay and therefore finds it interesting – also would have been able to help Kazuma a lot with practicing his English for when he goes to Britain.

As for Kazuma’s Britain mission, Ryunosuke quickly became abundantly aware of just how determined his friend was to go there… and yet Kazuma evidently could never bring himself to tell even his best friend the reason why. It must have been incredibly refreshing for Kazuma to have a part of his life so completely unconnected from the overwhelming weight of his mission and his father’s death looming over him, something that could let him just feel normal for a little while. It seems like Ryunosuke never even knew that Kazuma had lost his father at all until the waxwork scene, and even afterwards, he low-key buys into the idea that Genshin was the Professor until their conversation in Kazuma’s office. This means that not only did Kazuma never bring up his father’s death to his friend, he also never mentioned his father at all, because Ryunosuke would have been a lot less likely to assume that Genshin was a serial killer if he’d ever heard Kazuma talking about his father with pride.

And yet, perhaps it’s also because Ryunosuke is so completely unconnected to any of the events and people who had to do with his father’s death in Britain that Kazuma eventually felt somewhat able to open up to him about it – or at least, he was clearly trying to work his way up to doing so while on the Burya. He couldn’t bring himself to get that close to the truth with anybody else, not even Susato, despite her being his literal assistant (you’d think she’d need to know at some point, Kazuma) and also basically his sister. And she was already fully aware of at least the part where he'd lost his father, which is one step up from Ryunosuke. But she’s too connected to the events of ten years ago by being Mikotoba’s daughter, and was also so very young until quite recently, so it just never crossed Kazuma’s mind that he could perhaps confide in her, even though of course he trusts her in principle. Poor Susato.

Being a lawyer

While pursuing his mission, Kazuma studied to become a lawyer – a choice that’s rather interesting, considering what happened to his father. On the one hand, a lawyer is the kind of person who could hypothetically have saved Genshin from that wrongful execution. On the other, being a prosecutor was always really the better path for Kazuma to take for the sake of his actual goal of bringing the people responsible for his father’s death to justice!

According to Susato, Kazuma’s goal to become a lawyer is “a promise he’d made to his father”. It’s ambiguous whether this is a promise he made directly to his father while he was alive, or a promise he made as part of his personal mission to avenge him following his death. I think it’s a lot more likely to be the former, though, for a few reasons. If it was the latter, it’s bound to be because a lawyer could have prevented his father’s wrongful execution – but I don’t know if Kazuma would fixate so much on this empty hypothetical of how things could have gone when it’s far too late for that, not next to the more grimly pragmatic approach of being a prosecutor. And the fact that I’ve gravitated towards the implication that Kazuma moved in with the Mikotobas before he received That Letter (and he implicitly told Susato about his promise soon after he moved in) means he probably wanted to be a lawyer before then anyway.

So, I believe Kazuma promised his father he’d become a lawyer in person, while they were still together! I imagine Genshin told his son a lot about what he was hoping to achieve for Japan’s justice system, and why defence lawyers needed to be introduced as a crucial part of making it fairer for everyone. And so, little Kazuma, hanging onto every word of his father’s ideals and eager to make him proud, promised he’d become one of the very first defence lawyers himself! He does always say that he wants to study in Britain for the sake of improving Japan’s legal system, and while that’s obviously not his main reason, I don’t think Kazuma would be comfortable saying it so often if it wasn’t still true.

…And then, his father died, and of course he would want to cling to that promise no matter what, even if his desire to change Japan’s legal system suddenly becomes very much second priority, and even if another path might actually be more practical for his ultimate goal.

(And even once he reads the letter and knows what his goal is, there’d be a large part of him that wouldn’t want to change his mind and become a prosecutor, no matter how much more practical that might be. After all, it was a prosecutor who got his father killed, and he’d hate the very idea of becoming the same kind of person as that monster Barok van Zieks.)

As part of being a lawyer, Kazuma has also formulated some strong principles about what it means to be one. A lawyer’s greatest weapon is their belief in their client, because they can’t ever know the truth for sure, and this means they have to believe in their own judgement of other people. He evidently cares about this enough to talk about it a fair bit, based on the fact that Ryunosuke can easily recall several of the things he’d said about it in the past.

Since lawyers are so new in Japan, and his father wasn’t one (detectives like Genshin would have to take a more objective approach, you’d think), Kazuma likely didn’t learn this stuff from anyone else. He must have come up with these principles himself. Which… when you move outside of the bubble of how Ryunosuke sees Kazuma and think about what Kazuma’s really like, seems almost odd. We’re talking about someone who only acquired a best friend by complete accident, someone whose interactions with everybody except for said best friend are almost entirely transactional, someone relentlessly, ruthlessly goal-driven… and yet somehow he manages to have such well-formed principles around the concept of believing in complete strangers.

So I believe that the only reason Kazuma has given so much thought to this is because of his own father’s case. For all he knows, Genshin really could have been a serial killer! He doesn’t have any proof either way! But of course Kazuma would be desperate to believe in his father’s innocence no matter what. Of course he’d want to cling to the notion that doing so, despite a lack of concrete evidence, is just the right thing for him to do, and that his judgement of his father from their time together has to be something he can rely on. That’s where all of his principles about a lawyer’s belief must have come from.

Despite this – and perhaps rather tellingly as to the fact that he came up with it for somewhat unrelated reasons – Kazuma also doesn’t seem to think he’s all that good at this whole believing-in-your-clients thing. After seeing his friend at work in one trial, he’s already acting like Ryunosuke’s obviously much better at it than him, even though his only evidence is Ryunosuke believing in him and his guidance, which is a completely different matter than believing that someone who’s accused of murder didn’t actually do it. Perhaps that’s out of a general overall sense Kazuma has that his best friend has always been better with people than he has, and was always more suited to this lawyer thing of choosing to believe in someone you’ve only just met, simply based on the kind of person Ryunosuke is.

Jigoku’s ultimatum: the assassination mission

About a year and a half after befriending Ryunosuke, it’s finally the time Kazuma’s been waiting for. After all the effort he’s been going through for the past nearly-ten years of his life, all that hard work, all that studying, it’s finally about to pay off. He’s finally going to take the exams to prove himself to be the best of the best and earn his place on an exchange to Great Britain.

But then, sometime during the exam period, Jigoku approaches him and tells him: actually, I don’t care how good you are, or how hard you’ve worked; the only way you’re getting a place on this study tour is if you agree to murder somebody.

And Kazuma realises, with a slow, dawning horror… that he’s actually going to agree to this. Something so underhanded and vile that under any other circumstances it would be unthinkable to him. Because he has to. Because nothing is more important to him than his goal.

Kazuma tells Ryunosuke on the Burya that he would sacrifice anything for the sake of his mission. But I think it’s quite likely that he never realised this fact until Jigoku gave him that awful ultimatum. Before then, he wouldn’t have assumed he’d ever need to. His mission to clear his father’s name and avenge him is righteous and just, so becoming able to achieve that ought to be an equally just path. It should require nothing but determination and effort, which aren’t really sacrifices at all. He never for a second expected he’d have to sacrifice his moral integrity of all things in pursuit of this.

Granted, he doesn’t remotely intend to carry out the assassination. But even then, simply saying he’ll kill someone, and the act of making a promise he intends to break are both morally reprehensible things to Kazuma that he would never otherwise have dreamed of doing. It goes completely against the kinds of principles his father must have taught him to uphold. (More on those later.)

It must especially sting for Kazuma to know that his utter desperation to go to Britain to the point that he’s willing to stoop to such depths is really the only reason he’s being chosen for the exchange. All that hard work and studying, all his academic achievements? Basically irrelevant, because Jigoku would have chosen him for his desperation anyway, even if he wasn’t the star student that he is.

Nonetheless, Kazuma would still have done his best in the exams, determined to prove that he is the top candidate and he would have deserved this for legitimate reasons, and so he can basically pretend that’s what’s going on and just not think too much about the whole assassin thing. He at least does a decent job of keeping up that façade on the surface, such as when he’s eagerly telling Ryunosuke at La Carneval (which they’re presumably visiting to celebrate him being officially chosen as the exchange student) that he’s finally been recognised for his “academic achievements and successes in court”. How forced must that smile have been, I wonder.

Japan DLC features some fun subtle exploration of Kazuma’s feelings on this matter. Rumours of “foul play” in the selection of Kazuma as the exchange student get brought up, as it appears that he in fact scored second place among the candidates, and not first. Kazuma never tries to argue against this on the basis that it wouldn’t make sense for him to have been chosen if he’d only been in second – after all, he already knows exactly why that might have happened. Instead, he just gets extremely worked up over the notion that what do you mean he wasn’t first???, even when it turns out that it was only by a margin of one point. And, yes, part of this is very much Kazuma’s ridiculous perfectionism at work – but it’s not just that. It’s also that he was desperately clinging to the idea that he does still deserve this on a real, above-board level, because at least he really was the top candidate academically, right? It has to have been a massive punch in the gut to learn that apparently… no, he wasn’t, and the only reason he’s getting this at all is because he was willing to agree to kill a man.

(I’m not gonna tell you whether or not Kazuma really did come in second place; you’ll have to watch Japan DLC yourself to find out.)

Jigoku claims during 2-5 that Kazuma had an actual reason for wanting to kill Gregson – and, sure, he theoretically does, since Gregson played a part in getting his father killed. But I don’t know if I believe Jigoku’s implication that this was something Kazuma knew about when he took the mission back in Japan. The only person who could have told him that is Jigoku, and, well. First of all, I’m not sure Jigoku even necessarily knew anything at all about how Genshin was framed at the time, since he seemed to have genuinely tried to stand up for him in court, and he was only involved with the faked execution half of the plot. And even if Jigoku did know about Gregson’s involvement, I’m not sure he’d risk telling Kazuma that, because that begs the question of how he knows about this, and Jigoku probably wouldn’t want to imply his own involvement in Genshin’s death in front of his son who is currently standing right there with a sword at his hip.

However. Despite that I doubt Jigoku told Kazuma anything about Gregson other than that this is his target and perhaps also that he’s an inspector, Kazuma’s still bound to have wondered. Why is Jigoku of all people insisting that he kills a random Englishman? He has to figure that whatever connection Jigoku has to this Englishman to want him dead must have something to do with what went on in Britain ten years ago, and therefore that Gregson is likely to be somehow related to his father’s death. I wonder if Kazuma ever considered the hypothetical: if it did turn out that this Gregson person actually was one of the ones responsible for killing his father, what would he do about the assassination then…?

Another point to note is that, based on his surprise when it gets brought up in 2-5, Kazuma was apparently completely unaware that his assassination mission was one of a pair, connected to the murder of Wilson. That said, he shows some interesting behaviour during 1-1 that suggest he’s figuring out some extent of what’s going on there. He’s silently lost in thought for most of the testimony where Ryunosuke’s trying to prove the existence of the woman whom everyone else suspiciously insists they never saw, and then he’s the first person to suggest, without any real basis, that said woman is both: foreign, and a student. I strongly suspect based on this that he’s realising this is a very similar deal to his own exchange assassination, in which the killer gets protection from the higher authorities due to being a foreign student.

Ryunosuke’s trial (and Jigoku’s other ultimatum)

Jigoku’s corruption in trying to keep Stronghart’s British assassin out of trouble during 1-1 is evident even in ways that aren’t immediately apparent on the surface. Remember that Ryunosuke was in prison for three days, and yet Kazuma only managed to take over as his lawyer the evening before the trial. That might seem a little odd at first: Kazuma surely would have heard about his friend’s arrest upon seeing it in the papers the next morning at the absolute latest, and yet it took him that long to get assigned to the case? Obviously this detail is there for the sake of the loophole that lets Ryunosuke defend himself, but it does make a lot of sense in-story, too. No doubt Jigoku, desperate to make Ryunosuke into a scapegoat for the crime, assigned him some random lawyer who was fully expected to throw the trial, and did everything he could to prevent the actually-competent Kazuma getting anywhere near the case. Kazuma must have spent those three days fighting tooth and nail against Jigoku’s roadblocks to be allowed to defend his friend, and even then, he only just made it in time.

(And he evidently never told Ryunosuke about any of this struggle he went through, presumably because he didn’t want to worry him, typical Kazuma. But poor Ryunosuke, stuck in prison for three days with no sign of Kazuma until the last minute – he must have assumed his best friend just thought he’d done it and abandoned him, oh nooo.)

With that in mind, consider the ultimatum Kazuma’s been given for this case, which was almost certainly put in place by Jigoku: if he fails in defending Ryunosuke, he loses his place on the exchange trip. Except that Jigoku does not actually want Kazuma to lose his place on the exchange trip at all, because then he’d have to find another assassin, and he’d be hard pressed finding anyone else desperate enough to agree to that like Kazuma was! However, what Jigoku also really doesn’t want, for the sake of protecting Stronghart’s British assassin, is Kazuma defending Ryunosuke in this case. He’s already learned that he can manipulate Kazuma into doing things he doesn’t like by exploiting his utter desperation to make it to Great Britain. By threatening Kazuma with the risk of losing his exchange trip, Jigoku is hoping to make Kazuma too afraid to go near Ryunosuke’s case at all.

Unfortunately for Jigoku, since this ultimatum isn’t a secret, he still has to make it appear above-board. What he’d really like to do is threaten Kazuma with losing the exchange trip if he takes the case at all, even if he wins – but that’d look pretty obviously dodgy. Why forbid the chosen student from going on the trip when he’s just proven his competence by winning a case? So all he can do is threaten to do that if Kazuma loses, and hope that this risk will be enough to sway him.

But of course Kazuma isn’t swayed. And it’s not because his best friend is more important to him than his chance to make it to Britain. After all, there’s no outcome in which he saves Ryunosuke but loses the exchange trip. If he wins the trial, he keeps both! So he’s just going to win it, simple as that. He refuses to acknowledge the possibility that he might lose. Because if Kazuma isn’t even good enough to prove his best friend’s innocence, if he can’t keep another person precious to him from being wrongfully executed (because that absolutely would have been Ryunosuke’s fate) even though he has the power to stop it this time… then how on earth is he ever going to be good enough to clear his father’s name in Great Britain? He simply has to be good enough, there is no other option.

He says as much himself in the trial’s recess, after Ryunosuke’s protected him from the ultimatum by defending himself, and yet Kazuma announces that he’ll give up on his trip anyway if they lose this case: “If I’m the kind of man who can’t help his best friend avert the worst crisis of his life… I shouldn’t waste everyone’s time by going to study overseas anyway.” That line means so much more when you know what “studying overseas” truly means to Kazuma.

Ryunosuke reflects about this decision of his that “that’s the kind of true friend he is,” but… that’s not really it at all. This is not actually about Kazuma being willing to sacrifice his chance to go to Britain for the sake of his best friend. This is about Kazuma’s utter inability to accept the idea of failure, and how badly he would fall apart if he did.

Coping with (near-) failure

And then… Kazuma basically does fail in that trial. There’s one awful moment at which he’s completely given up and can’t see any possible way out, and it’s only thanks to Ryunosuke that their case is salvaged. If Kazuma had actually been the one defending Ryunosuke, like he was supposed to be, Ryunosuke would have been found guilty. Kazuma would have lost his best friend, along with all faith in his own ability to put things right in Britain.

(It’s also interesting to think about why Kazuma fails. He approaches Brett’s first testimony with a firm Plan in mind – to prove that she had a way to hide a gun on her person. So when the apparent way to prove that turns out to be a dead end, he can’t see any other way forward. Meanwhile, Ryunosuke has no real sense of a plan at all and is just desperately grasping at any tiny detail that could mean something, leading to him noticing the burn mark that proves the victim was actually poisoned. Ryunosuke is a good defence lawyer, because defence lawyers have to constantly improvise new lines of reasoning to react to whatever curveballs the prosecution or witnesses throw at them! And the fact that Kazuma’s more skilled at setting out a clear plan from the beginning and less able to roll with the punches when unexpected twists happen goes to show that he was really always more suited for prosecution.)

Of course, since Ryunosuke did manage to save himself and things turned out all right in the end, Kazuma’s able to more or less – on the surface – gloss over the part where he basically failed when it mattered. He’s still desperate enough to go to Britain that he’s not about to give up on everything over a slip-up that didn’t end up having any actual consequences. But this near-failure of his nonetheless clearly bothers Kazuma a lot.

For that matter, it also bothers him that Ryunosuke took over his own defence at all, out of a desire to protect Kazuma, as if he felt Kazuma needed protecting and might not be good enough to win the case on his own. Of course Ryunosuke didn’t at all do it out of a lack of faith in Kazuma’s abilities – he just wanted to make sure that if things somehow went badly anyway, his friend didn’t have to suffer as well. But Kazuma certainly took it as Ryunosuke lacking faith in him. And then the events of the trial, that failure of a moment where Kazuma gave up, would have only cemented it in his head that Ryunosuke was right to.

Another of the delightful subtle things going on in Japan DLC is that Kazuma is really desperate to make up for his perceived failure and inadequacy in Ryunosuke’s trial. It’s set ten days later, as Kazuma receives a rather ambiguously-worded telegram from Susato and Ryunosuke about “new charges” and rushes to the courthouse, fiercely determined to defend his best friend and do it right this time. He doesn’t even bother reading the actual charges document, apparently feeling that he doesn’t need to, that perhaps if he gives himself a handicap by going in completely unprepared then he’ll just prove himself more when he wins anyway. Ryunosuke tries to tell him something, and Kazuma cuts him off, assuming that Ryunosuke wants to defend himself again, and insists that no, really, let him do it this time.

And then the trial begins with Kazuma making an absolute fool of himself when it turns out that he is the defendant, actually, and it was never Ryunosuke at all. This is quite possibly the only time in Ace Attorney where a protagonist, given one of those blatantly obvious can-you-read-the-Court-Record tutorial questions, is very clearly meant to have canonically got it wrong. Kazuma is so desperate to make up for his “failure” in defending Ryunosuke during 1-1 that he tunnel-visions hilariously hard on the completely false idea of his friend being the defendant again, just so that he can have an opportunity to do so. (Which also tracks with how very prone Kazuma is to tunnel-visioning on things that aren’t true in general.)

(What is Kazuma on trial for in Japan DLC? Again, not gonna tell you; go watch it yourself, because it is good Kazuma content.)

A friend-shaped package

Of course, Kazuma’s “failure” during Ryunosuke’s trial, and the fact that Ryunosuke was the one to pull things back on track with his surprising talent at lawyering, also leads to the very important event of Kazuma asking Ryunosuke to stow away with him to Great Britain. The trial must have dealt a huge blow to his ability to believe that he’d be good enough to find the truth about his father – but it also handed him a potential solution to that problem: his best friend. Kazuma can reassure himself that even if there comes another moment where he falters and can’t see any path forward, if Ryunosuke’s with him, then he’ll be able to see the way to the truth in Kazuma’s place.

That said, though, it’s subtly noticeable that Kazuma wanted Ryunosuke to join him in Great Britain anyway, even before the trial where he saw just how much potential his friend has as a lawyer. He casually suggests Ryunosuke should come with him while they’re chatting about it at the restaurant, in a way that makes it sound mostly like a joke, but I suspect he was hoping that Ryunosuke would bite and take the offer seriously. It’s also rather telling that he never actually explains to Ryunosuke that his lawyer talents are the reason why he’s asking him to come, once he actually officially asks after the trial – strongly suggesting that they aren’t really the main reason why at all.

The real crux of it is that Kazuma just doesn’t want to be alone while facing something as huge and painful and frightening as what happened to his father in Britain, not to mention the awful false promise he’s had to make in order to finally reach it. He just wants his best friend there by his side to make it all more bearable. Of course he does. So would anybody.

But Kazuma’s inability to acknowledge that he’s having painful feelings about any of this makes him completely incapable of admitting that this is the real reason, even to himself. Which is why he cannot bring himself to outright ask Ryunosuke for that favour until the trial gives him an excuse to do so. Now he has a proper, material reason why Ryunosuke can help him in Great Britain, both with his father’s case and also potentially with that awkward looming assassination issue. It’s a good reason, see, one that has nothing to do with his feelings, because he doesn’t have any of those and anyway something like that wouldn’t be a valid reason to ask his best friend to uproot his entire life for several years. (It would, Kazuma; Ryunosuke would absolutely do that for you if he knew how afraid you were about this.) …And yet, this excuse is really mostly for himself, since he never actually gets around to explaining any of it to Ryunosuke.

Well, no – Kazuma does sort of tell Ryunosuke about some of it on the Burya. He makes an attempt, at least, but he doesn’t get much further than “if you became a lawyer, then…” (you could defend me if the assassination mission gets me arrested), and “there’s something very important I have to do” (clear my father’s name and avenge him). I also get the impression that their conversation about it on the Burya is the first time Kazuma ever tells Ryunosuke the name of Karuma… which is probably the closest he can manage to get at that moment to talking about his father, since his love for his father is so deeply entwined with his love for his precious sword.

Kazuma clearly wants to finally open up and trust his best friend with this huge burden of his, now that he’s directly asking him for material help with it (and emotional support, not that he’d be able to admit that part). But close to a decade of believing that he can’t ever tell anyone the truth about his father’s death is not a habit easily broken, especially when it’s so tied up with all the painful feelings that he’s unconsciously suppressing so hard. Maybe Kazuma would have eventually worked up the courage to tell Ryunosuke everything somewhere during the two-month voyage, if it’d proceeded as normal. But unfortunately, tragedy struck before he could reach that point, changing the trajectory of Kazuma’s path completely.

Part 2: Great Britain

Unusual amnesia

I happen to have some rather unique feelings on the topic of Kazuma’s amnesia, in large part because I spent an awfully long time in my first playthrough utterly convinced that he was faking it. (It’s probably only thanks to the unusual circumstances of me playing the game that I ended up thinking that – I had seen a fan-translation of the first game and remembered Kazuma’s name appearing in a Secret Government Message, and had also been spoiled for his survival, which led to me imagining there was a lot more Secrecy involved in his upcoming role in the second game than there actually was.) This resulted in me writing a whole AU fic in which Kazuma actually was faking it, to explore why he plausibly might have done so and how he would have felt doing it.

Buuut I am fully aware that that’s not actually the intended canon reading, so I’m putting all that aside here to talk about the canon version of events (while also discussing why I had some very valid reasons to latch onto my alternative theory).

Here’s the thing about Kazuma’s amnesia: it’s not the regular garden-variety kind of amnesia. It can’t be, because if it was, then his actions in the 2-3 scene on the experiment stage where Susato recognises him wouldn’t make any goddamn sense.

There he is, an amnesiac who’s been compelled to come to London for some mysterious purpose he must be dying to know more about. And for the very first time since he woke up with no memories, here’s someone who seems to know who he is, is asking to talk to him, even calling out to him with a name that feels strangely familiar. Any regular amnesiac would realise that this person could help them regain their memories, and would eagerly take such a person up on that offer to talk and learn more about their forgotten self.

But Kazuma? He just turns around and leaves, barely acknowledging Susato or her reaction at all, literally not even looking at her or Ryunosuke for the entirety of the scene! And we can’t put this down to Stronghart’s ridiculous rule that he’s not allowed to talk to anybody, either, because when has Kazuma ever heeded arbitrary rules when something he cares about is at stake? On the surface, it makes absolutely no sense for the amnesiac Kazuma to respond to Susato’s outburst by just leaving. No wonder I thought he was faking it – that would be a perfectly fitting explanation for that scene!

But since he’s not faking it, what’s actually going on with Kazuma’s amnesia is that it has to be of the PTSD-driven variety.

It’s a lot like Daley Vigil’s, in that sense. We get some glimpses of how Vigil’s mind had warped itself in such a way as to avoid thinking about the traumatic memories he wanted to run away from, even when it went against all logic. It really didn’t make sense for him to have willingly quit his well-paid job at the prison to become a street pedlar, but he just… never quite manages to think that through and make that connection.

Similarly, Kazuma’s subconscious is steering him away from any reminder of his true identity, even though it goes against the conscious logic of him wanting to understand why he’s here in London. He ignores and avoids responding to these people who seem to know him, due to some deep and primal part of him that’s desperate to protect him from the painful truth of who he is and his mission. He probably doesn’t even consciously understand why he ignores them and leaves; he just does so, and then never thinks about it much, because his subconscious doesn’t want him to question it.

During van Zieks’s trial when Vigil is on the stand and it’s become apparent that his memory of ten years ago is hazy, Kazuma is the first one to suggest that he outright has amnesia (despite not having evidence for it like Ryunosuke does), and he gives a speech describing how such a thing can be caused by trauma. And the way he gives this speech is so very telling. It’s a lot more evocative than you’d expect for something he’d otherwise have just read or heard about somewhere, and he even uses “we” language for it, which he wouldn’t normally do when giving an example. It all reads as very suspiciously specific – as if this is as close as Kazuma can bear to come to admitting that this is something he’s been through himself.

Kazuma got amnesia not just from the injury he received on the Burya. It was more that the injury happened to trigger the deep, aching part of him that just wanted to run away from everything he is and is headed towards. To run away from the agony of his father’s death, and the fury towards his killers, and the unimaginable burden of having to put everything right in Great Britain. In that moment of traumatic injury, that part won out and managed to suppress all of that pain, to hide it where he couldn’t reach it - but everything was so intertwined with his very identity that it ended up hiding that too. There was a part of Kazuma so traumatised by everything he is, so desperate to make the pain stop, that all it could do was make him not be Kazuma Asogi any more.

And yet, it couldn’t block out everything. Kazuma’s sheer determination to make it to Great Britain at all costs was so deeply ingrained into him that it lingered, as the voice that compelled him relentlessly to London. Kazuma couldn’t do anything but follow that voice, making it all the way there all on his own against all the odds, despite not understanding why, despite subconsciously not wanting to remember why. He spent all those months with amnesia trapped in a mental war between the part of him that wanted to run away from it all, and the part of him that needed to run towards it. And of course the latter won out in the end.

The pain of remembering

Considering that Kazuma’s amnesia wasn’t just regular amnesia but his psyche trying to block out actual trauma, regaining his memories must have been agony for him. Especially so considering that the trigger was seeing his father as the Professor. No wonder he screamed as it all came flooding back.

It also means it’s not as strange as it might seem that his reunion with his friends in that scene is actually remarkably brief. Literally all he says to them is thanking Susato for taking care of Ryunosuke, and thanking Ryunosuke for taking care of Karuma, and that’s it. Hardly the heartfelt reunion with long-lost friends who’d thought he was dead for months that you’d expect him to have. This was another of the things that made me seriously side-eye the legitimacy of Kazuma’s amnesia on my first playthrough, because he was being so weirdly cagey about things. But that was because, at the time, I didn’t realise just how bad Kazuma is at talking about his feelings. He must have been in emotional agony for that whole scene, but of course he couldn’t let anyone see that, not even his closest friends (and especially not van Zieks, who must have still been silently present even though he vanishes from the Cutscene after a certain point). So instead, Kazuma just… leaves to cope with everything alone. If he’s going to break down over this overwhelming flood of emotion, he can do it where nobody else will see him. Just like he always has done, with all of the pain he's carrying.

Yet despite the agony that remembering caused him, Kazuma has absolutely no regrets about having done so. With his memories back, he’s once again fully on board with how overwhelmingly important his mission is, even if he may now somewhat understand why part of him wanted to lock it away. His conviction that facing the truth is always better, no matter how much it hurts, is likely a big factor in why he was so ruthlessly willing to force the truth out of Vigil’s mind, even though he knows the cost of doing so better than anyone else in that courtroom.

The pain of his amnesia – both having it and recovering from it – is also bound to play a big role in Kazuma continuing to avoid and be distant from Ryunosuke and Susato in the following days. Just before leaving the courtroom, he vaguely implies that he intends to catch up with them sometime… but then he doesn’t even contact them for over a week until they’re brought face-to-face again because of van Zieks’s arrest.

Kazuma must have expected the catching-up conversation with his friends to involve all sorts of questions about his amnesia, and about his father, and all of the pain he's been carrying. He just can’t bring himself to face that pain, so he puts it off, tells himself it’s less important than everything else he’s got to focus on now. Talking to Ryunosuke out of necessity because they’re opponents in a trial is much easier for Kazuma than opening up to his best friend about his feelings. Even when Ryunosuke and Susato come to his office to ask him about his father, Kazuma tries to brush off the topic by saying that they already know what happened and so they should already understand. It takes Ryunosuke asking in no uncertain terms to hear it from Kazuma himself to get him to actually talk about it. And even then, as he’s telling his story, Kazuma never once mentions how any of it made him feel.

In fact, there’s lot of times during Resolve (whereas he does it maybe only once or twice in Adventures?) that Kazuma addresses Ryunosuke with his full name. It comes across as strangely pompous and distanced, like he’s trying to put up a barrier between himself and his best friend, so that Ryunosuke won’t be able to see how much he’s hurting. Or perhaps it’s also because Ryunosuke is now his opponent in van Zieks’s trial, the person trying to defend and believe in that monster, and that’s easier for Kazuma to deal with if he puts more distance between them.

It's really kind of heartbreaking to think how this distance between Kazuma and Ryunosuke is largely the fault of the accident on the Burya. Even though Kazuma survived it, it drove a wedge between him and his friend all the same. Kazuma was at least attempting to work up to telling Ryunosuke the truth about his father while on the ship, but here and now in London, he barely wants to talk about it even when it’s right there in front of them. Being separated from his friends and forgetting he had them entirely shunted Kazuma right back into his usual mindset of having to do everything completely alone and rely on nobody but himself. That regained habit stuck around even once he’d remembered them – after all, having a friend he could rely on was never something he’d actively sought out in the first place.

But Kazuma barely realises what he’s missing out on, just like he never did before. Not when he’s far too focused on the mission to avenge his father that’s now finally within his reach.

The despicable Reaper

Kazuma must have had quite the shock, upon regaining his memories, to find himself already under the tutelage of Barok van Zieks, of all people. The man who wrongfully condemned his father to death, the man Kazuma’s loathed for so many years and been so determined to take his revenge on once he made it to Great Britain. And on top of this man being the effective murderer of Kazuma’s father, it turns out that he’s also the Reaper of the Bailey, a serial killer who murders every innocent defendant that he fails to convict in court.

With his regained memories, Kazuma would have latched onto the rumour that van Zieks is the Reaper and seen it as the inarguable truth the very second he thought about it, because it makes far-too-tragically-perfect sense in his head. He’s grown up coping with his grief by clinging to his hatred of van Zieks as this monster who killed his innocent father, because he’s just that terrible. So it just makes sense to him that van Zieks would continue to do that with everyone else he prosecutes, no matter how innocent they may be. Kazuma says himself, when arguing for why van Zieks would have wanted to murder Jigoku for his petty crime, “Isn’t the whole premise of the Reaper absurd, killing those who have been found innocent? Clearly the rules by which the man operates… are beyond a sane person’s comprehension!” There simply doesn’t need to be any actual rhyme or reason behind van Zieks killing someone, in Kazuma’s mind.

As I said earlier: I extremely strongly believe that Kazuma knew about van Zieks from the moment he read that fateful letter, and has hated him for all those years. His hatred is too irrational to not have been born from the emotions of a broken grieving teenager desperate for someone to blame. Van Zieks is the monster under the bed, the bogeyman who destroyed Kazuma’s entire life – of course he’s the Reaper as well.

A fun little detail of Kazuma’s constant seething hatred towards van Zieks is that he almost never refers to him as “Lord van Zieks” while he still sees him as the enemy. That happens only a tiny handful of times, like three or four, whereas the rest of the time he sticks to “the Reaper” (which he obviously is, right), “the accused”, or simply “Barok van Zieks”. While simply calling him “van Zieks” without a title would probably be considered rude and be called out, Kazuma clearly does not want to afford this man the dignity and respect of being referred to as “Lord” if he can help it, so he goes out of his way to avoid doing so most of the time.

One courtroom-language quirk I noticed while paying attention to this is that the term “defendant” is only used by the defence, and meanwhile the prosecution will always refer to the same person as the “accused”. With this in mind, it’s very interesting to consider that when Kazuma presents the noticeboard of Reaper cases and talks about the victims, he refers to them as van Zieks’s past “defendants”. He is thinking about them from a defence lawyer’s perspective – meaning he believes they were innocent. And van Zieks, that monster, had them killed anyway, because killing innocent people for no reason is just what van Zieks does, right?

(Kazuma is also apparently able to employ some mental gymnastics on the topic of Asman, who was guilty as sin but got acquitted due to corruption. Kazuma would have helped van Zieks work on that case and therefore surely must have been aware of just how awful Asman was. This would, you’d think, paint a picture in his head of the usual kind of people van Zieks prosecutes and that maybe several of those killed by the Reaper weren’t actually so innocent after all. But it seems like Kazuma manages to file that away in his head as Irrelevant, because it contradicts the monstrous image of van-Zieks-the-killer-of-innocents that he’s clung to for so long. Probably helped by the fact that he had amnesia at the time of the Asman case, so it all feels very separate from his reborn hatred and is easy to brush off.)

Revived as a prosecutor

Kazuma must have also got quite a shock at the other part of the situation he suddenly found himself in when he regained his memories, which is that, oh look, he’s a prosecutor now. Earlier I discussed my thoughts on why he stuck to his promise to his father of being a defence lawyer and never considered switching to prosecution even though it would actually be more practical for his ultimate goal. But now that he’s here, in Great Britain, with his father’s case coming into the open and van Zieks right there within his grasp… how can he turn down such a perfect opportunity?

Still, he’s not entirely happy about it. He’s not able to admit that, not even to himself, because he can’t be allowing himself to have doubts about something that’s such a necessary part of his mission now. The only indications that he’s conflicted about this are in his body language: when he talks about how he’s a prosecutor now instead of a defence lawyer, he tends to appear more hesitant and less sure of himself than usual.

(At least he can take solace in the fact that his will to be a lawyer hasn’t vanished entirely, because Ryunosuke’s there, carrying it on in his place, being exactly the kind of lawyer Kazuma was trying to be. That means a lot to Kazuma, no doubt helping to alleviate some of his guilt about abandoning that promise he made to his father so long ago.)

Kazuma’s hesitancy around the idea of being a prosecutor now is bound to be wrapped up in the fact that it was a prosecutor who got his father killed. In fact, when Susato tries to argue that van Zieks was simply doing his job in convicting Genshin and deserves no blame, Kazuma shuts that idea right down: “It’s people who condemn people. The law is just a tool they use to do it.” Out of his sheer desperation to have a target, a person, whom he can hate and blame, he chose to take on a worldview that allows him to view van Zieks as the man who personally murdered his father. Clearly the law itself, as a flawed system, wasn’t a satisfying enough target to hate in the midst of his grief.

But this mindset of Kazuma’s gets very awkward if you follow the logic through to its natural conclusion. Prosecutors are always condemning people to death, and that’s perfectly legal and acceptable so long as the accused is truly guilty. If the law is simply a tool, the same as a sword, then… wouldn’t that also make it equally acceptable to straight-up murder someone if they’re guilty of a capital crime? Doesn’t that mean that vigilante justice is right and justified? Doesn’t that make what the Reaper does justified?

I don’t think Kazuma’s actually thought this through that far. He never shows the slightest hint of feeling like the Reaper’s actions are justified, at any point, even after he’s dropped the irrational conviction that all the victims were innocents. According to this logic, it would have been right for him to personally murder Gregson for playing a part in killing his father – but he’s clearly horrified by the dark impulse within him that wanted to do just that. Despite the words Kazuma came up with to give himself an excuse to blame and hate van Zieks, his base sense of decency and honour still instinctively feels that vigilante justice is wrong and that true justice can only be carried out through the courts.

Nonetheless, it’s got to be nagging at the back of Kazuma’s mind in his newfound position: that thought that by being a prosecutor he’s effectively killing people, and it’s only acceptable if they’re truly guilty, but if he ever gets it wrong then he’s basically committing manslaughter at best. Geez. I hope that sometime after the end of the game, he rethinks his “the law is just a tool” mindset, because continuing to be a prosecutor while feeling like that makes him effectively a killer cannot be healthy for him, even if he is doing it to combat the “demons” of society.

(The actual answer to this seeming moral conundrum is that the death penalty is wrong and barbaric, and that nobody truly deserves to die for being guilty of a bad enough crime, whether their sentence is carried out via the law or not. It’s got to be rough for Kazuma and van Zieks and every other Ace Attorney prosecutor stuck working with a system where they routinely send people to their deaths.)

The assassination mission

In the week after regaining his memories, Kazuma must have been busy using his status as an apprentice prosecutor to search for every scrap of information he could about the Professor case, in the hope of finding something he could use against van Zieks. (Far too busy to get around to contacting his friends, of course.) But in amongst that, he’d also be haunted by the other thing he’d remembered – that someone in Britain expects him to assassinate Gregson.

Imagine his panic and horror when he’s approached in secret by Gregson himself, of all people, to talk to him about an assassination. Kazuma must have had to put on one hell of a poker face until he re-oriented himself and realised that Gregson was actually talking about having Kazuma help him assassinate somebody else, for the Reaper.

The actual purpose of this mission is, of course, not a real Reaper killing and very much to give either Kazuma or Jigoku the chance to kill Gregson. But, as I’ve already discussed, Kazuma is completely convinced that the Reaper – who is obviously van Zieks, right – would just want to kill Jigoku for that petty crime he got acquitted for ten years ago. So Kazuma definitely buys that this is a genuine Reaper mission.

Still, he must have wondered if there wasn’t more to it. See, the Reaper mastermind himself never approached Kazuma to get him to agree to be the assassin here (he can’t have, or Kazuma would have learned it isn’t van Zieks), so it must have been Gregson who was Kazuma’s only point of contact. And yet, Gregson wouldn’t have done so without expecting Kazuma to be fully on board – meaning the Reaper also expected Kazuma to accept the mission. Which is a hell of a thing to expect someone to agree to out of nowhere… unless said person knew Kazuma had agreed to a different assassination mission already. From this situation he’s found himself in here, Kazuma would be able to deduce that the Reaper is the same person who masterminded his exchange assassination, and that actually this is also the mission to assassinate Gregson that he’s been dreading and hoping to avoid forever.

But he can’t just refuse the mission, because this also happens to be his perfect chance. He’s been looking into the fateful autopsy that got his father convicted and knows that Gregson had a hand in it – must have had a hand in forging it, surely, because his father was definitely innocent. The only way Kazuma feels he can be sure of confirming that from Gregson himself is by doing some not-very-legal threatening of his life, and the only place he can do that without getting himself into trouble is while they’re on an illegal mission, something Gregson can’t speak of without incriminating himself.

Which is… actually a terrible approach for Kazuma’s ultimate goal of proving his father’s innocence in court! Not only is he going to have to incriminate himself to even admit that Gregson confessed to anything here, but Kazuma stating what Gregson told him is just hearsay and not admissible in court as actual testimony – to say nothing of the fact that Gregson was being threatened. It simply would not work at all (and it certainly doesn’t get him far when he actually does bring it up). Kazuma ought to know this… but he’s just so desperate to find anything that can even just feel like he’s got Proof of his father’s innocence. He must be so afraid that he’ll never be able to uncover anything that matters if he doesn’t resort to this.

(He said he’d sacrifice anything for this, right? He already has; what’s the big loss from just one more blow to his morality, when it’s already been tarnished?)

Having confirmation for himself that Gregson did indeed forge the autopsy, and did it on somebody’s orders, would nonetheless help Kazuma put some pieces together. He probably already suspected that the person who wanted Gregson dead probably wanted to silence him due to something related to his father’s case, and now he can be even more sure of that. Said person has to be van Zieks, right, since van Zieks is the one who prosecuted and framed his father and is The Worst. And Kazuma’s also now been able to deduce that the exchange mastermind must be the same person as the Reaper. Thus, he can prove that van Zieks is the Reaper!

Kazuma insists to Ryunosuke later in his office that he has proof that van Zieks is the Reaper – and he does, more or less. It’s made from a lot of deductive reasoning that’ll be tricky to have stand up alone in court, it’d require Kazuma to incriminate himself to even talk about (which of course he’d be willing to do, if there was no other way), and it’s based on the completely mistaken premise that van Zieks was the original prosecutor on Genshin’s case… but there is some actual logic there in Kazuma’s head that isn’t just his blind hatred. He’s so furiously determined to prove van Zieks is the Reaper in the trial not only as revenge, but because he knows that in doing so he’ll be bringing things around to his father’s case and proving the fabrication there, thus finally clearing his father’s name.

The demon

Of course, Kazuma really, really wishes that Gregson would just tell him who ordered him to forge the autopsy. He already knows (so he thinks) that it’s van Zieks, but hearing it from Gregson’s own lips would be proof of it. At least, it feels that way, in the heat of that moment in that cabin where he’s able to mostly forget that none of this will stand up in court anyway and is just relishing in finally getting to hear someone admit to how corrupt this all was. If nothing else, he just wants to hear validation of his furious convictions that all of it was van Zieks’s fault.

But as he realises that Gregson will never talk no matter what, Kazuma loses control of his anger. He’s been keeping all of his pain and grief and rage suppressed for so, so long, never letting himself show any of it, only even letting himself feel the anger as long as he can turn it into purpose – he has absolutely no idea how to healthily cope with it. If he’d had anyone at all during his adolescence whom he’d felt safe opening up to and who could have helped him learn to process his emotions, his anger here would have likely been controlled enough to not lead to anything bad. But as it is, it’s been suppressed for so long that it simply explodes out of him. He’s standing in front of this man who’s just admitted to playing a role in his father’s death and yet still won’t give him what he wants, and suddenly Kazuma finds himself overwhelmed with blind fury and wanting to kill him, and—

…The moment is presented ambiguously enough within the game’s format such that one might interpret it as Kazuma deliberately swinging his sword at Gregson’s trunk on the floor or something, redirecting his anger towards the trunk as a proxy for Gregson himself. But I don’t think that can be it. The angle of the gash in the trunk, the direction it’s subtly curving in, doesn’t look like it could reasonably have been made that way by a natural right-handed sword swipe if the trunk was lying upright and open on the floor. It only works if the trunk was open and sideways at the moment of the impact – meaning it must have been held by Gregson, as a shield, to protect himself from Kazuma striking directly at him.

Not only did Kazuma want to kill Gregson in that brief, awful moment – he actually tried to. He’s incredibly lucky that Gregson reacted quickly enough to block it, or he’d have ended up completing his assassination mission after all.

It probably occurred to Kazuma himself just how close he came to this. We know just how haunted he is by the “demon” that he realised was inside him that day. But in true Kazuma style, I suspect he coped with it for the time being by suppressing it and basically trying to forget it had happened, clinging to the notion that Gregson wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what’d happened without admitting to the mission and incriminating himself.

Except that, shortly after Kazuma arrives back in London, he learns that Gregson’s been killed. I wonder if, for a brief horrified moment, he felt like this was karma finishing the deed that Kazuma only didn’t by pure luck, that it might as well have been him…?

…Only for Kazuma to hear, moments later, that van Zieks has been arrested for the crime, having been caught red-handed holding the gun. Everything would have instantly flipped itself around in his head: this is it, the golden opportunity to take that monster down, because van Zieks killed Gregson, and so there’s no need to think about how else it could have gone. On top of all of his usual hatred and furious drive to condemn van Zieks, perhaps just a little bit of Kazuma latching onto this was also fuelled by him desperately wanting to deflect and run away from his own guilt in Gregson’s near-death.

But is van Zieks guilty?

Still. Despite Kazuma’s fervent tunnel-visioning on van Zieks’s guilt for most of the case, one of the most intriguing things – and the biggest reason I found Kazuma so damn hard to get a read on during my first playthrough – is that, actually, not every single part of him is convinced van Zieks really is guilty.

What makes me so sure of this is the photo of van Zieks when he was younger, smiling happily with his brother and Gregson before everything went wrong. That photo is necessary for Ryunosuke to get through to van Zieks’s more vulnerable side and convince him to let Ryunosuke defend him – and it’s Kazuma who gives him the photo.

And, sure, Kazuma had plenty of reason to want Ryunosuke on the case even if there’s not an ounce of him that thinks van Zieks might be innocent, simply because he wants his best friend there opposite him as he uncovers the truth of his father’s case. But that alone doesn’t explain why Kazuma knew the photo would work on van Zieks. That means that there’s a part of Kazuma capable of acknowledging that van Zieks is a person who’s suffered (just like Kazuma has) and cannot actually be a heartless monster who murders innocents for no reason.

Of course, Kazuma barely acknowledges the part of him that’s thinking this. He’s extremely evasive in that entire conversation, especially when asked why he’s giving them the photo. (And he’s also very evasive when asked about Klint’s portrait in his office, for the same reason.) He doesn’t want to accept that he’s not actually one hundred percent all-in on his conviction that van Zieks is The Worst, because he can’t allow himself to be having doubts and to possibly be wrong in his mission that he’s worked so hard for.

And yet… though he could never admit it, that has to be a part of why he wants Ryunosuke to defend van Zieks. If it should happen that Kazuma is wrong after all, he trusts his best friend to be able to see the truth about van Zieks and prove it to him. He trusts Ryunosuke to save him from himself before he goes too far and condemns an innocent man to the same fate as his father.

Going native

As we move into the trial and see Kazuma stand as a prosecutor in the British courts for the first time, there’s a few more interesting little things about his character that become noticeable. One subtle thing going on with his demeanour here is that he appears to be putting in a conscious effort to appear as British as possible, despite his obvious heritage, in a lot of small ways. It’s in a pointed contrast to Ryunosuke, who remains unapologetically Japanese the whole time.

At one point in the trial, Kazuma describes a short distance using inches, the (at the time) British measurement. Later on, Ryunosuke describes the very same short distance using centimetres, the Japanese measurement, which goes to show that going out of one’s way to use inches isn’t a necessary part of speaking English as a non-native – and yet Kazuma does so anyway. Kazuma has a very pronounced English-style bowing animation, whereas Ryunosuke… well, he doesn’t have a bowing animation at all, but I can’t imagine him bowing in any way other than the Japanese one. And while Kazuma’s outfit changing to an English one wasn’t his choice, I suspect he might have made that decision anyway if it’d been up to him – meanwhile Ryunosuke keeps his Yumei uniform the whole time and never even considers dressing like anything other than the Japanese student that he is.

(And of course Kazuma doesn’t put his headband back on even though it’s right there wrapped around Karuma’s sheath, not only because it’s a Japanese style, but also because that headband was there as a reminder of his failure. Can’t be having any of that while he’s here in Britain and cannot afford to fail.)

Kazuma’s insistence on going native is particularly exemplified in a few jabs he makes at Ryunosuke in court, to the effect of “don’t imagine that a lowly foreign student like you would be allowed there”. Ryunosuke is quite understandably bewildered at the obvious hypocrisy of these comments, and I find that hypocrisy fascinating, because it’s almost… insecure of Kazuma? I believe what’s going on is that Kazuma is desperately projecting his own status as a lowly foreign student onto Ryunosuke alone, in an attempt to create a fantasy where he isn’t and is above that and will be treated with greater respect by the British judiciary.

After all, Kazuma is well aware that ten years ago his father was also “just a foreign student” and that this was likely part of why he was scapegoated and powerless to properly defend himself from the charges. (And, though not quite how Kazuma’s imagining it, that was indeed Stronghart’s excuse for not following up on Genshin’s suspicions of Klint, leading Genshin to take matters into his own hands and seal his fate.) So Kazuma feels like he needs to ingratiate himself into the British judiciary and act exactly like one of them in every possible way, so that they’ll respect him and listen to him and take his arguments seriously when he starts revealing the truth. It's painfully ironic, how he feels like he has to become the same as the very group of people who got his father killed.

(The one exception to this, the one part of his Japanese culture that he refuses to suppress no matter what, is Karuma. Because of course it is. Kazuma will not disrespect his father’s soul for anything.)

Not lying

I spent a lot of my first playthrough of the final case, given that I’d figured out he was with Gregson on the day of the murder, assuming that Kazuma must have been telling a whole bunch of lies in order to hide this. But, as it turns out, replaying while knowing exactly what went down on the Grouse and exactly how much Kazuma is aware of… he never tells a single direct lie at all. It’s really quite impressive, given just how much he’s hiding, that he manages to do so while never actively lying about anything. He has to be making a deliberate effort to do that, because lying would be easier.

In fact, the only time in the entire game that Kazuma ever lies about anything is during Escapade 2, on the Burya, when he absolutely has to in order to protect Ryunosuke from being discovered. He even thinks to himself, “I’d be lying if I said no”, before he actually says anything untrue out loud, as if he’s hesitating for a moment upon realising he’s got no choice but to lie here.

Most people would consider hiding the truth, in any way, to be just about as morally bad as lying, but Kazuma is freely willing to do the former all the time while going out of his way to avoid doing the latter unless it’s completely necessary. It’s an odd moral priority to have… which is what makes me suspect that this might be a principle of his that he learned from his father and therefore cares immensely about sticking to the very word of, even if what Genshin meant by “you shouldn’t lie” was probably something closer to “you shouldn’t deceive people”. (…That said, Genshin kept a lot of secrets of his own and had a hidden compartment in his sword for the purpose of doing just that, so perhaps he also had some slightly skewed priorities about deception. And, of course, he did eventually end up breaking this principle and lying with his confession – for Kazuma’s sake.)

Granted, most of Kazuma’s careful avoidance of lying happens in court, and could therefore be simply put down to him not wanting to be accused of perjury… but there is one very interesting example of him doing this outside of the courtroom. If you investigate the portrait of Klint in his office, Ryunosuke asks if Kazuma knows who it is, and Kazuma’s response is extremely evasive, with “Why would I?” and “I wouldn’t have the first clue what [van Zieks] decorates his office with”. It’s very striking when usually Kazuma would just give a straight yes or no answer to such a question. The real truth appears to be that he does realise this is van Zieks’s esteemed brother who was killed, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge that (as mentioned earlier, because that would involve acknowledging that van Zieks is a human person who is suffering) – however, he also doesn’t want to lie and say he doesn’t know, hence the evasive response that gives that impression without outright lying. It would cost Kazuma nothing to lie here, but he goes out of his way to avoid doing so anyway!

(He also exercises his expertise in hiding things without directly lying when it comes to how he’s feeling, of course. When he sees Ryunosuke and Susato again in Stronghart’s office after regaining his memories, he apologises for worrying them, and then, after a pause as if he’s searching for words, reassures them by saying “It’ll be alright now.” Not “I’m alright”, because he isn’t, and saying that would be a lie.)

Definitely not corrupt

Along similar lines to his insistence on not lying, Kazuma also really cares about giving off the impression that he’s being as honourable and above-board as possible during the trial. When Ryunosuke presents the alternative theory of how the Fresno Street scene could have been a set-up and Gregson was actually killed elsewhere a day earlier, Kazuma makes a big point of how this is only conjecture, but the whole judiciary is watching and he can’t allow the slightest doubt, so he’s going to pursue the possibility anyway. It reads a little like he's trying to stress how very rigorous and thorough he’s being, entertaining this conjecture from the defence just to be sure they do things right. (After all, he’s convinced himself it is just conjecture, because van Zieks is definitely guilty, right.) He’s also able to come across this way in the part on the second day where he admits he only brought up the smuggling angle because he was instructed to, but he disagrees and is now going to reveal the real truth that the Prosecutor’s Office was trying to hide.

Kazuma’s insistence on this is less specifically about his father’s principles (though there’s still probably a bit of that). It’s more just that he believes that van Zieks, and the British judiciary in general, was unforgivably corrupt in convicting his father, and he’s absolutely determined to be the complete opposite of that. When van Zieks calls him out for being in danger of becoming an “even more sinister Reaper” than him in the way he’s pursuing this case, Kazuma suppresses most of his reaction but is clearly Not Happy at that insinuation. He can’t stand the idea that he’s being a hypocrite, only able to clear his father’s name and condemn his killer using the same corrupt tactics and twisting of the truth that happened ten years ago.

And yet. Van Zieks may be a little off about the corruptness of the particular testimony that he calls Kazuma out on this for, but on the whole, he’s really kind of got a point. Kazuma’s approach to this entire trial, despite the way he tries to insist he’s doing this properly and righteously, is actually remarkably dodgy! It would make this post even more ridiculously long than it’s already being if I talked about every little bit of this (though maybe I will try and make another post going into this in more detail), but let me at least take you through some of the major strokes here.

[[Hey, guess what: I ended up making multiple other posts analysing Kazuma throughout the trial in line-by-line detail, which you can check out on my other blog here!]]

Questionable tactics

Prosecutors in Ace Attorney very rarely call the accused themselves to the stand, as it’s usually not necessary. Kazuma does it anyway, twice, despite it being thoroughly unnecessary here too. It’s all so that he can tear van Zieks’s testimony apart – which is not supposed to be the prosecutor’s job, but Kazuma’s still somewhat thinking like a defence lawyer – and make him guilty of perjury on top of everything else. The first time he calls van Zieks, Kazuma makes a point that “he believes in the oath of office he’s taken and will be compelled to tell the truth”, while fully intending to prove that he’s lying. The second time, later on day 3 once it’s been proven that van Zieks did not shoot Gregson and was not lying at all in his first testimony, Kazuma again tries to get him to “lie” by testifying that he had no involvement in the assassin exchange, and points out that if it can be proven he was involved, this would make van Zieks’s words perjury. Kazuma could have perfectly well explained the connection that he believes makes van Zieks the exchange mastermind without needing a testimony! But no. He is so viciously determined to prove to the court not only that van Zieks is a murderer, but also that he’s a horrible lying liar who lies. Which doesn’t seem like the correct priorities for a prosecutor to have.

Then there’s the whole part where Kazuma proposes they examine Gregson’s whereabouts on the day before his body was found, then subtly leads Ryunosuke into suggesting that he was investigating the redheads at Lime Park. Kazuma knows full well Gregson wasn’t there at all, because he was personally accompanying Gregson to Dunkirk that day. But he just… quietly doesn’t mention that fact (while being careful not to lie about anything, of course), and lets the court spend several testimonies on what he knows is a complete wild goose chase.

On my second playthrough of the case, I wondered if maybe Kazuma had somehow found out about Daley Vigil being Gregson’s fake-alibi man, and he pursued this line of questioning about the redheads because he knew it would end up with Vigil on the stand, thus letting him get answers about his father’s execution. But that can’t be it, because Kazuma is visibly surprised both upon learning about the fake alibi thing and also learning who Vigil is at all. Finding Vigil here can’t have been anything but a lucky coincidence for him.

So if that’s not why Kazuma lets this happen, then the real reason has to be, largely, that… it’s just a huge diversion ploy. He knows that whatever truth Ryunosuke does uncover about why on earth one of Gregson’s diaries mentioned Lime Park that day (something he’s bound to be a little bit curious about himself), it’s going to involve conclusively proving that Gregson was not murdered there. Kazuma then uses this misdirection to argue that this “completely destroys the defence’s case”, as if Gregson not being murdered at Lime Park on the 31st (because he wasn’t even there) means he must have been killed on the 1st at Fresno Street after all. That’s obviously nonsense, because we still haven’t looked into where Gregson really was on the 31st! It’s a little unclear how well this argument would have worked out for Kazuma, though, because he promptly gets sidetracked by the Vigil thing, which leads to an abrupt end to the trial day.

Chronic tunnel-visioning

The next day of the trial, after seeming like he cares about doing this honourably by subtly allowing Ryunosuke to see through the whole made-up smuggling angle that he was ordered by Stronghart to pursue – which really he does so that he can reveal that Gregson was working for the Reaper – Kazuma then proceeds to spin the absolute most bonkers line of so-called logic we’ve seen from him yet. It gets a little waylaid by Ryunosuke managing to prove that Kazuma was with Gregson that day as the assassin, but ultimately, Kazuma’s argument is as follows:

Gregson was ordered to kill Jigoku that day, and since he failed (because Kazuma refused to do it, not through any fault of Gregson’s, mind you), van Zieks, who is obviously the Reaper’s mastermind (still zero proof of this base premise to all his arguments) therefore must have killed Gregson as punishment for disappointing him. Kazuma acts so certain of this argument, like this is proof that van Zieks did it. But even if this didn’t rely on the completely unfounded base premise that van Zieks is the Reaper, and also the flimsy idea that Gregson was at fault for the mission failure, this still proves nothing but van Zieks’s potential motive, and not that he actually killed anyone!

(This isn’t the only time Kazuma argues using the base premise that van Zieks is the Reaper without backing it up – it also fuels half of his basis for calling van Zieks’s first testimony a lie, because obviously the Reaper must be lying about having never visited his own hideout before, right.)

And then Kazuma brings up Jigoku’s disappearance and makes an even worse argument: that van Zieks totally still wanted to kill Jigoku anyway, badly enough that he was willing to send some other assassin after him from prison (something he’s totally capable of, somehow, because uhhhhhh Reaper). Therefore, Jigoku’s disappearance proves that van Zieks had him killed, and thus also that van Zieks killed Gregson. Definitely no other possibility, not that if Jigoku’s missing it doesn’t necessarily mean he’s dead, nor that if he has been murdered it could possibly be the work of anyone other than van Zieks. If something bad has happened, then it must be because van Zieks’s is the Absolute Worst.

All of this backwards logic falls apart in an instant if you even just briefly entertain the possibility that van Zieks isn’t the Reaper and isn’t the Worst Person Ever. But Kazuma’s not being corrupt here on purpose – he’s just so horrendously, tragically tunnel-visioned into his reality where van Zieks is a monster that he genuinely can’t see how broken his logic is. He’s so convinced that van Zieks must be the Reaper and Gregson’s killer that any events which could be explained by that get twisted around in his head to become further proof of that, proof he’s confident enough to present in court, despite the obvious logical fallacy in that way of thinking. He genuinely seems to believe that this entire argument for van Zieks’s guilt, which hinges on the unfounded premise that we already know he's the Reaper, is going to then prove he’s the Reaper as well. That’s completely circular!

Even when Jigoku’s on the stand the next day, at which point most people’s suspicions would be likely to have shifted at least a little towards him (you know, given the whole fleeing-the-country thing), Kazuma’s opinion hasn’t budged at all. He remains firmly convinced that this is nothing but a dead-end, right up until he simply can’t any longer. When Ryunosuke manages to confirm that there’s blood in Jigoku’s trunk, thus conclusively proving that Gregson was murdered on the Grouse, Kazuma’s reaction is immediate and distinctly shocked – “You can’t be serious! You did it?” He is only realising in this very moment that Gregson’s killer was someone other than van Zieks, and he almost can’t believe it.

And even then, with Jigoku’s confession, Kazuma manages to mental-gymnastics his way into convincing himself that van Zieks definitely still ordered the killing and is therefore still guilty. It’s actually a relevant detail that Jigoku’s setup at Fresno Street was intending to frame Hugh Boone and not van Zieks, because Jigoku would never have tried to frame his superior. This way Kazuma can tell himself that van Zieks just carelessly, foolishly blundered his way into the trap set up by his underling for someone else (it’s a fun contradiction how the van Zieks in Kazuma’s head is simultaneously a terrifying monster and also a blundering fool) and it totally all still makes sense.

Opening his eyes

It really is kind of heartbreaking to see Kazuma, who truly is a highly-skilled lawyer most of the time, descend into desperate obvious fallacies like this. And while Ryunosuke is apparently still caught up enough in his idolisation of Kazuma to not notice any of his flawed logic for most of the trial, he does eventually see how clouded his friend’s mind has become. When van Zieks confirms he knew nothing about the fabrication of the ring in the autopsy, Kazuma brokenly tries to insist that no, it must have been him, it has to be – he’s clung to his hatred of van Zieks as a coping mechanism for his grief for so long that he doesn’t know what to do without it. Ryunosuke takes this opportunity to finally try and talk him down, telling him that his emotions have blinded him to the truth. And in a testament to the strength of their friendship, Kazuma listens and takes his words to heart. Surprisingly quickly, in fact!

Another of the little hints that a buried part of Kazuma was always capable of acknowledging that van Zieks is a good person is that it really doesn’t take long for him to re-evaluate his opinion on the man, once Ryunosuke talks him into letting go of his hatred at last. Only a minute or so later, Kazuma’s able to acknowledge that perhaps van Zieks is the one who’s been deluded all these years, that the reason he condemned Kazuma’s father could be simply that he was mistaken (or misled) about the Professor’s true identity. (Though Kazuma does phrase this statement as if he wasn’t also equally deluded about the real truth of things until just now, which sure is some projecting.) Later on, Kazuma fervently defends van Zieks by praising the strength he showed in enduring the title of Reaper for all these years, which is a remarkable level of acknowledging van Zieks’s suffering and humanity from someone who was until very recently convinced he was nothing but a monster! It just goes to show that Kazuma already did notice all these things about van Zieks during his time as his apprentice. He simply forced himself to suppress and dismiss those thoughts until now because they didn’t fit the villainous image of van Zieks he was so desperately clinging to.

Despite all of the awkwardness and reservations that it’d be difficult to shake completely, Kazuma does express respect for van Zieks at the end of the trial. He’s also clearly determined to keep studying under him, as shown by the fact that he’s the one to encourage van Zieks to keep prosecuting when he’s planning to resign due to his brother’s crimes. I suspect Kazuma wants to study under him not only because van Zieks the most skilled prosecutor in Britain, but also because he’s so incredibly good at not being corrupt despite everything, and Kazuma feels he needs to learn from someone like that, after having come so close to falling prey to his own demons.

Even then, with his respect for van Zieks and determination to learn from him, Kazuma still can’t forgive him for the mistake ten years ago that cost his father’s life. And that’s a heavy fact, considering that Kazuma himself is guilty of very nearly doing as much himself in trying so fervently to convict van Zieks. It would have been exactly the same kind of mistake – condemning an innocent man to death due to overlooking the hints at the real truth out of grief-driven hatred. That Kazuma can’t bring himself to forgive van Zieks for such a thing very strongly implies that he’s also not able to forgive himself for all the mistakes he’s made.

After all, forgiveness as a concept probably doesn’t really exist in Kazuma’s head. For ten years since losing his father, he’d never have felt like he needed it. How would forgiving the monster who destroyed his life have fixed anything? – far better to focus on avenging his father and bringing justice and putting things right. And by that same token… how would forgiving himself fix anything? Yet now here he is at the end, in a position where the healthiest thing to do really would be to forgive both van Zieks and himself for their mistakes and wrongdoings and move forward. But Kazuma doesn’t know how to do so.

And then there’s his father. Kazuma’s learned during this trial that his father – the man he so passionately believed would never take another man’s life, would never engage in underhanded deals, would never tell a lie – did in fact do all of those things ten years ago. It’s going to be tough for him to come to terms with that. But maybe also, that could help him? To realise that even his father, that esteemed paragon of justice in his eyes, was flawed and human, someone who compromised his own morals out of desperation and emotion and trying his best to do the right thing. I really, really hope it stuck with Kazuma that the reason Genshin lied and took the deal with Stronghart was out of love for him. If that’s an understandable enough reason, if that’s something he can forgive his father for, then it ought to be just as understandable and forgivable that Kazuma himself did so many things he regrets out of the very same love for his father.

The other thing I hope Kazuma reflects on is how glad he must be that he brought Ryunosuke to Great Britain. Even though things didn’t turn out remotely as planned, even despite all the awkward painful distance caused by the accident that separated them, Ryunosuke still succeeded in doing exactly what Kazuma brought him for, which was to help him. And that’s not only helping him find the truth, but also helping him do the right thing and not lose himself to his hatred and convict van Zieks. I truly don’t know if Kazuma would ever have been able to forgive himself if van Zieks had actually been wrongfully executed because of him, condemned to the same fate as his father. But that didn’t happen, thanks to Ryunosuke. Kazuma’s best friend managed to save him from himself.

I think Kazuma is at least somewhat aware of this, as indicated in the reason he asks Ryunosuke to hold onto Karuma at the end. Kazuma’s own demons are what caused him to horribly misuse Karuma and lead to it breaking, and he doesn’t trust himself with it any more at present – but he trusts Ryunosuke. On a symbolic level, he’s trusting his best friend to safeguard his soul and keep it from being damaged further, until he feels he’s grown enough to be worthy of it again and to be able to look after it himself.

So even though they’re parting ways for now, I hope Kazuma can look at the importance that his bond with Ryunosuke had in keeping him on the right path, and seek out other opportunities for friendship and connection during his time in Great Britain. More than anything else, what Kazuma needs to fight his demons and stay walking on the path of light is simply to not be alone.

~~~

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed my thoughts on Kazuma enough to make it all the way to the end of this post, you may also be interested in reading the Kazuma-centric fics I’ve written. They explore a lot of the concepts discussed here and even helped me to figure several of them out in the first place!

Sharing the Pain

An AU in which Ryunosuke and Kazuma are caught out in their stowaway ruse on the Burya, leading to a flogging as punishment. Explores a more vulnerable side of Kazuma than normal, his difficulty opening up to his best friend about his emotions and past even when he wants to, and the way he really just wanted Ryunosuke with him on this trip for emotional support and to not be alone but is completely incapable of admitting it.

Not Forgotten, But

My AU in which Kazuma actually was faking his amnesia, exploring how that might have come about and how it would have affected him. Featuring Kazuma’s hang-ups about the assassination mission, distancing himself from his friends, lots of hatred and mental gymnastics around van Zieks, suppressed trauma about his father’s case, and his inability to acknowledge that he could be having any kind of doubts or regrets about the situation he’s in.

A Friend, Locked Up

Taking place in that same AU where Kazuma was faking his amnesia, this follows up with what I very strongly believe should have happened in canon, namely Kazuma getting arrested for Gregson’s murder halfway through the final case. Includes his perspective of that fateful moment in the cabin with Gregson, and then featuring his suspicious actions and questionable approaches to the case actually collapsing around him in court, bringing Kazuma lower than he ever comes in canon and giving me plenty of opportunity to explore all the reasons he’d have to hate himself, before Ryunosuke pulls him out of that and saves Kazuma from himself in a much more direct way.

#ace attorney #the great ace attorney #the great ace attorney chronicles #great ace attorney #dai gyakuten saiban #tgaa spoilers #kazuma asogi #asougi kazuma #character analysis #ramble #friends #my buttons

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bellshazes · 2 years

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PLEASE GO INTO DETAILS ABOUT YOUR BDUBS ANALYSIS FOREVER

restricting myself solely to bwbs3 for the moment because i am going to finish DIA tonight so that'll have to be a separate. thing. about narrative

i'm not interested in it for theory's sake, but because I think a lot of content around minecraft does not scratch the itch I want - sure you can teach me how to copy a build block by block, or even explain a process for massing a roof, but these still aren't enough. what I truly, truly want is many people having a conversation that would include things like...

how do i move around in the game? where do I spend my time? what are the implications of that?

how do i build the infrastructure necessary to support the continued playstyle i prefer without devolving into base chores and in fact encouraging the development of goals and completion of them in a game with no prescribed finish?

how do I interpret meaning from the world I build around me? how do distance, color, texture, scale, size, lighting, shape, time spent navigating, terrain, machines, mechanics, movement, etc. and their interrelationships impact the meaning I derive?

these are mere starting points; concretely, a conversation could look like moving from "what's the best most efficient farm objectively i can build?" to "how do I choose or construct a farm that matches its output and ease of access to my current needs and goals?" farm throttling is a huge concern in my imaginary discourse, since it's highly variable even across a single player's single world. (this may shock you to learn this is something I appreciate greatly about etho.)

bdubs is making really, really big arguments about what visual representation can signify not in isolation but in concert across many dimensions: he loves his fog and render distance settings because of what they do to an environment, and his builds interact with those distance limits; he is constantly pushing himself further beyond simple gradients into texturing into doing ambient occlusion on flat walls to suggest crossbeams and now expanding scale to increase possibilities for meaningful coherent block palettes. it's got his usual wrapping of bluster and pride but he's a lot more mellow and didactic in bwbs3! like, he is arguing for this approach in terms you would expect with historical art movements, about how to communicate meaningfully through art. he is doing pointillism!

today he talked about building in all those terms and more, and then also in the fourth dimension of time; this is the first thing I built and it is a time capsule of my skill and style at that point in time, and I am going to build this today as a capstone to my current skills and style, a proof of concept and a temple and a focal point and a new scale marker (since the mountain he built is now tiny in comparison lmao). he is playing minecraft in 4D! this is a really neat and meaty line of thinking - if you're playing a world, what could you build to be a snapshot of where you are now?

that turns the world, built-up, into a historical register. it's not that groundbreaking to do in retrospect, but combined with the foresight and level of intent and skill and on top of that articulating that to the audience makes building with bdubs season 3 really special to me. it's a cross between a seminar and a let's play; it's not building with like s1/s2 senses of just recording himself while building and talking in detail, it's building with in the sense of instruction and encouraging you to go try it out. it's his pitch for his theory of building! from what I can tell, it's pretty unique for that.

honestly the derrida and perec and everything is relevant and ripe but my first turn to theory with bdubs was bernard tschumi's advertisements for architecture, because some of them work so well with his life series builds (another post, another time). however, check this shit out!

advertisements for architecture frequently also engages with murder and the erotic as components of architecture - "Murder in the Street differs from Murder in the Cathedral in the same way as love in the street differs from the Street of Love. Radically." the erotic is less relevant, but the call to baser human desires is a fun touchpoint when considering the meaninglessness of death and especially in the context of MCYT the use of architecture even more explicitly than irl as prompts for interesting, novel, unpredictable interactions. at the same time, many built things in MC are mere facades (grian hcs7 megabase...... not to be rude but jesus).

and so the novelty and love for a guy who cares about and executes well a manifesto on unifying aesthetics and function in a dynamic four-dimensional framework. with that basis, you could start engaging piaget on play, baudrillard on simulation and simulacra, derrida on bricolage, perec on space, any number of theater-centered theorists from any number of lenses (marxist critique of the gradient trend when?) and so on endlessly. but I'm always overjoyed and intrigued by bdubs' arguments. he's so breezy about it, too, like he's driven toward something he's figuring out for himself and trying to share as he learns. nothin else like it

#peter answers #this is really not even touching the theory but i just. i love bwbs3 so fucking much #mc meta #blogging with bdoubleo #god i miss knl. thanks for being someone else to indulge me on tschumi

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cottoncandy-cult · 11 months

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Life Within the Soul Sneak Peak

Below is a sneak peak of the intro to a book that is in the works for my Ao3, Life Within the Soul. Though it sounds like a straight-line fanfic I can assure you it is not, in it I will be posting an array of one-shots, scenarios, smuts and more all taking place in a special world. This is effectively my universal fix-it fic collection for every character I'm grieving for and show I miss; it will include reader inserts and Oc stuff and a wide array of characters and their new lives in this seemingly modern world where they finally have the options and support, they need to heal. I plan to keep most characters relatively in character, some will be slightly toned down depending on what I'm writing. This is only a small part of the intro; the whole intro was too long to post here and the parts that primarily describe the world at large are in the first 2 paragraphs. This is where we meet the goddess, my Author persona so to speak, who is in the process of preparing for her next "rescue mission". Check it out, it will feature an array of characters, so there may even be crossover action, don't be surprised to learn that Sukuna from Jujutsu Kaisen is gym buddies with Shiva from Record of Ragnarök lol. There are no real set-in stone stories, so one day Gojo might be the owner of a lingerie empire and married to a cat girl kemonomimi that was a background character from some long-forgotten phone game and the next day he is in a polyamorous relationship with Geto and a femboy stoner and Gojo is a house husband while Geto owns a popular club in the red-light district. So yeah, if you're interested in that kinda chaos check out my Ao3 and keep an eye out for the book drop. Each chapter will have warnings as needed, so remember to look at the notes and description so you can tell what's instore. There will be adult content overall, so if you're super worried about accidentally reading something you aren't into just skip it.

"I wonder who will arrive next…It hurts my heart to see the children of creativity pass… but I can't wait to see them." A woman with long pastel pink hair sat at a work bench, in her hands was a piece of silky snow-white clay. Laying on a metal sheet that sat nearby was a series of featureless white dolls, they were small but would soon grow and adjust to the size of the host that would soon bring them to life. In the kiln nearby another tray slowly baked, preparing a fresh batch of blessed soul shells. The tv on the wall that the work bench was pressed to was turned on, on it she watched the life of yet another person that was born in a created universe. She felt bad for them, they were living creatures though the ones that created them call them characters and treat them as if they are not real. Of course this wasn't the creators fault, after all in their world these people AREN'T real. They are people made from the imagination, given life on paper and screeen. How were they supposed to know about the alternative diminsions much less understand the true reality of the diminsion they live in. How were they supposed to know that each world that made, actually made a world? How were they supposed to know they were the gods of these people's world. That each life of suffering was inflicted on someone that truly lived within another diminsion, every choice sealing each person's fate without the so called "characters" even realizing they never had a choice to start with and it was all done for the entertainment of others and advancement of plot. That nothing was ever in their control. It was a fact that hurt the goddess, she was familiar with the soul birth process as she spent some time making the souls that would be born within the various created universes. It was one of the first things she learned when she ascended, each god of creation having to learn the step-by-step process that was the creation of life, realms and all that lies within. Of course she long since finished her training, and so she has been left to use her powers as she sees fit. It was the pain she felt while making these souls, knowing the truth of their existence, that drove her to create the techniques that allowed her to expand the depths of her soul and build a world within herself, a place that would remain untouched so long as she drew breath. And for her to provide bodies for all those she sought to save, so many souls cast into darkness because the media source that created their life and story had ended. Thus ending their story, the closest thing to rebirth being the creation of an entirely different version of them within a series of pocket universes formed by fans that live within the creator universe at that point. She was proud of some of them, their so called "fix it" fics doing a lot to soothe her sadness while she works on getting vessels prepared for the line of dead and work her way to the media source's "named characters" to whom she had grown especially attached. Though she'd never admit it out loud, there were some people she favored because she had bore witness to their lives and to the media that determined their fate from start to finish. "Don't worry little ones…Mama will rescue you from the darkness, I promise." Mint green eyes looked up the screen, fingers moving on muscle memory as she worked harder to finish the next few batches so that she can get started on the reincarnation process. "I can't wait to meet you all…"

#candy cult vault #fluff #sneak peak of my new ao3 book #Will be rated mature on Ao3 as this will include everything from fluff to smut to scenarios #this is the world in which my fix it fics will take place in so I don't have to worry about plot and explanation for why they do things #this will be for an array of characters and shows #be ready for the occasional crossover #this is gonna get chaotic lmao #I'll notify when I post the intro and first few parts #really needin some Gojo

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sugurus-slxt · 3 years

Text

Haikyuu Boys Walking In On You Dancing (smexy edition)

Lineup: Tsukishima Kei, Azumane Asahi, Kozume Kenma, Yamamoto Taketora and Oikawa Tōru.

Warning: cursing, one mention of alcohol, and suggestive smexy content

A/Note: So yes two in a day, I was extra motivated y’all don’t question it. It’s probably because it’s been so long. The songs are just what I like to listen to, m sorry.

Tsukishima Kei

♬♩♪♩ Sean Paul – She Doesn’t Mind ♩♪♩♬

Tsukishima was looking for his bluetooth headphones everywhere because he was positive he had left them on the couch, in the living room. However, they seemed to have grown legs and walked elsewhere, he joked to himself. “Y/N! Shorty! Have you seen my headphones?” he called loudly but no response. He walked through the house shouting your name but you were nowhere to be found. Tsukishima glanced at the clock on the wall; it read 4:30PM. He considered maybe you had been outside, possibly reading a book which you often did.

He was right; there you were blanket laid on the grass with the long-forgotten book and you standing up dancing with his headphones. You hadn’t seen him yet and he had considered stopping you but he just couldn’t. Kei stood at the door admiring the way your hips rolled and body moved. He wondered what you were listening to make you dance this way, so beautifully, so erotically. Tsukishima wasn’t much of a dancer but he’d love to be body to body with you right now. He had clearly gotten a bit too excited and the tent in his pants was proof. His cheeks burned red in embarrassment, you still dancing, unaware of his presence.

He quietly crept up behind you gently clasping his hands around your waist. You jumped a bit, immediately lowering the headphones. “I was looking for those you know,” he whispered lowly in your ear. “I- I’m sorry you can have them back now,” you apolgise trying to turn around. He held your body still, pressing his closer to yours. Then you felt it, the hardness pressed against your back, “But I want something else now. Hmmmm. Care to help me with it shortcake?” he asked his hands finding his way below your shirt, caressing your chest and brushing over your nipples. “K- Kei we’re outside. S-someone could see,” you tried reasoning.

“Really… Hmm you didn’t seem to mind a few seconds ago. So unless you want the neighbors to get a perfect view of your body being wrecked which I’m sure they wouldn’t mind get your ass on the bed upstairs right now,” he said biting your ear, eliciting a whimper from you. “I- y-yes sir,” you reply, pulling yourself from his grasp to go upstairs, he followed closely behind.

Azumane Asahi

♬♩♪♩ Bailando – Enrique Iglesias ♩♪♩♬

Asahi was busy at work in his office; with a tight deadline and 3 designs to perfect every waking hour was spent working. But he’s been staring at the blank page for the past 20 minutes with no breakthrough and it’s not because he couldn’t come up with anything, he just couldn’t concentrate. Why? Because right now you were just outside his door in the living room blasting music. It’s not like you meant to disturb him or had forgotten either, he just didn’t tell you.

He knows you’d insist on staying up to ungodly hours with him as he finished his designs so he told you he’d be in bed shortly, he just had some papers to sign. He hoped you would go to sleep but nope. Asahi wanted to leave you to your music he truly did, he knew you were happiest when you’re dancing and enjoying yourself but he wanted to enjoy it with you. The faster he finished the faster he could come and be with you, so he decided to tell you.

“Hey-,” the words died in his throat as his eyes landed on you. Asahi considered retreating to his office right now but he couldn’t move. You hadn’t heard him and he was kind of glad you didn’t. Your hips swayed to the beat, moving in just the right way, his eyes didn’t leave you. Your clothes hugged your body just right even if they were just sleepwear. Was that really what you wore to sleep he thought? If he had noticed all this sooner he was sure your nights would end a much different way. Asahi’s face flushed red; he cursed himself for thinking such inappropriate thoughts.

Your hands trailed up your body that was moving to the music as you finally turned to see him. “Oh! Hey, honey. I didn’t see you there,” you paused the music and walked up to him. “I- I wanted you to turn down the music. I- mean if that’s alright,” he said scratching his neck. “Yeah yeah. I’m sorry honey. Lemme do that and you can get back to your work,” you pulled his hand to your lips placing a kiss on them, and walking back to the speaker. “W-wait could you umm maybe help me with something. It's fine if you can’t,” he waved his hands in front of him. You look down to find a very turned-on Asahi and chuckled, “Mmmm Of course honey. Maybe next time you can join me dancing. I didn’t know you liked it so much.” Asahi hid his face in his hands as he followed you to the bedroom.

Kenma Kozume

♬♩♪♩ LUV – Tory Lanez ♩♪♩♬

Kenma was busy working a TikTok Livestream because his followers and subscribers have been bombarding his inbox with messages to get one. He was currently in the process of making sure everything was in order as people started popping in and saying hi. You were in the bedroom trying to strike up some inspiration but instead, you got so caught up in the music. Meanwhile, Kenma was telling them about his day but the chat was blowing up with questions so he had skipped over to answer them.

About an hour had passed and he was getting a bit hungry so he decided to headed over to the kitchen, phone in hand to get some apple pie from the fridge. Everyone started commenting typical Kodzuken, a couple people suggested that he ask you if you wanted any. His fan base was very familiar with your presence and often asked for ideas where he would interact with you. The community loved seeing the softer side of Kenma that came out when you were around. His phone was turned to face you so everyone could see you when he entered.

Not even five seconds after he opened the door he closed it. “Hey guys, ummm I need to go. I’ll come back later. Kodzuken out,” he quickly ended the stream and turned off his phone. “Hey, baby. Are you ok?” you peeked out from the door one side of your bluetooth earbuds still in. His face was tinted pink as he pushed you into the room, “I- Kitten … umm my fan base just saw… they … well how you were dancing and I-,” you stopped him pulling him to lay his head on your lap. “I’m sorry baby, but it’s nothing special. Was I bad?” You ask while stroking his hair but he sat straight up. “No! I mean no, you weren’t bad. It was just,” he played with his fingers, “It was just really seductive and it's that’s not really for my fan base to see. “

“Oh? Then who is it for then? Hmmm,” you asked in a teasing manner. He was embarrassed but still confidently answered, “For me ok. It’s for me now stop teasing me ok,” he pouted turning away from you. You giggled, “I’m sorry but maybe you want me to continue. For you alone that is?” He thought about it but then his stomach growled, “Ok I do but maybe eat some apple pie with me first?” You nodded and you both headed to the kitchen but don’t think he forgot about your suggestion.

Yamamoto Taketora

♬♩♪♩ Fast Wine – Machel Montano ♩♪♩♬

Today had gone by pretty slow, and you spent it watching movies and just spending time with Yamamoto. But now it was a bit later and you were feeling some creative juices flowing so you decided to put that to use you grabbed your stuff and set it up at the kitchen counter. He decided to up Kenma’s offer to play some games. About two hours had gone by and your shoulder was getting pretty sore. The playlist was pretty upbeat and just as you had gotten up a dance-worthy song had begun to play. You thought maybe it’d be a good warm-up.

You were swaying your body to the beat and getting in the rhythm. Your hips moved freely as you dragged your hand over your body and fit your dancing to the nature of the song. What you didn't know, is as soon as you started to dance Taketora was coming to get some snacks and check up on you. But his plans changed when he saw you dancing, he froze. If he went back now he’d definitely have to take a cold shower and he saw no difference if he stayed. So he decided to enjoy it for a bit. His cheeks were lightly dusted pink and the situation in his pants was only getting harder.

He felt weird just standing there, kind of like he was being a creep so he decided to quickly run to the kitchen and run back as the song came to a close. “H-hey baby. Just getting a snack and heading back,” he said hurriedly. “Oh ok. Did you enjoy the view?” you quirked your eyebrow smirking at him. “W-what? I didn’t see anything just you baby always se- I mean beautiful as ever,” he turned away from you and opened the fridge. You slowly walk up behind him, and start climbing your fingers up his arms, “Really nothing? I guess that’s too bad, I wanted to know what you thought. Guess I just have to assume it was terrible.”

“Wait! Baby your dancing is really amazing and sexy! How could you say it’s bad!” he shouted covering his face in realisation of what he just said. You burst out in a fit of laughter, it was so easy to get him to admit things, “Babe I’m sorry but I’m glad you like it. I didn’t know how much you saw I only caught you down to the end. But I’m glad you like it I but I do see that your little friend down there liked it much more.” You pointed down to his crotch which he covered while flushing bright red. “I’m sorry I- umm I’ll take care of it,” he apologised turning to leave. “How about we both have a shower and I can fix it for you hmm,” you held his hand and whispered in his ear. “Y-yes p-please. Thank you,” he looked down blushing as you led him to the bathroom.

Oikawa Tōru

♬♩♪♩ Hips Don’t Lie – Shakira ♩♪♩♬

Oikawa was gone for practice and you decided it’d be fun to catch up with your friends because it had been a while. You were on a video call and you guys had started talking about music and gotten into a bit of details about dancing. So now you and all your friends were showing their wining and grinding skills. This was a rather normal occurrence because in all honestly things always got wild between you guys. Put the three of you in a club and all eyes would be on you in no time. It was always a surprise how a couple shots could go such a long way.

You were going off to this song, all the seductive movements, hands dragging over the dips of your body and your hips moving at just the right tempo. Tōru had forgotten his water bottle and came back only to find you dancing. Turned on was an understatement but his time in Brazil gave him experience in more than one way and he was going to use that. This man was not shy but he did wait for the right moment to jump in. He came up behind you resting his hands on your waist, guiding your movement with his. “Hey cutie, moving that beautiful body of yours I see,” he whispered in your ear gently biting it. “You startled me,” you smiled still dancing as you put your arms back against his chest and dragged your body down his, slowly coming back up.

He started placing kisses on your neck, “Mmmm m sorry, fuck I’m not gonna make it to practice baby.” He twirled you away from his body only to bring you back and dip you. He smiled and pulled you up for a kiss. Suddenly, whistles and claps erupted, “Shit- I forgot I was talking to them.” He chuckled as they asked where they can find themselves an Oikawa Tōru. “Well ladies there’s only one and I don’t think Y/N-chan is sharing,” giving them a wink.

“Well, I don’t know you cause a lot more problems than fix them,” you joke as he clutched his chest. “How rude Y/N-chan! Maybe I’ll take your friends up on their offer then,” he crossed his arms and pouted childishly. “You’re not going anywhere, you’re all mine mister, and now what’s that about not going to practice. What did you have in mind?” you asked ending the call with your friends. He didn’t reply, just grabbed you by the waist and placed you on his lap, earning a small squeak from you.

Tell me if you'd like to see anyone else for this? Whether it's MHA or Haikyuu, maybe even Jujutsu Kaisen.

If you liked my writing, maybe you’d like to buy me a coffee?

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princessofprocrastination · 4 years

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You Live In Sweatpants And Hoodies (GeorgeNotFound)

MASTERLIST

pairing : georgenotfound / george x influencer!reader.

summary : george and your fans realize that under all the sweaters, you have a body.

a/n : if you are wondering what dress i was talking about, search up jennie short black dress :)

before social media, you studied law and got a degree in it but ended up not using it due to your social media career sky rocketing.

but you never thought studying was a waste, that could be your backup, after all. social media doesn’t last forever. and you were ready to accept any difficulties since you knew you had plan b.

you, till this day, could not describe what you do on social media. it started with tiktok. everything nowadays started with tiktok. but you were one of the first people who was on it.

and then tiktokers would make their way onto youtube to sustain their “career” and grow. so that’s what you did. you never abandoned that app, though. especially not now, everyone on that app is seriously hilarious.

your content on youtube was all over the place. once, for a video, you talked to weird men on omegle and tinder. another time, you would try different aesthetics on yourself.

but here’s the catch, you’ve never really worn revealing clothes. your mum had always told you to never deprive yourself from what she says “fun young girl things” which is dressing up, or down, in her say and go have fun with your friends.

but since the pandemic hit, you have had no where to go anyways, and you never really liked to show off your body. it’s not that you felt uncomfortable doing it, it’s just that you’ve never had the reason to.

you also didn’t grow up girly. you hated dresses, especially short and tight dresses. and you weren’t a fan of wearing shorts either. you always opted to go comfy.

whenever you post a tiktok, you always wore your signature hoodie and sweatpants that were clearly sizes too big for you. but you liked it, it’s comfortable to sleep in.

and whenever you had to pan down to show your outfits on youtube, you were always caught wearing jeans and a baggy shirt, just styled differently, according to the aesthetic of the video you were filming for.

you heard your phone ring from the couch. you picked it up, knowing who it was anyways. “morning, cutie.” you stared.

“morning b.” george greets you, hair everywhere, clearly just woken up.

you and george met on tiktok, just like all good friends do. he had duetted a tiktok of yours and you found him hilarious. you quickly followed him on every single social media platform he was in. you even set an alarm in case he ever streams and you’re asleep.

you two are close. some would say you two are dating, but you two haven’t figured it out yet. you two didn’t really want to disclose it anyways, you two knew your not so secret feelings for each other, anyways.

remember when he called you ‘b’? yeah that stands for ‘bub’. he thought it would be cute for him to have a different nickname than the usual “baby” or “babe”.

you two actually live very near each other, making it way easier as a couple, but since england was put into a quarantine order, you two didn’t meet often.

some would probably ask why you’d have to set an alarm when he streams when you two clearly are in the same timezone? well, that boy had no sense of time and a terrible sleeping schedule. it amazed you at how early he got up today.

that facetime call lasted about half an hour before you told him you needed to stream on twitch today, to which he responded to you that he’s watch it later.

today, you had a surprise. for the world. you can’t believe you even thought about this but it was about time you showed off to the world what assets you’ve been blessed with.

speaking of showing off. no, you weren’t a particularly insecure person, you were just comfortable in the clothes you’re in. but celebrating the long time you’ve been on social media, and it being your birthday, you thought it might be fitting.

george and you agreed to not make anything special about your birthday. you hated parties and large gatherings, and since you were still in the middle of a pandemic, you used that as an excuse to not go out.

you spent the longest time searching for a good enough outfit for this day. and you found it. you decided to pick a pretty simple dress, a black short dress that went to your mid thigh, that showed off your waist, spaghetti strapped and a little backless.

you walked out the shower, your robe on as you walked to your bathroom counters to dry your hair. you didn’t really bother to style it, just leaving you straight long hair down.

you put on the most basic white sneakers you could find to still make it casual, and you thought it went well together, anyways.

you finished you makeup and took a good look at yourself. you had been aware that you only wore baggy clothes, so this was a huge change. you twirled yourself, feeling confident.

you couldn’t wait for people to have heart attacks.

you sat on your gaming chair, getting ready to start your stream.

before you started your stream, you made sure you left your facecam turned off first.

you went live. chat was confused since this was the first time that you’re not on facecam. all they could see at the moment was the caption “IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!” that you typed on your notes app on your computer.

“hi, chat.” you said, to calm them down a little.

you heard your phone go off, a text notification. which you knew was george since he had a special notification ping on your phone.

it said “did you forget to turn on your cam?”

you laughed at that. “no, chat, i haven’t forgotten to turn on my facecam, just wait for a sec, please.”

you felt giddy, excited for the reactions.

instead of wearing your cute cat headphones, you wore your airpods instead to get the whole look going.

you let out a sigh before moving your mouse cursor to linger on the ‘start recording camera’ button. you clicked on it, before moving your chair back to fully say hi to your chat.

you brought your hands up to wave to the camera. you tilted your head slightly. “soooo, it’s my birthday.” you said.

chat was going crazy so you stopped reading them so you wouldn’t get a headache. the donations went crazy too, but you tried your best to read them all.

you thanked the people who subscribed to you or gifted you subs.

“360 of this dress? sure, i’ll give you a twirl.” you replied a dono.

you stood up, and rolled your gaming chair away so that they can see your whole outfit. you spun around once, quickly telling them where you got the dress from.

you tried to hold your foot on one hand, balancing yourself to show them that you could go casual in this dress too.

what you noticed was that, your phone hadn’t stopped beeping from a text notification, which belonged to the one and only georgenotfound.

and since maybe he noticed that you won’t check your phone, he sent a donation instead.

“WHAT THE FUCK.” the monotoned voice read out the donation, which was from george.

you facepalmed, knowing exactly what his reaction is like at home.

“I’M COMING OVER.” the voice said again. you laughed at his antics.

“see you then.” you replied, laughing, knowing he was joking around anyways.

GEORGE’S POV

she thinks i’m joking, isn’t she?

well, she gave me her spare key for a reason, and this would be the best reason.

i knew i wanted to come around anyways. just after her stream. i promised her no going out, but not no gifts and ordering in.

sneaky, i know.

i had a plan brewing in my mind. to walk in her house as quietly as possible, to surprise her.

after seeing her in that dress, i don’t think i can stand our fans not knowing we aren’t dating.

i know, i haven’t really asked her out, but we kinda both agreed that there was no use, knowing each other’s feeling was good enough and that we didn’t need to do anything extravagant.

i don’t know what she’s tell her fans but i’m sure i hadn’t disclose our relationship. the fans shipped us, sure, but i don’t think i’ve ever said it out loud.

we knew we’d have to say it someday. so i thought, why not today? as i surprised her at her own house.

her fans watching her stream are tweeting at me like crazy. no one had seen her like that. she practically lives in sweats and hoodies, constantly.

the most fitting thing i’ve seen her wear is skinny jeans, but she would always wear a baggy top with it. people always say she drowns in her clothes, but i never complained, she looked good either ways.

but seeing her in that dress, damn. i needed to be there and hug her, kiss her. i couldn’t wait to see her in that dress, right in front of my eyes.

our observant fans or close friends have asked if she dresses the same at home, and my answer always stayed the same. that she lives in baggy clothes.

there are some creepy people out there who would ask that question in a sexual way. thinking i’ve seen her in less. but truthfully, i haven’t. we’re not pass that stage, and we prefer it this way.

what the fans see is what i see on the daily, too.

and no, me going to her house to see her more clearly in that dress doesn’t mean we’re doing anything. i just want to observe her beauty. see what she’s hid from me.

YOUR POV

chat was going crazy over george’s donation. but you still laughed it off. it’s all a joke anyways, him coming over.

he was coming over later, after noon, so he wouldn’t just drop everything to see you right now.

“geez. chill out, chat, george was joking.” you told them.

you sat on your gaming chair more comfortably as you started playing a couple rounds of among us with your fans. you told them not to cheat and watch your stream as they’re playing ad lucky you, they listened.

for some reason, your chat still kept blowing up with george comments. maybe they were still caught up on that comment he said earlier.

but you hadn’t thought that he’d be behind you the entire time, telling the chat to not make it obvious.

“happy birthday, b” you heard a very familiar voice from behind you.

you almost had a whiplash from how quick you turned your head to see who was behind you.

you stood up to hug him, almost falling to the floor, stumbling on your own feet.

with the way you ran to him, he almost fell to the floor. “you’re here, you’re here.” you kept repeating it to him, not believing that he actually came. you knew he’d come later, but not this early.

george moved you back gently to see your full outfit. you two were aware that the facecam is still on, and pointing to you two, seeing every move.

“come here.” he whispered to you before grabbing your waist, to kiss you.

you two took a little while enjoying each other’s company, still in front of everyone on twitch.

he moved you back a little, turning you to face your gaming monitors. “MY GIRLFRIEND, EVERYBODY. isn’t she so hot, oh my god.” he said to the stream.

you laughed at his stupid antics, covering your face with your hands as you blushed.

your chat didn’t stop talking about the interaction, not believing that their ship was finally sailing.

you played a couple more rounds of among us with them, george taking over sometime or making funny comments to entertain your chat while you played.

after the stream, george and you took time to enjoy the time alone, ordering in your favourite food and opening gifts that he bought you.

you forgot to mention that both of your twitter was blowing up too much that you had to mute it for a while. you knew that a lot had screenshot the cute moment.

you took note to screenshot some of the photos on twitter later.

#georgenotfound #georgenotfound imagine #georgenotfound imagines #georgenotfound x reader

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thebrightsessions · 4 years

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Entertainment Spotlight: Ian McQuown

Ian is an LA based actor and producer known for the YouTube comedy group, Extremely Decent, as well as a voice actor in the popular audio dramas: The Bright Sessions, The AM Archives, StarTripper!! & Deck The Halls! His credits inclue American Housewife, Trial & Error, Better Things, and For All Mankind. Ian took the time to answer some questions for us. Check it out:

You’ve worked on multiple podcasts -- what drew you to the medium?

Well, to be honest, Lauren drew me to it because TBS was my first narrative podcast. We met at a Rocky Horror Picture Show show. Anna Lore is our mutual friend and I think Anna is just talented as all get out, so anything she’s involved I want to be in. And, I don’t know, it was just one of those lucky breaks you get where a door opens and takes you to all these cool places you never anticipated.

On podcasting though, I really appreciate how much more possible it is to tell engaging stories without the boundaries of having to afford a set and a camera and insurance and etc etc etc. Like, I grew up with Star Wars, The Matrix, Cowboy Bebop— so when I imagine the stories I like, I’m usually picturing other worlds, space ships, people with super powers and those types of stories used to have a lot higher barrier to entry to make than they do now, which is just awesome.

If you could give a character from The Bright Sessions a spinoff series, who would you choose and what would the series be called?

I mean, no surprises here, but I’d love to see Damien’s early years. And I’d be super clever and call it something like... Damien: The Early Years. I'm dying for that content a little bit actually: Damien, before he became such a bad guy. Maybe a love story that doesn’t work out and leaves him really scarred? Villains so bad they created a villain instead of a victim— that moment where we see the two roads Damien has to choose between and it totally shreds us when he makes the choice we all know he’s going to make, I mean, come ON you can see that, right? It’d be like the Star Wars prequels but without all the youngling killing and “NOOOOOOOO”’s and I want it.

Can you share a fun story or anecdote from the making of The Bright Sessions?

Haha, ok well it’s not really anything of note BUT: I remember Lauren had this area rug in her room, which as you probably know is where we would record, and it was this really nice, I think, red sort of floral rug that took up pretty much all the floor space because it was covering up the older apartment rug-floor underneath it. And it was, as I said, really cool, except it wasn’t a rug on a wood floor, right? It was a rug on a rug so it was a bit taller than the people who designed the room had planned for— the result of which was that you’d walk in and the room had this really awesome little vibe with this cute rug, and it was all very cozy, unless you looked directly behind you at the corner where the door had just spent ages scraping the surface of it, catching the corner, tearing little pieces out. And I may be getting apocryphal at this point, but I feel like by the time I had started coming around Lauren had straight up duct taped it to the floor, which really didn’t help the problem. And, I don’t know—again it’s not really anything momentous—but I just remember giving Lauren a particular amount of shit about it one day and us all having a really good laugh. And I really love that— there are jobs where you show up, keep your head down, do your work and leave, but then there are jobs like The Bright Sessions where you all get to become friends, and even if you don’t see each other for a while you sort of just get to pick up where you left off. And then those jobs turn into other jobs and you get to keep hanging out with your friends and peers and just making stuff you like— I’m a big fan of that.

If your life was a choose your own adventure, what decisions would viewers have to make on an average day?

OKAY, you wake up...

Water your garden before it gets to be 110 today, you cannot skip this step. You may however:

A) Stay out in the garden for longer if you get inspired and check if the tomatoes and peppers are ripe for picking.

Great! Now let’s make breakfast:

A) Make eggs, toast, fried tomatoes, and hash browns?

B) Make (A) But also with Bacon?

C) Make a smoothie?

D) There’s no time today, run to Whole Foods and get their incredibly priced $6 Egg, Bacon Cheese Breakfast burrito.

Awesome! You’ve eaten and now you can think. What work do you have to do?

A) Prep your audition, dummy! It’s due this afternoon, go fix your hair.

B) You have a zoom meeting with actor friends at 11 to play around with some new material, put on a hat.

C) There is nothing you have to work on so stare at your computer and wonder if there’s new project you could be working on. Try to find that project, leave your hair as it.

Wow! You really had a great (insert previous choice here), let’s get you a coffee and take a TV break. What should we watch?!

A) That new show you haven’t seen yet because you need to watch everything so you know how to work on it should you get an audition for it.

B) Harley Quinn (your favorite new cartoon).

C) Teenage Bounty Hunters.

D) Farscape.

E) Nope, you just got an audition for tomorrow, everything is off the table, start working on it (Level Complete).

Lunch Time!!!

A) Turkey sandwich with pickles from the garden?

B) Trader Joe’s Margherita Pizza with basil and peppers from the garden?

C) Are we going to start another loaf of sourdough you basic mf?

D) Yes we probably are, but also (A) and (B).

Cool! I’ve eaten lunch. Now what?

A) You haven’t finished that work from this morning. Riiiight.

B)…More Harley Quinn…?

C) Let’s make pasta from scratch!

D) Let’s make ribs! From…ribs!

F) You just got an audition for tomorrow, everything is off the table, start working on it. (Level Complete).

Bangarang! You probably chose to start cooking dinner immediately after eating lunch. You ate it (and it rocked), what now?

A) You just got an audition for tomorrow, everything is off the table, start working on it. (Level Complete)

B) DnD with squad.

C) Go on a run, dude— you’re getting a Jaba chin….

D) Bring on the chin! Let’s watch TV until 2am! Here are your options:

A) Harley Quinn (your new favorite cartoon)

B) Teenage Bounty Hunters

C) Farscape

D) Put The Office on in the background and clean your house.

Level Complete.

As you can see I’m a very food-focused person. Also, I’m going to be real, that is truly what most of my days look like and I’m low-key a little mortified that ’taking a shower’ wasn’t a game option...

Can you share your favorite piece of Bright Sessions / AM Archives fan art?

I love all the fan art that people make for my characters but this one from Franartz has always been really special to me. It’s so GQ, I just love it — and some of my favorite early AG moments are with Damien, who looks a little like he stepped out of a Gorrilaz album here— big fan. I’m a little obsessed with fan art actually, I save everything I come across— there’s a freckled red-headed series of Owen by TheFigureInTheCorner that makes me really happy. Seeing that my work has inspired someone else to make something of their own is really what’s up, you know? It makes me think about all the art and entertainment that has touched me over the years and I get a lot of joy from being a part of that cycle.

Thanks for taking the time, Ian! Give I Can Die When I'm Done a relisten right here.

#entertainment spotlight #the bright sessions #the am archives #Ian mcquown

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theraspberryler · 3 years

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Bandanna (I know, these titles are truly groundbreaking)

here’s the fic for this request right here, I was able to finish it much earlier than I thought

lee!tommy, ler!tubbo

summary: tommy had somehow managed to lose the bandanna tubbo had gifted to him, and felt absolutely awful. he tried to stay strong, but ended up breaking in front of tubbo. but it’s alright, because tubbo was able to help tommy through it! (hurt/comfort)

~this is a tickle fic! If that’s not your thing, then please move on!~

TW- self-depricating thoughts, let me know if I need to add anything

Tommy growled under his breath as he reached the bottom of the last drawer, still no bandana in sight. He roughly dragged his fingers through his messy hair, slouching down into his desk chair with a frustrated huff. He examined the state of his room, and grimaced at what he saw; drawers were left open, their contents strewn about the room, his closet door was left open, the objects messily thrown about from when he sifted through them in his panicked craze. Tommy tried to think of anywhere else it could have possibly been, but he’s already triple checked every nook and cranny of his entire room, and practically tore the place apart in the process; he couldn’t find it.

He sighed heavily, and rested his head in his hands, and tried his best to think back to the last time he had it, but his frustration and anxiety made it hard to think about anything. A loud groan rose from the back of his throat, and he let his head fall to his desk with a thump, then he let out a pathetic sounding whine. He wasn’t even sure why he was so worked up about the stupid bandana, it was just a small piece of fabric.

But, Tommy knew that it was so much more than that. Tubbo had gifted it to him the first time they met up, with a sheepish look on his face and a light blush, he refused to make eye contact with Tommy, thrusting the square piece of cloth into his chest. He had run his fingers over the soft, silky fabric, taking in its muted green color and the rather poorly stitched bee located on the corner of it. After some pushing, Tubbo had admitted that he indeed did stitch it himself, only making it that much more special to him.

Tommy had light-heartedly teased Tubbo when he gave it to him, before thanking him, but he never let on just how much it meant to him. Tommy had tied it around his wrist when he got it, brandishing it with pride. However, once he arrived home, he decided to leave it in his room, in order to avoid damaging or losing it. That had certainly worked out well.

He would find himself picking it up and fiddling with it as he sat at his desk, he’d run his thumbs over the hem of the bandana as well as the stitched-on bee when he got anxious, and though he would never admit it, being way too embarrassed, he would sometimes bury his face into the soft fabric on particularly difficult nights, the small cloth somehow bringing him a sense of peace.

Just thinking about it, Tommy found himself searching around on his desk subconsciously, only to stop once he remembered it wasn’t there. He felt his frustration build, and along with it, felt the familiar prickling behind his eyes.

“Tommy! Come on bud, we’re gonna be late if you don’t hurry!” Tommy startled, his fathers shout shaking out of his daze. He hastily wiped his eyes with his sleeve and grabbed his phone, hurrying to the front door where his dad was waiting for him.

In his panic, he’d almost forgotten that today he was going to see Tubbo; they had been wanting to just hang out the two of them for a while, without the stress of streaming or keeping up with social media for the day. The thought of Tubbo made dread pool in his gut, he knew, logically, Tubbo wouldn’t be upset, he probably forgot about the bandana, but he still felt awful for losing something Tubbo had put so much time into.

Tommy had zoned out the majority of the ride there, staring blankly out of the window. He startled when the car pulled to a stop, and looked up to see that they’d arrived at Tubbo’s house. He took a deep breath and pushed himself out of the car, managing a small wave and forced smile to his dad before he walked up to Tubbo’s front door.

Tommy stood in front of the door for a moment, mentally preparing himself, all while feeling extemely stupid for being so worked up over this, before he forced himself to just knock on the door. Just seconds after, an excited, grinning Tubbo flung the door open, enthusiastically greeting Tommy before leading him back to his room. Once they arrived, Tubbo sat down at his desk chair, Tommy on his bed, like they would usually do when the two of them hung out.

Tommy was being unusually quiet, Tubbo noticed, finding it a little odd that he was the one having to initiate the conversation, but didn’t pay it too much mind.

“So what have you been up to Tommy? It feels like it's been forever since we’ve been able to just chat.” Tommy jumped a bit, having spaced out, before quickly trying to come up with a response that wouldn’t raise any suspicion.

“U-um, not much, it’s just kinda been the usual. You?” Well, so much for not raising suspicion. Tommy had to admit, that was a pretty lousy attempt. In his defence, he was never very good at hiding when he was upset, tending to wear his heart on his sleeve.

As expected, Tubbo didn’t buy it for a moment.

“You good Toms? That was a pretty lackluster response, especially for you.” And, Tommy just decided, fuck it. He was tired and upset, why bother trying to hide it from Tubbo, especially when the other could read him like an open book?

“I-I… Its stupid. But I lost that dumb bandana that you gave me a while back, and I tore my whole room apart looking for it and I can’t find it anywhere! And I know it’s stupid and pathetic but it meant a lot to me! I was careful to make sure nothing happened to it, and I have no clue what could have possibly happened! I spent pretty much all last night and this morning looking for it.” Tommy huffed again, his frustration at both the situation and at himself only growing stronger as he spoke.

Tubbo, shocked that he actually got the usually so stubborn boy to talk to him, was silent for a moment.

“O-oh, I- didn’t realize that it meant so much to you.” Wow, great job, Tubbo. 10/10 way to make him feel better. He had such a way with his words.

“Shut up, man. You don’t need to rub it in.” Tommy’s voice was small and pitchy, and, oh god. Tubbo panicked as he heard his breath hitch as he quickly turned away, hastily bringing his hands up to hide his face. Tubbo rushed over to the side of his bed where Tommy was sat, placing a gentle hand on Tommy’s arm, only for the younger to quickly pull it away.

“Fuck- shit- Tommy I’m so sorry I didn’t mean it like that, I was just being stupid and couldn’t think of a response, and that’s what my brain managed to come up with. I’m sorry.” Tommy still didn’t budge, curling in on himself.

“Be-because you thought i-it was stupid.” Tommy mumbled, causing Tubbo to panic further.

“No! No, Tommy, that’s not it, I promise. I just- didn’t expect it, which isn’t your fault, it’s just because I was being dumb and don’t know how to talk to people. It’s okay, and it’s definitely not stupid to be upset over. I’m so sorry that happened, and that I made you think that I thought otherwise.” Tommy still didn’t respond, and Tubbo was growing desperate. He really wasn’t a huge fan of physical affection, and certainly not initiating it himself, but it was the only thing he could think of, and Tommy definitely deserved a hug after all this. So, Tubbo scooped the taller boyup into his arms, holding him close and gently swaying the two of them. Tommy tried to hold out, but didn’t even last five seconds before he turned towards Tubbo and slammed himself into the younger, burying his face into his shoulder and sobbing.

“I don’t understand why I’m so worked up about this, I feel so stupid! I-I’m sorry, Tubs, for blaming you like that, I know you wouldn’t judge me for something like that. I-I- I just don’t understand why I’m feeling like this.” Tubbo tightened his embrace around the other, carefully maneuvering them until they were both laying down on the bed, Tommy smushed on top of him, still clinging onto him with a trembling grib.

“I’m so sorry, Toms, I know how upsetting it is to not understand what you’re feeling. It’s alright, you lost something that was important to you, and it’s okay that the bandana was important to you, and it’s okay to be upset over it. I know you said you looked everywhere, and I believe you, but there’s still a chance that it’ll turn up somewhere. And, I know it wouldn’t be the same, but I could easily make you another one; and I could do a much better job stitching the bee on this time.” Tubbo tried to make his tone more lighthearted towards the end, desperately trying to bring Tommy’s mood up, even just slightly. He hated seeing how upset his friend was.

After a few minutes, Tommy had largely calmed down, just the occasional sniffles and hitches in breath coming through. Tubbo tilted his head up to face him, and offered him a lopsided smile.

“Alright, Toms, you made it all the way out here, what do you wanna do? We can just chill and watch a movie or play some games if you’d like.” Tommy groaned, pushing Tubbo’s hand away from his face and smushing it back against his chest.

“I don’ know, tired.” Tommy mumbled, and Tubbo giggled at his friend's antics. Tubbo found himself mindlessly playing with the hem of Tommy’s shirt, not missing the surprised squeak his friend let out when he accidentally grazed his fingers over his side. A smirk grew on Tubbo’s face, and Tommy could feel the mischievous energy radiating from his friend without even looking at him.

“T-Tubbo, waiHAIT-” Tommy cut himself off with a squeal as Tubbo pinched up and down his sides, before bursting into bubbly, childlike giggles. On any other day, Tommy would have put up much more of a fight to get away and hold in his laughter, but he’s already exhausted himself with the rollercoaster of emotions he went on that day. Instead, he clenched the fabric of Tubbo’s shirt sleeves in his fists and weakly squirmed around in his grip.

Awe, Toms! You have such a sweet laugh! And you’re hardly even trying to get away, could you possibly get any cuter?!” Tubbo giddily exclaimed, moving his hands up towards his ribs.

Tommy hiccuped between his laughter, shaking his head in protest at Tubbo’s cooing.

“Nohohoho-*hic*-ohoh! N-Nahahat cuhuhute!”

“No, I think you are! Such a cute giggly little thing!” Tommy would never admit to the whine that came out of him at the teasy praise, practically keening from the combination of the tickly affection and kind words. He was overwhelmed in the best possible way, and, unable to form proper words, just wrapped his arms around Tubbo and clung to him.

Tubbo could feel his heart melting at his friend’s adorable display, unable to keep from audibly ‘awe’ing at him, only causing Tommy to whine more, and burrow even closer into his chest.

Deciding to try his luck at a different spot, Tubbo moved his hands down to Tommy’s hips, giving them an experimental squeeze.

And to Tubbo’s absolute delight, a loud squeal tore itself from Tommy’s throat, and he flailed his legs out wildly for a moment before going limp, seeping bonelessly into Tubbo’s embrace, loud belly laughter shaking his entire frame. Tommy babbled for a moment before giving up again on speaking, desperately holding onto Tubbo as a way to ground himself.

Tubbo only kept it up for no more than ten seconds, and while Tommy was in absolute bliss for those ten seconds, Tubbo stopped at just the right time, Tommy gasping for air. Tubbo giggled along with his friend, ruffling his hair.

“You good Toms?” Tubbo questioned after a bit, when Tommy still hadn’t managed to stop giggling. He just nodded in response, his eyelids suddenly feeling extremely heavy. If he was tired before, he was completely exhausted now, and Tubbo caught on to how quickly the taller seemed to be nodding off. He adjusted their position, reaching to grab his phone, before settling back down on the bed. He smiled, as he felt more than saw Tommy yawning into his chest, snuggling closer.

“Go ahead and take a nap Toms, you deserve it.” Tommy certainly didn’t have to be told twice, feeling the lull of sleep pulling at his conscious, and was out not even a minute later. Tubbo felt a warm feeling build in his chest, as he held his friend close and turned his phone on to scroll through shitposts shared with him on Discord.

And, yeah, maybe Tommy did lose the bandana, and that sucked. But it would be alright, with Tubbo there to provide him with more comfort than the small piece of cloth ever could.

#tickle fic #mcyt tickle fic #mcyt tickle #lee!tommyinnit #lee!tommy #ler!tubbo

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maadorii · 3 years

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taste my disaster— i. matsukawa x gn! reader

max.note’s: i really thought about not posting this and just keeping this in my dungeon to never see the light of day but i really like this concept so here it is, mattsun romcom hehe

synopsis: where a supposed “one time fling” during iwaizumi’s bachelor trip turns into something more. somehow.

warnings/tags: strangers to lovers, fluff, implied sexual content, suggestive themes, slow-burnish, mutual pining, recreational drug-use, food mention, pancakes

w.count— 3.8k

if there was one thing matsukawa was expecting to do on this trip, it was to get drunk while speeding down the strip at 2am from a night of gambling from the most expensive casinos las vegas had to offer. right? it was iwaizumi’s 2-week bachelor trip that oikawa had so meticulously planned mostly because he didn’t want to throw some measly little party like everyone else. he was getting married, why wouldn’t they all go out for him this one time.

but, if there was one thing matsukawa was not expecting to do on this trip, was somehow end up black out drunk; the only thing he could remember was hanamaki losing a game of black jack at caesar’s palace–– and wake up in a unfamiliar bed, naked, with a unfamiliar warm body next to him still sound asleep. who was just as naked as he was.

it took him a minute, but when everything clicked together in his brain, matsukawa let out the deepest sigh he could muster. sinking deeper into the plush bed below him, dragging his hands across his face, pulling at the skin. his head was pounding, unbearably so, the luminous rays of the sun that filter through the curtain drapes making it worse. he looked over to you, your back turned towards him as you slept away peacefully. matsukawa’s indolent eyes leisurely scanned the expanse of your back, how it bloomed with hickeys and teeth marks. your muffled snores were the only thing that filled the stark silence of the room.

matsukawa didn’t know what to fear more, the fact that he had sex with a random stranger last night and is now laying in their bed or iwaizumi’s wrath when he eventually gets back to the hotel.

iwaizumi’s wrath, he chooses. definitely.

peering over the bedside to the floor, he sees the clothes he had on yesterday strew haphazardly along with your own clothes. in the mess he finds his phone just barley alive and about several hundred text messages and missed phone calls. most of them were from oikawa, unsurprisingly. a lot of “where are you’s” and “please call us” and even a “did you die on us bro?” but that’s when he noticed the time.

[12:42 pm]

“aw fuck.” matsukawa cursed as he flopped back on the bed, his arm lifting up to cover his eyes in annoyance. as he contemplated his options on potentially surviving this fuck up of his, you shifted next to him which caught his attention. he watched as your body turned to face him and how your eyes slowly fluttered open, the way your pupils dilated to welcome the grating sunlight.

and when your eyes met his, you stared for a moment before closing your eyes again and snuggled back into your pillow. “––mornin’ random person in my bed...”

matsukawa looked back confusingly, opening his mouth to say something back, when your eyes shot back wide open and jolted out the bed, dragging the duvet with you.

“random person in my bed?! how–– how did get into my room,” you paused as matsukawa’s naked and lean body was on full display for you to gaze upon, inevitably resulting in your face burning up like a sauna.

“and why are you naked, why am i naked?!” you screeched, wrapping your duvet around yourself, completely drowning yourself in the material. and then it sunk in for you.

“oh no, don’t tell me––”

“that we fucked? yes.” if any more possible, you could feel your face grew hotter at his... extremely blunt statement at your predicament. you watched as matsukawa reached over the bed and slipped his legs through his boxers. at least he had the decency to cover up you thought to yourself as he shifted his way towards you on the other side of the bed.

“look... i- i’m just as surprised and quite frankly, embarrassed about this too. i’m really sorry about all this. i’ll... just grab my stuff and i’ll be out of your hair in no time.” you didn’t get the chance to say anything as he backed away to start pulling on the clothes he had on the night before, watching him silently as he did so. you couldn’t help but feel bad as he took his time to dress himself. your gaze lingered on his eyes, and how they droop in remorse.

just as he was pulling on his right sock, you stepped closer into his field of vision. “can i... at least know your name?” you take note of how the dark umber in his eyes seemed to glow for a split second, his gaze shifting over to you. still draped in that damn duvet like a fucking burrito.

“it’s issei, issei matsukawa.”

you nodded your head, jutting your chin out confidently.

“well then, issei matsukawa. i, (y/n) (l/n), kindly ask you to join me for breakfast–– wait time is it... brunch? lunch? ahhh, fuck it. just come get something to eat with me. please?”

––

matsukawa watched as you shoved half of your omelette in your mouth, your eyes gleaming as you chewed happily, savoring the flavor.

the table was loaded with an assortment of all kinds of food, mostly breakfast food. from sweet honeyed pastries to smoky, charred sausages. in front of him was a stack of warm and fluffy buttery pancakes, dripping in warm gooey syrup. matsukawa could feel his mouth water just simply staring at it, his fingers twitching to inch towards the fork next to the plate, dying to have a bite.

you noticed his tentative actions towards the plate in front of him, the way his teeth pulled on his bottom lip in slight anticipation. swallowing the mouthful of food, you nudge him with foot, catching his attention.

“eat, i know you’re hungry. you don’t need my permission to eat,” you chastised, returning to your omelette.

matsukawa didn’t waste any time digging into his food, practically shoving the whole pancake in mouth. his nostrils flared out as he chewed, moaning at the flavor bursting on his tongue. you chuckled as he quickly shoveled another one in his mouth.

“woah, slow down there tiger. good aren’t they?”

he nodded frantically and continued to shovel bite after bite. and you smiled at that. it still was kinda crazy how you’re out eating with someone that you... just had sex with last night. a one night stand? can you even call it that? was this even a normal thing? you weren’t entirely sure considering you couldn’t remember a single damn thing from last night.

when you both finished most of the food, tummies full and satisfied, a slightly uncomfortable silence fell between you two.

“so...” you started, tapping your fingers against the mug as you looked anywhere but the man in front of you.

“so...” matsukawa copied your actions. you sunk lower in your chair, blowing the hair that landed on your face. why was this so hard? oh wait...

“since we...we, well you know where i’m going with this––”

“since we had sex? fucked?” his eyebrow twitched upward.

“well shit, you didn’t have to put it so... bluntly, issei.” you remarked.

“shit, i was just simply stating what we’re both thinking, (y/n).” the corner of his lips tugged with mirth at your annoyed face, his eyes crinkling at the corner.

you couldn’t help your own lips tug the same as his, your body shaking as laughter struck between the two of you. as you both laughed, the waiter brought over the check, clearing some plates out the way while doing so. matsukawa was about to reached out to grab the bill before you snatched it out of his reach. he was about to argue but you pulled out your card, already handing it to the waiter as he returned.

––

“oh, so you’re from new york?” you asked as you both weaved through the heavily dense sidewalks of the vegas strip, an assortment of performers and tourist, big and small accompanied you. nothing new you haven't seen before. all while dying in the blistering heat that did nothing but sit on your backs.

“well technically, i was born in a small town in japan, but moved when my parents decided to immigrate here when i was about, ahhh i don’t know 4 or 5 years old.” matsukawa explained, wiping the sweat beaded at his brows. “what about you?”

“me? i was born and raised here in good ole' nevada. but i didn’t move here to vegas until high school.” you cheered unenthusiastically with just as unenthusiastic jazz hands. "it's nothing really special, vegas i mean."

“really? well, i guess that makes sense. you did take me a hole in the wall restaurant with damn near the best pancakes on the fucking earth. ” you chortled at his statement, hanging off matsukawa’s arm as you laughed loudly, catching the attention of a few bystanders.

“oh god, you’re still on about those damn pancakes?”

“yes i am! those beautiful, golden brown cakes of pure buttery fluffiness that just basically melt in your mouth at the first bite?” he rambled, basically foaming at the mouth. conversation was light between the two of you, it felt natural. not forced. matsukawa didn’t make things awkward. it felt so carefree talking to him, almost as if you’re floating.

but it was when you came to, that you realized that you made it to the hotel that matsukawa was supposed to be staying at. a part of you grew glum at the thought of having to separate from the man next to you. within the last few hours that you spent with matsukawa, you came to the conclusion that you really, really liked him. what wasn’t there to like about him? he had a great sense of humor, he was charming and gentlemen like. and, that fact he was incredibly attractive was just the cherry on top of the sundae.

you didn’t want to leave, in fact, you can bathe in the attention he showered you in.

“welp, i guess it’s time to die.” he said dryly as he turned to you, rubbing the back of his neck shyly.

“good luck with that. i hope your friend doesn't kill you, but based on the description of him you gave, it seems likely.”

“yes, highly.”

a silence fell over the both of you again for the second time that day, avoiding each other's lingering gazes. why was this shit still hard?

“can- can i have your number?” he blurted out randomly, voicing your thoughts out loud for the both of you. staring into his umber eyes, you broke contact first to pull out your phone from your back pocket to hand it to him.

“i’ll be honored.”

––

surprisingly, matsukawa wasn’t murdered by iwaizumi when he walked into the hotel room ten minutes later. though, he did get a hard scolding from not only iwaizumi but oikawa as well while hanamaki snickered in the background.

“i feel like a five year old who's been caught with sticky fingers.” matsukawa slumped, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“as you should! what the hell were you thinking last night? getting drunk and having a one night stand with someone else, jesus mattsun, and i thought maki was bad.” oikawa grumbled frowning, but it didn’t last long when hanamaki threw a dirty sock at the back of his head. matsukawa rolled his eyes at the two childish adults began fighting with each other, wrapping each other up in headlocks of the sorts.

he sighed again, lifting himself up from the so called “interrogation” chair as hanamaki called it to head towards the shower. “hey, mattsun.”

perking up at the nickname, he turned around to see iwaizumi standing behind him with an unreadable face. earlier when he walked in, his face definitely was the face of anger and rightfully so. but now...

“just be careful next time, okay?”

and matsukawa knew exactly what he meant.

“yea, okay.”

––

later that evening, after contemplating whether or not you should send a “hi!” or a simple “hey,” you finally texted matsukawa. and almost immediately you got a text back from him. you bounced up and down in your room, feeling like an excited teenager who just talked to their crush for the first time all over again. is this what it was? a crush? maybe, and you should be mad at yourself for feeling like this, but you didn’t have the heart to do so.

and over the span of the next week, the messages never seemed to end. on some nights, he would call you instead of texting you to tell you about his day. what attractions he went to see that day, what places he went to eat at that day and how much money he lost playing poker at the casinos. and he would ask you about your day, about your day at work. did you eat today, are you taking care of yourself?

your heart melted at the sweet messages he would send you throughout the day, reminding you to care of yourself and heck, maybe even be a little selfish if need be. some of your coworkers caught onto your starstruck gaze when you looked at your phone and few even tried to ask why but you’ll brush them off. oikawa, hanamaki and iwaizumi even noticed matsukawa’s sudden interest in his phone recently. and even when they're all laughing at oikawa losing again for the third time at russian roulette, matsukawa wasn’t entirely in the moment.

because he’s waiting for a text from you.

they noticed the way his eyes glowed when his phone ping, indicating that you texted him back finally. the way his ears perked like dog. although they were suspicious, they didn’t say anything, knowing he’ll come around eventually.

–

it was the friday before they all had to fly back to new york, the cool desert night air filled his lungs as matsukawa perched himself on the balcony of the hotel room. the gleaming lights of the vegas strip below illuminated the curves of his face in a soft glow of blue, magenta and gold.

suddenly, his phone started ringing in his back pocket. he smiled when he saw it was your contact lightening the screen of his phone. answering, he brought the phone towards his ear, “well hello my dear (y/n). nice of you to call me on this fine evening we’re having here.”

he hears you snort on the other end over the slight static of the phone. there was muffle shuffling before you replied, “nothing much my dear issei, just sitting here bored as hell so i thought, why not give you a call.”

matsukawa felt his heart skip a beat at your statement, trying to contain the smile that was tugging on his lips.

“haha, how thoughtful of you...” and then it was quiet again, save for the occasional horns of cars stuck in traffic.

“hey, uh… issei?” you interrupted.

“yeah?”

“can i… can i see you tonight?”

––

matsukawa stood outside the place you asked him to meet at 30 minutes ago on the phone, which just so happen to be a very crowded and loud nightclub not far from the hotel he was staying at. he could hear the bass of the music thump against inside of his bones, the rhythm sending chills up his spine. he watched as people filed into the building like a swarm of files.

it was another 5 minutes until he heard your voice call out to him from behind. and when he turned around to say hi back, his jaw dropped to the floor at the sight of you. but he quickly contained himself as you approached him, trying to blow away the rouge that tinted his cheeks in the slightest.

“hey, ready to go inside?” you questioned, reaching out to hold his hand, pulling him slightly towards the entrance of the club. and he nodded dumbly behind you, cursing himself inside his head for acting like a hormonal teenage boy in front of you. he couldn’t help it, especially when you’re holding his hand. you can blame it on being touch-starved.

when finally inside, bulbs of black light were hung overhead on the ceiling, making everything brighter, making the sea of club goers nothing more than blobs of fuchsia, tangerine, and aqua. you and matsukawa wormed your way through the swarm of adults, bodies sweaty, sticky and hot, shaking and bobbing their heads to the music that blasted in the overhead speakers. finding two available seats at the bar, you both situated yourselves onto the stools overlooking the crowd.

“this is an interesting place you’ve brought me here, i honestly wasn’t expecting it.” you hear matsukawa say next to you, turning his attention to you.

“yeah, this is one of the few clubs here in vegas that i actually go to from time to time. plus security is pretty tight here, so hopefully you won’t end up fucking someone else.” you gave him a thumbs up, a dorky smile making its way onto your lips. matsukawa’s shoulders shook as he laughed, turning towards the bartender, ordering two old fashioned’s.

“an old fashioned? wow, i didn’t take you for a rye whiskey type of guy.” you teased, reaching out to grab your drinks when the bartender placed them in front of you. matsukawa shrugged nonchalantly, taking a sip of his own drink.

“well, i’m always full of surprises, they say.” and when he looked at you from the corner of his eye, you could’ve sworn a you felt a chill borrow itself into your bones from the predatory gaze he sent your way. that, mixed with the half-buttoned up shirt with the gold chain he wore exposing so much skin–– much to your own liking; the way his inky curls were slicked back away from face. you swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling incredibly hot under the neon lights.

this was simply a recipe for absolute disaster, but you didn’t mind at all.

an hour later, after several drinks later, you found yourself being dragged onto the dance floor by a slightly tipsy matsukawa leading the way. reaching the center, the lights dimmed down even lower, the neon lights appear more luminescent in the room. The nerves you felt moments ago seemed to vanish as your body began moving to the beat of music along with matsukawa, feeling lighter than the air around you. matsukawa started doing these stupid dance moves to the song currently playing, getting a rise out of you. and at some point, the mini circle formed around the two of you as you danced the night away together, encouraged by the cheers and whistles of the crowd.

matsukawa didn’t want this to end.

the way you’ll cling to him whether it was from laughing too hard or when you danced together to another song.

then this one song started crooning over the speakers, catching his attention.

almost instantly, it was like time stopped around him, bleeding into a colorful flurry of fireworks. illuminating your face even more so with explosions of lavender and magenta, hints of quinacridone gold and phthalo blue.

his body relaxed seemingly watching you jump around without a care in the world. the beaming smile that radiated on your face that could argue the sun. your eyes glittering with such mirth. he hasn’t even known you for very long, but was really going to admit to himself that he… that he was possibly in love with you?

no, no, no, it’s too early to say something as... drastic as something like that. but was it?

he’s never felt like this with anyone before at all, but with you, he felt at ease. like he could be himself without having to worry about what’ll think. but there was no denying that he felt something for you.

“issei? hey, are you okay?” it was you who snapped out of his daze.

“oh yea, i’m fine… say, how about we get out of here?”

––

you drove yourselves just outside the strip to the open desert, gazing up the phosphorescence of stars in the pitch black sky on the hood of your car. no words were shared between the two of you as you let the alcohol sink into your systems. And it was like that for a while, until you interrupted that silence.

“you have to go back to new york on monday, right?”

matsukawa didn’t answer right away, letting your question digest in his mind, word by word. he wanted to say no, he really did, but y’all both knew that’ll be a lie.

“yes…”

at his answer, you sat up from your lying position on the hood, matsukawa following right behind you. your eyebrows were scrunched in distress, and he was about to say something before you beat him to the punch line.

“issei, i… i know this whole thing is really out of the ordinary for both of us, but i can’t get these feelings off my chest. i’ve only known you for what–– two weeks? but it feels like i’ve known you my entire life and i don’t know what to do— a-and you’re leaving and i don’t want you to leave and—” you rambled on before matsukawa leaned forward to press his lips against yours, ultimately shutting you up. you didn’t waste any time returning the kiss. the same fireworks from before were going off like crazy around you like it was new year’s or the fourth of july. the moment was too surreal for any of you to believe it was real.

and when he pulled just enough where your lips barely met, he the corner his lips twitched upwards, his hand coming around to cup the supple roundness of your cheek, his thumb gently grazing the warm skin, “it’s okay, (y/n). i feel the same way.”

“then, promise me you’ll come back.”

“for you and those pancakes? a thousand times over.”

smiling, your lips dove to meet his again, this time harder, steamier. matsukawa slowly pulled himself on top of you, trapping you as you lie back down on the hood of the car, intensifying the kiss. he moved his lips away from yours to latched them onto your cheek, leaving a trail of glowing kisses, trailing down to your jaw as a small mewl slipping past your teeth. you weaved your fingers through the ringlets of curls of his hair, gently tugging on the strands.

matsukawa’s hands felt up and down your torso underneath your shirt, feeling the expanse of skin beneath the pad of his finger tips, leaving burning trails in its foot.

“issei, p-please…”

“with pleasure.”

turns out he wasn’t wrong, he was certainly always full of surprises.

#haikyuu!!#hq #haikyuu x reader #hq!! x reader #issei matsukawa #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa fluff #mattsun x reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu fluff #hq imagines #mattsun fluff

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justmaybee · 3 years

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The Phantom’s New Clothes

(Alternatively: ‘I Like Ya Fit, G!’)

A/N: Yes, the spam is gonna end in a dumb fic. No, I’m not confident in posting it. But honestly? I don’t think I’ll ever be when it comes to Fling Posse. So I’m doing it anyways! Because Gen looks like a whole prince, and if I don’t start somewhere I’ll never be able to write them!

Summary: Fling Posse photo shoot time! ~ ☆ and Dice has taken a special interest in Gentaro’s outfit for the day….

Of the many things required by divisions during battle season, one ‘checkpoint’—so to speak—is the creation of promotional materials. A Chuohku-designated event, ‘asked’ of the representative teams from each district.

This is Fling Posse’s second time representing Shibuya, so Gentaro is more or less acquainted with the roadmap ahead of them. And as a group member—and friend—of one Ramuda Amemura, he’s quite used to the mild discomfort of modeling clothes far outside his comfort zone.

Though it had at first been a point of contention in the group—due to some very polarized creative decisions—Gentaro has grown into his role, just a bit. He may never go so far as to call himself a ‘model,’ but he’s done much stranger tasks for the sake of his posse.

Thankfully, this shoot leans decidedly into Gentaro’s style of choice. Unlike Ramuda’s last artistic venture, which had involved a bright yellow top in an aquarium of all settings, this outfit could be described as almost tame in comparison.

The blouse is a loose and flowing white number, tucked into a similar style of black pants. A little tighter to his waist than he’d prefer, but the fabric is soft and stretches down to his ankle—for the most part—so it’ll do. The addition of some colored cords to secure an ash grey cape around his shoulders finishes the look, and Gentaro hums an appreciative note when Ramuda shows him the full look in a mirror.

Ramuda seemed pleased, smoothing out Gentaro’s cape and tucking stubborn hairs back into place before flashing him a grin and bouncing off to help Dice finish dressing.

It’s comfortable, fashionable, and well-suited to his tastes. Gentaro must say, it’s one of his favorite designs from Ramuda so far.

That being said—there’s…one small thing he could recommend be changed.

It doesn’t occur to him until the picture taking is about to begin.

———

“Ya think Ramuda will let me keep it?” Dice asks, impish grin flashing his canine. He pops the collar, striking small poses as the dressing room around them clears out. Gentaro humors him.

He takes his time, stepping forward from behind Dice, peering over his shoulder at their shared reflection. His hand comes to rest on his chin, scrutinizing the tropical pattern with a deliberate trail of the eyes. He continues until Dice’s gaze lowers, until his hands start fidgeting in front of him.

Gentaro finally breaks with a smile, resting his chin on Dice’s shoulder. He can feel the way Dice sags with relief.

“It’s very likely that he will,” Gentaro muses. “This outfit was made specifically for you, and I’m not sure anyone else would wear it willingly.”

Dice nods in a small repetitive motion, absentmindedly checking his reflection in the mirror. The moment he comes to recognize Gentaro’s backhanded confirmation is both visible and audible. His body jolting upright with a pitchy ‘hey!’ tossed back over his shoulder. Gentaro hides a smile behind his hand.

“Oh, Dice. There’s no need to be insecure,” He coos. “From what I’ve heard, sustainable fashion is on the rise! This set may have been a curtain at some point, but your confidence in it is very admirable.”

Dice has that tight-lipped smile on, the one that pushes his cheeks up and makes his squinty faux-glare even more endearing. It says, ‘I know I’m being made fun of,’ but he continues to endure it anyways. Because it makes Gentaro smile.

Still, he’s come a long way since the early days of Fling Posse, and he won’t take things lying down if he can help it. So he sneaks his hand behind him, aiming a light pinch to Gentaro’s side; his comeback of choice since learning of Gentaro’s…sensitivity.

Unlike those recent times, Gentaro quickly back steps, pulling his head off Dice’s shoulder to smother a gasp behind a well-timed fist. Dice blinks, hand still hovering behind him in the empty air where Gentaro once stood.

Then he spins around; the biggest, toothy grin on his face.

Gentaro can feel the butterflies slowly flutter to life in his stomach. His free arm moves subconsciously, to wrap around his front and hide his torso. The longer they hold eye contact, the more his face begins to burn.

And then the photographer can be heard, calling Dice for photos.

They stay in place, gazes locked for a moment longer; then Dice shoots him a wink and jogs off.

Gentaro breathes a shaky sigh, rubbing away the phantom touch.

———

So yes, while it was obvious the outfit had less layers than Gentaro was accustomed to, he hadn’t realized just how much thinner the layers he wore were.

Photo shoots don’t have a lot of downtime, in his experience. There’s always group shots, touch ups, individual shots. While it’s undoubtedly ‘Posse Time’—as Ramuda would put it—he doesn’t get more than a passing word to either of his group mates at any one time.

Which make the times he runs into Dice all the more memorable.

Slipping past one another in the hallway when it’s Gentaro’s turn for solo shots. Gentaro feels a distinct skittering of nails over his flank. It has him stumbling, tripping on his own feet. He can hear Dice laugh as he straightens up and continues walking.

Getting his hair touched up, making sure his pesky bangs stay out of his face. Dice comes to watch for a while, leaving Gentaro with a quick pinch either side of his waist. He jolts so hard, the hair on his left side falls out of place. He mumbles an apology to the poor stylist, eyeing Dice’s retreating smile in the mirror.

In a moment to himself, Gentaro tries to retuck his blouse, smooth out the uneven bunching of ruffles. He doesn’t notice when Dice slips behind him, when he grips onto Gentaro’s hips—too easily accessible through these pants—and squeezes. Gentaro yelps, drops to a crouch to dislodge the ticklish pulses. When he turns with narrowed-eyes, he finds himself alone.

Although Dice has been able to startle a reaction out of him several times today, calling these occurrences ‘uncommon’ would be nothing short of a lie. In his extended stay at Gentaro’s apartment, Dice has been very — thorough in his exploits of Gentaro’s unending sensitivity. One could say that once he got a reaction, he couldn’t will himself to stop.

Also a lie. Well, a half-truth to be more precise.

While it had been Dice’s curiosity and willingness to take a chance that led to the discovery, he didn’t act on his newfound information much at all. While a very physically affectionate lover, he would never go so far as to touch Gentaro in a way that caused discomfort or distress.

No, absolutely not. And so despite many implicit hints and invitations, Gentaro found himself having to get very explicit.

He didn’t dislike Dice’s teasing touch.

No, quite the opposite actually.

It was flustering to a degree Gentaro couldn’t imagine, but…Dice got the message.

He got it loud and clear, and now here they are.

In a game of cat and mouse; Gentaro’s eyes darting toward every movement, hands enveloping his torso at the slightest noise. The fabric on his skin is light, breathable, and silky to the touch; impossible to ignore. His stomach swoops nervously, broiling with anticipation—borderline excitement.

Oh, the monster he’s created.

———

After two hours of lights, cameras, make up, hair, and such; things are finally starting to wrap up.

Gentaro can see the end’s approach easily due to experience. It always comes in the form of Ramuda’s name. Called out by a weary photographer and followed in turn by their leader’s sing-song reply, skipping happily out of the dressing room and into the limelight.

Ramuda’s solo shots are always saved for the end. One must save the best for last, of course.

That being so, it would be a good idea to begin making preparations to leave.

Gentaro can feel the pinpricks in his legs as he slides them off the dressing room couch, uncurling from his seated position. He kicks out, pointing his toes in a stretch, arching his back and spine. The relief pushes a quiet sigh from his lips, leaves him sagging back into the cushions for a moment, suddenly drained.

Time spent in the presence of others can already be tiring, but the looming eyes of Chuohku make things far more intense. Gentaro can find peace in having his posse with him, but the sooner he can get these clothes folded, the sooner he gets his regular attire back—the sooner he’ll be home and out from under the Party’s prying gaze.

It takes Gentaro a few attempts to rise to his feet. His center of balance equals out as Dice makes his way into the room. The timing is very lucky, Gentaro gets barely a greeting out before his arm is in Dice’s hold. Before he’s swung around, in a blur of cobalt blue and floral print.

His back hits the wall with a dull thud. Not hard enough to hurt—Dice would never—but enough to have his breath catch in his throat. The way Dice leans into Gentaro’s personal space—hand still firmly gripped around his wrist, pinning it to the wall beside his head—makes getting air back a bit difficult.

“Hey Gen,” Dice breathes, a soft smile on his lips that completely contradicts the situation, and makes Gentaro melt all the more for it.

“Hello, Dice.” Gentaro’s hesitation is hardly noticeable.

“Whatcha up to?”

It’s so casual — the way Dice speaks, despite their position which has Gentaro’s brain buzzing like radio static. Strangely, it’s somewhat placating, in a way.

“Well — I’d intended on tidying up while Ramuda’s away…” Gentaro musters up a teasing smile, a lighthearted jab. “If you’re attempting to have me fold your clothes for you, I’m afraid I’ll have to stop you right there—”

Dice laughs. The sound does strange things to Gentaro’s heartbeat. Difficult to miss while it thrums so vividly in his ears.

“No, not that.” Dice smiles. Gentaro can’t help but return it.

“But could I—uh—do one thing? Before you go?”

Gentaro can take a fairly good guess at what Dice is referring to.

He shuffles, wrist rotating the smallest bit in Dice’s hold. His grip is strong, warm, and noticeably firm. Dice hasn’t moved, not an inch from his close lean over Gentaro, but he’s suddenly all that Gentaro can see, smell, feel.

He’s trapped.

It’s invigorating.

Gentaro is somewhat proud of the light, careless hum he gets out. A flippant roll of the eyes before his gaze meets Dice’s.

“Oh fine, if you must.”

Dice laughs again. Gentaro feels that familiar swooping sensation.

“I’ve been dyin’ to do this all day.”

Despite the unaffected air Gentaro puts off, his body is already tensed up in wait. Free hand poised to the side, ready to fend off Dice’s experienced fingers. His waist, hips, stomach; they’re all compromised in this outfit, leaving him more vulnerable than even his home loungewear would allow. It’s anyone’s guess as to where Dice may strike.

Which makes it extra shocking when Dice suddenly drops Gentaro’s wrist. When he slips both hands, with a pre-planned speed, into the gaps of Gentaro’s billowing sleeves and under his outstretched arms.

Gentaro is able to clamp his lips together before Dice’s fingers make contact. It makes muffling his surprised shout marginally easier. The same can’t be said for his limbs.

Before he can even think about it, Dice has found his rhythm, spidering feather-light strokes beneath his arms. His fingertips are gentle, calloused, and so very effective in their unpredictable movements.

Gentaro’s shoulders lock up. He chokes back the bubbling wave of laughter, then clamps his arms down in attempted self-defense.

Immediately after, his spine snaps off the wall. Thrusting his torso flush against Dice, leaning in to cover him. He tosses his head back, a squeaky cry pathetically stifled as the feelings grow exponentially.

It takes all of Gentaro’s remaining brainpower to lessen the pressure of his arms against his sides, to bring his elbows a centimeter out from his waist. Because when he tries blocking Dice’s fingers—

Gentaro bites his lip against a particularly loud squeal; Dice using one finger on each hand to vibrate into the center of each hollow. Oh, please.

—when he tries to guard himself, he just pushes Dice’s fingers deeper.

“Mph! D-Dice!”

It’s debilitating. Dice rarely has access to his bare skin in most situations, but this may very well be a first for both of them. The skittering touch under his arms has Gentaro squirming, shaking. Every time his arms twitch down to stop it, he’s stuck muffling louder laughter at the added pressure he’s made for himself.

It’s all Gentaro can do to hold as still as possible; minimize the jerky, impulsive movements. But it’s so hard, and he’s quickly losing the battle with his volume as well.

What were once small, nondescript sounds are now squeaking—almost whining—noises. As Dice continues his careful track, sweeping soft fingers around and around and around each twitching hollow.

It takes Dice vocalizing aloud to get Gentaro to lift his head from the wall, blink one teary eye open and get a look at him.

Dice is smiling sweetly—no doubt a much nicer look than the hot flush and wobbly smile Gentaro’s trying to control—with his head tilted to the side. It leaves his neck and shoulder open, right at Gentaro’s head level.

He takes the invitation for what it is.

Gentaro quickly buries his face into the side of Dice’s neck. If he had the mind to think and the hindsight to see, he might have considered if this was well-meant aid or a well-sprung trap. It really depends how much credit Gentaro decides to give Dice. His scheming side is somewhat lacking.

Either way, it makes things much more manageable, and far less embarrassing when Dice’s fingertips turn to nails and Gentaro finally breaks, spilling surprised giggles into the other’s skin.

“Dihihice! What—whahat are you—ahahahaha! Wait! Th-that isn’t fahahahahahair!”

Dice had never kept his nails long before, not for so long as Gentaro has known him. He had no use for them, and it was much easier to keep clean with nails as short as can be. But he’s taken to growing them out, just a tad, for…special situations.

Situations where Gentaro is foolish, careless. Usually in the comfort of his own home, in clothes that make it too easy for Dice. To touch, caress. Warm hands over soft skin that finds another’s touch one part foreign to ten parts addictive.

Situations where the small scratch of a nail can amp the feeling of a tingle to a spark.

“Dihice, pl-plehease. I—aha! Oh no, oh pleheheHEHEHEASE!”

It’s so much easier to hide; in the warm, familiar grip of Dice’s embrace. Where he can smother his keening laughter and sudden gasps. No care in the world for his pink cheeks and ruffled hair, so embarrassingly genuine after the painstaking process of making him ‘modelesque.’

Where all he has to focus on is the rippling movement, scratching up and down the dips beneath his arms. A constant, offset graze on hypersensitive skin; gentle as can be but more than enough to drive Gentaro past the point of composure.

All too quickly, Gentaro feels his knees go weak. His back slips down the wall a fraction, hands gripping onto Dice reflexively.

Dice responds in kind, keeping him stable, then going the extra step forward. Literally.

He steps until there’s no space between them. Until Gentaro can be held up with no need for his own legs; just the cool, sturdy wall behind him and Dice’s chest against his own. He’s surrounded by Dice’s warmth, by his scent. It’s been only minutes, but Gentaro is panting for breath.

“Hey,” Dice mutters, softly, once Gentaro can focus on him. He tugs his hand free, chuckling along to the author’s stray giggle, before reaching up to cup his cheek. His thumb strokes habitually, eyes staring deep into Gentaro’s — searching. Always searching. Making sure he’s okay.

And he is. Better than okay. That’s not a lie, it can’t be, and the way Gentaro narrows his eyes, sends a challenging smirk Dice’s way — makes that abundantly clear. Dice drops his gaze, laughing to himself. Then he straightens up, thumbs the moisture from the side of Gentaro’s face.

“As I was saying…” Dice trails, locking eyes with Gentaro as he speaks. Watching the way they widen, lips pressing together, when his remaining hand flexes.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

#bee stuffs #side note I’ve never played arb #I just love their aquarium fits ✨#tickling #tickle fic #dhfhhfhdjd I don’t wanna tAG THIS #Hypmic #Dice #Gentaro #Gendice #Daigen #ticklish!Gentaro #this may be the first FP tickle fic and that’s the only thing I can be proud about #✌🏼

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lisinfleur · 4 years

Text

MOTHERFUCKER

The request:

Author’s Notes | When I first wrote "Hey Daddy" for you, I remember I did the best I could to create the sweetest environment and the cutest scenes with Hvitserk and the child of that fiction, trying as much as I could to avoid the Reader showing any kind of love involvement with Hvitserk exactly because I wanted that to be a paternal/parental fiction as you asked me to. I even included a love relationship for him with Thora, a child to come, a great friendship... I wanted to portray the most familiar scene I could.

And I did it all because I remember I felt your sadness with his deployment. I felt the weight of your heart and I wanted with all my soul to soothe your pain.

Then he comes and ruins it. Then he comes and steps over it.

I feel like someone who cared so much for a flower just to see a bastard running over it with a car. And this fiction is the reflection of what I wanted to do with your bastard of a husband for what he did to my precious flower.

However, even crushed, it is still my flower. Even hurt, it is still my flower. And I know it's strong enough to grow back. I know you are strong enough to surpass this, love. I know, with the time and the right amount of care and love, you will bloom again. I believe in you, my sweet sweetheart. And I'll be here whenever you need, for anything I can.

I love you with all my heart. And I'll be praying to the gods to make you happy and avoiding myself from praying Thor to smite him dead!

Special thanks to @honestsycrets for helping me with the editing (and having my back during a breakdown over my English skills. You’re my everything, babe!)

Universe |Vikings

Pairing | Sigurd x Reader (implicit)

Info |Viking Age AU, requested by anon

Words | 4471

⁑ Warnings: This is part two of the fiction "Hey Daddy". If you liked the environment of the last part, I strongly suggest you stop there. This fiction will ruin the beautiful picture its previous part built AS FUCK, but reality sucks sometimes. And I'm glad we have fiction as a safe space to give some motherfuckers what they deserve (without going to jail for it).

ANGST, Betrayal, Cheating Husband, cursing, tw: homophobic/offensive slang use, mentions to violence, blood, and wounds. Caution is required: the following content may be triggering!

"Hey, dada! Lovu!"

When did everything turn that way?

A few months ago, Hvitserk was in your yard, your little girl beside him, both waving at your husband on Hvitserk's cell phone. Now, the sudden distance between the two of you completely ruined his plans of seeing your children growing together.

He never thought you would break apart from him like that, but the safety about the strength of your friendship simply vanished since your husband came home. Buying a house beside yours now sounded like a silly idea...

First, it was completely acceptable in his mind: you spent a lot of time away from your husband. It was evident that the two of you would want some privacy to share the moments you didn't have. Also, your husband would wish to properly know and try to approach his little girl. It was not his place to come and teach everything about your daughter to your husband, and Hvitserk knew that.

But the distance remained... And it was starting to bother him.

When his boy came into this world, you were there, but you were strange. Even your smiles weren't the same! You were happy for him, but it was easy to see you were hiding something Hvitserk couldn't avoid noticing under your mask of a tired mother.

"I just came to visit. I'm fine, Hvitserk! Don't worry! You know: just the terrible two..."

Hvitserk didn't buy that bullshit.

After months without a single manifestation of yours, Hvitserk started thinking your husband could've fallen for the rumors spread about the two of you. So, he decided to go to your house; but not to speak to you.

"Hvitserk?"

You opened just a breach of your door, for his major surprise: you'd never left him outside of your house before.

"Y/N? Are you ok?"

"Yes, yes I'm... I'm ok... What do you need?"

There it was... The distance. The fake smiles. You were skinnier, eyes marked by the lack of sleep. That wasn't the work of a toddler. Hvitserk could see you were hiding something, but he tried to keep the masks for you.

"Y/H/N is home?" he asked, smiling at you.

"I... I'll call him," you trembled when the voice of your daughter sounded out loud in a scream of visible annoyance.

It didn't take too long for your husband to come, seeming to be as annoyed as the little girl clearly screaming "OUT" out loud inside the door he closed behind his back, giggling at Hvitserk.

"Hey bro... Children, uh? Get yourself prepared, my man! You're gonna have some troubles at the two."

Hvitserk smiled, shaking his hand, but he didn't let pass that your husband was way better than you.

Way better...

"I was thinking about calling you for a beer, bro. So we could..."

Your husband didn't even let him finish.

"Right now. Fucking please!"

"Won't you warn Y/N?" Hvitserk asked as your husband just checked if his wallet was in his pocket before starting to walk away from the house.

"Pff... Let's go. She'll make good use of some time away from me."

Yeah. Something was terribly wrong. Hvitserk could see it screaming in every detail.

He followed your husband to the bar where they paid two beers for themselves. Hvitserk watched as your husband swallowed his beer like water, asking for another cup to the waitress with a satisfied smile.

"Fuck, bro... I was needing this. War is hella easier than being home with a two years old, uh?"

What-the-fuck-was-that? Hvitserk could barely answer with more than a speechless giggle.

"She used to love you, dada..." he said, remembering your husband of the videos they used to do for him. "What has changed?"

"Every-fucking-thing," your husband answered, tired. "Well, Y/N has her part in this too. I miss those videos, man... I wish we didn't end like this."

End like this?

"Like what?" Hvitserk asked, sipping from his cup.

Trying to understand what was happening.

"Oh, brother, you have no idea of the fucking tsunami that washed that house. Damn, bro... Keep yourself home as much as you can and don't you DARE to think about doing anything for yourself in a whole year out of anything familiar to you, dude, or they come from princesses to bitches in a second! I mean..." your husband started, catching Hvitserk's attention for the fact that he was talking about you.

You.

The sweetest woman in this world!

Your husband was speaking about you like that...

Hvitserk was starting to feel unsettled as your husband continued speaking like a radio forgotten on.

"Ok, we are married, I get it. She waited for me, I get it too, fine, ok. She's a woman, man. With a child to keep her mind occupied. I was a god's damn soldier, bro! In the fucking middle of nowhere! For a whole year, Hvitserk... Fuck, man, we have our needs!"

Hvitserk's fingers got tighter on his cup. The more he was hearing, the more he could understand what happened to you. However, he chose to keep himself silent. His mind was floating in memories from the day when Sigurd tried to make you feel better about your husband's absence. His little brother offered you an innocent hug, and you utterly refused it, almost shoving Sigurd away. It could be an innocent hug in his little brother's eyes, but you knew Sigurd had feelings for you. You didn't want to end up feeding false hopes into his heart. You kept yourself faithful to your marriage vows until the end.

"I found somebody to fuck. What's the matter? I wanted to release my balls, nothing too big. The problem is that I got the bitch knocked and now Y/N is freaking out!" he sighed as if he was the biggest victim of that whole situation.

"Hnn..." Hvitserk hummed just to get him speaking.

One of his hands on his phone texting Sigurd.

"Go to Y/N's house, tell her to pack her things, and take her out of that place. Tell her I sent you there. Call Ivar, tell him to help her with the divorce papers. Y/H/N has been cheating on her and I'm about to smack a bitch, brother..."

Your husband was still talking when Hvitserk started slowly drinking his beer. He wouldn't waste good beer... But in his mind, Sigurd had until that beer was over in his cup to get you out of that place before he could fuck your husband's life.

In the meantime, Sigurd didn't even argue. After that message came, he took his phone and called Ivar immediately.

"What the fuck do you..."

"Call our lawyers, Ivar. And tell them to prepare Y/N's divorce. Hvitserk just told me Y/H/N has been cheating on her and I'm taking her out of that house now."

"He's been what?"

Ivar's voice was never that loud. Sigurd didn't even have to keep holding his phone to hear his little brother's exclamation as he was turning on his car.

"You've heard me, Y/N's is..."

It was Ivar's time to cut him with an answer.

"Moving. And divorced. I'll call you back later."

"Fine," Sigurd answered, driving towards your house.

His knocks on your door mixing with the sound of your daughter crying once again.

"Just a second!" you asked.

But the door was opened minutes later, visibly after you cleaned your face from the tears you thought you could hide from whoever was your visitor.

"Sigurd?"

Hvitserk's brother at your door confused you at the same time it threw your mind into memories.

You should've accepted him. You should've left your husband months ago... Sigurd was such a sweet man! You were sure he would never do such a thing as your husband did. But you just smiled, trying to keep up your fading mask.

"What's happening? How can I..."

"I know everything," he said, directly.

Shattering your disguise in a million pieces with his blues so deep inside your eyes.

"I know what he's done to you, I know you're suffering... Hvitserk sent me here to take you and your daughter away from his reach."

You didn't want to keep playing your husband's game. You were traumatized, scared, sad, hurt, angry... You didn't want your marriage to end like that!

But was it your fault?

How long could you handle your daughter's cries begging you to send him away?

She hated him after learning he had another child. She hated the idea of him having someone else when she knew the two of you were waiting for him. She was little, but she understood what her father had done. Even a toddler knew it was wrong!

It broke your heart when Sigurd extended his hand towards you.

"Please, Y/N... Let us help you."

Along with your heart, the dam in your eyes broke down, releasing the cry of despair and disappointment you were never able to put out. Not with your husband forcing you into that play-house game you couldn't handle any longer.

"Take me outta here... Please, Sigurd, take me anywhere... I can't handle this anymore. I can't!" you crumbled, feeling Sigurd's hands embracing you when you finally opened your door for someone else that wasn't your husband.

Upon your shoulders, Sigurd could see how messy your life was: your house was a jumble of beer cans, male shoes, childish toys everywhere... Your sink was full - something he knew you utterly hated! Your daughter was sitting alone in the living room, still sobbing while watching the cartoons you always said you would never use for moments of peace to yourself.

Your dream was shattered inside that house, and you were living a nightmare.

"Make it stop... Please make it stop..." You begged, feeling Sigurd’s embrace becoming slightly tighter.

"It's over now, love. We'll take you out of this place with your child. Ivar will help you to get rid of his name and we'll set you free."

Not a single mention to his long-time wish to take your husband's place inside your heart. Not a single sign of the feelings you knew Sigurd had silenced into his heart when you chose Y/H/N.

Your heart clenched inside your chest.

"I should've married you," you mumbled, lifting your eyes to feel Sigurd's thumb caressing your face.

"You followed your heart. You did the right thing. He's wrong, Y/N. Don't blame yourself, babe. First, we save you and your child from this nightmare. Then... Then we see. Uh?" he said, tender.

You knew he was respecting your moment. Sigurd knew it wasn't time for his feelings now. He was a good man.

And he was right.

"I'll pack my things," you said.

Sigurd nodded in agreement.

"Don't mind the extra. Take your little doll's toys and clothes, your clothes, and documents. We'll help you with everything, sweetheart." he granted.

Waking your daughter to his presence when his voice echoed louder than the cartoon.

"Uncle Sigs!" she yelled, running to throw herself into his arms.

Sigurd winked at you, silently saying he would distract her so you would have time to pack everything.

You packed what was needed and Sigurd took you and your daughter "for a ride," you said - avoiding scaring the little girl. She was super excited when the two of you left home, but within the trip in his car, she fell asleep in your arms and you allowed yourself to cry silently, lulling your child.

"Don't worry," Sigurd's firm voice said when he stopped the car near the building where you knew he, Ivar, and Ubbe had some apartments. "Everything will be fine."

You nodded, allowing yourself to find some hope in his eyes.

"She's out."

It was everything Hvitserk needed to read on his cell phone for his smile to disappear from his face.

"Got yourself a troubled witch too, brother?"

Your husband was high already. Hvitserk didn't smile at his stupid jokes anymore. He just got up, drinking the rest of his beer and throwing money on the table enough to pay for the whole bill.

"Enjoy it, Y/H/N. That's the last fucking time I'm paying your ass anything."

"What? Whoa... Where the hell did it come from, brother? What..." your husband said, surprised.

Hvitserk's eyes landed on his figure with the weight of years of friendship betrayed by your husband's actions. Y/H/N didn't have cheated on you only. He'd broken Hvitserk's trust and the brotherhood he'd shared with you and your husband for years, and Hvitserk couldn't forget him for doing this.

"Don't call me brother, you motherfucker!" he said, splatting his hands on the table before pointing at your husband with his index. "Men don't have needs, Y/H/N. True men have the responsibility to deal with their dick's dryness and keep themselves faithful to the women they leave home waiting for them! You have two fucking working hands, asshole! There were plenty of things you could have done instead of cheating on the woman I saw waiting for you to come home since you were sent away, cradling your child while crying your absence! I was fucking there, you scoundrel! I saw every battle Y/N had to fight alone! I helped her! I filmed and photographed your daughter, and helped your wife to pay her fucking bills, so she could have an internet connection for you not to be alone! For you not to be away from them! And while I was watching Y/N's struggles with your daughter's sleepless nights, you were there, fucking another, making a second child while I was trying to convince your little girl her father didn't abandon her on purpose!"

Hvitserk was furious! His tone started attracting other angry faces towards your husband. The clearer it was for the people around what was that arguing about, the more ashamed your husband was with all the judgemental eyes on him.

"Fuck, man, stop yelling..." he tried.

His words just made Hvitserk louder...

"Why? Don't you like to boast around your conquers, brother?" he mocked the word for years used to put your husband in a position he clearly wasn't occupying in Hvitserk's life anymore. "Let's boast around about the bastard you are, Y/H/N! Boast around the pussy you fucked, the woman you got knocked out of your marriage while your wife was fucking crying her eyes out because you lost your child's birth! Were you there for the second one, or was it another child you left behind without even looking back, uh? You're a motherfucking asshole! And I'm ashamed of being your friend for so long! I should've kicked your balls and punched your face the first time you got close to our circle to court Y/N!"

"So what?" Your husband finally got up, reacting to Hvitserk's offensive. "So your brother could fuck her in my place, Hvitserk?"

Y/H/N's military posture wasn't enough to prevent Hvitserk from towering upon him with fierce green eyes swallowing your husband's in anger.

"Yes, Y/H/N. So my brother could've loved her, married her, and gave her what she deserves instead of the crumbs you left behind to the woman you lost."

"Well, guess what? Little Sigurd can fuck his hands, cause my wife is mine and I won't give up on her just because of one or two fights!" Y/H/N spat back, arrogant.

Hvitserk just straightened his clothes, sighing and looking back at him with contempt in his eyes.

"Y/N is not an object for you to possess! She's a free woman, and we'll grant her freedom! She's no longer in your house, she won't go back, and I won't tell you where she is now. You'll be receiving the divorce papers soon, and I suggest you sign them peacefully, my man. At this moment, my brother Ivar is reuniting everything necessary to ruin your career, and we'll put everything on your superior's table if you dare to cause Y/N any more problems! With my father's lawyer's best recommendations to kick you out for good! I can ruin your life, Y/H/N, and I will if I see you close to Y/N ever again!"

The floor disappeared under your husband's feet, and he punched the table furiously. The waitress picked up the phone to call the police, but Hvitserk lifted his hand to stop her, calm.

"Don't worry, we're leaving now. And this distinct motherfucker will remember how to behave like a gentleman and leave with me. After all, he doesn't want to get me truly angry. He never saw me truly angry.”

A warning implicit in Hvitserk's words: it was only the beginning of his possibilities to ruin your husband's life.

"Fuck it! You are all insane! She's fucking overreacting, and you're falling for this shit as if you didn't have your head sunk in the middle of dozens of legs around, you asshole! I know you, Hvitserk Ragnarsson! You're a womanizer! You always were! You know exactly how much it hurts to stay without it for too long, and I hope you have the same shitty time away from your pretty wife for you to know what I'm talking about!"

"You said it wrong, Y/H/N. I was like this. I really had my head in the middle of several legs. You're right! But I'm a married man now, and I chose to honor the wife I chose and the children she's bearing for me!That's the difference between us: I can handle one whole year with my dick dry cause I love the woman I have by my side! I'm not an irrational animal that will fuck whatever moves in front of me just because. Grow the fuck up, dude! Stop shaming yourself!"

Your soon-to-be-ex couldn't handle anymore. Hvitserk's contempt was too much for him, and he got up, throwing his hands to catch Hvitserk's collar with a violent pull that stumbled him closer. The people around squealed or took some distance in fear, and the waitress shrunk behind one of the tables wanting to call the police again.

"You listen to me closely, you little son of a bitch! I don't fucking care about what you think or what the fuck did you drink, smell, or have been injecting yourself with, but if you think you'll take my wife away from me, you are completely..."

Your husband's voice was cut by a growl of pain when Hvitserk kicked his balls as strong as he could, straightening his clothes one more time and lifting his sleeves as your husband was nursing his pained jewels. Then, a second strike came: a right hook from under your husband's chin, throwing him flat to the ground, dizzy and shrinking himself in pain; his tongue bleeding after being bitten when his teeth were violently hit against each other.

"Still wanting to play the macho-man around, brother? Uh? Get the fuck up and put yourself together! Know your crime, pay your price, you asshole! And one more thing," Hvitserk said, pulling your husband up by his collar and forcing him to stand. "Touch me again, and I'll get your life crushed! Approach Y/N once again, and I'll get your life crushed! Do anything I dislike, and I'll get your fucking life crushed! Did you listen to me well, Y/H/N??"

Hvitserk pushed Y/H/N back, releasing his collar. And your husband spat some blood on the ground, looking at Hvitserk with rage in his eyes but silent. He knew there was nothing he could do against the power of Hvitserk's family. You were lost for him, but he didn't want to give up so easily.

"That little girl is my daughter! You faggot of a brother can do whatever he wants: she'll always be my seed, and no one will take her away from me!" he tried.

"Watch me, my friend!" Hvitserk mocked, ironic. "Now get the hell out of my face! My biggest shame in life was to promise your daughter you would be the father of her dreams! But don't worry. She won't have her father to shame her with his actions, but she'll have a bunch of good uncles disposed to make her life the dream she deserves! And to turn your life into a real nightmare if you ever try to hurt her mother again. Fuck off and disappear! Or do better... Learn from your mistakes and go play the good father to the second child you found a way to produce, you piece of shit!"

Hvitserk spat near your husband's feet, disgusted. And once again, he opened his wallet, leaving some more money over the table near the frightened waitress.

"I'm truly sorry for this pitiful show. Here, for the damage, and thank you for your service," he said, leaving towards his car.

Leaving your husband behind, yelling at everyone as if the crowd didn't have a bunch of good reasons to look at him with disgust on their faces.

"What? WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT? FUCK OFF!"

Hvitserk just ignored the yelling, driving away. He was ready to really ruin your husband's career and his life if it was necessary, but now it was time to take care of what was really important.

When you arrived at the apartment, Thora was there with Hvitserk's boy, waiting for you. The little one was sleeping inside a basket so was your daughter in your arms. Sigurd entered, carrying your bags, and Thora received you with her doughy and pleasant voice, filling your heart with relief.

"Oh, thank the gods, you're here! I thought it would be harder. Are you ok, Y/N? How is this poor sweet princess?" she mumbled, caressing your daughter's back.

"She's fine, I... I'm still shocked," you answered.

"Come with me, I prepared the room for you to put your little girl to sleep. Then we can talk, love."

She was always so sweet! You couldn't thank more for the fact that she and Hvitserk crossed each other’s paths. He always deserved exactly what Thora was, and you were happy they were together.

If only your marriage was like theirs as you imagined it would be...

When your daughter was sleeping comfortably in the room, Thora took you back to the living room, and you noticed your bags weren't there anymore.

"I took everything to your room. It is right beside hers, so you don't have to worry. You can set everything tomorrow, sweetheart."

Sigurd was smiling at you, and it was so comfortable, so familiar. You smiled back at him: your first smile since your husband came back home.

But you weren't whole. Your eyes filled with tears as Thora was speaking, and she was the first one to notice it.

"I made you some food. I thought you could be hungry and... Oh, love! Don't cry!" she said, embracing you when you broke into heavy sobs once again.

"What have I done wrong?" you asked, feeling Thora's arms around you as she conducted you to the couch.

Sigurd brought you a cup of fresh water and held your free hand as you drank it slowly, trying to calm your sobs.

"You did nothing, Y/N," Sigurd answered. "You were the perfect wife, the perfect mother, and any man would be lucky to be the chosen one of your heart. Y/H/N was lucky! But he didn't know how to give you the proper value. Don't blame yourself. It wasn't your fault." he said.

"What will I tell my daughter now?" you mumbled the question that was tearing your heart apart.

How could you explain that whole situation to your child without breaking her image of what love should be?

"Tell her the truth," Thora said, caressing your hair slowly. "Gently tell her that life changes, and nothing lasts forever. But also tell her that you can rebuild your life, even when everything is crumbling, love. Tell her that you can be strong by yourself. Show her that you can do it, and she will grow to be an independent woman, strong and self-aware as you are. And if something like this ever happens to her, then she will know she can kick the asshole's ass and move on with her life without fear. She'll know she's enough to herself and needs no one else to build herself a good life."

Her words sounded full of hope to you, soothing the pain in your heart and the doubts of your mind.

"People may be bad sometimes. They commit mistakes and break other's trust sometimes. Your experience will serve to show her she must be prepared to have her trust broken once in a while, but she can surpass it like her mother is doing," Sigurd completed.

Your lips rehearsed a small smile.

"Thank you," you mumbled right before the door opened behind you.

Hvitserk getting in, a little misaligned.

"You're welcome," he smiled.

You got up quickly, throwing yourself into his arms, embracing your friend as tight as you remembered loving so bad and missing so hard.

"I missed you so much!" you said, feeling his arms around you tight.

"Don't you ever leave me out of your life again, sister!" he said. "You're my best friend, Y/N. I'll always be there for you."

Inside his arms, you felt the last drop of fear melting in your heart.

You were safe, and they would help you to rebuild your life.

That man you once thought was the love of your life could go and lick his wounds wherever he wanted! You would start over without him and make everything better for you, your daughter, and that beautiful family your friends were for you.

My dear LMAnon,

I'm not Hvitserk, nor Ivar, nor Sigurd, nor Thora...

I have no money or resources to move you from the situation you are in, nor the strong fists I wish I had to punch your bastard of a husband as much as I think he deserves.

But I have faith.

I have faith the gods will open the doors for you to leave this awful situation.

I have faith you'll find the help you need.

I have faith you'll find your strength, your identity, your self-confidence, and rebuild everything he broke with your trust and the dream you had for the two of you.

I have faith in you.

Call me whenever you need to talk. And if there is something I can do for you, anything, tell me.

Until there, I'll be here praying to the gods to fill you with strength so you can surpass this awful moment in your life and build yourself a path you will, one day, look back to be proud of.

There is no good that never ends, nor evil that lasts forever.

This will pass. And one day, he'll be nothing but a bad memory you'll see long gone in your life.

All the love and my best wishes!

Do you like my work? Support me!

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fairyoftbz · 4 years

Text

[06:20]

🎄 Day 11 of the Christmas project🎄

“I’m off to work, honey,” Sunwoo whispered as it was still quite early in the morning. You groaned in your sleep but turned around to lazily wrap your arms around your boyfriend’s neck to drag him closer. “You’re going already?” you tiredly mumbled as he softly giggled, lovingly kissing you on the cheek. ”Sadly I am, but I promise to come home earlier than last night,” he said, his low morning voice still laced with sleep although he woke up an hour ago. “Okay, love you,” you said as you let go of your boyfriend, who gently tamed down your bed hair before pecking your forehead. “I love you too, darling,” he said as he walked out of your shared bedroom, smiling to himself as he heard you turn around and go back to sleep.

Boy, he wished to have you in his arms right now, but work was calling him. He could barely keep his eyes open as the elevator went down, the ‘ding’ of the machine forcing him to wake up and start with his day. You allowed yourself to sleep past your alarm since your body needed some rest after the intense week you’ve just had. You took the morning off until 2 pm because today was a special day; your mission was to pick up Sunwoo’s Christmas present. He has no idea what you were getting him for Christmas, probably expecting some video games or a new bottle of his favourite perfume, but he was so wrong. On the rare occasions where you could spend your evening together, Sunwoo would rest his head on your stomach while scrolling through TikTok, his discovery page filled with cute videos, especially puppies. The number of videos of animals playing around or being cute was unimaginable. Between messages asking him at what time he was coming home and that you missed or loved him, your conversation was him feeding you with puppy content, so this planted an idea in your head. You’d get him one. That sounded like a great idea, plus I’d make you both become more responsible by taking care of an animal, as well as some company when lonely nights hit a little too close to home. Boxer was a dog breed that was quite redundant in the videos that your boyfriend always sent you. You had to admit that they were adorable, and it was getting harder for you not to want this kind of dog.

So before overthinking and reconsidering your decision, you get dressed up and walk out the door, swirling your car keys in hand before unlocking it by a swift click. Rubbing your hands together before setting them on the steering wheel, you let out a happy squeal and started the engine, excitedly driving to your destination. A few weeks ago, on a morning where your tired boyfriend got a day off and was soundly sleeping next to you, you were scrolling on the Internet to check the shelters in the neighbourhood. They all had cute animals, and you would adopt all of them if you could, but still no sign of a puppy that caught your eyes. After calling dozens and dozens of pet shelters, you finally found your sacred place. It was two hours away from where you lived, but you finally found a stray boxer who had given birth to three beautiful puppies. Refusing to buy an animal from a pet store, your task of finding the breed you were looking for was quite hard but ended up being successful.

“Oh hello!” the shelter owner greeted you as you pulled up to the place, locking your car before heading inside with the lady leading the way. “Your little boy is here,” she said as she gestured to a cage, hearing some claws, and yapping on the other side of the fence. You had come there a few days prior, so the little man must have recognised you, excitingly wriggling his small tail as you appeared in sight. “Hi! Hi baby, do you recognise me? What a good boy,” you said in your sweetest voice, the puppy stretching its small body to try and lick your face. You giggled as you avoided his scratchy tongue, gently petting him on the head as you tried to calm him down. Holding him in such a cute way that his little feet dangle in the air, you walked with the owner near the checkout to do some administrative work.

After a few more minutes of chatting with the woman in front of you and walking around the store to make your puppy say goodbye to his friends, you were out of the shelter, unlocking your car as it was trying to eat your dangling earring. “Oh my god, stop!” you laughed as you gently pulled the metal out of your puppy’s mouth, placing him in the little basket you had prepared for him before heading out of your house. He whined as you closed the door, carefully watching you walk around the car to sit in the passenger seat. The journey back home was a bit chaotic, the pup was trying to explore the world now that he was out of his former home. Controlling him while driving wasn’t the safest thing in the world, but you finally made it back home in one piece, with the Christmas gift for your loved one.

“Alright buddy let me prepare your little home, okay?” you said as you placed him on the floor, him immediately running around and sniffing everything. You hurriedly went to the cellar to get out everything that you had bought for the dog, setting everything between the couch and the wall for the moment, a quiet, discreet spot so Sunwoo wouldn’t see it when he first enters the room. You spent the rest of the afternoon taking care of the new member of the family, whose name you decided to be Choco. It wasn’t the most original thing in the world, but he was as dark as chocolate, the white areas on its body reinforcing the chocolate-milk look. Excitingly standing up when you heard the front door of your apartment open, keys being tossed on the table next to the entrance. Choco wanted to follow you, but you gestured to him to stay at his spot and hurried to the hall.

“Hi babe,” you greeted your boyfriend with a wide smile, wrapping your arms around him as he just took off his jacket. ”Oh, hi love,” he said in a breath before squeezing you tight against him, laying soft kisses on your temple. You unwillingly pulled away from the warm embrace and took Sunwoo’s hand to stop him from moving as he was about to go and rest on the couch.

“What’s up?” he asked with his eyebrows raised. You clutched his hand as you stood in front of him, caressing his chin with a smile. ”There’s your Christmas present in the living room,” you whispered, and his eyes widened even more, him suddenly letting go of your hand. ”But-“ “I know, Christmas is still in more than a week, but it was the only moment I could pick it up to have it on time,” you said, Sunwoo turning around to stare in the direction of the living room. Your little Choco started getting quite impatient of being ignored, so he yapped, the small sound making your boyfriend gasp as he looked at you, his mouth forming a small ‘o’ in excitement.

“No, Y/N. No, you didn’t,” he said, voice filled with hope as you followed him, pacing down the corridor. “Love,” he said in a breath, standing in the doorway, his face showing all the surprise and affection he could have in his body. ”Merry Christmas,” you said with a smile, and his eyes followed the small puppy, who was curiously walking towards the two of you. “Meet Choco,” Sunwoo cooed as he bent over to pick it up, the small creature starting to excitedly smell and lick your boyfriend, the action making your lover laugh. ”Y/N, you’re the best,” Sunwoo muttered as he petted the dog’s head, sneaking his free arm around your waist to draw you closer to him. You snuggled up against his chest, and he pecked the crown of your head, his hand lovingly rubbing your shoulder.

Feeling something wet landing on your hand, you quickly looked down and saw the dog wanting attention as Sunwoo stopped petting it. You gently rubbed its short fur on the head and looked up, only to find your boyfriend smirking at you. “I feel like this little dude is going to steal all the attention from my lovely partner,” giggling at your boyfriend’s words, you took the puppy and placed it down on the couch before walking back to him. You stood on your tiptoes and cupped his cheeks, fervently pressing your lips against his in a long, lingering kiss. Out of instinct, the man wrapped his arms around your waist and deepening the kiss, feeling him smile against your lips. The puppy repeatedly yapped as it was finding the kiss too long, making you both chuckle before pulling away, your boyfriend nestling his head in the crook of your neck.

You internally applauded yourself for choosing such a cute gift for your boyfriend as the evening rolled by. You had just finished eating dinner that you had cooked together, despite Sunwoo being exhausted from his schedule. Resting now on the couch watching TV, the puppy was whining from the leg of the sofa, wanting to be in between the two of you. Your boyfriend was laying on the side with his hand supporting his head, while your hand was lingering in his neck, sometimes caressing the warm skin. Sunwoo took one of the toys that were resting on the coffee table and wriggled it in front of Choco’s face, who barked while stretching its little boy, trying to get it. The little pointy teeth started showing, the puppy desperately trying to reach his source of amusement. You giggled as the puppy whined, only to have your boyfriend picking it up from the floor to place it on your laps. After sniffling your legs to check that it was a safe place, Choco laid down, not caring about the toy anymore as it rested its head on your forearm, eyes closing.

Sunwoo pouted as it preferred your warm legs rather than playing with him, only to have him scooting closer and rest his head against your stomach. You replaced the puppy a bit further on your laps to make space for your boyfriend, hand gently carding through his soft locks as he hummed.

“I can’t wait to raise this puppy with him,” you thought as you brought your attention back to the television, noticing only minutes later that the two boys resting on your body were now dead asleep, one of them snoring, stifling a laugh when you couldn’t tell who it was coming from.

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sunshinejihyun · 4 years

Note

Okay okay how about 49 with Victor just for the fun of it? Love you lots 💙💙 -Anne

@jihyuncompass asked: Okay okay how about 49 (”You’re a fun drunk”) with Victor just for the fun of it? Love you lots 💙💙

Author’s note: Anne, this request has truly inspired me. Seriously, it’s about 800 words over the length I had expected it to be, but I enjoyed every second I spent writing it.

Special shout out to @spacesquidlings who lent me her wine expertise and @mrloveidiotschoice who took the time to check out a complete strangers writing because I wasn’t sure I was writing Victor in character. Seriously, thank you both so much.

Warnings: Mentions of drinking, teensy bit of spoilers for Chapter 10 of the game but they’re so minor (heh) you probably wouldn’t even know, a bit of nakedness but nothing sexual, mentions of nightmares

Word count: 1968

If This is a Dream (Then Don’t Wake Me Up)

Victor bolted upright, his heartbeat hammering in his ears and sweat drenched bangs were clinging to his forehead. His hands were gripping the silky sheets so tightly that his knuckles turned white and his fingers were starting to ache.

She was gone. She walked away from him, ignoring his screams. His arms reaching to grab her passed right through her, as if she was a ghost.

As if she was never real.

But as a bare leg brushed his own, Victor felt his hands unclench and he looked over at the woman laying beside him. Her bangs were ruffled and hair was haphazardly strewn across the extra pillow he had on his bed for when she stayed over.

She was still there.

Brushing the hair out of her face, Victor felt a small smile tug on his lips as he saw her brows furrow slightly as she murmured something in her sleep before moving closer to him, letting out a content sigh and then her soft snores filled the room once more.

Reaching over to his nightstand, Victor grabbed a tissue and wiped at the sweat on his brow before making a mental note to have his bedding cleaned before he settled down for the next night. Then, Victor settled back into the pillow and faced her, taking one more look at her serene face before closing his eyes and resting his hand gently on her hip, underneath her night shirt, and rubbing circles into the soft skin until he fell back to sleep.

Victor awoke before her, he usually did. In their new normal, he would spend some time busying himself with making coffee and a small breakfast - he knew she liked to eat and probably wouldn’t make it throughout the day without something in her stomach - and the smell would finally rouse her out of bed and she’d shuffle into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes before quietly accepting the coffee that was made just the way she liked. They both sat on the couch and sipped on their coffees, their forks clinking against the fine china Victor had plated their breakfasts on while the both of them took in the quiet moment they could spend together before another hectic day at work.

But this morning, Victor spent his time in the shower, just letting the warm water trickle down his back while he thought. That dream from the night before wasn’t the first he’s had. No, it was one of the many that had come to him within the last few weeks. It was why he asked her to spend the night with him; it was easier to reassure himself that she wasn’t gone when she was sleeping next to him.

Of course, she knew nothing of his recent dreams or worries; she just thought that him asking her to stay the night was a new development in their relationship - which it was, but selfishly, Victor’s anxiety over those dreams put the excitement of their progression on the backburner. He didn’t know why now all of a sudden these dreams were haunting him. They’ve been together for only a small bit of the time they knew each other but he figured if there was any time to have anxieties over her leaving him, it would be later down the line, once they had been together for a longer amount of time.

He never even thought that it would be because he was worried to lose her again, after he found her all those years later.

Victor jumped as he felt arms wrap around his waist and a warm body press against his front. When he cleared the water out of his eyes, he patted down her hair, biting his lip to keep a smile off his face as she made a soft sound of contentment. “Good morning,” her voice was huskier than normal, signaling that she had just woken up. “How’d you sleep?”

Ignoring her question, Victor prodded her side and watched as she squirmed in his arms. “You had to have slept well, you were snoring so loud.” He teased her as he moved them so her body was absorbing most of the hot water and gently ran his fingers through her hair as it started to wet.

“You can’t blame me! Your bed is cosy.” As Victor lathered her hair in shampoo and took in her rosy cheeks, she leaned against his body, and he relished in the way she felt against him; like she fit perfectly. She was soft in all the places Victor was hard and the feeling of her bare skin against his own was something he longed for when she wasn’t around.

The rest of the morning was fairly quiet, like usual, and before he dropped her off at the front of Miracle Finder’s building, Victor gently grabbed her chin before kissing her softly and after he noticed the blush dusting her cheeks as she got out of his passenger’s seat, he gave her one of his rare smiles - something that was pretty much reserved only for her - and quipped a “don’t burn the company down” before speeding off to work, already ready to finish the day and be in her intoxicating presence once again.

Dinner was uneventful, except for the fact that Victor had poured himself a few too many glasses of imported red wine from Rhône Valley to drink with the steak he had cooked to perfection and paired with some steamed and seasoned vegetables.

“This is better than the food at Souvenir!” She exclaimed around a mouthful of food. “How is it every time I eat your food it’s better than the last time?”

Victor shook his head slightly and responded, his speech slightly slurred. “You just say that because you like to eat. Should I come up with a payment plan for this meal too?”

Her cheeks reddened and Victor wanted to reach out and touch them, to feel the warmth of her skin against his, just to ensure that she was real and this wasn’t another dream that she’d disappear from eventually. “Hey! I didn’t come asking for food tonight, you offered! I was just going to order takeout!”

Picking up his wine glass, Victor swirled it around twice and smelled the peppery aroma that was subtly mixed with some dark fruits before taking another sip and raising his eyebrows at her over the glass. “Like I’d let you stuff yourself with garbage when I’m perfectly capable of cooking, dummy.”

“You’re a fun drunk,” she muttered under her breath and Victor had to fight back a laugh at her face. Her lips were pouted slightly and her hair fell over her face, hiding her behind a curtain of chestnut.

“I’m not acting any different than I normally would.” Victor replied, going to swirl the wine once again, just because he could. As it sloshed over the edge of his wine glass and onto his chest, he looked up at her, a sheepish look crossing over his dark features. “Or not.”

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” Victor watched as she rose from her seat and extended a hand towards him. Once his hand was firmly pressed in hers, he followed her to the bathroom where she started unbuttoning his shirt slowly.

“You know, if you wanted to get me undressed all you had to do was ask. You didn’t need to invite me here under false pretenses.” Victor knew he sounded stupid but he couldn’t stop himself from teasing her just a little; the pink flush on her cheeks and neck were too adorable to ever stop.

“Victor,” he could tell she didn’t know what to say by the way she ducked her head and bit her lip.

“Please stay tonight.” Victor didn’t beg, that wasn’t him; but he’d be damned if he had to wake up another night alone, panicking about her not being there when he checked his phone in the morning. He was never satisfied until he called her and her voice filtered through his ear.

“I shouldn’t. I’ve got lots of work to get done.” When she looked into his eyes, he knew she could see a vulnerability in them that she’d never seen before. He knew that she saw his pleading, his need for her to be there with him. “Hey, what’s the matter? Don’t tell me you’re an emotional drunk?”

Her teasing tone caused Victor to tighten the grip on her waist. “I just… I’m nervous when I wake up and you’re not around.” As she pushed his wine soaked dress shirt the rest of the way off his shoulders, Victor’s skin prickled in goosebumps at her feathery light touch. “I like knowing where you are.” He wouldn’t normally be this vulnerable, but in his efforts to forget the dreams, the extra glasses of wine only dissolved his filter.

She bit her lip and pushed some of the hair that was falling into Victor’s eyes to the side. “Is this what your nightmare was about last night?”

“You knew?” Victor pulled her to him, her body standing in between his strong legs. He still had height over her, despite the fact he was sitting on the bathroom counter. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she shook her head and wrapped her arms around his bare middle. “I just heard you talking in your sleep and your turning woke me up. I was going to say something but I figured you’d have woken me up if you needed me.”

“I always need you,” Victor replied honestly, pressing a featherlight kiss to her head. “You’re the only one competent enough to run Miracle Finder.”

“Jerk.” She slapped his chest lightly and Victor laughed, grabbing her hand and placing it over his heart, so she could feel it beating. “I thought you were trying to be romantic for once.” “Dummy,” he cupped her cheek with his one free hand and guided her lips to his, close enough where they were brushing against each other but not yet kissing. “You know I’d be lost without you.”

As Victor connected her lips to his, he felt his heart soar and in his mind, he spoke to himself:

“This is the most alive I’ve ever felt. If this is a dream, as long as I’m with her, I don’t want to wake up from it.”

Once she had pulled away, gasping for air, she smiled at Victor. “I guess I can stay over once more. On one condition.” “What is it?” He picked her up and started walking her towards the bedroom and noted the new red silk sheets on the bed. “I can’t promise I’ll oblige without incentive.”

“I demand that in order for me to stay that you wake me up if you find yourself with another nightmare.” As he laid her down and hovered over her, she smiled cheekily at him. “And you need to make breakfast tomorrow morning, I was starving today!”

Victor rolled his eyes before moving off of the girl, his head resting on the same pillow as hers. “I guess those are fair conditions, though I do recall you only mentioning you had one.”

“I did, until I remembered how hungry I was today.” She rolled over to face him and traced his lips with her pointer finger. “I enjoy spending time with you.” “You’re more tolerable than most,” Victor agreed before kissing her softly once more.

“You’re such a fun drunk.” She teased again once he released her lips. “You’ve told me more tonight than you ever have before. I’m getting you drunk more often.”

“Don’t count on it,” Victor warned, but there was a teasing tone in his voice and his lips were almost curved into a smile.

#mlqc victor #victor mlqc #victor x mc #victor li #mlqc fanfic #victor li fanfic #victor mlqc x mc #my writing

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henrycavillobsessed · 4 years

Text

Porcelain

Characters: Henry Cavill x Anwen Evans (fictional fiance)

Summary: Henry and Anwen’s life was perfect. Until one day, one phone call, changes everything.

Words: 3,444

TW/CW: Death, car accident, description of injuries, hospital, grief. Slight mention of implied sex; some bad language.

Notes: So here it is, my latest fanfic. It’s been a while, due to a bit of a mind block. The idea for this came to me, after being inspired by the song Porcelain by Emarosa (link below in case you’re interested). This one is different to my other fics, for one it’s not the usual Henry x reader narrative. I have created a character this time to act as his partner. Also this one is LONG (3,444 words). I have enjoyed writing a longer and more complex story and I hope you enjoy reading it. (As a warning, it’s SAD. I am not ashamed to admit I cried just writing it.)

Link to song: https://open.spotify.com/track/7rk8cH53nI8ffb5ZccjfpT?si=QMVvEmA3TK-3WuQXJanMmQ

“Oww! Shit!”

Henry looked up from the book he was reading in bed. Anwen was rubbing her forehead and looking very wounded. She’d clearly just walked into the doorframe. Again. Henry laughed out loud.

“Don’t laugh at me!” A pillow flew through the air and missed its target of Henry’s face by a considerable amount. He laughed again.

“I can’t help it. You are so clumsy!”

Anwen climbed into bed, still massaging the sore spot on her head. She scowled at Henry. “If I remember correctly Mr Cavill, it was because of me being clumsy that meant we met for the very first time.”

“Hmm,” Henry reached over and gathered her up in his arms, leaning back against the headboard. He kissed her gently on the faint bruise that was blooming on her pale skin. “I do remember,” he said fondly.

It had been over five years ago now. Henry was out with his friend and colleague Simon Pegg, drinking their way through some of London’s best nightclubs. It had been a great night so far, with both men enjoying their freedom; they’d recently finished filming their latest movie and were celebrating. Henry was feeling happily tipsy, and when Simon offered to go to the bar for another round, he didn’t refuse.

“Get some shots too!” he shouted at Simon’s back as he left their table. Simon waved a hand in response; Henry took that as a yes and smiled. He was just checking his Instagram on his phone when something- someone- crashed into him and he felt the cold wetness of a spilt drink over his shoulder and down his shirt. He looked up incredulously. A woman was stood there with an empty glass and an equally shocked expression.

“Oh, my go- I am so sorry!” she said in a very attractive Welsh accent, Henry thought. He felt his annoyance dissipate immediately.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, accidents happen. How much have you had to drink anyway?” he asked cheekily.

The woman’s ivory skin blushed, contrasting prettily with her ebony hair, which was cascading around her shoulders in thick waves.

“Um, I actually don’t drink,” she admitted. “I have just shown you how uncoordinated I am; I really don’t need to throw alcohol into the mix.”

“Very wise. Hi, I’m Henry Cavill.”

“Anwen Evans, nice to meet you.” They shook hands and were making pleasant small talk when Simon returned with the drinks.

“What on earth happened to your shirt?” he asked Henry.

“Anwen happened. Anwen, this is my friend Simon Pegg.”

Anwen’s face lit up. “I love your movies! Hot Fuzz is just hilarious!” she said to Simon, who smiled widely and they spent the next few moments quoting lines from the film. Simon looked sideways at Henry, and saw the way he was looking at Anwen, and cleared his throat.

“Well, it’s been lovely to meet you, but I must get on. Henry, I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, winking at his friend. Henry mouthed a silent thank you, grinning.

After Anwen explained to her girlfriend’s that she was going to continue the night with Henry, prompting a lot of excited giggling and whispering, she sat herself down at Henry’s table. The hours flew by as they got to know each other. Anwen was an up-and-coming chef, who’d recently opened a new restaurant nearby in London. She told Henry about the restaurant’s menu, and Henry promised to try it out soon. In return, Henry told her about the films he’d been in. He was mock-outraged when Anwen admitted she’d never seen a Superman movie, let alone Man of Steel, and laughing, she promised she’d check it out soon. Conversation naturally flowed between them, Henry felt so at ease with her, and it turned out they had quite a bit in common. As Henry told Anwen about his akita Kal, Anwen told him she also had a dog, a golden retriever named Ciri.

“Ciri?” Henry had asked. “As in Ciri from The Witcher?”

“Yeah! I’m such a huge fan, I’ve read all the books, and I’ve played all the games!”

Henry laughed. “You are never going to believe who I’ve just been cast as for my next job…” Anwen’s jaw dropped to the floor when he told her.

The night ended with Henry walking Anwen home to her nearby townhouse, and they shared their first kiss on the doorstep, swapping numbers with the promise to meet up again soon for a date.

Now back in the present, nearly six years later, Anwen had moved into Henry’s penthouse, with Ciri who Kal adored. Both dogs were curled up at the end of the bed now, fast asleep.

In Henry’s arms, Anwen cuddled in close. “Yes, so if it wasn’t for me tripping and drenching you that night we wouldn’t be here now, so stop taking the piss!”

“Okay, okay!” Henry laughed. “I do worry though, you know. You’re like… like porcelain. So easily broken. Be more careful, I’d hate for something to happen, for me to lose you. I love you so much, my Annie.”

“Don’t be so soft! I’m not going anywhere, not for a long time. And I’ll love you until the day I’m gone, and if I can love after, then I will then too. So shush,” Anwen replied, placing a kiss on his lips.

“Anyway, I’m not that breakable, I don’t think. Wanna test this theory?”

Swinging her legs around Henry’s waist, Anwen straddled him and seductively removed her top. She was braless underneath. Henry whistled low, and licked his lips.

“Yes ma’am.”

Henry and Anwen’s life continued in perfect bliss. Both had never been as happy as they were with each other. Anwen was now an established celebrity chef, having opened many more restaurants worldwide, written a few cookbooks and even been on television a couple of times. Henry’s career as an actor was skyrocketing, his role at Geralt in The Witcher making him a household name. This meant that he had to travel all around the globe for work, however this didn’t impact his and Anwen’s relationship in the slightest, as she regularly went with him, using the time to research new recipes for her business. When they had spare time, they enjoyed exotic holidays, and it was on the white powder sand of the Maldives that Henry proposed. Anwen had burst into tears and accepted immediately, and they’d spent the rest of that holiday on their private island mostly naked, enjoying each other as an engaged couple. Their home life was refreshingly normal however. Behind closed doors, they were just Henry and Anwen, not the famous actor and the celebrity chef. They both took in turns to cook dinner, did the housework together and spent the evenings cwtched up on the sofa watching old movies. Laughter was a staple in their home, in fact they only ever rowed when England played Wales at rugby during the Six Nations. Life was indeed bliss, and it seemed nothing could burst this content bubble they were living in.

One average day in late autumn, Anwen was sat at the kitchen table, with her laptop open in front of her and Ciri snoozing quietly at her feet. Dressed in a pair of comfy sweats and a loose off-the-shoulder jumper, her hair piled artfully messy on top of her head and holding a large cup of coffee in her hands, she was looking at wedding venues online, finally making a start on planning their special day. A huge binder was also open on the table with multiple sheets on paper sticking out of it. She’d made plenty of notes and had lots of ideas; it was now time to put them into action. Henry walked into the kitchen, looking very stylish in back jeans and a tight black t-shirt. He was holding Kal’s lead and the akita was tip-tapping on the tiles behind him, clearly very excited about going for a walk. Ciri didn’t even raise her head, happy enough to stay in with her mum and continue her nap.

“I’m going to take Kal with me to the meeting with my manager,” he said to Anwen. “Then do you fancy meeting me after with Ciri and we’ll take them for a walk in the park?”

“Yes, my love, sounds lush. How long will you be do you think?”

“Not sure, I’ll call you when I’m done.”

“Sounds like a plan!”

“What are you up to today?” Henry asked, walking over to Anwen and kissing her on the top of her head. “Wedding stuff?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna send off some emails now this morning and then go to this bakery and try out some wedding cake samples,” Anwen smiled.

“Well, I’m jealous! Have a great day honey, I’ll call you later. Love you!”

“Love you, bye!” she called as he walked out the front door.

Henry’s meeting was going well. His manager had quite a few prospective roles lined up for him, and Henry was interested in the majority of them. His mind wandered to Anwen every so often; he still missed her when they were apart. As the meeting was coming to a close and Kal started getting excited again at going for another walk, Henry’s phone rang. He looked at the caller ID- withheld number.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mr Henry Cavill? I’m a nurse here at London hospital. We have you down here as Miss Anwen Evans’s emergency contact.”

Henry paled. “Is she okay?”

“I’m afraid Miss Evans has been involved in a serious accident. We have her here at the emergency department. Can you get here straight away?”

Henry had never moved so quickly in his entire life. After giving his manager a hurried explanation and asking him whether he’d look after Kal, he’d gotten in his car and sped through the streets of London, not caring that he was breaking the speed limit. He parked illegally, jumping out of the vehicle and sprinting into the hospital. His mind was in overdrive, all sorts of scenarios going through his head. He felt sick with fear and exertion. Flying into the emergency room, he looked around wildly, finding a nurse sat at the front desk.

“Anwen Evans? I’m here for Anwen Evans, I’m Henry Cavill,” he cried desperately. The nurse didn’t hesitate.

“Come with me.”

She explained to Henry what had happened on the way. “Anwen was crossing the road at a zebra crossing when she tripped halfway, according to witnesses. There was a speeding car, who didn’t see her. He… he ran right over her. He didn’t stop. There are police looking for the car and driver as we speak.”

The flash of anger that Henry felt was so severe that his steps faltered for a second. But then he pushed it away, to be dealt with later. All that mattered now was Anwen.

“Mr Cavill, Anwen is in a bad way. She has a serious brain injury, and multiple body fractures. The trauma team managed to get her stable, but it’s touch-and-go. The next twenty-four hours are critical,” the nurse said gently. “Prepare yourself before you go in.”

She opened the door to the dimly lit room. The sound of machines beeping dominated the otherwise peaceful atmosphere. Henry moved closer to the bed, his mouth dry, hands shaking. His Annie was lying in the bed, connected to the machines, wires snaking out from every part of her it seemed. Her beautiful black hair was covered by thick white bandages wrapped around her head, and every part of her skin was purple and blue bruises. Her striking green eyes, usually so full of love and sparkle, were swollen shut. Henry had never seen anything so heartbreaking; tears coursed unbidden down his cheeks.

“Can I sit by her? Hold her hand?” he choked to the nurse.

“Of course, pet.”

He pulled up a chair to her bedside and ever so gently took Anwen’s hand in his. It was reassuringly warm. He could do nothing for a moment but stroke it slowly. Worry filled every part of his being.

“I’m here Annie. It’s your Henry. Come back to me, you can get through this,” he whispered, and then as sobs wracked through him, he added, “you said you’d love me until you’re gone and I’ll be damned if you’re going anywhere yet.”

For the next few hours, Henry didn’t leave Anwen’s side; he didn’t let go of her hand. He held onto hope that she would get better. After all, porcelain could break yes, but it could also be fixed. And he would do anything to fix her.

As it approached eighteen hours since Anwen’s accident, a nurse came into the room and caught Henry fighting not to fall asleep. She softly tapped him on the shoulder.

“Mr Cavill, go and get some rest. You’re more than welcome to use the family room just next door. Freshen up, get an hour or so sleep. If anything changes, I promise I’ll come and notify you immediately.”

Henry considered this, torn between not wanting to leave Anwen’s side and the need to at least wash his face.

“I’ll be half an hour, tops. Annie, I’ll be right back.” He put her hand down, and exited the room, rubbing his tired eyes as he went.

He hadn’t been gone five minutes when a terrifying beeping screeched out from Anwen’s room. He ran out of the bathroom still with wet hands, his heart in his mouth. He halted in the doorway, petrified at the scene unfolding in front of him.

A team of medics were working hard on her, the unrelenting beeping just adding to the frenzy of the situation. Anwen’s heart had stopped; someone fired up a defibrillator. The shock that went through her echoed in Henry. He just didn’t know what to do. He was vaguely aware of someone trying to lead him away but he just couldn’t move, couldn’t tear his eyes away, panic rising, threatening to overspill. His Annie, his Annie was there dying on that bed, and he couldn’t do anything but watch. And then suddenly, the most sinister sound yet. A flatline. Followed by a voice.

“We’ve lost her. Time of death, eight fifteen AM…”

Then silence.

The sound that tore its way up and out through Henry’s throat was that of a wounded animal. He screamed, the feeling pure agony.

“No! NO! There must be something you can do! My Annie! Annie…”

The doctor looked at him with sadness in his eyes. “I am so sorry, Henry. So sorry. Please, everyone, give him some space.”

The rest of his team followed him out; the nurse that had told Henry to go get some rest was crying silently.

Henry stood rooted to the spot, in a state of absolute denial. Only a day before they’d been in their kitchen together, making plans to walk their beloved dogs, she was planning their wedding. Their wedding. Agony ripped through his chest, sobs wracked his body, his breathing erratic, his heart shattered, never to be healed again. Broken, like porcelain.

Henry didn’t know how he got through the funeral. He’d been to the funeral home, and dressed her in her favourite dress and shoes, and spent a long time brushing out her hair; he’d done that when she was alive, but the familiar act did nothing to ease his pain. When he got to the church, he walked down the aisle with her coffin on his shoulder, his heart heavy because he should have been watching her walk down the aisle in a white flowing dress towards him, he should be becoming her husband, not burying her. When it came to reading her eulogy, he was overcome with emotion, for the first time in his life not able to talk in public. His mother helped him down from the podium; his father continued the speech. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

At the wake, he got blind drunk. No one saw him for a week afterwards.

The news of Anwen’s death was plastered all over the newspapers and online. Headlines such as “HENRY CAVILL FIANCE KILLED IN TRAGIC ACCIDENT” and “CELEBRITY CHEF ANWEN EVANS DEAD AT 27” accompanied photos of the both of them. The hole in Henry’s chest got bigger each time he saw it. He threw himself into his work; being someone else for at least 12 hours a day was easier than dealing with real life. Because the grief was all consuming, terrifying, never-ending. When he got home to his cold and empty penthouse, he couldn’t escape it; Kal and Ciri looked at him sadly every night, the question in their eyes: “where is our mummy?” Henry had no answers for them. He spent each evening sat in the dark, in silence. There was no laughter, no enjoyment in life since she’d gone.

A few weeks later, Simon came to visit. He’d been dropping in regularly, terribly worried about his friend. Henry looked, quite frankly, awful. His hair was long and the curls unkempt, he’d let his beard grow out and he had deep purple bags under his eyes. He’d lost a lot of weight too, although he hadn’t stopped working out. Simon sat down next to Henry on his sofa, nervously voicing the question he’d come round to ask.

“Henry, it’s the awards ceremony tonight. Will you be going?”

Henry looked at him like he’d gone mad.

“Look,” Simon continued. “You’ve been nominated for Best Actor. It’s highly likely you’re going to win. Remember how she… how Anwen was really looking forward to going.” This was true. The red dress she’d been planning to wear was still hung up on the back of the bedroom door. “If you don’t want to go for yourself, why don’t you go for her?”

Henry thought it over. He hadn’t been out, apart from work and the gym, since before the accident. The thought of going to such a high-profile event caused panic. Yet… an image of Anwen, smiling before him in that red dress suddenly entered his mind. She had been so excited; she’d even helped him write his acceptance speech in case he did in fact win Best Actor. Go for her, Simon had said…

And that’s how, just hours later, Henry found himself back on the red carpet, surrounded by flashing lights and crazed shouting as paparazzi tried to get his attention. He posed for a few photos before hurrying inside and taking his seat. He ate the extravagant three-course meal without really tasting it, drank the wine without really feeling it. Simon sat by his side, a welcome support; a truly great friend. Then, finally, it was time for the awards to be given.

Henry clapped and cheered as each person won their nominated categories; showing his support for his fellow actors and actresses. Seeing them so happy actually lifted his spirits for the first time since… before. Then it was time for the winner of the Best Actor award.

“And the winner is… HENRY CAVILL!”

Henry sat in shock as the cameras and spotlights panned to him. Simon was on his feet, screaming “I knew he’d do it!” and then he was helping Henry up. “Go on mate, to the stage. You won, you bloody won!”

In a daze, he walked towards the stage, then across it, accepting his award from the host. The applause was tumultuous; it took a few moments for it to die down, and then everyone in the audience was waiting expectantly for his speech. Henry drew a blank; he had no idea what to say.

“You can do it, handsome!” a heartbreakingly familiar voice whispered in his ear. He looked to the side and his breath hitched in his throat. Anwen was stood there, a wide grin all over her face, looking devastatingly beautiful in the red dress she’d planned to wear tonight.

“I’m right here with you. I love you.”

Tears welled and spilled from Henry’s eyes as he turned back to face the audience.

“This award,” he started. “is for my Anwen. My Annie. I couldn’t have been the actor who deserved it without her love and encouragement. She was my everything. She still is. I owe this, my entire career, my entire life to you, my angel. I miss you more than words can describe, and I love you even more.

As he left the stage to even louder applause and cheers and flashing lights, he looked up, seeing the love of his life again, smiling, tears sparkling on her cheeks, blowing him a kiss as she faded away.

“Goodbye my Annie,” he whispered. “Goodbye.”

#henry cavill #henry cavill fan fiction #henry cavill fan fic #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill angst #henry cavill sad #henry cavill obsessed #HenryCavillObsessed

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disemboweled-fish-pastry · 2 years

Note

Welcome!!! It’s so exciting to still see new people joining! After all, we all played the same game and spent the same amount of time on it, so the time when we joined doesn’t really matter at all. :D

That’s bumming but on the positive side, you can get them later on again when you feel like doing a replay. I bet it will be satisfying, to come back to the game after some time and watch your cg gallery fill once again.

Aren’t we all whales of some sort

but I'm glad you found tricks so it's at least something, but I bet it must’ve still been frustrating losing the content. You may have already seen it but if you like-to really turn into a whale and sell your heart to Saeyoung to get some bonus content and physical merch, you might wanna check the RFA VIP/Special believer packages out. They among other stuff also give a bunch of hourglasses and unlimited calling cards for everyone. http://msg.cheritz.com (I know it might look shady at first but I promise it's an actual legit site xD) you can find more information there than on Cheritz Market + it has really cute bonus comic material!

Don’t worry!! I’m happy I could be your first ask! Hopefully, you will get even more in the future. :> My day was kinda rough actually, but it gave me a smile when I saw you interacting with my post! I am usually very passive in fandoms but Mystic Messenger just has a special place in my heart, and I totally love interacting with people who played it! I hope your day will also treat you well!

Heyo, hi again~ :"3

Perhaps~ It's been more fun since I finally started sharing. I was posting just a tiny bit on my main blog some time ago, but it felt like not many of my followers there really knew much about it, so I just decided to make a separate blog. It helps me stay organized too. People who only like one thing can follow this or that, y'know.

Ye, I'm not terribly concerned about the illustrations as much. However, I did force myself not too long ago to get all of Yoosung's bad endings in one fell swoop so I wouldn't have to choose the horrible answers again, so I really hope I don't lose that illustration or chats. ^^'' I only want to give nice answers to Yoosung! :"3 💖 One illustration I lost was the one of Rika with the plants, so I'll have to replay.. I think the Ray after ending. I know I already earned that one. I lost Jaehee's Valentine's illus twice, but it's no big deal because they're free after you buy the episodes once. :p I swear I keep losing the same Zen picture on the first row in his album.

Chichichi~ Actually, if I had only known how much I would have ended up spending, I really should have just bought the VIP kits. Without getting a single thing of merch, I calculated over $200. T __T orz I actually really like the illustration on the Yoosung pillow. I have it as my banner thingy here. Maybe a plush sometime, that'd be nice. At this point I'd have to see the gains if I did end up getting the packs sometime. I need to finally get a new income then I'll think about it. + 3+ Oh man, I actually did look at the official site before I finished a playthrough actually. I still remember that one ama where the characters wear glasses and I was like "wahwahwahwah???"

Aww ♥ I'm happy~ Honestly really happy that I was able to brighten your day a bit, you brightened my day as well! ; v; I feel you, though. With Mystic Messenger, sometimes I just want to gush about something and sometimes I feel like I have no one to gush to.

#Ask Puku #Mystic Messenger

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homoose · 4 years

Text

Winning is a Habit

Hi y’all! Okay sooooooooo this is my first time writing fic??????? Like omg please be nice lmao. I don’t have a beta reader, so if you catch any mistakes pls lmk! I saw this challenge and the world is total garbage, so why not write our own realities????? Ok here goes!!!!!!!!!! Written for @veraiconcos fic challenge

Summary: The BAU gets called to investigate two high-profile murders in a college town, only to find that they are part of a much bigger, more complicated picture. No real pairings, although you could make it happen if you want lol ;) This is an idea I’ve seen floating around the fandom for a little while now, and I really wanted to see it fleshed out. Set around season 4 or 5.

Category: some angst, sort of fluff? I wouldn’t say it necessarily qualifies as an AU, but it’s outside of canon.

Warnings/Includes: some brief descriptions of violence/CM type stuff; mentions of rape (no details)

Word count: 6.1k

———

“Stillwater, Oklahoma,” JJ said, navigating the map off screen and pulling up the crime scene photos. “Two college seniors— Tyler Allen and Leon Williams, star football players for Oklahoma State University— both found dead the day before the playoff qualifier.”

“Do we know the cause of death?” Spencer asked, thumbing through the case file.

“The ME report concluded that both boys died of acute alcohol poisoning,” JJ informed them.

Emily looked up from the file. “And the locals don’t think this could just be a case of college kids having a little too much fun?”

“Before a major playoff game? I doubt it.” Derek leaned back in his chair. “Especially considering OSU’s having a record-breaking season. I’d guess the coach had players on a pretty strict lockdown.” He raised his hands and joined them in a steeple over his chest. “Showing up to a game hung-over— particularly one as important as this— would be a major conduct issue.”

“That, and there was a pretty specific message left on both victims,” JJ added, arms crossed and eyebrows lifting into her hairline.

“On them?” Rossi questioned.

JJ motioned with her hand back to the screen. Six sets of eyes moved over the photo; the words “U LOSE” scrawled in ink across the foreheads of the two men.

“Resorting to murder to win a football game?” Emily asked, eyes narrowed.

“And why use the forensic countermeasure of staged alcohol poisoning, only to backtrack and assert it as a murder?” Spencer pondered, pursing his lips.

“Whatever the reason, we’ve got two dead college students and a definite signature. Wheels up in 30,” Hotch told them, closing his case file.

⧭⧭⧭

“No sign of forced entry.” Derek walked through the entry hallway and into the living space. “Doesn’t look like there was any struggle, either.”

Rossi thumbed through the mail on the kitchen counter and peered around the small space. “Everything you’d expect in a boys’ college dorm room: dishes in the sink, generic decor, general mess. Nothing that stands out.”

“Agents, thank you so much for coming.” A tall man in a dark suit stepped across the threshold of the apartment. He stuck out his hand for Rossi to shake. “Steven Barrett, Dean of Students.”

“I’m Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi. This is SSA Derek Morgan.” Derek nodded from his place in the living room.

“I apologize for not meeting you when you arrived. We’re dealing with a grieving campus,” Barrett said, running a hand over his face. “I’m actually on my way to speak to the Board, but I wanted to check in with you before. I’m not sure I can be of much help, but I can try to answer any questions you might have.”

“These boys were seniors, but they still lived on campus. Is that typical?” Rossi asked, gesturing around the apartment.

“Uh, yes, it is for student athletes,” Barrett confirmed with a nod. “OSU teams have demanding, sometimes grueling practice schedules. Being on campus simplifies things, allows students to get to classes and practices, as well as utilize the dining halls.”

“Does this building have security cameras?” Derek raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. All of our buildings do. I’ll let Campus PD know you’ll need access to the footage.” Barrett’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached for it and punched the button to answer the call. “Yes. Yes, I—I’m finishing up with the FBI now. I understand. I’m on my way.” He ended the call and pocketed the phone. “I’m sorry to leave you, gentlemen. Our top priority right now is supporting our students and community through this tragedy. Part of that healing process is finding out who did this to Tyler and Leon. So anything else you need, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to let me know.” He turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall.

Derek shook his head. “I’m glad I don’t have to do that job right about now.”

Rossi gave another glance around the nondescript apartment and sighed. “Call Garcia and ask her if she’s found any other cases that could be related. And let’s hope there’s something useful on that security footage.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Based on lividity and rigor mortis, I was able to put the time of death between 8:00 and 10:00pm on Wednesday evening. The blood alcohol content for both boys was over five times the legal limit. I’ve never seen anything like it,” the medical examiner mused.

Emily looked over the bodies, her arms crossed. “Dr. Saraj, about how much would they have to drink for the level to be that high?”

“When drinking, the level of alcohol in our blood reaches a peak before it drops off after the last drink ingested,” Spencer supplied. “In a typical night of drinking, spread over the course of several hours, the average man can have 8-12 drinks without ever reaching lethal levels. But considering each victim weighed around 230 pounds, they’d have had to ingest approximately 180 ounces of beer or 18.75 ounces of liquor to reach a lethal blood alcohol content.”

Dr. Saraj glanced at Spencer before adding, “Look, this is a college town. Kids drink. But... to have had this much alcohol still detectable in their system post-mortem indicates that these boys drank at least the equivalent of a 30 rack, by themselves, in less than an hour.” She flipped up the first page of the report in her hands, eyes scanning the second. “And the toxicology screen also found trace amounts of ketamine.”

Spencer bent over the examining table and adjusted the wrist of one of the boys with a gloved hand. “Doctor, are these ligature marks?”

“Oh, yes,” Dr. Saraj agreed, nodding. “They’re relatively faint, so I almost missed them. But I found similar marks on both boys on the wrists and ankles.”

“So,” Emily said, gesturing with her hands, “the unsub doses them with ketamine to gain control, ties them up, forces them to drink lethal amounts of alcohol, and then— what?” She looked to Spencer. “Waits for them to pass out before removing the restraints and leaving the message?”

Spencer examined the marker scrawls. “Were you able to determine what the message was written with and if it was left pre- or post-mortem?”

“My guess would be it was written with some type of permanent marker, but I can’t say for sure,” Dr. Saraj said. “We’re analyzing the residue now, and I can send the report your way as soon as I have it. As for when it was written, I couldn't tell you.” She shook her head. “The one simple mercy is that these boys would have been out cold for a while before they died.”

⧭⧭⧭

“I’m so sorry. I know how difficult this is. Anything that you can tell us will be helpful in finding the person who did this,” JJ encouraged softly. “Anyone that Tyler might have had an argument with recently or who he mentioned having problems with?”

“No, no. He was—he was just your typical boy,” Mrs. Allen sniffled. “Playing football and hanging out with his friends,” she said, voice hitching. “Oh my god.” She dropped her head into her hands.

“He didn’t have time to have problems,” Mr. Allen asserted. “He spent all his free time on the field. Coach had them out there for two-a-days until classes started. He’s the quarterback. He was leading that team to the first national title since 1945.” He stood to his feet, hands clenched at his sides. “Some lunatic murdered my boy and you’re sitting around talking to us while they’re out there, walking free.”

“Sir, I promise you that we have some of the best agents in the country working on your son’s case,” JJ assured. “But in order to help them do their job, we need to know as much as we can about who Tyler was.”

Across the bullpen, Hotch sat across from Mr. and Mrs. Williams. “Leon was a good boy. Football was his life. He loved being a part of this team. It was the season of a lifetime,” Mr. Williams said.

“We taught him better than to be drinking and carrying on,” Mrs. Williams added.

“Can you think of anything or anyone he might have mentioned recently that was out of the ordinary? Anything that was bothering him or causing him distress?” Hotch questioned.

“He was feeling pressure about the season, but he’s been handling that kind of thing since he was twelve years old.” Mr. Williams shared an almost indiscernible look with his wife. “He got into—into the same kinds of trouble any college kid gets in. Nothing that could have gotten him murdered.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Yeah, baby girl, what d’ya got for me?” Derek held the phone out so that Rossi could listen in as they waited in the OSU security office.

“Well, my handsome knight, I wish I could tell you more but so far, I’m coming up empty with similar cases,” Penelope sighed. “Nothing that matches our alcohol poisoning M.O. or the signature. I just expanded the search to surrounding states, and I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

“Anything on our two victims?” Rossi asked.

“Now that’s where it gets interesting,” Penelope mused, tapping the fluffy end of her pen into the palm of her hand. “There’s nothing. Zilch, nada.”

Rossi narrowed his eyes. “And that’s interesting because...?”

“Come on, sir,” Penelope scoffed. “Two young, athletic, good-looking college football stars and there’s nothing at all? Nothing scandalous on social media. No run-ins with campus PD. Not even a write up from an RA.”

Derek tilted his head in thought. “Hotch and JJ said their conversations with the parents told a similar story.”

“Okay, but no one is this squeaky clean, particularly not at a Big 12 college. Everyone has some dirt,” Penelope insisted. “I haven’t found it yet, but there’s gotta be something out there. When I have it, you’ll know it!”

“Thanks, Garcia,” Derek drawled.

“Over and out!” Penelope jabbed the button to end the call.

The OSU officer waved them over with his hand. “I’ve got it queued up to 6:24pm. You can see the boys here,” he pointed on the screen at the two victims, “entering the north entrance of the dining hall.”

Derek leaned toward the monitor. “So they leave practice, come through the dining hall for dinner. When do they leave?”

The footage sped up on the screen, then stopped. “Here. 7:01.”

“Rossi, you seeing this?” Derek slid his eyes over.

Rossi nodded. “Is there any way to enhance these frames?”

The officer shrugged his shoulders. “Not on this system. Honestly, the camera quality isn’t great. I’ve been trying to get them to invest in an upgraded OS, but you know—budget woes. Your analyst might be able to do more.”

“It’s not going to matter.” Derek sighed and straightened up. “She’s careful of her angles.”

“I couldn’t find them on any grounds cameras, but they pop back up entering the dorm. Here, at 7:12.”

“All three of them,” Rossi noted. He looked at Derek. “And like you said, she’s discreet.”

“They all go upstairs to the apartment,” the officer continued, “but only the girl leaves. At 8:43.”

⧭⧭⧭

“We have a witness from the cafeteria that confirms that the boys ate with a dark-haired young woman in a red coat,” Hotch said, arms crossed. “But other than those two details, the witness couldn’t recall anything else and said they’d never seen her before.”

“So we’ve got the two victims entering their apartment with an unknown woman. They’re upstairs for an hour and a half before she leaves,” Emily recounted.

Derek stood with his hands on his hips. “And in that time, she manages to dose and gain control of two boys that are more than double her size and funnel a lethal amount of alcohol into them. Now the question is why?”

As the team converged around the conference room table, a uniformed officer entered into the doorway. “Agent Jareau? There’s a possible witness—says she might have some new information.”

JJ nodded to the team and moved to the doorway. A petite young woman stood in the center of the bullpen, wringing her hands. When her eyes landed on JJ, she let her arms fall to her side. As JJ approached, she motioned with her hand for the girl to sit at the closest desk. “Hi, I’m Jennifer. I heard you wanted to speak to someone about this case. Can I have your name?”

The girl nodded. “Um, I’m Cassie. I saw the announcement you made. About the woman in the red coat. I heard you say that she had brown hair. Is that true?”

JJ cocked her head slightly. “Yeah, the witness and security footage we have shows a woman with dark hair walking with Tyler and Leon. Why do you ask?”

Cassie’s eyes darted around the bullpen, and she drew her arms tightly over her chest. “I just— um—well, I—”

“Would it help if we moved somewhere a little quieter?” JJ suggested. When Cassie nodded and stood, JJ placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and directed her toward an empty interview room. Cassie sat in the chair farthest from the door, and JJ sat opposite her. “Is there something you wanted to tell me about the woman? Or is it something else that’s on your mind?”

Cassie let out a long breath. “When I heard that they were dead, I— I was relieved. That sounds awful, but it’s true.”

JJ tread lightly over her next question. “You felt relieved. Why was that?”

Cassie looked directly at JJ. “I’ve been looking over my shoulder everywhere I go for the last seven months. I won’t have to do that anymore.”

“Can you tell me more about what you mean?”

Cassie took a breath and closed her eyes for a long second, before opening them and continuing. “There was a huge party in the spring. I mean, there were, like, hundreds of people there.” Cassie’s eyes went wide. “I never go to parties like that. But it was the end of the year, and my friend—well, I went with my friend. She got invited.”

“Were Tyler and Leon at this party?” JJ asked.

“Everybody was. I mean, everybody who’s somebody at OSU was there. We saw them right away. The whole team was there, but people treated those two like kings.” Cassie looked down at her hands. “We were drinking... a lot. At some point, Laney and I got separated. I tried calling her phone a bunch of times, but the party was really loud. I—I didn’t want to leave without her, but I was getting really messed up. I had a guy friend from one of my classes walk me home.” She swiped at her eye with the back of her hand. “Laney didn’t get back until the morning. Her clothes were all torn up, her hair had... blood in it, and she—she had a bruise under her eye.” She looked up at JJ, eyes shining with tears. “They raped her. I left her behind, and they raped her,” she whispered.

JJ reached across the table for Cassie’s hand. “Cassie, I’m so sorry. What happened to Laney was not your fault, or hers. Do you understand me?” JJ paused before continuing. Cassie looked down. “Do you know if she reported it?”

Cassie nodded. “I’m the one who went with her to the infirmary. They did a kit and confirmed it. When we went to Campus PD, they did nothing. Said Laney was wasted, and there was no one that could back up her story.”

JJ squeezed her hand. “So there was no official report filed?”

Cassie laughed coldly. “Oh, they wrote a report. I think if we ask them to, they have to. But they wouldn’t name Tyler or Leon in it. Said they didn’t want to ‘give legs to any gossip.’”

JJ’s mouth stretched into a thin line. “Where’s Laney now?”

“I don’t know.” Cassie shook her head. “She didn’t come back to OSU this fall. I haven’t really talked to her since—” She looked at JJ. “I can’t get the image of her out of my head. How she looked when she came through the door that morning. What they did to her… I’m not sorry that they’re dead.” Her eyes were shining with rage. “People knew what happened… and no one did anything. And those two were still the kings of campus.”

⧭⧭⧭

The team absorbed the new information quietly. “So Garcia was right. They did have something to hide.” Derek’s phone buzzed. “Speaking of. Hey mama, you’re on speaker.”

“I hope you’re all sitting down,” Penelope warned. “I expanded the parameters of my original VICAP search to include the surrounding states. No hits on suspicious deaths by alcohol poisoning. However, the U LOSE signature? Seven hits across Texas, Arkansas, Missouri, and Kansas.”

“So our unsub’s been traveling across the South—” Emily started.

“Oh, I’m not done,” Penelope continued. “Just to double check, I expanded the search area to the continental US. Our unsub has been busy. Over 30 murders with this signature, all across the country, dating back to March 2007. All different M.O.s: gunshot, stabbing, strangulation, you name it. But all with U LOSE scrawled across their forehead in—get this—liquid eyeliner.”

“Anything tying the victims together, Garcia?” Hotch asked.

“All men, mostly white, but all across different ages, occupations, and marital statuses. At first glance, there’s no real connection,” Penelope answered.

“What about on second glance?” Hotch prompted.

“Way ahead of you, sir. I did a little digging.” Penelope shrugged. “Okay, a lot of digging—most of it legal. Every single one of these victims had at least one sexual assault allegation. Some are official police reports, some are HR complaints, some are sealed court records. But in every case, the victim’s cause of death is directly related to the details of the assault records. Women that were held at knifepoint, their attacker was stabbed to death. If they were choked, he was strangled. If they were held at gunpoint, he died of a gunshot wound. Et cetera, et cetera.” Penelope twirled her pen. “The differing M.O.s combined with the fact that the unsub kept crossing state lines kept local PDs and field offices from making the connection.”

“Garcia, can you search OSU PD records for an incident report?” JJ asked.

Garcia tapped rapidly across her keyboard. “Absolutely, sugar, when would it have been filed?”

“It would’ve been this year, sometime at the end of April or beginning of May,” JJ answered. “The victim would be named as Laney Collins.”

After a few moments, Garcia peered through her green cat-eye glasses at the report. “Mmm, I’ve got one incident report, filed on May 7th. And woof, this report is not much to go on. The responding officer wrote a whopping three sentences. According to him, Laney was incapacitated and thus was not a credible witness.” Garcia twirled her pen. “The alleged attackers, who are not named, denied Laney’s account of what happened. Because there were no other witnesses, Officer Thorough deemed that no further action was necessary.” She jabbed her pen in the direction of the screen. “And this, my friends, is why women don’t bother reporting.”

“Good work, Garcia,” said Hotch.

“There’s one more interesting detail from the report,” Garcia continued. “The dean of students signed off on it.”

“So Barrett knew about this the whole time,” Derek fumed.

“And again, people wonder why women don’t report,” Garcia repeated, ending the call.

“So our unsub is seeking justice for women she believes have been failed by the system. We’re looking for a vigilante, carrying out revenge killings,” Rossi concluded.

Derek nodded. “And she’s organized and efficient; she finished with Tyler and Leon in less than two hours.”

“She’s smart and she blends in, doesn’t draw too much attention to herself,” JJ added.

“She’s meticulous and has at least some knowledge of forensic countermeasures, considering there’s no physical evidence tying her to any of the scenes,” Spencer remarked.

“And she knew enough to keep her face off the security footage,” Emily finished.

“Rossi, Emily, and I will stay here and deliver the profile,” Hotch directed. “JJ, I’d like you to speak to the families again, see if they knew about the rape. Reid, Morgan, talk to Barrett and see what else he might be trying to keep quiet.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Makes you wonder just how many people knew what happened,” Derek considered, closing the car door.

“It’s estimated that twenty percent of student victims of sexual assault report it to their university, but less than one percent of assailants receive any type of disciplinary action,” Spencer cited, making his way toward the sidewalk.

Derek shook his head. “And so the victims don’t see the point in reporting it. Your attacker gets to walk around like nothing even happened. Cassie told JJ that she felt like she had a target on her back once they reported Laney’s assault.”

As they walked up the blacktop driveway to the entrance of Barrett’s home, Spencer slowed his steps as he noticed the front door. “Morgan.” He nodded at the door, slightly ajar.

Derek drew his gun and moved ahead of Spencer. He pushed the door slowly open and called out, “Mr. Barrett?” In the foyer were the remnants of a broken vase and a small trail of blood. “Call Hotch, let him know we’ve got trouble here.”

Derek and Spencer worked to quietly clear the rooms, one by one. Derek stopped at the bottom of the stairs and motioned to Spencer. As they started up the stairs, a woman’s voice called out, “Shut up! You had nothing to say before. So now, you’re just going to listen.”

Derek reached the top of the stairs and started down the hallway. He reached the open door where a woman stood, her back to the door. Behind her, Derek could see Barrett, sitting on the floor, blood dripping from a gash on his head. His hands were raised in front of his chest, palms facing out. Derek stopped, his gun trained on the woman, and murmured, “Laney?”

The woman pivoted her body, her short blonde hair whipping around. Derek saw tears in her eyes and a revolver in her hand. “Don’t,” she warned.

“Laney, my name is Derek. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to talk. I need you to put the gun down.”

“No!” Laney screamed. “You don’t know what he’s done.” She shook the gun in Barrett’s direction, and Barrett closed his eyes.

Derek spoke softly. “I do, Laney. I do know. I know what happened to you. I know that he kept Tyler and Leon’s names off the report. I know that he didn’t help you when you needed it most. I know that he let them get away with--”

“Rape. He let them get away with rape. Because he cares more about reputation and football than what happens to women on his campus. They ruined my life.” Laney turned away from Derek and put both hands on the gun. “They ruined my life, and you did nothing. And then they walked around campus like they were invincible, because you taught them they were.”

Derek moved further into the room, into Laney’s eyesight. Spencer moved into the doorway, covering Derek. “Laney, look at me. I’m putting my gun away.” Derek held his hands up and then moved to holster his gun. “Doing this won’t make the pain go away.”

“How many others? How many other women did he do this to?” Laney let out a painful sob. “If I don’t stop him, it never ends.”

“Listen to me.” Derek took a step closer to her. “Killing him won’t change what happened, Laney. It won’t. Believe me. I know how you feel.”

“People love to say that when they’re trying to shut you up. How could you possibly know how I feel?” Laney spit out.

“Someone hurt me, just like they hurt you. And nobody was there to help me. No one was there to listen.” Laney froze, eyes shifting to meet Derek’s. “I wanted to hurt him, Laney. Wanted to make him feel the same pain I felt. I wanted him to suffer.” He moved another step closer. “I know that those men hurt you, and I know that he let them get away with it. And I am so, so sorry. But you’re stronger than anyone knows, Laney. You are the only person who has the power to help others who didn’t get justice. I have a friend who’s spent her whole life helping survivors, and I know she’d love to talk with you.” He took another step. “You are the only person who can stop it from happening to someone else. You can make sure he’s held accountable for what he’s done. But if you pull that trigger, you can never go back,” Derek warned.

Laney looked at Derek, his hand outstretched, wordlessly asking her to give him the gun. She looked at Barrett, crying and silently begging her to show him the mercy she never got. “I wish I’d been the one to kill them,” she whispered.

The gun dropped out of her hand as Derek stepped forward to catch her. He kicked the gun into the doorway, and Spencer recovered it. “I’ve got you,” Derek said, helping Laney out of the room. “Shh, it’s ok, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Spencer moved to lift Barrett off the ground and helped him into a chair by the window. Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer caught a flash of red below the window. He stumbled over Barrett, nose almost pressed to the glass as he stared out. The woman froze, eyes locked on Spencer’s. His mouth opened slightly as he stared at her, bewildered. By the time his brain caught up, she had already disappeared from view.

Spencer turned and raced down the stairs, clinging to the railing as he nearly missed a step. He burst out the front door into the driveway, sprinting around the side of the house. He heard Derek call his name, saw the other SUVs pulling up, but he kept running. He skidded to a stop at the edge of the backyard, and then spun in a full circle, eyes frantically scanning the perimeter.

Hotch approached from the side of the house, gun drawn. “Reid! Are you all right?”

Spencer took a last look, scanned from east to west. “Yeah, yeah. I just—I thought I saw—I thought I saw something.” He shook his head. “Barrett’s inside. He’s got a head laceration, but he’ll be fine.”

Hotch lowered his gun and nodded. “And Laney’s not our unsub. So we’re back to the beginning.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Strauss is asking us to head back to Quantico.” Hotch pocketed his phone and looked at the team. “We’ll move the cases to our watch list and flag the signature for hits in VICAP. From what we know about the unsub’s behavior, we know she’s no longer in the area.” He gestured to the evidence board. “Our best course of action is to keep the profile in our periphery for now. We can do that from the BAU. It’s late. Go to the hotel, get some rest. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

“I’m absolutely starving.” Emily slipped into her jacket and headed for the door. “Anybody want to hit up that 24 hour diner?”

Derek and JJ quickly agreed, following Emily from the conference room. JJ turned back, eyeing Spencer. “You coming, Spence?”

“I’m just really tired.” His voice lilted up, almost a question. “Next time, though.”

JJ gave him a look but didn’t press him. “Have a good night, Spence.”

“Yeah, thanks.” He gathered up the case files, not quite ready to put them away.

⧭⧭⧭

Spencer’s eyelids felt heavy as he walked through the lobby of the hotel. He really was tired. He blamed the exhaustion for what he thought he saw through the window at Barrett’s. His fatigued mind was seeing things that weren’t there. He practically floated into the elevator and up to his room. Sliding the room key through the slot, the door beeped open and Spencer stepped inside. He flicked on the light and dropped his bag on the floor, loosening his tie as he walked toward one of the sling back chairs sat by the window. He paused just before he reached the chair, his gaze lingering over something on the desk. A note hastily scrawled on hotel stationary.

623.

Spencer lifted the note with two careful fingers. “623?” He turned it over, looking for the rest of the message, but the paper was blank other than the number. He lowered the note, and his eyes landed on a small plastic card where the paper had rested on the table. Not just a card. A room key.

⧭⧭⧭

Spencer stared at the door of the room. Room 623. He turned his head and slowly looked up and then down the hallway. He took a breath and raised his hand to the door. He knocked in the familiar rhythm: five knocks, pause, two knocks. He pressed his ear close to the door, listening for any movement inside. When he heard nothing, he knocked again; the same pattern, but a little louder. He listened again. Nothing. Spencer felt a bead of sweat creep down the nape of his neck. He thought about turning around, about walking back down the two flights of stairs to his room and getting into bed.

Instead, he pulled the keycard from his pocket. As he lifted the card with one hand, he used his other to raise the strap on his holster. He held his breath as he swiped the card through the slot and heard the beep of the lock. Drawing his gun from the holster, Spencer slowly turned the handle of the door.

The room was mostly dark. Only the yellow glow of one of the bedside lamps illuminated the space. Spencer stepped into the room and quietly closed the door behind him. Again, his mind said to turn around. Yet his feet carried him further into the room. He could see now that the sling backs were facing toward the window. There were two glasses from the mini bar on the table between them.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” a familiar voice mused.

Spencer startled and then swallowed audibly, a cartoon character realizing he’s in serious trouble. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

“You can put the gun away,” she continued. “Really. Come sit down, Reid.”

Hearing her say his name sucked all the air out of his lungs. He closed the remaining distance between them, staring dumbly at her perched in the armchair. She gave him a small smile, warm despite the nervous energy in the air. “Hey, Reid.”

“Elle.” Spencer sunk into the chair across from her. “I—I thought I was seeing things. Earlier. At Barrett’s.”

She studied him quietly. “This hair is a good look for you.”

“Thanks,” Spencer blushed, smoothing down the hair at the nape of his neck. He quickly dropped his hand. “It was you then.”

“What was me?” Elle asked innocuously.

“You were at Steven Barrett’s house today. In the yard.” Spencer folded his hands to keep from wringing them. “You were wearing a red coat.”

Elle lifted one of the glasses to her lips, taking a sip of the clear liquor, ice cubes rattling. She swallowed and gestured to the other glass. “Have a drink.”

“I, um, I don’t drink anymore.” Elle raised an eyebrow. “A lot has happened since… the last time I saw you.” Spencer smoothed his hands down the tops of his thighs. “You were there today. Elle, did you—are you…” He wasn’t even sure what question to ask.

Elle ran her fingertip around the rim of her glass. She was quiet for a long time. Spencer fidgeted in his seat, but stayed quiet, waiting. Elle set the glass down.

“Do you remember that night in Dayton? In the hotel room?” Spencer looked at her pointedly. Elle let out a laugh. “Sorry, I forgot who I’m talking to; of course you remember.” Their eyes met. Spencer felt she was looking right through him. “You told me that I’d won. That because Garner was dead, and I was alive, I won.”

“Elle—” Spencer started.

“You asked, Reid. This is my answer.” She screwed the cap off the bottle of gin. Pouring the remainder of the bottle into her glass, she continued, “It took time, but I started to feel safe in my own home again. I could close my eyes without seeing his face. I could take a shower without bringing my gun.” She downed the rest of her glass. “When I killed Lee, I gave that same freedom back to the women he’d raped. They could exist in the world knowing that he would never hurt them, ever again.” She smiled ruefully. “And it felt… good. It felt right. And after years of having watched people be destroyed by monsters… I don’t know. It was just something I had to do. To bring that freedom and that safety back to other women who had been hurt and broken and alone. To destroy their monsters.” Elle looked at him then, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I don’t expect you to understand or approve. But the answer to your question is yes.”

Spencer took a breath and asked, “Why’d you put the key in my room? You could have just… disappeared.”

Elle shook her head. “I chose this. I knew what I was doing and what it would mean. Most of the time, I’m fine, great even. Because being able to give these women justice is the greatest gift. But with this work, you can’t really keep anybody close. No holidays or birthdays. No dates or girls nights.” She shrugged. “I guess I just wanted to see what would happen. What the boy genius would do.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Spencer admitted.

“Well, that’s a first.” Elle smiled, but Spencer could see apprehension in the rigidness of her shoulders, in the slight bouncing of her leg.

“I should probably arrest you,” he considered.

Her leg stopped. “You probably should.”

Spencer looked down at his hands. He ran his fingers up to the crook of his elbow, ghosting over the scars there. His mind raced from memory to memory: Elle on the train car; Tobias Hankle standing over him; Elle in the hospital bed; the needle in his arm; Elle in the hotel in Dayton; the click of an empty chamber.

“Elle, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for telling you that you’d won.” She was motionless, staring at him. He continued, “I didn’t know. I didn’t know what it was like. To be consumed and overcome by a memory.” Now it was Spencer’s eyes that shone with tears. “I didn’t know that the trauma could… fester in your brain like an infection that you can’t get rid of. I don’t know if winning is even possible after something like that.” He rubbed his hand under his eye and cleared his throat. “It was an awful thing to say. And I’m sorry.”

Elle tipped her head back, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. “All’s forgiven.”

Spencer reached out and gently grabbed Elle’s hand. “I’ve been so tired recently. I thought I saw something through the window at Steven Barrett’s house. But when I did a perimeter check, I didn’t find anything.” Elle dropped her head back down and turned to look at him. “We’re headed back to Quantico in the morning. We’ll, um, be keeping tabs on VICAP hits on the signature.” Spencer gave her hand one soft squeeze before standing. He let a small, bittersweet smile move over his face.

He made it to the door before he heard her voice again.

“If I asked you to stay, would you say yes?”

Spencer swiveled back to look at her, the door just barely open. Elle’s arms were crossed over her chest. Her eyes were dark and wide and full of storms. “Just for a little while longer?”

Spencer turned and moved his eyes up the length of the doorway, considering. He heard Elle let out a breath. His own breath stuttered. He closed the door softly. He put his hands in his pockets and turned back to her. “I’ve got a little while.”

#vicficwriterchallenge #criminal minds #tw rape #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #david rossi #derek morgan #spencer reid #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #elle greenaway #homoose writes

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