#no because he’s going to either intentionally seek it out or just happen upon it

[kivino]

Why "russians dni"? The people did nothing wrong, their government did. Russians are trying to boycott the war in Ukraine but are actively being silenced and punished for it. They don't like what's happening any more than you do.

first - i’d like for you to understand that the question you’re asking is none of your business, actually! block button exists for a reason, use it.

second - who even are you? i haven’t posted in a hot minute, so you intentionally seek out my blog to do what, exactly? ask me a personal question all while not coming off of anon? the fact that you even asked implies that you think you’re entitled to your daily dose of struggle porn, which i’m not going to provide to you. with that question you also show once again that the invasion of my country didn’t teach you - as a spectator, anything. bet you also think we should give up our lands for peace with colonisers, huh?

but regardless, i’ll explain. after centuries of being an empire they, what a surprise, have an imperialistic mindset that is hard to get rid of unless they are directly faced with that fact and genuinely wish to work on themselves. even the russian freedom fighters that you’re being so concerned about, instead of supporting actual victims. they also have surprisingly a lot to say for people who are being silenced.

case study 1 - famous russian comic who’s supposedly against the governments and lived in kyiv making a joke at one of his shows about the name of the town (izyum) where russians committed war crimes.

case study 2 - famous russian opposition politician who died recently, referring to russian-occupied crimea peninsula “not a sandwich to be passed around”, bluntly saying that once he’d have been in power, he would not have returned the lands back to ukraine.

and that’s just what i can remember from the top of my head and not counting all the times our language, culture and anything about us was ridiculed by people who did nothing wrong, according to you.

they don’t see that the problem is not only in the fact that people they pay taxes to and put in power in the first place are committing acts of genocide and war crimes, no. they refuse to see the fact that it lies deeper - that we want to speak our own language, be our own people and separate from their cultural space, instead of being looked down upon as “the younger brother”. i wish everything was as simple as you think it is, but it’s not. it’s centuries of history and bad blood, not only wih ukraine but also with many other countries that russians occupied and destroyed. i understand you might be not aware of all the details, but frankly, it’s not my job to educate you.

maybe there are russian people who see their empire for what it is, understand everything and genuinely try to make it right. i haven’t seen them yet and i don’t care enough to find out if there are people like this, because as a victim, i just want to be left alone, which you have a problem with, for some fucking reason.

if there were truly so many people who “boycott the war” (and how do you even do that? their taxes go towards it regardless of what they have to say about it) then they’d take everything into their hands and change the situation in their country by overthrowing the government who’s full of old imperialist oligarchs. but they can’t, because the pressing majority of population either supports it outright or is “neutral” which is the same fucking thing as supporting!

russians dni is because i don’t want to interact with someone who will automatically switch to russian instead of even trying to conceal the fact that they think we’re not different. russians dni is because it’s not my job to educate them and lead them by their hand through every point of why occupying territories that do not belong to them is bad. russians dni is because i don’t want to hear what they have to say about the ukrainian artists they claimed as theirs. russians dni is because i’m tired of living with inferiority complex.

hope this helps, and have a day you deserve. if you wish to argue, then save your breath - i’ll delete any asks with that kind of content.

[sorryiwasasleep]

Thinking about Hunter visiting the statue/graves of the Wittebane brothers

[blueparadis]

How would they express their affection while being in public with you?

themes : fluff, mild humour.

cw : none,sfw + gn!reader

ft. Tokyo Revengers [bonten+tenjiku+toman+black dragons - Sanzu,Ran Rindo, Akashi, Kakucho, Koko, Inui, Mikey, Chifuyu, Draken, Mitsuya, Hakkai, Kazutora, Shinichiro, Wakasa, Benkei,Baji]

requested by @passionateuchiha

au' notes : the thought was to include my fav characters along with the requested ones but hey ! thanks to my insomnia :)

♡ or ⟳appreciated ! LINKS SECTION

Sanzu Haruchiyo : Sanzu is very humble in public unless he's provoked. He'll not at all be clingy even if he just wants to ruin you badly at that very moment rather he'll carry all your bags and accessories. He'll follow you as if ' there's nothing wrong taking care of your beloved .

Ran Haitani : Ran doesn't like to be in leash. He likes to go wild but at the same time he knows you won't be much happy about it. He'll simply pull you to the inner lane of the road by grabbing your arm and then, interlace his fingers with yours. He'll look at you to watch your reaction maintaining a stoic expression as if nothing really happened although it could be his first touch on you. He'll constantly squeeze your palms with occassional stares to let you know how badly he wants you.

Rindo Haitani : Rindo is not very good at expressing but he picked up a few sneaky moves from his brother though. When you're busy enjoying the air, when the whole world is busy and couldn't care less about two more people; he'll lean and gently kiss your cheek. "What are you blushing for?" , would be his first words after you look at him. Yes, tactless as ever!

Takeomi Akashi : Akashi is quite hard to read when he's around you. He tries his best and succeeds in hiding his feelings you. But at the same time he wants to express it. He always wavers when you're on his mind. He really can't figure out what exactly he should do to be a little close to you yet not make you disappointed. So,he doesn't smoke while taking you out.He's such a chain smoker yet will not leave you alone even just for a drag.

Kakucho Hitto : Kakucho rarely goes out with you so he makes upto you in every way possible. Even if he wants to kiss you, wants to hug you he won't. He'll judge your mood first and won't lay a finger until he asks for permission,as in,"would you like me to hold your hand?"

Kokonoi Hajime: Koko lets you stop at every shop; it doesn't bother him you would buy a cheap stud and the very next moment you want a diamond necklace. He likes to hold your hands while being in public with you so that he doesn't lose track of you and if he gets carried away he'll place a soft kiss upon the back of your palm.

Inui Seishu : Inui gets a bit carried away if he decides to show his affection for you. He'll stop walking as you would turn around to ask,"what's wrong?" he'll close the gap hugging you replying "let's go home,okay!". He'll stay until you reassure his sweet seeking. He doesn't ask ,he always demands since he knows he could be an absolute emotional mess infront of you.

Imaushi Wakasa : Wakasa is very expressive in public; he'll take you to every shop and wants to buy everything for you. He's always overwhelmed with happiness when he's with you; but whatever he does, wherever he goes his fingers are clasped against yours. It's hard to catch-up with his pace. And if you ask him the reason he'll simply place the most obvious lie ," what if you get lost honey?" plopping the lollipop from his mouth.

Benkei : Benkei talks. Yes,he talks a lot about his gang. You won't get tired of his talk but can't really participate either. He knows that yet he does this intentionally because once you let your guard down he'll ruffle your hair providing the happiest smile you've ever seen.

Chifuyu Matsuno : Trust me! He tries his best to convey that he wants to close the gap between you two but all he can do is to hesitate everytime he wants to hold your hand. So, he'll simply cross you to face you asking,"umm- well -i want to hold you— i mean hold your hand ofcourse" giving a akward smile.

Mitsuya Takashi : Mitsuya is super embarrassed that he's about to show his affection for you in public. He'll constantly switch his hands from air to his pockets until he finally places his hand on your back without meeting your eyes. He'll try his best to avoid eye contact and try to indulge you in a talk but after a while if he notices your heedless behaviour he'll pull you in his hug to kiss on your forehead.

Hakkai Shiba : Hakkai is subtly expressive when he's with you in public. He doesn't hesitate to speak up which is fruitful for both of you. He'll ask,"Can I hold you?" and wait for your response. If yes, he'll wrap his arm around your waist, under your dress on your bare back, squeezing a bit while being at the end of the crowd.

Ken Ryuguji aka Draken : Draken never walks side by you, he'll be a little bit behind you; always. If he decides to express his affection you're the most precious person to him. He'll be like ,"hey wait,come this side. You might get hurt" . He'll simply exchange positions without laying a finger on you.

Manjiro Sano aka Mikey : Nope,he doesn't share food but once in a while he has an urge to feed you,to know what your reaction would be if he really expresses himself to you. He's not at all shy but he's worried of losing you in the process. So,he never oversteps. He'll squeez your cheeks out of nowhere just to get rid off his worrisome regarding you.

Izana Kurokawa : Izana will grab you by your arm pulling him to his embrace genty kissing your hair. He does it when you're absolutely aware of his next move. He doesn't like to hide anything from you therefore he'll always spill before his act,like "why don't I kiss you instead!"

Shinichiro Sano : Well,he actually thinks you're not at all aware of his feelings for you. So,he does everything without giving a second thought to it.The way he puts his hands on your waist,talks about Mikey & Emma,leans towards your shoulders to look what's got your interest now and every action he does is a plea to make you accustomed to his affection. Please! don't make him aware about his readable tactics.

Baji Keisuke : Baji is pouty and demanding. He couldn't care less about the passersby. But his favourite way of showing affection would be pulling you into his embrace to untie your hair , saying " i love to see you like this"

Kazutora Hanemiya : Kazutora is so bold and confident when he expresses. He knows where & when to express. He doesn't talk much because he knows he is readable like a book. But his favourite way would be intertwining your palm with his and burying them into the pockets of his jacket.

Hanma Shuji : Hanma doesn't care about time and place but he does care about your personal space and comforting presence. So, he'll inspect the mood before going all touchy with you. He'll put his arms around your shoulders saying,"so,can we go home already!" turning his head to yours & kissing your temple.

By @blueparadis do not alter and repost elsewhere

[dollediary]

I Still Wanna Try

VII. Me Too.

🏹 pairing(s): heeseung x female reader, heeseung x giselle, sunghoon x female reader, jake x female reader

🏹 genre: angst, smut

🏹 warning(s): language

🏹 synopsis: y/n and heeseung, two highschool sweethearts whose relationship seemed to only have grown worse as time went on. what was once nothing but puppy love turned into an immature and toxic romance that lead to the downfall of their relationship. heeseung, the displayed unfaithful partner, went seeking comfort in the arms of another woman, essentially cheating on y/n. after the situation was brought to light, he lost y/n. now, with the help of his friend jake, we get to watch as he carelessly tries to win her heart over, while either earning her trust back, or making matters worse for himself.

🏹 word count: 4.2k

taglist (just ask) : @nyfwyeonjun @kac-chowsballs @mykalon @3ggieyolk @enhabb @neovrse @dontcallme20 @httpheeseung @thejjrl @ddeonubaby @wanlore @softforqiankun @wntrsgf @luvrseung @k4aerina @arikiu @aujewels @hoonstrology @gongiz @luvlyjaemin @giyyuzz @cha-raena @leeis @222xie @multihoe-net @mymeloem19 @tenderjuiceyhakdog

permanent taglist (must be following, then ask!): @sungswhore @zhaixiaowen

[← previous | masterlist | next →]

the ride home was uncomfortable. you didn't know if it was the music that the uber driver was playing, or if it was the "icy pine tree" scent that invaded your nose every second the AC blew air your way, or if it was the fact that this ride was only happening because you betrayed the only person who stuck by your side for some tacky, and sloppy, bathroom sex with the boy who literally cheated on you. you knew deep down that the last one was the reason for your anger and discomfort, but you refused to acknowledge it because it hurt too much to admit your faults. so, like anyone who was in denial, you blamed everything and everyone in the world except for yourself.

however, it was getting harder to deny the truth as you got closer to your dorm. you wondered what to do. how were you going to fix it? would he even try to hear you out? did you hurt him? make him cry? or did he not even care? you didn't know, yet you here you were rushing up the stairs tears brimming in your eyes, threatening to spill, ready to go face first into a situation where you had no clue what the fuck you were going to say, or do. quickly using your fingerprint, you yanked the door open as you ran into the apartment looking around for him.

upon hearing the light clanking of glass, you ran into the kitchen to see him focused on washing dishes. "sunghoon," you called out, your voice cracking as you spoke. you watched as his moves faltered a bit. he hated thatㅡ hearing when your voice cracked. but, he didn't want to speak to you, so he chose to ignore you and keep washing the dishes. you were unsure if you should get closer or not, deciding to keep a respectable distance because that was the least you could do. "can we just talk, please?"

"there's nothing to talk about, and even if there was, i wouldn't want to talk to you," his voice was cold as he rinsed the dish off, putting it in the dish rack before going back to wash another one. it wasn't true, what he said. he did want to talk. i mean, he intentionally stayed in the kitchen, even going as far as making a mess to begin cleaning up once you arrived.

"i know you don't want to talk, but i do. i don't want you to be upset with me," you begged, pouting hard as to distract yourself from crying. you had no clue what to say. because anything you had to say would be a lie. he stayed silent, finishing the dishes up as he kept his hands under the steamy water that was still running. he couldn't leave. not yet at least. not before you could explain yourself. not before he could give you any benefit of the doubt. not before you could possibly earn a second chance. "can you please say something?"

"i've already said what i needed to say," he said, turning to you after he turned the faucet off. but a big part of him didn't mean it, when he said he needed space. now, he did mean it when he said you were bad for him. because you definitely were. maybe even worse than that. he knew deep down he didn't want space from you. if he did, why would he intentionally make it so that you could come home to try and talk to him, even with the pure intentions of not even bothering to hear you out? because, like any other fool, he would always want what was bad for him. and his insecurities had skyrocketed through the roof when he heard what he did on that call. even with months of having the upper hand on heeseung, it took one moment of his absence to have heeseung steal and mark everything he'd been working on.

"it looks like you guys had fun, huh," he scoffed, looking at the hickeys forming on your neck. you mentally face palmed, physically softening at his tone. he was hurt. especially now that there's evidence on you from it. "sunghoon..." you tried walking closer to reach out to him, but he only shook his head as he moved away.

"look y/n, i'm not your boyfriend. you can do whatever you want," he paused before he laughed bitterly. "that being said, it doesn't matter to me if you get back with him or not.. the least you could do is not ditch me for him when i'm going out of my way to treat you to nice things. it's fucked up, especially considering that ive been the only one supporting you through this all and have done everything to show you a better life from what you've been having as of recently. but it's fine. i can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped. someone who doesn't want to help themselves. im at the point where i just don't want to be bothered by someone who continues to subject themselves to heartbreak at the expense of others."

what he was saying made sense, and the delivery was quite straightforward. you understood where he was coming from, and he did, too. yet, it felt so disingenuine to him. he felt like even though it was the right thing to say, he didn't mean it. it did matter to him if you got back with heeseung. he genuinely hated the whole idea of it.

it's one thing to be in a toxic relationship. it's one thing for the toxic actions to go both ways. but for heeseung to go as far as building a bond, and opening his heart emotionally, with another woman was a different story. he shouldn't be allowed to come back from that, no. he shouldn't even get the chance to be near you, let alone have sex with you again. but he did. you let him. that's what hurt him the most, you allowing heeseung to go get so close to you again. after all sunghoon's done to convince you that you deserve more. there's nothing else he could possibly say or do to help you. so, like anyone else who's tired of lifting the weight off of somebody else's shoulders, he set the boundary he needed in order to let you go. and although he was doing just fine going through with it, he couldn't stop the knot forming in his throat as he did so. and the heartache that only seemed to worsen the more he saw your face drop, almost made him retract every word he said.

that was exactly his problem. all he wanted to do was save you. he was doing to himself, about you, the same thing you were doing to yourself about heeseung. "i don't want your help, i just don't want to lose you. you don't know how hard it is for me to stop loving him," you grumbled, making him scoff.

"it'd be different if you had a moment of weakness and fell back into his arms, but to straight up let him fuck you in a family restroom is another thing. have some respect for yourself," he laughed at the way your eyes widened. he didn't know what came over him. he knew it was a foul thing to say. he knew it would hurt you, yet he still said it. you really didn't have any excuses for what happened. yes, you don't owe him anything, but it was still so wrong of him despite him being beyond upset at you right now. you opened your mouth to speak, almost stuttering as you did so.

"fuck you!" anger projected perfectly through your words as sunghoon smiled at the fact that he was finally able to get under your skin the way you got under his. he knew he should've stopped. and let things end there.

"i already did."

time seemed to slow down after the words left his lips, making those two silent seconds feel nothing short of an eternity. you huffed up your cheeks in anger, balling your fists as well. "you know what?"

"what, y/n?"

"you want space? you can have it. i don't have to do this back and forth shit with you."

"fine, see if i care," he responded, rolling his eyes. please dont see if i care. i don't want space away from you.

"fine," it's not fine, sunghoon. please don't let me walk away from you. i need you.

"fine," nothing about this is fine to me. please don't walk away.

"fine!" you responded, finally gaining the courage to stomp out of the kitchen to your room, slamming the door behind you as you walked to your bed. silent sobs soaked your pillow as you tried to get a grasp of what exactly you had just done.

giving sunghoon time and space away from you proved rather difficult. it'd been weeks since your apology failed, and he decided to physically stop responding to you. since he gave you the silent treatment, as well as the fact that he'd started avoiding you around the house, opting to leave the room if you'd come in and vice versa, it was so hard. and it'd be a lie to say you didn't cry about it a little. because you did. a lot. but you had no one to blame other than yourself. you had chosen heeseung over him even after everything he'd done to help you move on.

you regretted it all. you regretted not resisting heeseung, but it was so hard. couldn't he just try to understand that it's hard to move on from your first love? of course, what you didn't know was that he could understand. because he was struggling to do the same with you: his first love. but he'd never let you know that, ever. which is where minju comes into the picture, a girl he met through a group project that his professor assigned. she was tall, beautiful, and so much fun to talk to. he'd never really looked at her much before, but one day she ended up confessing her feelings to him.

sunghoon had stayed behind later than most of the members in his group, having had more of his books out than they did. he was in his own little world, zoned out, not even noticing that a particular girl has had her eyes on him in a panic, wondering if she should really do this. she'd been like thisㅡ and doing this, for awhile now: staying behind after the working sessions, watching sunghoon as she tried to gather her courage to speak of him. everytime she felt like she could do it, she just... couldn't. but today, the feelings she felt for him were at their highest. it was an unbearable but yet so lovely feeling. it was a feeling she wanted to get rid of nonetheless. yet, as she stood there, with her heart doing everything it could to beat out her chest, she stood there frozen. closing her eyes, she opted to slowly back away from the boy before he would notice her presence. but right before she could, their eyes met.

boom-boom, boom-boom

suddenly every thought, every breath and every word she could say left her body. sunghoon looked at her, not noticing her lovesick state as he tilted his head at her. "oh, did you leave something behindㅡ" he paused, making her feel a tad bit sad. he didn't remember her name. god, if only she'd tried harder to make him notice her the way she noticed him. "minju...?" a smile almost crept on her face, maybe this wouldn't go so bad afterwards. she tried to gather her thoughts, and stand straight up despite how badly her legs shook in excitement of being able to talk to him now.

"uhm, no! actually, i didn't leave anything behind," she quickly stated, a smile masking every word out of her control. "i just wanted to, um- tell you something. i've been meaning to for a long time now, ever since we started this project." sunghoon's lips turned into a slight pout as he tried to think of what she could tell him that was related to the project. he had been slacking lately, opting to single himself off from the group when he wasn't feeling too well. it'd been a while since he hasn't been feeling well.

"oh, what is it?" he said, masking his worries with casual concern. taking a deep breath, he prepared himself to hear the criticism that he'd been deserving for these past few weeks, now. minju took a deep breath, looking off to the side as she wondered what exactly she would say. would she just confess to him? would she ask him out?

"i'm sure you've never seen me before, but i always see you," she said, the words coming out rapidly, only making her terribly aching heart hurt more. "and-and i've.. my feelings for you have started growing since then. i know this may be unexpected, or might seem fake. but it's all real, and even if you don't accept my feelings, please finally acknowledge them so i can learn to let go!" she bowed her head down, squeezing her eyes shut. silence filled the room; it was excruciating. she wanted the earth to swallow her whole as she stayed with her head bowed.

sunghoon didn't know what to say. out of all the possibilities he ran in his mind, nothing could've prepared him for this. it took him a second to remember that he had to say something back. smiling slightly, he wondered if this was how things were meant to be. if he was meant to move on. sure, he didn't feel anything for minju right now, but maybe he could learn to. she wanted him. and you didn't, and most likely won't after all the shit that went down with you two. maybe it was time to move on. he deserved to anyways.

"alright," he finally spoke, making minju look up at him. "i may not feel anything right now, but i don't see why we can't try. what do you say, minju? shall we go on a date?"

they started dating after the second time sunghoon took her out. it was weird how fast he was able to catch feelings for her. but he was glad he did because this was the happiest he's felt in the past three months. he no longer had to be burdened by you and your problems, he no longer had to wonder if he was worth anything because she proved it to him in every way that he was. he started making it a point to bring his new love and happiness home, she seemed to bring the peace back, anyways.

mind this, you had no clue who she was, or how long she's been coming over, but when you saw her for the first time it... hurt? yes. it hurt that he kept that, well her, away from you, but there's nothing you could do about it. it became a common thing to see her around and.... it hasn't been the best experience, to put it short. you hated her. so so much. the way she'd look at you like you like you were the stranger in the home. like your presence was the burdening one. it made you feel ostracized. it'd only been two weeks since you had finally acknowledged her presence, but you were already breaking down. you put your brain and body on autopilot mode, not really focusing on your feelings anymore than you had to. your days went from being filled with events to just toning down to your daily tasks: school, work, and sleeping as soon as you get home (because taking the time to eat in that damned place wasn't worth it. you'd rather keep eating at work.)

on the brighter side of things, sunghoon has silently forgiven you. i guess that's one of the luxuries that comes with healing, being able to forgive those who have wronged you. it took him a while to see it. a while to understand that you were just ill, maybe more mentally than physically. you still didn't know how to be without heeseung, and neither he nor heeseung helped that. it was a guilty feeling he got, realizing that nobody was ever the bad guy between you two. you didn't owe him the reciprocated feelings that he felt entitled to, and he didn't owe you the constant months worth of comfort that you felt entitled to. so, he decided to make room for your bond to be fixed. he slowly, but surely, started opening up a bit, if that's what you call small conversations, or smiles from the small bumps in the hall.

it wasn't much, but to you it meant the world. while you still didn't have him back the way you wanted, you were still so happy to have him back at all. those small conversations had brought you back down to earth. they made everyday worth waking up to, worth looking forward to, even if it wasn't a big change from how you usually viewed life. even so, you were still miserable. work was the worst, but you had to make money to survive in this world. today was especially tiring. you were so excited to finally be home, already exhausted from your morning shift. sitting on your bed, you let out a sigh, playing music on your phone while you sat it on your stomach with your eyes closed ready to feel all the emotions you had been holding in. in the midst of the music, you hear and feel your phone vibrate.

you pick the phone up, looking to see something unusual: a text from jake.

jake: hey y/n. i know it's probably weird hearing from me, but i would really like it if we could meet up.

jake: i promise heeseung doesn't know, he'd kill me otherwise.

you agreed.

the two of you ended up meeting up at his parents place because neither of you could really meet up at your dorms. the house was warm, felt cozier than you've ever known. and it was silent up until his mother came to give y'all some hot chocolate for the holidays, that's when your thank you's flooded the room. sighing, jake waited until his mother left to speak.

"first, i just wanted to apologize for everything you're going through," he stated, making your heart ache as you could feel your eyes beginning to water even though the tears weren't visible just yet. all you could do was nod at him, still processing all the pain you were hiding all this time. "i just want to help you find your self worth and love. i feel like all the people you've been around have only taken that from you. i feel bad that i wasn't man enough to call my own friend out for it."

"it's not your fault."

"i know you won't believe it, and i know i'm not supposed to be here defending him. but he really did love you. and i knew you loved him too, i just don't get how it could have gotten this bad.

"i- i'll admit it," you said, thinking back to the beginning of all of your toxic problems with him. "i started the cycle."

"y/n, i told you i didn't mean to make you cry," you two had been arguing over some sort of insensitive joke he had made in the beginning of your relationship. it was clearly something that he had forgotten, but showed complete remorse for after you brought it up to him again, wiping away every tear that he had caused even if the damage had already been done. you knew deep down that you wanted to forgive him, but something in you kept telling you not to. it kept screaming that you needed to be angry for the confidence he took from you, for the insecurities he created for you. and you let it get to you, fogging up any forgiveness you had left for him

"i don't care! you have no clue how fucking hard it is for me to look at myself in the mirror knowing that you felt that wayㅡ that- that joke fucked me up permanently. i can barely be comfortable with myself now."

"i know, and i'm sorry, i want to fix it so badlyㅡ"

"SHUT UP! just shut up!"

"look, i understand you're hurt, and i feel so bad. but there's nothing i can possibly do to fix it anymore, all i can do is watch what i say and lift you up the way you deserㅡ"

"i don't care."

"y/n..."

"leave me alone."

he sighed in defeat. "well. it's hard to try and solve anything when it feels like you're just trying to be a bitch!" the words of frustration, that he intended on keeping in his head, came flooding out before he could think of the consequences.

your eyes widened, hurt immediately taking over your features as you backed away from him once he started trying to move closer and apologize. "i-i didn't mean it! god, please i didn't mean it!"

"GET THE FUCK OUT!" there was no room to talk. no room to calm down. no room for anything. all he could do was silently do as you requested of him, only finding out you had blocked him on everything out of anger.

jake could recall the other half of the story as he nervously chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood. "haha, i remember that. he cried so much that day. i felt bad for the guy."

you realized you never apologized to him. "i just ended up calling him, telling him i missed him and wanted to be held by him again. i just... never got the courage to apologize to him."

jake sighed and comfortingly rubbed your thigh as you buried your face in your hands. "honestly, he'll probably never un-internalize that.."

you nod, agreeing with him. you understood from the way he'd gone from being so understanding of you in arguments to treating the same way you treated him, or worse. you sighed. "i probably ruined him forever, huh? how has he been doing?" you ask, making jake frown at you. a part of you wished he was as miserable as you were, but he didn't deserve that anymore than you did.

jake smiled at you, sympathy written all over his features. "he's actually... he's actually been doing pretty good!" his voice was meant to show excitement for his friend but he couldn't help but feel bad for you, you're probably the only one who's still in shambles. you sigh and think about it. everyone else is doing fine with or without you.

"maybe i should just move on.."

"whatever you think is best for you," he responded, his smile giving you the sense of comfort you'd been craving. he looked into your eyes. they were looking back at him, but they seemed so distant now, you were probably zoning out again. he took a deep breath before he spoke. "maybe we should talk more... so you won't have to be lonely again."

"maybe.."

"well, it's getting pretty late. i don't want to hold you up too long now. i'll drop you off at home," jake said, looking at the time on his phone. you nodded, grabbing your belongings as you followed him out to his car.

the car ride was silent other than the music playing, and jake's occasional singing to the songs he enjoyed on the radio. you spent a bulk of the time looking out the window, an empty feeling plaguing your heart. you wondered why you couldn't help but want to hold on. you had always been the one pushing him and everyone else away, so why is it hurting you so much now that they'd finally given you what you wanted?

there wasn't much time for you to think about it because jake had already pulled into the parking lot on your side of the building. "we're here."

"thank you..." you said. it was more loaded than you intended, but jake understood.

"no problem. i should've been this way before, but i can't, so i am now. i've got your back."

"oh, well i appreciate you.. for contacting me. it's been so long since we last spoke."

"it wouldn't have felt right if i hadn't. anyways. i hope we can be good friends."

you smiled at the thought of it. you'd lost more of your friends due to what happened with you and sunghoon. the hallways became lonely without anyone to lift your spirits, and lunches became out of the question out of fear of their glares sent your way when you had decided to eat on campus. it felt refreshing to know at least someone wanted to be there.

"me too. thank you, jake."

[← previous | masterlist | next →]

[killingick]

TICCI TOBY HEADCANONS

𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤.

𝐓𝐖: 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐀𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐒𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐦, 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐊𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥.

"—𝕀 𝕞𝕖𝕒𝕟 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕞𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕛𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖, 𝕒𝕤 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝕚𝕤 𝕓𝕖𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕓𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕟... 𝕤𝕝𝕚𝕔𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕟... 𝕓𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕕..."

𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

• Toby hates hearing his full name — Toby Erin Rogers. — The sound of his last name reminds him of his family, especially his abusive father.

• Though he could never feel the pain his father would inflict upon him, it still hurt to be seen as his personal punching bag and nothing more. The verbal abuse wasn't any help either.

• He'd always wished his sister had been born with his disability that stopped him from feeling pain. He'd always thought it would have stopped him from having to hear her screams at night knowing that at the time he couldn't do anything about them.

𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

I headcanon that Toby wouldn't really look for or seek out relationships, let alone flings. But if he did:

• Toby isn't the loyal person in a relationship.

• After the death of his sister, he's always been afraid of the people around him leaving him.

• He's beyond terrified that you're going to leave him too, and the thought of that hurts more than any pain he'll ever feel.

• In fear of it, he surrounds himself with people he can emotionally attach himself to, so that if one leaves he can move onto the next. In his mind it'll make your parting less painful.

• He might love one of the people he's attached himself to more than the other (You.) and he'll show them that by spending extra time around them watching movies, pleasuring them, stealing them things he'd think they'd like on missions and blowing off his other choices.

• He'll also spend a lot more time looking at or smiling at you, instead of allowing his eyes to wander.

• He'll listen to you intently and allow you to touch him more than others assume he's comfortable with.

𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

• Although he'll deceive you into thinking you're the only one for him, he will go on a rampage if you ever cheat on him.

• Sometimes the voices will trick him and he'll get confused seeing you with a friend or sibling, having fun, smiling, laughing with somebody else that isn't him.

And so,

• He'll kill them, in the most brutal way possible just for trying to take what was his or do what he does better than him.

• In turn of course you'll get mad, but just know that if you happened to be his favourite little toy, you are never leaving him.

𝐒𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐦 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

• Toby is sadistic as fuck.

• Because he is unable to feel pain, he likes to inflict pain onto others just to see how they'll writhe and scream when he twists their arm out of place or hacks through the muscle fibres in their calves with his sharpened hatchet.

• If he ends up in a bad mood because of his bipolarity, he might smack or choke you, but he tries not to hurt you and does have good self restraint when it comes to hurting the one he loves.

• Hurt him intentionally, he'll see you as his father and that restraint's out the fucking window.

H̸̞̭͙̳̺̳̑̌̈̅̅̌́E̵̥͍͖̻̮̬̠̽'̸͇̞̪̩̰̟̝̅̊̒̔̂̊͠͝L̴͍̦͔͈̘̭̯̘͐̀̀͘L̶̢̡̼̦̾͗͊̇̐̐͊͘͜͠ͅ ̶̱͚̺̠̦̝̟̖̙̪̇̈́͝K̴̭̪̣͕̘͑I̵͖̰̝̰̮͂̿̎̃͌͜L̵͇̞̣̊͒̎̆̍̾̃Ľ̵̡̧̻̠̥̜͖̝͍̊͐̽̀͝ ̶̫́̓̽̀̂̎̃͊̉Y̶̢̘͙͙̅̊O̴̬̘̰͎̤͇̽̿͒̀̿͝U̵͓͎͎̖̜͔͌̽̓̈͑͌̀̉.̶̝͚̰̙̘̜̬̗̼̦̽͒

• Restraint in the bedroom's another story.

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

• If you try and leave him, he'll drag you by your leg back across the floor of the woods to the mansion, before knocking you out with the back of his hatchet and tying you up.

• He'll only let you go free when he's in a better mood and more cooperative, or when you've promised him you won't leave him / try to leave him again.

• He'll sit in front of you and stare at you, seemingly without blinking until one of your human desires require attention.

• He'd cater to those desires: bathing you, force feeding you, dressing you, calmly asking you to go to sleep before threatening you to.

• He'd be afraid to blink or even take his eyes off of you in fear that he'll blink and you'll be gone. (Something the voices keep warning him of.)

𝐕𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

• The voices seem to have a lot of control over his behaviour.

• He'll know they're not telling him the truth and only trying to scare him, but when he's in a vulnerable state, he can't help but fall a victim to their childish games.

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

• Toby is actually a lot smarter than most writers paint him out to be.

• He's more of a listener — whilst on missions he'll listen more carefully to his surroundings before deciding on how to proceed.

• However, when he's alone with the person he loves, he's a lot more talkative and a lot more open about his emotions.

• He doesn't want other proxies or Creepypasta's to see how much he cares for you (he will only let a select few know.)

• He's afraid that if one of them were to betray him, they would hurt you because of how open he was about his emotions towards you.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞

• Toby's voice sounds as portrayed in David Near's 'TICCI TOBY Original Voice' video.

• As portrayed in David Near's 'Ticci Toby Patient Interview #1', Toby was captured and facilitated before all trace and knowledge of him residing in that facility was destroyed.

• The Operator punished him thoroughly for his carelessness and cooperation with said therapist.

• Slenderman is the only being capable of making Toby feel pain. Because of this he is absolutely terrified of him and will not hesitate to obey the suited man.

• Toby is around 5'9.

𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐚𝐝. 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 @ 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐒𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇.

[heiressofdoodles]

So, major spoiler for Kirby and the Forgotten Land coming up. If you haven’t beaten the ENTIRE game, including Post Game Content, then DO NOT click Read More, because as far as I’m concerned, there is no non canon material in this game.

So. Morpho Knight. They are canon now. The first person to be introduced in non canon material and make the jump into canon material. And this one fact can spell doom for Dreamland and the Forgotten Land. Of course, we already knew they would become a major threat since they appeared in Star Allies, especially because they casually insta killed Galacta Knight. Morpho Knight is meant to be the stand in of the grim reaper, judging the souls of the dying or dead and guiding them to the afterlife. But they’re not just judging people as they die, as we see in their gotcha figurine.

(Figurine description of Morpho Knight says “The fluttering fiend that casts judgment upon final battles is drawn towards the isolated isles of Forgo Dreams. There, it feasts on the most powerful soul it finds and takes the fearsome form of a scarlet-clad knight... Let the most challenging battle of this new world begin!”)

They are actively seeking out the most dangerous and powerful entities they can find. Hunting them, even. And when they find those powerful entities, the first thing they do is land on them, and they disappear in a cloud of magic. They feast upon the deceased soul, and by the looks of what happened to his ghostly attack between this game and Star Allies, they also assimilate the soul as well, making themself stronger and much more powerful. So if this is what they’ve been doing, why not do Kirby?

They’ve already tried, and failed. Every time they attempt to judge, kill and assimilate Kirby, they fail, probably because either Kirby is much stronger than Morpho Knight, or they can’t find something that truly makes Kirby irredeemable or unworthy. Galacta Knight has the power to destroy planets, and is more than willing to lash out his anger upon those that summon him with malicious intent. Soul Forgo is cold, calculating, and genocidal; the only reason the Leon and Carol didn’t die the moment they discovered Fecto Forgo was because he was too weak, and needed Leon’s strength. But Kirby doesn’t appear to be intentionally malicious towards anyone; he’s a bit naive when it comes to people and their true intentions, and he’s rather stubborn when he believes he’s in the right, but he’s learning from his mistakes.

Morpho Knight is also learning from their mistakes. They’re trying something different now, with the strongest copy ability in Forgotten Land, negating the additional power ups. Morpho Knight gave Kirby the blueprints to make their sword and armour after their battle.

(Copy ability description of Morpho Knight Sword says “Before the final battle, a fluttering fiend arrives to cast its judgement. This dangerous weapon grants that form to any who wield it. For Kirby, handling this power is... a breeze.”)

That is a weird comment at the end for me. “For Kirby, handling this power is... a breeze.” It sounds like anyone that tries to use this sword and fails Morpho’s judgement will die or be assimilated. And Kirby can use it, because he’s stronger than Morpho. But why the “dot dot dot”? It’s almost saying that there’s something suspicious going on here. It’s somewhat saying that Morpho Knight gave Kirby these blueprints for a reason, and right after they were defeated in battle, because he’s just not as powerful as Kirby right now. And Morpho Knight is smart; they’re hiding in waiting until he finds the best possible addition to his arsenal, and waits even more until they are confused or at their weakest.

Here’s what I think is happening.

Kirby was tricked into thinking he got a powerful weapon, and might be playing himself right into Morpho Knight’s hands. As far as I’m aware, this is the only copy ability that has a life steal ability, which just seems to be nudging Kirby into using it more and more. In the picture above, the person had even upgraded Morpho Knight Sword so that it’s even more powerful. It’s basically the best trap in the world for someone so powerful, set up by something with such obvious megalomania like Morpho Knight.

They give Kirby the best armour and sword in this entire game immediately after they’ve been defeated, leans Kirby into using it more with it having a life steal ability, and it can be upgraded even more, making Kirby far more powerful while using it. And for what purpose? Why go through all of this work, when Kirby is already so powerful? What is their endgame with all of this?

To kill and assimilate Kirby in such a slow process that he doesn’t even realise what’s happening until it’s too late. Just by Kirby making the copy ability, he’s unknowingly inviting doom into both the Forgotten Land and Dreamland. And even the fact that it can be upgraded could mean that Morpho Knight themself is getting stronger by proxy. All of the other copy abilities were harmless to Kirby, because none of them had any malice. Dedede could never bring himself to intentionally hurt Kirby with a copy ability. Meta Knight wants Kirby to know he’s being supported back home, but that he should still never let his guard down in this world. But Morpho Knight has no such kindness, and is more than willing to let someone think they’re in control, when it’s very obvious that it’s the other way around.

What better way to lure someone into a false sense of security like promising them a powerful weapon, only to use it to steal their power and leave them defenceless next time you strike?

[soranihimawari]

Undercover Distant Lovers

Or Air Force 1’s

Pairing: Mattsukawa/Mattsun x reader

Single parent au// Yakuza au

Word count: 9.5 K

🔞: mdni for mature themes, blood, criminal violence (surrounding the cast here), allusions to sex

Ka-sho// (auntie) Shoko is yn’s relative. You can read how she meets Makki here.

An old piccrew which inspired this tale. ^-^

If you were thumbing through the Mattuskawa’s family photo album, you’d see many polaroids of a young girl who wears her hair in half pigtails hanging out with her god-brother Takeru on a trip to Tokyo Disneyland. Her father sports aviator sunglasses, tailored pants and a bold yellow unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt with a muscle tank top underneath. His daughter just turned four years old and as a birthday gift, she begged her father to buy her matching Nike Air Force 1’s so they can visit Takeru on fall break in Tokyo when the teenager actually had a free day from practice at the All-Japan Youth Volleyball Camp. Below it in handwriting too neat to be his daughter’s and too rigid to be his own, the caption reads: “Mattsukawa Erina, 4th birthday party trip to Tokyo Disneyland, 2018”

The person behind the camera is the same one whose handwriting serves as a reminder of how one encounter at the local Shibuya Foot Locker in the shopping district turned the single father and daughter’s life upside down.

[2017, Mattsukawa Residence]

A little girl sits atop the reupholstered couch from IKEA his mother bought on a whim, her social worker stands close by. There are court ordered papers detailing of one suicide jumper at the bridge in the country side who met an early end when she was chased by officers for stealing goldfish crackers. It was discovered when fingerprints were lifted that she was the mother of a child in a foster home, who when the records of birth were filed, no father was listed. Rather, the name fields of the father were left intentionally blank because no one knew how the woman was addicted to making men feel good.

Mattsukawa’s mother couldn’t believe she would become a grandmother at the early age of 47. His father thought he taught his son to take care of women in their time of need, and when his son explained to everyone about the nasty breakup, he honestly thought his ex was sleeping with other men behind his back. The toddler sucks her thumb and she has the same pout he does when he is about to cry; when you look more closely, her mannerisms are much like their son’s and for once, Mattsukawa’s mother asks the question they all wanted answered.

“What will happen to her if he doesn’t sign the forms for legal guardianship? Doesn’t the mother’s family want to see their grandbaby too?”

The social worker sighs immediately after taking a deep breath and upon the exhale, explains they wouldn’t keep her even if she was blood.

“Don’t want her turning out like her mother,” the officer makes little shadow bunnies as if to quote their harsh words.

“You’re the last name on the list the woman, her mother, has sir,” the social worker states the facts. “And to answer your question ma’am, she goes back into the system. Ideally, she will age out by her third year of high school if she is lucky, go on with her life never knowing either of her parents had wanted her.”

Mattsukawa takes the felt tip marker and begins filling out the paperwork and regardless of what anyone says in the room, he makes the right choice. His mother nods in approval, a bit misty-eyed until she feels a soft, small hand pat her cheek.

“No cry.”

She regains her composure while she points to herself introducing her to her grandbaby for the first time as, “obaa-san.” The little girl raises a fist in the air and she’s missing a few teeth, but they are poking through her gums and Mattsukawa’s father ruffles her curly hair.

“Welcome to the family little star.”

Mattsukawa continues filling out the paperwork confirming he will be formerly be seeking sole custody of his daughter and should anything befall the Mattsukawas’, he lists three names as his child’s godfathers. The social worker explains how much is told about the circumstances surrounding her sleeping in the children’s home by the adults and volunteers who work there; she picks up the little girl with pigtails and tells the family they’ll stop by on Sunday (i.e. the weekend is six days away, so they can make all the necessary preparations) again adding, “and this time, you little miss, get to stay here.”

“Weally?” her lisp clenches Mattsukawa’s heart as he waves to her, and when she waves from her car seat, she notices the nice young man and her have the same crooked “:V” smile.

Sure, discovering your cheating ex had a child out of wedlock making you a father at twenty one is shocking enough on its own, but accepting responsibility for the past is how Mattsukawa prepares himself to pick up his daughter from the children’s home later that weekend. His parents toddler proof the house, chuckling about visiting the storage unit to pick up the old cabinet locks and playpen stair guard-gates that their son at the same age climbed over. Makki is the first one of his old teammates to find out the news, then Iwazumi, finally Oikawa. At first they didn’t believe Mattsukawa’s ex would a) conceal her pregnancy b) rob a store after blowing a guy outside a pharmacy just to steal snacks for her hungry baby and c) jump into a river when the cops broke into the trap house close to the nearest natural park.

Oikawa, asks to take a leave of absence when he gets a summons to the Miyagi family courthouse alongside Iwazumi, who makes travel arrangements to board the same flight as his best friend from LAX to Narita. Makki was already given his summons and he picks up a few morning shifts to cover the court date. The judge is a forgiving person once Mattsukawa Issei explains his side just like he did when the social worker handling his soon-to-be daughter’s case file, understandably so, the judge signs off the paperwork detailing the sole custody be granted to the child’s father (who for the first time in three years of tracking down potential matches, actually does sign the documents).

That same night as everyone arrives back to Mattsukawa’s childhood home, when Oikawa and Iwazumi wind up coming over to help the Mattsukawa’s turn the spare bedroom next to Issei’s into a nursery. Makki was on nightshift duty at the 7/11 where his coworker, Ka-sho stays up with him doing inventory work while watching classic B-horror films. Pretty soon, word gets out to the rest of the prominent Seijoh VBC alum the middle blocker had become a father under extenuating circumstances.

“Issei, there’s a black sedan out front,” Oikawa says, holding the step ladder steady for Iwazumi, who was putting a few cute star stickers above the changing station.

“Already? I thought they weren’t coming for another hour,” his mother panics in the kitchen, washing her hands as his father is left on stirring the congee (rice porridge) on the stove on her behalf. Mattsukawa steps outside first, the lights are on the porch already in the twilight hour.

“Sweetheart, we’re here,” she clings to the lapels of the social worker’s jacket. The little girl sniffles, but she is trying to be brave and no one faults her for sobbing a bit when the nice office worker, her first friend, says it’s time to let go and join this nice family: “see that man? Remember him?” she nods. “He’s your otōsan.”

The little girl looks similar to a loaf of bread adorned in her best overall dress and little Mary-Jane shoes when she loosens her hold on the social worker’s clothes when her father holds her for the first time.

“Call me if you ever need anything,” she bows to Mattsukawa and links pinkies with his daughter like a secret handshake before placing the suitcase filled with toys and well wishes from all kids at the house she lived in her whole life. Before long, the sedan leaves, and the little girl who is now so far from home glances up at her father, only to call him, “mista.”

A few minutes later, Mattsukawa walks in the house and when he sets his mini-me down, she grabs his pants legs. Oikawa chats with Makki and Iwazumi about current life abroad in the living room while Mattsukawa’s mother prepares the kitchen table complete with a little barstool she had custom made with booster-seat like belts when the windchimes attached to their screen door announce the arrival. Mattsukawa was always good with kids though that was at the volunteer center he frequented with the neighborhood obaa-san teams. The grannies were always bringing their children’s kids along so they can see why granny can still beat mommy (or daddy) in a fair match.

“Hi laang’ga,” his mother greets. Mattsukawa’s mother grew up abroad before returning to Japan, so she recalls a few terms of endearment from her childhood home in the Philippines. “Remember who I am?”

The little girl nods, murmuring, “obaa-san!”

“That’s right!” Mattsukawa breathes a sigh of relief. “And who am I?”

“Hmm…Oh! Mista!”

Iwazumi and Makki are biting back a laugh as his father says the congee is ready. Oikawa makes a joke as they watch their friend take on the first struggle of being a parent: trying to get their squirt to sit in their high chair/ booster seat. They watch as she uses her frog green plastic spoon her ‘goddofaza’ gave her as a ‘welcome home’ gift. Her sippy cup is filled with apple juice and she almost finishes her whole bowl while the family around her talk about everything they notice about the similarities first hand from the way the stare confused when someone calls their attention to the pout of indifference when one of Makki’s jokes doesn’t land. Although, the toddler stares at Oikawa like an owl does a mouse.

“She’s making those eyes again,” Oikawa said. “It’s like I’m reliving the first couple of years when Takeru was born.”

Eventually, as dinner is being cleaned up, Mattsukawa watches his daughter play in the living room with the new stuffed animals Makki bought and the little plush t-rex in her hands was obviously from Iwazumi who teaches her how to aim her plushies at Oikawa whenever the former captain says something silly.

“But ask me if it’s ok first,” Iwazumi whispers and the toddler bops her head as she chases Oikawa around, growling like a dinosaur.

“She likes you,” Mattsukawa’s father confides in his son as his wife sets up the dishwasher. “Though she doesn’t understand very much right now, she’s happy and healthy.”

“Thanks,” Issei says between a lopsided smile watching the scene before him. His daughter is two years old, almost three now (according to her birth records, meaning that he would have had been nineteen when she was conceived and up until that point, Mattsukawa only had slept with two other women before the girl’s mother was found in bed with another man at the hotel they were going to spend the night in since all the trains stopped service or the day). Issei is about to be twenty-one when he reflects back to the one night where shit literally hit the fan and he abandons his now confirmed ex-girlfriend in a very much crowded train station.

What grounds him presently is the laughter she emits when Iwazumi gives her the ‘ok’ to tackle Oikawa to the ground. There is a soft thud and Oikawa pretends to ‘nap’ i.e. ‘die from lack of hugs.’ Makki pouts asking when it is his turn and Iwazumi just shakes his head. Before long, the grandfather clock complete with a little cuckoo-chime announces the hour. Rising up off the floor, the grown friends get ready to say to their good nights with promises of coming back the day after tomorrow to play again with their niece.

The house is quieter now, with his parents going to bed early, Mattsukawa Issei finally has some time alone with his now drowsy daughter. Play-fighting against Oikawa and Makki takes a lot of energy especially since Iwazumi was the one on her team; thanks to Iwazumi, the little miss tires herself out by the time the last of them arrive back to their respective childhood homes. Mattsukawa’s daughter currently falls asleep, holding on to her father’s shirt with one hand and sucking her thumb with the other.

“Otosan,” the small sleepy child whispers with a sly smile before she feels her father trace her nose bidding her sweet dreams.

[2018, 10th of June, Miyagi Prefecture]

Mattsukawa Erina and her otosan visit Makki at the convenience store he works in. Iwazumi’s birthday is today, so during the part-timer’s break, Makki asks if his coworker can snap a pic of the three of them to send via text. Ka-Sho has been receiving orders in the daytime as a favor for their store manager who’s away on leave for the summer. Her camera is much better than Makki’s at the time, so she sends a copy of it to Mattsukawa’s cell.

“Erina-chibi is so cute,” Makki whines. “Isn't my goddaughter the best?”

“She may be your goddaughter Taka-kun, but she likes me more, right?” Ka-sho bribes the toddler with her favorite beverage: apple juice (specifically the one carton from behind the cash register).

Erina sticks out her tongue at her goddofaza while Ka-sho pierces the little box. Mattsukawa comes back from gathering a few things from the stationary aisle including a new stamp pad. Ka-sho asks Makki to ring up his friend since there was a slight furrow in his friend’s brow.

“Come with me darlin’. I got some coloring books and crayons in my office. Seems like Uncle Makki and your otosan need to talk..”

The now three-nager personality let’s the nice “boss” (“baws lady!” is the little one’s nicknames) auntie show her to where those coloring books were.

In the eight months Mattsukawa discovered he was a father, he began working harder to make sure he had enough saved up for emergencies and eventually his own place. Of course the first couple of days back at his fellowship in the funeral home was a bit awkward since the family who ran the shop allowed him to start right away with organizing and digitizing the files from the last ten years or so. The overtime bonus amount reflected on his check just in time to buy his daughter he first strawberry sweet roll cake two months into raising her. Sure his parents help when they can and so does Makki, and in a surprise turn of events, Kunimi stops by every once in a while to check up on the family overall. By month six, Issei’s daughter had started to experience some complications with her breathing on the playground, mentioning bad people tried to take her away. Mattsukawa’s mother calls the number on the business card from the social worker’s office whom said she’ll forward the medical documents from the children’s home when they locate the information.

“Doctor visits already?” Makki says looking over his shoulder watching Ka-Sho color alongside his god daughter. “Issei, whatever you need, just call me or the store, Ka-sho cares about your kid too.”

“Thanks man.”

“No problem. Now, back to business,” Makki charges the stamp pad and hands back the 50 yen coin change back to his friend.

Diagonally across them in the next plaza, a young member of a local yazuka chapter observes the illegal activities from the old auto warehouse turned chemist lab. The earring with a cross dangles off their lobe while their orders for reconnaissance only, no weapons necessary, is recorded for the narcotics dispatch crew back home in Okinawa.

“Good work Viper,” the division captain says in your ear wig. “Remember while you’re still undercover, you do not engage until a civilian's life is in danger.”

The train behind where the ominous person with the earring passes, thus covering their getaway.

[2018, 19 August, Miyagi Prefecture]

Mattsukawa Issei is a man of many talents. One could argue he is reserved and polite for a man his age who is doing the best he can to provide for a toddler. As best he can for a single father for a little over a year now. One year and two weeks to be precise. Makki, his closest friend and confidant, has been subsequently promoted to best uncle whereas the other internationally ranked friends from the Seijoh VBC Quartet have visited home every time the season draws to a close. With the exception of Oikawa, who leads team Argentina to the medal rounds for La Copa Munidial en Volleybol. Ka-sho has officially joined this predominantly male family mentioning Erina can’t always be raised by her otosan and obaa-san, but when Makki is caught kissing her temple late one night before she takes her leave, their relationship is put on blast. Oikawa mutters an “I knew it!” whereas Iwazumi shrugs his shoulders and Erina blinks processing what this means.

“Ne! Shoko-san,” she fiddles with her thumbs. “Can I call you auntie for realzies now?”

Mattsukawa chortles when Makki’s girlfriend picks up his daughter and hugs her tightly saying, “Of course sweet cheeks.”

Ka-sho, who’s name is only said properly by the youngest member of this wonderfully growing family, hears her phone ring again. When she answers it, she hangs up and hands the little girl back to her father.

“Sho? What’s wrong babe?” Makki notices when his the color of his girlfriend’s face dulls out a bit.

Mattsukawa’s father turns the tv on to watch the late night sports news broadcast only for it to be interrupted by a breaking news story: “Yakuza declares War against City Police in Kitsune Shopping Mall where the abandoned auto warehouse rumoured to be a chemist-methamphetamine-lab explodes just moments ago.”

Ka-sho repeats the name of someone over and over again waiting for the ribbon with the list of victims and survivors begin to roll underneath the news anchor’s desk. Pretty soon, dispatch sends a neighborhood SUV to Mattsukawa's home.

“‘Evning guys,”a familiar captain wearing a detective’s badge greets them in the family den.

“Sawamura-san?”

The detective nods. Shortly after his arrival, Mattsukawa excuses himself to tuck his daughter into bed. Erina is quiet because the policeman at the door seems to know something about why auntie Shoko looks scared. Issei thinks up a way to help explain what happened by picking up his daughter’s well loved bunny plushie in one hand and the t-rex by her nightlamp closest to her crib-turned-bed:

“Auntie Shoko’s one-san, yn, who works with the police making sure cities like ours stay safe,” he makes the bunny hop on her bed, causing his daughter to giggle. “She gets to play dress up and blends in with the bad guys.”

Issei wiggles the t-rex’s tail, his daughter nods along pretending she can keep up with his overly simplified playtime.

“What ‘bout the fiwe otosan?” her speech impediment is getting better as her teeth and tongue work with trying to pronounce “r” words. “Is auntie’s one-cchi ok?”

“We don’t know yet princess, but for right now, just know that your Auntie Ka-sho’s sister is one of the strongest women I know. Just like a little girl who’s up way past her bedtime,” he muses.

Mattsukawa kisses his daughter’s forehead before turning off the small lamp, the starry night stickers Iwazumi hung still glow against the lime green lava lamp Oikawa shipped for Christmas.

The door isn’t closed completely, but by the time Issei returns, Makki sends him a text saying he’s with Shoko who is heading to the general hospital close to where the building fire has thankfully been contained, the young father is given the bullet point version by the former Karasuno captain:

“Undercover assignments are risky,” the detective begins. “As I’m sure you’re well aware…Long story short, yazuka and gang unit were teamed up with Okinawa’s narcotics branch and every department sent some of their own undercover. Some, with delusions of grandeur, were bought by said chapters of these organized crime committees to turn a blind eye and fake reports left right and center. That was until earlier tonight where yn had to pledge fealty to the heads of all three executives by destroying the evidence in this prefecture. The fire was a warning meaning that her cover might have been made, but that is not the case considering how she’s currently being stitched up at the underground’s facilities. For now her orders from HQ are to lay low…”

Mattsukawa takes a seat on the couch’s armrest, trying to remember if he could recall Ka-sho ever mentioning her sister or her line of work. Then Issei suddenly remembers the photo frame by the register: there’s a school photo of Ka-sho and a girl a little taller than her at the time who was missing a tooth. The girls have their arms wrapped around each other like best friends. Ka-sho nor Makki don’t bring up the photo seeing as it might be a sore subject, yet recently, there is a sudden increase in the store’s coloring books and crayons selection. Ka-sho’s sister sends money back home every month to help her family make ends meet.

“Who else knows about this?”

“We’re going door to door reaffirming we’re doing our best to quell the vox populi that we have apprehended the culprit for the arson, whereas our brother stations are currently raiding the yakuza houses in the underbelly both here and in Okinawa prefecture.”

Sawamura bows, wishing them all a pleasant evening. Issei sees him out while his parents reassure the other that above all else, their son and grandchild take the top priority in the upcoming 90 days starting Monday for the curfews to be reinstated.

[2019, 1st Februrary, Okinawa Prefecture]

You wake up on the cold steel floor. Your hands and ankles are bound to the chair in the room where answers are beaten out of you piece by piece. Pledging fealty never was pretty, you reason. But this was a bit extreme. Your ribs were getting fractured for what seemed to be the third time this blue moon cycle. Ever since your sister found you in the alley with her boyfriend outside of sniper range, they get your wounds treated on the downlow. Ka-sho, behind closed doors in the emergency safehouse she has a spare key to, nurses you back to health. In the months leading up to Christmas, you and your sister reconnect, eventually you meet her strawberry blonde boyfriend on a gift shopping excursion. Your work phone goes off multiple times before you answer your superior that your orders to lay low came directly to the head anonymous boss-man, which causes an influx of ‘my apologies ma’am.’ Since the fire, you were accepted as one of their own, a mad-madame with a keen sense of weapons training thanks to being part of a black-ops mission during your brief stint in the military (to pay for law school).

“Work again?” your sister asks.

“Yeah,” you smile back, placing your burner phone face down so as to not answer it any time soon. Makki comes back from placing an order at the cafe nearby the video game store. You go through the older-sister notions of making sure this guy is treating little Kat-chan with respect.

You think about how her smile is ten times more brilliant when the door opens to reveal one of your former compatriots as your torturer of the day begins a new attempt in trying to break you.

Today’s the day you black out from the pain when you headbutt the prick who tries to force himself on you with a suicide pill in his teeth. Thankfully the bastard doesn’t bite it too hard when he stumbles backwards, so you fall backwards when he crushes your cheeks together cursing you out for being the boss’ golden child.

The days by the ocean blur together up until one day, close to Lunar New Year, your knuckles are bloodied and the hairline fracture on your jaw stops aching as much when you notice the sounds of firecrackers being lit. Except they weren’t firecrackers. The boss whom you serve under had an extraction party who were instructed to “light ‘em up boys” and to “bring back your upper ranking sister back home to Miyagi.”

Meanwhile, Sawamura updates Ka-sho as best he can with any news since her sister’s cryptic messages in the back of the coloring book’s sticky-notes stopped coming around the beginning of last December. This time though, when Sawamura asks to meet at the tea house on Third and Amistad Ave after hours, Makki asks Issei to come with them.

“Strength in numbers,” Issei says when Erina waves bye from the window of his parents’ house. Mattsukawa’s mother makes up an excuse about sending Issei out to buy more red envelopes before making sure her granddaughter begins her nightly routine.

At the tea house, Sawamura is spotted in a booth meant to hold six considering the size of the table, one could assume either this was a set up, or a very clever family reunion.

“Do you always rebel against my orders, Shoko?” Sawamura chuckles, recalling how his kouhai used to cost him best friend his sleep in college.

“You said to come alone, Dai. I did, with Makki and Issei for moral support,” she takes after her one-chan, just like Issei presumed after Makki goes out with him to the pub later. In his tipsy state of mind, Makki fills in the gaps of what Ka-sho’s sister is like, even joking how she’s a godly match for the funeral director. That statement alone makes Issei flag down the bartender to close out his friend’s tab, remarking if his friend asks for anything more, keep serving him ‘vodka tonics’ i.e. water on the rocks. The lie works just like it has for years since they were old enough to drink.

“You said to meet twenty minutes ago Sawamura,” your disembodied voice says when you approach the booth where four sets of eyes lock on to your sharply dressed body. Your butterfly suture on your brow and cut lip press into a thin line before squeezing into the booth to scold your fellow officer in arms.

“I thought you said no family,” you wave away two of your escorts who block the exits.

“You brought them?”

“Followed,” you smile fully once the lackey’s are clearly gone.

You all breathe a bit easier before your sister curses you out with her eyes.

“We‘ve been worried for months,” Ka-sho seethes. She goes on a rant and though she spews frantic nonsense, you act the same like you always do with the neutral face of displeasure. It’s quite an annoying habit, Makki notices just how expansive his girlfriend’s curses can be. Issei studies the menu whereas Sawamura flagged down a waiter asking for some claiming teas to be brewed in two kettles.

“Are you finished?”

Your voice betrays the ice in your veins. Makki whispers a comforting word to his girlfriend who essentially calms down. You ask her how she’s doing, if Makki is still treating her well, then asks about the tyke.

“You have secrets,” you turn toward Mattsukawa with a tired expression. “So do I.”

Sawamura’s been working on finding you a way out where you don’t cling to life like the last time, which did land you in the docks on a cargo container where information about how you pulled off starting a clan war uncovered the meth route in the slums actually paid off. Unfortunately, when back up tried to aid you in escaping the shipyard, you were backed into a corner, the cloned jump drive safely sucked in the hip elastic of your panties that day stayed undetected on the yarn attachment which left a unique bruise on your thigh when the torture began.

“So I’m sorry I couldn’t get to a pay phone, kid,” you say, playing with the tea cup on the table when the server came back with the tea kettles.

“Sorry I failed you,” he sighs, blowing the excess steam from his cup away.

Sawamura clears his throat as he begins pouring the tea into everyone’s cups.

“Not your fault,” you take the first sip. You stifle a yawn, claiming that the lackeys that accompanied you because their handler was under strict need to know about your personal life. Hence why when at your promotional dinner for rising in the ranks after taking out the dragons’ territorial route, the f•a•n•g• could take over. You continue to explain your part in the southern chapter of fang, known as Talon, and the deeper you go, the more deplorable the crimes become from drug trafficking to recruiting kids as young as six to be bought off their addicted parents as collateral.

Issei understands why you asked about his daughter when you bring this development to Sawamura’s attention. With slight of hand, you transfer the data from your third burner phone to his work line. The cushions vibrate when the trade was complete and Sawamura says he needed to use the boys’ room. You wait until Sawamura is out of sight before you have a chance to breathe easier.

Mattsukawa holds your hand under the table keeping it steadily out of the sight of Sawamura who doesn’t need to know you’re staying at the nearly furnished high rise by the funeral parlor he works at. Makki is the only one who figures it out one day when his girlfriend goes into work to update the shipping logs for the week.

“How long has this been going on?” your sister isn’t as skeptical as before anymore. She saw the way the father of her unofficially-official niece breathed a sigh of relief with a darkened blush creeping past his crisp collar.

“Around the first month after you were in the safe house,” Makki sheepishly confesses. “Mattsun tagged along saying he wanted some fresh air when I went to pick you up from there…”

“Can’t say I’m surprised big sis,” she says. “There could have been worse passions to choose from.”

“Brat,” you stick your tongue out.

“Bitch,” your sister stinks at you, laughing a few seconds later with you. The boys they’re with calm down to relax.

You down the rest of your tea when Sawamura returns, he reads the table and abruptly pays for the table’s tab. For that, Mattsukawa seems grateful, his hand squeezes yours eager to get ‘your back on any surface,’ he whispered against your ear when eyeing the yen notes on the table. You choke for real when you almost slap the chuckle out his eyes; he gets the last laugh though since you fall asleep before ‘sexy time.’ (Doesn’t stop him from enjoying watching you fall apart the following morning…)

“I can tell when I’m about to be the fifth wheel,” he chuckles until his laughter shakes his shoulders. “I’m the eldest of five kids and I’m sure you don’t need a chaperone… Shoot me a text whenever you need my help. See ya.”

…

“Oh! Mrs Mattsukawa’s throwing a party for Lunar New Year,” Makki mentioned in the car ride back to the newest condo bought by your boss as a reward for being grateful to the Talon family. Sure the wives of a few married men who made their living doing odd jobs for owning up to their botched fealty missions occupied the other apartments, but you enjoy the penthouse over-looking the suburbs by your old high school. You have a silent understanding with the boss that you do have a life outside of ‘the family’ and that you want to keep the underground dealings as separate as possible. For the most part, the days leading up to lunar new year was quite peaceful. The boss tells you to take all the time off you need and if you need to visit the warehouse before you go home for a sanctioned medical leave, to take whatever weapons you deemed fit on the slim chance the rival rogues make an attempt on those close to you.

“Fuck,” you groan rolling out of bed to silence the alarm on lunar New Year’s Eve.

Mattsukawa had cleared out yesterday for work while you were still asleep. You reassure him you’re fine, recalling how charming he was. In home dates were the best to keep him and you safe for the sake for the little girl who wa having a sleepover of her own at Makki’s place. Your hair was held in his hands gently like the first time you met; purely lustful physicality of his love made you whine back a version of his name. Mattsukawa makes you want to believe in the aftermath of this mission. You want him to make you undone by a stare; he hits he relishes in the fact no one in your line of work has had the privilege of being the reason there is friction in his sheets. His strength is making you feel so much better than you ever thought possible. Every bruise over your scarred body is treated lightly with him; even in the post glow, he traces your bare breasts where numbers tattooed over the seared bullet grazes reminds you both how dangerous this life is.

“And this one?” He asks, a crooked finger grazes a scar on your ribcage once you come back from brushing your teeth. His shirt hangs loosely unbuttoned around your frame. You slip your underwear back on. His are discarded at the moment and is replaced by plaid pajama shorts. The domesticity of this attire screams a plausible idea of what life could be like.

“The day I met Shoko,” you gauge his reaction as he makes space for you again on the bed. “Slums are no place for children, ‘sei.”

“How old were you when you escaped?”

“Umm… Seven? Eight maybe?”

You glance up at him when he holds you close like before, warming your back in kindness. He kisses the nape of your neck bidding you sleep well.

“Whatever happened between then and now, you’re here with me,” he pulls you closer until you turn to face him. You’re found sleeping comfortably like this when his father pries open the door to say that breakfast was ready, but he declines, mentioning to his wife to let their son sleep in.

That was almost five days ago since the tea party was on Monday.

Makki’s voice enters your subconscious and though you and Issei haven’t really had time to talk, you best cook your jets. You don’t make up a lie or anything of the sort when you have your subordinate pick up your dry cleaning. Today you honor your heritage when you wear a modestly boldly dyed hanfu. The family sent their best team of tailors who helped design this. Your sister wears another version where the buttons are clasped on her right by her collar. Makki whistles when she twirls on the front lawn.

“It’s good to see you dear,” Mrs Mattsukawa greets by placing the small ziplocks filled with grapes for the year on the picnic table her husband sets up. Inside the house Mattsukawa helps zip up the last layer on his daughter’s 4T yukata before cutting her loose to run outside and play in the snow with her obba-san and auntie Shoko. Ten minutes later, when the not so little toddler runs into your shin, you don’t wince. Rather, you watch her run along after she apologizes. Her father stands on the last step of the house, quite perplexed by what his daughter said when she runs back to him; he kneels down since this seemed urgent:

“Otosan! Otosan!”

“Yes baby?”

“There’s a princess in the yard!”

“That was probably auntie Shoko.”

His daughter puffs out her chest and her cheeks as she tries to describe you best she can.

“She has long pretty hair! ‘Nd she was wearin’ a pink and blue dress! Like auntie’s but longer!”

“But Erina, sweetheart, this is red, not—” your sister clocks you by the mailbox. You fiddle with the bow on your hanfu from the family seamstress. The higher ups in each division were given gifts from the head of the family; some asked for guns, others jewelry, you? You kept it simple: one hanfu modernly made to appease your ‘bloodline.’ The best part? None of the others would know where you were headed other than a handful (really just two) of chauffeurs assigned to your sector. “YN!?”

Makki is talking with you when you both come a little closer, the strawberry blonde formerly introduces you to Mattsukawa’s parents then the little girl who reminds you of a certain person you’re sort of unofficially dating…

“Everyone, this is Shoko’s sister.”

“Hello,” you greet. “I’m sorry if it seems like I’m a last minute addition to the party ma’am, but I hope you don’t mind. Makki said his friends were nice people.”

“So formal, what a delight,” is what the Mattsukawa’s should of said. Of course Mattsukawa’s father knew that look his son wears, like a fool in love, they called it. This was a genuine one his mother mouths to her husband.

Instead, they have their son and ka-sho brought inside rather quickly. Makki gives you a look and you bow your head, sighing this was also a possible outcome. The family is joined by Makki inside who gets a harsh scolding as he defends your non-lethal approach since you were on medical leave.

“Makki, you should have mentioned that you invited my undercover cop older sister b e f o r e you bring her to my parents’ front yard.”

You’re smartly standing outside with your back to the window, the snow is a nice touch you think. You wonder if there will be fireworks in the neighborhood park later.

“Fine. I’ll do that next fine, but can we please go outside? I’m itching to have a snow ball fight right before the year’s over!”

Erina looks out the window while the adults talk like she can’t understand what they say and she takes matters into her own hands slipping out the front door. She’s as tall as her father was and with a little help, she unlocks the deadbolt and joins you on the patio.

You stay a safe distance away as you count a handful of hostiles when you turn your attention to the little girl. This is bad, very bad, so you watch her watch your eye movements and you pray they don’t cause too much damage around the house. You make a silent sign at the little girl to be quiet when you encourage her to go back to the house telling her you’ll be ok.

“I have business to take care of darlin’ miss,” you whisper the last line and the little girl who shared her father’s smile barely remembers what your look like from the first time you met, but the voice the cold knows and remembers make her mouth shut and nod eager to make an old-new-friend.

Something is wrong and Shoko can feel it in her bones when Erina locks the door, sniffling saying she got the nice pretty lady in trouble.

The sound of tires peeling out of the driveways a block away and your voice is heard until you are bound and gagged again.

“Don’t you dar-pft!”

Your hairpin collides with the cheek of the assailant. The blood from the point of impact trickles down your shoulder. The gag was made tighter this time and you glance back with eyes wide with a loathing sense of virtuous anger. Kidnapping you was part of the plan, but if you resisted, the barrel of the silencer is ice cold against your cheek, you were warned in the back of the getaway car.

“Sawamura! My-my sister,” Shoko grits her teeth as she speaks into Makki’s cell phone. She gives the details as best she can. Erina is held by her father who whispers it’ll he all right, that she’s safe here.

“The lady from earlier will be fine, sweetheart,” he says again. “She’s ko-Shi’a onesan remember?”

In the interim, you find out through your kidnapper that the negotiations for your death or release had begun and though you were burned by lackey number 9, you were thankful lackey 4 had more sense to shoot his partner and double cross him to prove his loyalty lies with you.

“I’m so glad I never fired you, kid,” you see a familiar set of green eyes stare back at you in the rear view mirror.

“Me too ma’am.”

You arrive at the entrance the river bank by the old power plant and tie a brick to the already parked ‘92 Oldsmobile. The corpse of number 9 had his face bashed in and his finger pads scraped off with a knife. Brutal, though it was, you are given a new cell phone with backup SIM storage thanks to this kid being a bit more savvy after uncovering your tea mission for rising up the ranks so quickly. The war went on as planned; Talon, a family he was a third generation member of, won control back of their original turf; and you get to celebrate the year of the tiger the moment you send a text to your sister’s phone with a selfie of you in a bloodied hanfu, the caption? Happy new year Shoko

“She’s ok,” Shoko tosses her phone to Issei and Makki who see the photo with the timestamp from five minutes ago. Sawamura, on his neighborhood patrol, pouts out a BOLO for a sedan with a poor incomplete description ten minutes later from his desk.

As for you? You’re in your official car, lighting up your e-cigarette telling your newly promoted Fourth Chauffeur to head back to the neighborhood he tailed you from.

“Oh, and send the cleaning crew to the following houses you spotted the sleepers in. That family and all subsequent friends and acquaintances are to be protected. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Oh, and one more thing Tadashi-kun,” you say as you’re stepping out of the car. “Remember the motto.”

“Shoot first, die later.”

You tap the top of the car and he speeds off into the night. Your brain replays the plan from the night at the tea house. And for once, the plan to extract you and give you an early pension from the Okinawa Justice Department was well worth the welcome back to the front yard. Makki finishes giving his statement to the police after Shoko answers a few more questions; Erina’s testimony is the most direct and she remembers the pretty lady with the pretty dress picking her up from the floor of the house where her mother left her behind to find some formula.

“She was pretty and tall…like the princess in the snow!” Issei furrows his brows and apologizes for his daughter’s testimony, but the officer mentions it’s alright since this is how children often cope with traumatic events.

“What happened here?” you ask one of the officers.

“We got a call from emergency services that a woman fitting your…wait, were you?”

“Suzu!”

Erina slips out of her father’s hold and runs across the yard when she sees you again. Shoko is closest to where she sees and hears the kid call out the nickname your father gave you when you were not that much older than Erina.

“Erina! You can’t keep—” Mattsukawa’s mother freezes when she sees how elated her granddaughter is to see you. Issei turns around after saying he signed his daughter's witness statement to hear her voice greet you.

“I knew you’d come find me!”

You pick her up and the four year old grips the materials of your hanfu.

“Sorry it took me so long to find you,” you apologize after placing her back down on the ground. She takes you by your hand when you ask her to introduce her to everyone.

“This is my obaa-san; goddozo Makki; Auntie Shoko; Gramps,” she pauses before stopping in front of her father. “Otosan! This is my momma’s bestest friend! She helped feed me and take care of me when momma and her lived in the streets!”

Mattsukawa Issei doesn’t cry very often, hell the last time he cried was when he was in high school and oikawa had his emotional outburst. Now, he sees the person who kept his daughter safe from the beginning and all he could do was cry when he buried his face in your shoulder.

“Shh, it’s ok,” you’re good at consoling people. Always were.

“Crap I think I’m going to cry too,” Makki says when he hears his girlfriend sniffle too.

“Eri’s a brave girl, Issei,” you run your hands in his hair. “She gets it from me, most likely after all, her mom let me raise her when she relinquished her rights to be a parent. Ever noticed that the odd numbered pages were missing from the court documents?”

You have a hidden laughter behind your eyes, Issei sees it when you gently pull his face back via moving your hands to cup his face. Tear streaks and all, you give him a warm smile, thumbing the last few away.

“That was you, huh?” His slightly chapped lips pressed against the space where your palm and wrist meet.

Meanwhile, while the officers take a few photos of the aftermath, one of the beat cops says it’s time to go, since you’re not done yet.

“Duty calls babe,” you kiss his cheek and walk up to where your sister was answering some ‘does otosan like ms yn?’ type questions.

“Five minutes ma’am,” the same officer says. You wave behind your shoulder attaining you heard him.

“Well, that depends,” Ka-sho sees you approaching. A tired smile on your face. Not yet, you just got here, her inner child whines on in her head.

“On what?” Erina tilts her head to one side, curious expression on her brow.

“If she likes him too.”

“You can ask me y’ know,” you wave while still standing by the porch steps where they were. “But first, I have to go with these guys. Remember Mr detective?”

The four year old nods, “the one that told you about my momma.”

“Mmhm. He needs me to give my report at the station so you can enjoy the fireworks,” you kneel down on the middle step.

“Ok!” Erina smiles with her teeth exposed too, making you chuckle a bit. “Will you come back home soon?”

She hugs you tightly when you wrap an arm around her too saying you promise to be back to enjoy the moon cakes.

“Miss? Chief says it’s time.”

“Be good,” you whisper against the girl’s hair before you press a kiss before you rise up and walk tall.

You don’t turn back because if you did, you would not have any strength left to go through with the other half of the “out” deal—witness protection.

…

[2019, 4th birthday Mattsukawa Erina, Tokyo Disneyland]

“Takeru! Let’s go on the merry-go-round again!”

Erina wears a new shirt with her favorite heroes on them and her leggings that she’ll outgrow by the winter. Her uncle Tooru is visiting for a week since his nephew is venerating being invited to the all Japan volleyball camp (again) this year.

Since the Lunar New Year incident, no one has heard a word from you. Your sister barely gets hints out of Sawamura, although Makki says she gets salty if the detective drops by without warning during receiving days. Iwazumi travels home during the summer after training the new recruits for this year’s National team. Erina’s at the park with Mattsukawa’s father while Iwazumi sits down in the living room waiting for the fourth member to arrive with both Makki and Shoko (it was Makki’s turn to pick up Oikawa.) the friendship tea brewing on the stove, the kettle whistles and Shoko assists in preparing the mugs with Mattsukawa.

“It seems pretty serious considering you’re not an avid tea drinker,” iwazumi observes eyeing his friend. This is the third year since little Erina joined their ever-growing family , since there is a new promise ring sitting nicely on your sister’s hand.

“Hey, did you know I have an older sister who’s a cop in Okinawa?” Ka-sho changed the subject efficiently.

“Really now?” Oikawa raises his eyebrow.

“What division?” Iwazumi takes his first sip.

“Narcotics,” your sister pretty much starts your story from the beginning. Elsewhere, in the family photo album, in the spare pocket big enough for a flash drive, a completed copy of the family court papers of saved: your name is listed as legal guardian and parent next to Mattsukawa’s signature stating the same thing.

“How long have you been standing there one-chan?” The delivery driver is currently knocked out thanks to a sleeper hold from a few weeks ago.

“Long enough for you to see I’m back home in one piece,” you have a scrape covered up by a square bandage.

“Yn,” you remind her to keep her distance. “They’re asking about you. Come home.”

“I can’t,” you don’t mention the why until you’re clearly outside talon and Sawamura’s jurisdiction before your sisters phone vibrates with your orders to enter witness protection while still continuing in deep cover missions as a specified sanctioned mole for the family you are heavily advised to join.

“So that’s why she’s not here,” Ka-sho says. Her tea is cold now too. Issei stands abruptly mentioning something or other about forgiving yn, but he remembers all the cute things Erina has been receiving in her pre-school locker and one of them was a paper crane.

“The kid made a friend today,” he says. “Called her little bird when they were at the park for a play date. Mom told me she saw a lady with sleek teal ombré hair waving at her before she was joined by her chauffeur who handed her an ice cream bar and then they left…”

“You’re sister’s a hell of a saint,” Makki says, giving her a small grin.

“Any questions?” your sister was always business orientated and Oikawa shoots his hand straight up.

“Is yn yakuza now?”

“I suppose so,” Ka-sho sighs. “Sawamura-san says if there is word, he’s call us asap.”

She gives Issei a sympathetic stare.

“It’s not like you can’t stop loving her either, Mattsun,” she gives him a hopeful smile. “One-san was the most reliable one between us; she is strict, disciplined to a fault, and her tactics are sharpened through her quick wit. There has to be a reason why your daughter formed a strong bond with yn-cchi.”

“Aside from keeping my daughter alive while her mother went out to get some ass, I’d say that’s a hell of a solid reason my daughter cries to sleep asking when ‘Suzu’ is coming home, eh, Ka-sho?”

Mattsukawa’s words hold no anger nor bite to them; he voices his opinions of worry and care under the darkening circles underneath the corners of his brows, the wrinkles where you made him laugh the first time you wandered into the funeral parlor for directions to the market under the guise of being new to this side of the prefecture are now barely visible. Instead, frown lines form when his lips return to a neutral downturned lax emotion. Makki suggests his friend goes to bed early tonight. Oikawa and Iwazumi concur and Mattsukawa ran a hand through his out frown haircut, he concurs. He nods his good night to the group who, twenty to thirty minutes later, discover the father and daughter duo sharing a tatami play mat large with enough room for one more.

Ka-sho sneaks a photo after hearing the two snore on turns before she hits save to cloud.

Somewhere in the red light district, your personal droid powered personal line vibrates at the club you’re in. You excuse yourself from the business negotiations Tadashi’s father attends while testing the merchandise first hand (a woman dances and shows off her…’assets’ and you roll your eyes) whispering it was family proper. He waves a jeweled hand saying to take your leave because “I don’t need a babysitter when I’m enjoying the dance.”

You nod before walking to the backside of the club’s stage. Other burlesque dancers were passing by, some between costumes, others were sans bra and pasties, whole titties were freely bouncing, making you go blind to the type of store this was. Regardless, when you’re at a safe distance away, you unlock the phone and you receive a file with photos from the last couple of weeks. The latest one your sister sends has the caption, “he misses you too (a lot more than you know).”

You delete the photos right away in case your phone is being tracked for new encrypted data.

Come morning, the man who shares the same sharp eyes as your newly promoted personal chauffeur, leaves the club praising the Madame for taking care of his shipment. First successful mission was breaking up and starting a tribunal war for the drug route by Talon; this time, your orders from the brass themselves, was to infiltrate the higher commanders of the organization to confirm whether or not money laundering in the red light district was still the main source of activity or if the dancers hired were also victims of the much larger crime: trafficking. You were in so deep now that none of your fellow ‘yakuza brothers’ minded of you disappear for days at a time; they knew you probably were getting fucked (or fucked up) since they too experienced the dry spells. For as long as you come back when you’re told and leave after completed missions, the boss and your brothers in the lower ranks in command were ok with you coming and going as you please.

…

[2019, 30th December, Miyagi Prefecture]

The snow is freshly new. Mattsukawa Erina wears her bright Air Force 1’s as she throws fistfuls of snow at her strawberry blonde godfather. On her left, Oikawa’s nephew, Takeru is her ‘heavy’ support like in those Team Fortress 2 games while her auntie Shoko tries to “capture the flag” from the enemy camp. Oikawa drew the shortest straw after lunch, meaning he was on Iwazumi and Mattsukawa’s team. A three on three snowball fight mixed with the rules of capture the flag, made for a fit of giggles when Erina pelts her godfather’s back screaming in victory. Makki fakes death as he tries to crawl to where Takeru ties their team’s blue bandana.

“I won!” The child gloats for a few minutes before a familiar shadow is spotted by a magnolia tree across the way. The girl who looks so much like her father has the hope of her mother’s friendship in her veins; the distant sounds of a temple’s bells are heard signaling the quarter past hour.

“Ma’am, the little miss is staring,” your chauffeur sort of chuckles.

“How do I look?” You question fiddling with the jacket drapes around your shoulders.

“Like a ghost madam,” Tadashi gives you a curt nod you catch on the rear view. “The acid burn from your contract mission healed quite nicely.”

“So it seems, Tada-kun,” you glance over at the large plush bunny on your lap. The scarred flesh stemming from your shoulder to your neck is hidden beneath foundations meant to coverup tattoos according to the fashion label. It does a good job especially on days like today.

You unbuckle your seatbelt, instruct him to be your proxy for all activities and only to call your personal line if the rat has been found. Double crossing isn’t always fun, but unlike the rest of Talon, you tip the scales in your favor blindly.

“Call me whenever you’re ready to be picked up, oh,” your driver says one more thing. “If we ever cross paths again, I’m glad to have known the incomparable ‘steel bullet.’”

“Likewise. Be good and live,” you shake his hand prior to stepping out of the vehicle.

Meanwhile, your sister spots you first this time: she squints as the same car from a year prior drives by the main road leading back to the elementary schools. She knows that sedan and decides to call it a draw for right now; Makki notices the tidal shift in the way his soon-to-be fiancé suggests nap time for his niece. Takeru takes his partner in crime inside with the promise of reading to young Erin’s the tales of a nutcracker, princess, and a mouse.

“Hey, I thought the objective was to capture the flag, not send in a man or two…?” Oikawa whines.

“We’re being watched,” Ka-sho who had seemed blunt before was now more direct. Her eyes roll to the left where in the neighbor’s yard, you stand solo with the plush bunny in your arms. The jingle bell collar chimes as you raise a hand to greet them.

Mattsukawa’s throat is suddenly dry, yet he remains appalled at the distance his feet seem to have him cover. His legs hasn’t been this exhausted since the last game he played with his daughter. Perhaps he’s losing his touch, his subconscious thinks. You’re already galavanting across the street, glancing to your left, then your right as the bunny floats in the air behind you. Slowly, your mutual friends walk back inside giving the funeral director some much deserved privacy.

Inside the house, Erina watches from the window while her goddofazas and auntie observe the blissful exchange.

“See! Suzu really likes my otosan,” she puffs out her chest as proof of being right.

“She loves you though,” her auntie, your sister, ruffles her hair. “Now, what about continuing our game of capture the flag hmm? Seems like Takeru and your goddofaza need some help taking on Iwa & Oikawa too…”

The window remains a frame of the outside where both the friend of death and his newest light are fated to meet:

You bound up to each other and as though on instinct, he envelopes you in the warmth of his arms. He’s a furnace you cannot escape nor did he want you to. You’re comfortably like this surely because it seems like the prodigal daughter does come knocking when the winter season warrants her arrival before the spring. Your hair smelled of peppermints and the sea; he smelled of candied apples and cinnamon brooms. He grips the back of your jacket just to make sure the body underneath his real.

“When?”

His lips graze your jawline. His stubble tickles you, it’s as magical as one can imagine. Reuniting with familiar faces and family is what the holidays are about, not necessarily the presents—just don’t tell the kids in the house.

“Just arrived this morning loverboy,” you breathe into his shoulder. “Missed me much?”

You don’t have to ask the man in front of you if he did—he’s too busy pressing his lips on your hairline to formulate a proper answer. He longed for days like right now where his anxieties of being a good empath would lead you back home.

“We.”

You kiss him once on the lips.

“Should.”

He says in a voice more innocent than the holy dragons guarding the temple close by.

“Go.”

You wink up at him, standing. your toes, waving the bunny’s arm in one hand from your side.

“Inside.”

Curious hands, rough with callouses from both the chemicals to dress up the dead and playing with his daughter at the park’s swings, are quite quaint with a wonton need to draw you impossibly closer to him before he meets you halfway to welcome you back to your hometown. Glory to the slums, your sister used to preach every Saturday morning you found yourselves above ground. Like today, there are traditions well upkept like the red envelopes. Or the fact that you’re in the domain of your friend’s ex-lover who is doing the best he can with surviving the holidays with the rest of his friends from high school (and his young adult life).

There is a gentle breeze above you and even if it’s not enough to shake the leaves with the snow puffs like in all those movies about rebels falling in love, the remnants are caught in your hair; his is littered in turn as well, black and white was always the status quo. Lips chapped by the weather teasingly leave you gasping when one of his hands tilts your chin to the side to feel for newer scars. Rough finger pads roam higher, the burnt flesh on your shoulder makes him frown. The job you have is dangerous; the job he has in the city is enough to keep him and Erin afloat, you have to remind him every day at least once since there are days where Mattsukawa needs to relearn what made him strong. For the time being, as love and death embrace, you communicate through a final revelation. Your lips ghost over his instructing him to close his eyes and to, “focus on my touches.” These intimate ministrations where physical touch is your love language are replaced by his words of affirmation and acts of service.

“You are loved,” the words never leave his vocal chords as your eyes are lost in his that afternoon. Rather, Mattsukawa presses his forehead against yours soaking up the atmosphere around you two. You, at the age of twenty-nine, face the person who decides that home is a state of mind where all are welcome regardless of being six feet above ground or not. Mattsukawa Issei is about to say something he thought he would had to reserve falling in love for another special lady down the line as his daughter grows up around strong independent women (apart from her uniquely talented godfathers).

“Tadaima,” you say, nudging your nose against his.

Scalding homely smiles show off your canines. You compliment his choice of footwear, the NIKE checkmark on the back of the classic running shoes makes you chortle. He notes the plushie with collar, you mention it’s for a friend, “she’s about this tall, long black curls down to her shoulders…oh! And her father seems to like NIKE Air Force 1’s so much so they bought matching pairs for lunar new year…know anyone like that?”

“Okeri,” his welcome ignites a flurry of warmth between your clothed bodies. “And yes, yes I do silly girl.”

Mattsukawa Issei, twenty-eight years old, makes his emotions hang in the tension he buiilds before he plays with all his cards in his hands.

“Eyes on me beautiful,” his voice draws you to open your eyes slightly right as you allow him to slide his lips atop your own. You don’t despise this one bit. You never could even if yuo tried since of all of the kisses shared between you both, the one where he kisses your brow to signify you should warm up by the kotatsu since he steals a glance at your footwear, thus saying with a teasing glint in his eye that your shoes aren’t any better.

[bizarrebaby]

On The Feed | Mandalorian/Reader

Pairing: Mandalorian/Reader

Word count: 3k

Summary: Mando accidentally turns on the crest’s old security cameras. One of which happens to be in your bunk

Warnings: NSFT! Slight somno/voyeurism (mando watching you sleep), feelings

The first time the Mandalorian had turned on the long-forgotten surveillance system on the Razor Crest, and had seen you asleep in your bunk, it had been a complete accident that was rectified quickly. The cameras were from a time before he’d had the carbonite freezer installed, and he’d had no choice but to keep live quarries in the ship. A wayward brush of his hand against the console had turned them on, and just as quickly turned them off. But not before he’d already burned the image of you through the monitor into his mind. While the whole thing was over quickly, it was not nearly as easily forgotten.

The second time, he had told himself that it was out of concern. The planet you’d just spent the last week on had an inhospitable climate to say the least, and you’d had your fair share of scrapes as well. So he turned on the feed to see if you were ok-- that you weren’t sniffling or coughing, or secretly nursing some injury you hadn’t wanted him to concern himself with. While that wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t the whole truth, either. To see you sound asleep was comforting, it stirred something deep within him that he couldn’t remember having ever felt before. 

The third time… was something he couldn’t explain without suffocating with guilt. He’d just come back from a long, difficult bounty hunt that kept him away from the crest for a few days. He’d missed you terribly, and had returned in the middle of the night, and unwilling to wake you. To disturb what little rest you got just because he had missed you seemed childish to him. So he did something he hadn’t done in a long time. Climbed up to the cockpit, locking the door behind him, sat in the pilot’s seat, and removed his helmet. He bit his glove and tugged it off, unbuckling his codpiece. He palmed the bulge in his pants gingerly, fuzzy imaginations of your hesitant touch at the fringes of his mind. 

He hissed as he released his erection to the cool, recycled air of the cockpit. He spat in his palm before wrapping a calloused hand around his cock, thumbing at the frenulum while he tried to pull scenarios from his memory. All he could come up with was you. Touches against his bare skin when you’d patched up an injury, the moaning you’d do as you stretched awake in the mornings, how peaceful you looked in those few moments he saw you before you woke up…

He remembers the camera feed. How, shameful as it had been, it had been so comforting to see you safe and sound. Looking so soft and pretty in your sleep clothes, curled in on yourself. The Mandalorian tries and fails to think with anything but the dick between his legs. The out-of-the-way switch is flicked once again. The rarely used technology took a few seconds to hum to life, an eternity considering Mando’s trained reflexes and the racing of his mind. But he chose not to go back. He couldn’t, not having come this far and being so close to satisfaction. He doesn’t think he’s done anything to deserve to see you in such a vulnerable state, but he’s too weak-minded to deny himself. 

You’d once told the bounty hunter that while space was cold, the Razor Crest was colder. Being that he had always been in the layers of his flight suit, his armor, and his cape (not to mention that the cold had never bothered him), the Crest’s temperature controls favored lower temperatures. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with saving on energy to grant some small reprieve to the aging vessel. Nope. 

So there you lay, wrapped up in a quilt he’d gotten you in the market on some backwater planet. It was primarily dyed a warm peach color, a pigment extracted from a native insect. Perhaps it was some predilection from growing up in a Mandalorian covert, but Mando almost preferred that he couldn’t see much of you. Just the outline of your figure, where he could use his warm memories of you to color in the beautiful pieces of you that he cherished. 

He gripped his cock and began to stroke it slowly, thinking of how you’d touch him for the first time. Exploratory, almost hesitant. It wasn’t possible for him to fool himself completely, not with how large and calloused his hand was compared to yours, but every so often his imagination was vivid enough that he was able to dip into the dream. And when he did, the pleasure was something priceless.

In these fantasies, he was always without the helmet. The Mandalorian wouldn’t think of it in the moment, but after he came he would wonder why it was he chose to imagine things that way. Did he yearn for a freedom from the creed that gave him purpose? Or, perhaps worse, did he see you as the one he wanted to share his life with, until he went marching away? 

You shifted and moaned in your sleep, banishing some discomfort imperceptible to your traveling companion. He wondered if you dreamt at all, considering how inconsistent and uncomfortable your sleeping arrangements usually were. He hoped that you did dream, that there was an escape from the endlessness of space for you, if not for him. Selfishly, he hoped to be a part of those dreams. He wanted so badly to be the talisman against your nightmares.

He often imagined taking you in a flurry of mutual passion, on the Crest or away in some city, anywhere you would have him. He’d be rough, but you’d like it, and you’d be so, so good for him. But tonight, he felt so miserably lovesick and starved that he couldn’t imagine fucking you in any way but the gentlest way he could manage. He’d trained his entire life in combat, those who’d found death by his hands were innumerable. And yet, he’d use all of the delicacy at his disposal to coax you open for him. He’d put his mouth on you, and use his tongue to spell out all of the words he’d been too afraid to say through the vocoder.

Through the haze of his fantasies, he saw you smile in your sleep on the feed. Just a sweet tug at your lips, and he felt ruin upon him. Mando breathed like a wild beast as he fisted his cock, brows furrowed, eyes glued to the screen. His orgasm hit him like a freight train, cum splashing against his breastplate as he closed his eyes and saw you behind the lids. He cleaned himself up after coming down from his high, but kept the cameras on for a little longer. He thought that maybe if he saw you like this before he went to sleep himself, he could pretend you were sleeping next to him. Maybe that comfort would let his mind finally rest. Maybe he could dream. 

The Mandalorian had promised himself he wouldn’t do it again. But like so many promises he made to himself regarding you, it wasn’t kept. 

You told him precious little about life from your planet of origin. Of course, it was because he hadn’t asked. Even though he wanted to know everything there was to know about you. You once told him that where you came from, people believed that no one should ever be alone. Much the same as Mandalorians, they were very communal, and interpersonal support was of great importance. But there was an expression you taught him that he’d never encountered in the galaxy. He had a hard time remembering the word, but he remembered the meaning: to feel alone in one’s own body. 

The Mandalorian had been alone for much of his life. Travelling, keeping little companionship besides his covert, and he was convinced that things were best when he was alone. He remembered being confused by your expression, closer to when you’d first met. He mused that perhaps it was just a different way of expressing touch starvation, which he knew of intimately. 

He knew now that it was an entirely different feeling. You had wriggled into the gaps in his ribs, and taken little pieces of him every day. The breath from his lungs, the blood from his heart. And suddenly, when he had to be away from you, it didn’t feel right. 

Which brought him to another listless, sleepless night of him seeking his own pleasure in a desperate attempt to sate whatever beast had made home inside his body. The one that craved only you. 

When he turned on the cameras, he was met with your flushed face, eyebrows furrowed, as you moaned quietly and squirmed beneath your quilt. His first instinct was to ask himself what the hell could’ve been wrong with you? If you were sick or hurt, how could it have slipped by him? When did it—

Oh.

Oh.

You kicked the quilt off, revealing the hand buried in between your legs, your sleep shirt ridden up to the curve of your waist. The image of you curled around yourself made it painfully easy for him to imagine himself at your back, his hand replacing yours at the apex of your thighs. He felt sweat bead on his brow as he sat, paralyzed in the pilot’s chair; if what he’d been doing before was shameful, what he was doing now would have to be unforgivable. As if of its own free will, his arm reached to that far side of the console, and turned up the audio dial.

Unforgivable, indeed.

Your moans were muffled intentionally, and he felt a pang of unjustified irritation when he noticed. If he were there, he wouldn’t tolerate you quieting yourself. Not after he’d waited this long to experience every possible facet of your ecstasy. Something he knew himself undeserving of, but was past the point of caring. He’d become impossibly hard, and was about to divest himself of his flightsuit, when he caught something barely picked up by the audio censors.

“Mando--”

He was out of his chair and down the ladder before he even realized what he was doing. He paused just outside your bunk, unable to hear you through the steel door, but his reservations had long since been overridden by need. Your door swished open, and he caught just the barest hint of movement before you were entirely still. You weren’t deaf, and he hadn’t exactly moved silently in those few rushed moments. Your eyes nearly clenched closed, the quilt still misplaced, you pretended. But the Mandalorian had learned how to see through pretenders long ago.

Mando moved cautiously, carefully, as he slid himself into your cot just behind you. As if hoping to hide from a predator, you continued to lay still and try to breathe evenly. The Mandalorian rested a gloveless hand against your warm thigh, sliding it up slowly until he was able to slide a thumb beneath the elastic of your underwear, memorizing the feeling of your skin. 

“I know you’re not asleep, sweet girl. I know what you were doing,” he whispered through the modulator. His hand ventured to your front, and stroked over the obvious wet patch on your panties. “You were calling for me, mesh’la. And here I am.”

For less than a moment, he felt like he came to his senses, and worried that he was wrong, somehow. That his love-starved mind had invented those images of you, and similarly fabricated your calling his name. That these were all unwanted advances that would destroy the relationship you had. 

“Mando,” you exhaled, moving to grind against his hand. He shuddered slightly, but felt a certain pang of disappointment at the name you used. 

“Din,” he said, “my name is Din, sweet girl. Please use it,” he pleaded quietly against your neck.

“Din,” you called, pushing yourself against his front, and creating delicious friction against his hard cock through his flight suit. He used his free hand to hurriedly free himself, and you squeaked as his heavy cock landed against the small of your back, where your shirt had ridden up. You could feel the wet of his precum hot against your skin.

His once idle hand dove beneath your waistband, stroking his thick fingers along your slick. You could hear his pleased hum from under his helmet, too quiet for the vocoder to pick up.

“You’re so wet, cyar’ika, and so kriffing soft… Better than I ever imagined.”

You tried to pretend that the thought of him imagining this scenario didn’t completely undo you. The Mandalorian slowly slipped a finger in you, just teasingly up to the first knuckle, and you could feel him grind against your backside.

“Your pussy’s gripping my finger so tightly, I don’t know how I’ll fit. But I’m a patient man.”

Suddenly, you’re manhandled into a sitting position, between Din’s legs. His free hand slipped up your sleep shirt, groping a breast eagerly. He fingers you in earnest now, no longer feeling content in just exploring you. No, now he wanted to ruin you. Give you so much ecstasy that there wouldn’t be a doubt in your mind regarding how he felt about you.

He added another finger, stroking against your silken walls while his palm put delicious pressure against your clit. You choked out a pleasured cry, and he could feel his cock throb at the sound. You were already so worked up by the time he arrived, and all of the things he was saying were just so overwhelming, you were already close. The way your walls pulled at his fingers was mesmerizing to the Mandalorian as he drew you closer to orgasm. 

“Are you close, cyar’ika? K-keep making those noises—fuck, c-can you feel how hard I am for you? So pretty,” he cooed. “You’ll come for me, like a good girl, won’t you, cyare? C’mon, sweet girl, come, and then I’ll take you like you deserve.”

You whined, gasped, and shuddered when the white hot pleasure hit you, sending jolts up your spine as you pushed yourself further against the Mandalorian’s hand. You grabbed his thighs to ground yourself as he continued to rock his fingers into you gently, helping you ride through your climax. 

“Din,” you huffed, dreamily, “thank you.”

“Save your thanks for when I’m finished with you. I want you, cyare. Will you let me take you?”

“Please, Din. I wanna feel you.”

The simple, earnest desire—no, yearning, in your voice fanned at the hellish flames in his belly. You wanted him. Maybe as badly as he wanted you. His fingers withdrew from you, and he picked you up without fanfare, turning you to lay you on your back. He felt something in his heart break a little as he looked down at you through the filter of his helmet. First through the distortion of the camera feed, and now this. 

One day he would look you in the eyes as he fucked you, and it would be beautiful. 

The velvet head of his cock nudged at your clit while prodding at you, and Din smiled under his helmet at the sweet little noises it coaxed from you. He pushed into you, gently and incrementally, determined to make this moment last, as if this would never happen again. For all he knew, it might not. You might wake up tomorrow and condemn this all as a mistake, as a regret. But for this instant, he had you, and he would cherish you.

He choked out his groans as he felt the hug of your walls around him. He knew he wouldn’t have had this much trouble staving off his climax if he were with anyone but you. It was you doing this to him, it was as if he could feel the thrum of your heartbeat through the silk of your cunt, and it utterly undid him to think of your heart beating as hard as his.

Din thrusted slowly, deeply, gentle yet punctuated. Words of affection, praise, and endearment fell from his mouth freely now, when usually coaxing conversation from him was akin to pulling teeth.

“Sweet girl, fuck-- My sweet girl… ngh, even if just for tonight.”

Your eyes widened momentarily, insecurity behind them as your brows furrowed. Your eyes drifted from his visor as you continued to quietly pant and mewl with his thrusts.

“I… I want to be yours after tonight, Din. Please?”

For a moment you wondered if you’d said the wrong thing. Ruined it all, broken whatever spell he’d been under, the one that seemed to make him so suddenly and miraculously interested in you the same way you were in him. Then, his thrusts turned punishing, and he shoved his hand between your bodies to knead at your clit with his thumb.

“Fuck, cyare, you can’t just say things like that and expect m-me to last,” he gasped, wholly unprepared for such a confession.

Your cunt squeezed him, as if you’d had his heart in your hands, and you were unable to contain the longing look that made itself known on your face. He couldn’t take it. Din stilled as he came, streaking your insides in ropes of his hot cum, a deep growl leaving him as he shook with the intensity of it. 

He continued to thrust into you with his softening and oversensitive cock, stroking your clit with renewed vigor.

“Come on, mesh’la, I wanna feel you come on my cock, fucking soak me--”

You keened, a broken cry leaving you, and Din felt your walls milk him so hard it almost hurt with his sensitivity as you gushed around him. He finally collapsed on you, his weight resting heavy on you for a moment before he rolled over, pulling you along to rest on him. You both huffed quietly, the only sound aside from the unending hum of the systems of the crest, which you were suddenly able to perceive again.

“For as long as you’ll have me.” He said.

“What?”

“You… you said you wanted to be mine. After tonight,” he paused to collect his thoughts, a struggle as he still waded in post-orgasmic haze. “Be mine. And I’ll be yours. For as long as you’ll have me, cyare.”

You’re stunned into silence for a moment, before you hoist yourself up, looking down at him.

You lean your forehead against his helmet.

Taglist (this is the first time I’ve done one of these! Sorry if I fuck it up lol)

@auty-ren @gallowsjoker

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 9

Masterlist

As always thank you to my beautiful bestie @acollectionofficsandshit you can also thank her for all the Max content in this chapter. Its a long one, enjoy!

Word Count: 9.6k

Recommended song: “Hate the way” by G-Easy and blackbear

The one thing that never failed to lift your spirits was your dad's homemade blueberry chocolate chip pancakes. Whenever you were upset as a kid, whether it be your team losing a sporting event, your high-school boyfriend dumping you for the head cheerleader, or getting rejected from an ivy league college you never expected to get into in the first place, his pancakes had been there to cushion the fall. Clever as he was, he always messed them up in some insignificant way like leaving off the whipped cream and hiding the container so you were forced to talk to him in order to remedy it. Then he would crack some stupid joke or cheesy pun that would just barely have the ghost of a smile curling your lips.

Blueberry chocolate chip pancakes were no match for the heartbreak of losing your best friend.

The morning after, you only trudge to the kitchen when your stomach's demands to be fed become too loud to ignore. A steaming pile of fluffy pancakes sits at your usual spot, no syrup in sight. You don't have the energy to find your dad and ask where he's hidden it, instead picking at them. You knew the flavor should be fruity and sweet but every bite tastes like ash. One pancake is all you can manage before nausea roils, threatening to make your meager brunch resurface. 

"Some is better than none," Ben murmurs behind you and you drop your chin in the barest of nods. "We can save the rest and you can warm them up later."

"Thanks," you mumble when he takes your plate. You pull your blanket tight around your shoulders as your gaze turns to the window while your brother washes your dishes, wishing for all the world that you could make your uncooperative limbs move and help him but the mental effort it requires is too taxing. Instead you stay curled up on the chair, the noises of the house waking up around you a dull buzz in your ears. At some point your mother kisses your head and hustles out the door to work, her husband close behind. Ben is the last to leave and is reluctant to do so.

"Promise you'll text me if you need me," he says. "Mom already gave me permission to cut class after trigonometry."

"Sure." You both know it's a lie and a bad one at that. Your voice is dull and flat, completely void of emotion. 

"Mom said she's coming home early anyway,” he tries. “Something about overstaffing at the greenhouse."

"Okay."

The mechanical spooling of the garage door tells you he's finally gone. Your elbows slide forward until your head rests on the table, unable to hold it up any longer.

Every fiber of your being yearns for him, to hear the distinct r's and flowery lilt of his accent as he comforts you through the heartbreak, always knowing exactly what to say. It was second nature to call one another when either of you had had a bad day or a good day or just a normal day - you'd talked so often that last year you had convinced your parents to add international minutes to your phone plan. 

Your fingers itch to dial the number you had long since memorized, knowing it would ring no more than twice before he picked up. He never let it go to voicemail unless he absolutely couldn't avoid it and you had a hunch he was waiting for your call.

Despite knowing better, you scroll through the messages on your phone. Love was evident in each witty remark and wish goodnight, pulling at your heartstrings. Your finger hovers over the delete conversation button, and after a minute of debate, you can't bring yourself to do it. You would allow yourself one reprieve to look back on and remember the good.

It would be so much easier if he had given you a reason to hate him. If he'd cheated or intentionally led the media to your house, hating him would be easy. You wouldn't have to admit that you still loved him because his betrayal would have yanked out the newly blooming bud of love you nurtured and crushed the fragile petals. Instead, you were left knowing that it had been your choice to inflict damage in him. You had no right to seek comfort in his arms or even ask how he was doing. You deserved to be miserable for causing him to feel the same way. 

Yuki is the first to check in on you. You don’t know what he expects; you lie through your teeth when you tell him you were fine.

The press is asking me for my thoughts. No idea why. I told them not to stick their noses where they don't belong.

At least someone had the guts to stand up to those bloodsuckers. Yuki was the last person you'd suspect to do so, but the scrappy twenty-something continued to surprise you.

Thanks, you type back. How is he?

You hesitate. You didn't really want to know the answer. Pierre was devastated and just as broken as you are. You delete the last part and opt to refrain from subjecting yourself to biting off more than you could chew.

I'm here if you need me, is Yuki's reply.

Charles, Daniel, and his newly promoted girlfriend were the next ones to text you, all offering varying degrees of support. Daniel's friend was the one that offered to sucker punch anyone that came near you without your permission, and actually dragged a single huff of laughter from your aching lungs.

I'm good thanks. But if I need a bodyguard you'll be first on the list.

Just because Daniel can lift me with one arm doesn't mean I'm not punchy!

I believe you.

Spent, you set your phone down and retreat under the down comforter. The bright pink clashed with your earthy decor, but at least the old blanket didn't smell like Pierre. Your mother had taken it upon herself to erase all trace of him from your room when she had managed to coax you into a shower, and the half hour you had spent letting the scalding water run over your skin had given her plenty of time to do so. The absence of him hurts almost as much as the trace of cedar you know you're imagining when you breathe deep.

It has to be impossible for so much agony to be contained in your body. No matter how much you try, the tears won't stop flowing because Pierre's crushed expression had taken up residence at the forefront of your consciousness. 

It didn't help that so many of your recent memories were touched by his presence. Getting into university served to remind you of the ecstatic call you'd gotten after his race that Sunday, voice strained with a mix of excitement for you and the disappointment of his race ending crash on the opening lap. Even something as simple as staring at the saggy bean bag chair in the corner brought back the memory of the countless times he had lounged there, sprawled out like he owned it.

Max's text brings you briefly back to reality.

You doing okay? Dan told me what happened.

No, was all you say back. Within a minute, Max's face occupies your screen. You sigh but accept the call, laying the phone on the pillow.

"I don't feel like talking, Max."

"That bad huh?" He asks, concern lacing his usually chipper voice.

"Yeah. That bad." As if that summed up getting your heart torn to shreds.

He's uncharacteristically quiet for a beat. "Wanna hear about Vic's day? She had some crazy clients at her salon- it'll take your mind off it."

"I guess," you say, utterly nonplussed. You could care less if he kept talking or not, you wouldn't be paying attention. He prattles on for a few minutes, seemingly unaffected by your silence as his words pass through one ear and out the other.

"Told you it was crazy," he says finally, your cue to respond. You hum noncommittally and Max just sighs.

"Look, I don't know how I can help you unless you come here. I know you have a flight booked- do you still wanna come to the gala? My date's been stolen so I'm in need of one."

"Who stole your-"

The realization hits you before you can finish. Pierre. Pierre stole Max's sister and left him without a date. Something about his willingness to replace you so quickly rubs you the wrong way. It shouldn't have been so easy for him to find someone new; he should be hurting just as much as you. Fundamentally, you knew nothing would happen between Pierre and Victoria. She wouldn't go for him out of respect for both of you and you were thankful in the knowledge that it was completely platonic. Still, it was like rubbing salt in a wound. 

"You know what? I'll go." It was the most you'd said all day, your throat scratchy with disuse. Max whoops on the other line and you could almost see him punching the air in victory.

"Great! When's your flight get in? I'll bring the Acura and pick you up." 

You put him on speaker and login to the airlines website to punch in the flight number. Last night you'd debated canceling the flight that Pierre had paid for, determined to stay home and be miserable. Looking back you were glad you'd trusted your gut and left the reservation untouched. If he could find someone else to attend the gala with, so could you. "I land in Nice at noon on Friday. It'll be a short flight, I can text you when we take off."

"Sounds good. I'll set up the spare room for you. Victoria is staying here too, I'm sure she would love to help you get ready and do whatever it is girls do before fancy events."

"Hey, Max?"

"Whats up?"

You trace patterns through the condensation left by the glass on your nightstand. "Thank you. For understanding."

"That's what friends are for," he assures you. "Is there anything you wanna talk about now? Or are you planning to wait until you're here?"

"Ben's been keeping an eye on me. I'm okay for now." Better now that you had something to look forward to.

"All you have to do is call," he promises. "I'll listen, I don't have anything going on this week besides streaming."

You latch on to the small redirection and run with it. "You and the twitch quartet?"

"They've been kind enough to allow me to join them on the sim this week, yeah."

"I'll try to catch a race. No promises though." 

"See you Friday. Try to contain your excitement."

Your lips twitch upward. "Bye Max."

**********

The rest of the week was more of the same. You stayed home and your family dealt with the swarms of people that still gathered on the lawn each morning not so patiently waiting for you to tell your side of the story. You had decided that the best course of action was to keep your mouth shut and let them figure out for themselves that there was no longer a story to report thanks to the wedge they had driven in your relationship.

By the time Ben drives you to the airport Friday the buzz has died down. You hug your brother tight before checking in for the flight and texting Max. His response is immediate, letting you know he's excited to see you.

You wish you could return the sentiment. You wanted to see your friend, sure, but you were beginning to dread the upcoming gala. Max would be your crutch and you knew he was okay with that, but it still felt wrong. 

Unlike your brother, Max was waiting at the curb when you arrived in Nice. A nondescript cap was perched on his head, the oversized sunglasses he wore hiding his eyes from passersby. His gleaming orange peel of a car attracted more attention than he did for once, people stopping to ogle the Acura as they came and went.

"Hey you," Max greets, a broad grin causing his trademark dimple to appear as he wraps you in a rare hug. You cling to him, throat going tight at the intimacy of it. Max wasn't a physical person by any stretch; if he was hugging you this tightly it meant he knew how broken you were.

He waited for you to break contact first, giving you all the time you need. You sniff and wipe the single tear that had somehow escaped and laugh lightly.

"Hey," you say, voice scratchy. "Thanks for picking me up." 

He waves a hand, brushing it off. "Vic wanted to come but she changed her mind when I told her I was driving."

"Probably a smart choice," you observe, letting him pop the trunk- which was in the front of the car, since the Acura NSX was a mid-engined beast of a Japanese supercar- "and considering your choice of car, she wouldn't have fit anyway."

"This is true." He starts the engine, the roar of which makes a poor old woman a few yards away drop her purse.

The drive back is near silent, broken only by Max's occasional quips about a landmark or an observation about someone's driving. It was impossible for any driver to turn off the analytical part of their brain, their Formula 1 habits crossing into their daily lives. 

When Max parks at the curb outside his apartment, you move to open the door but he hits the lock button. You glance over your shoulder at him and quirk a brow.

"Am I your prisoner?"

"Are you gonna talk about what happened?"

Sighing, you sink back into the seat. The way the bolstering hugs your sides almost makes you believe you could fade into it if you try hard enough. "I wasn't really planning on it."

It had only been a handful of days since you had broken it off, the wound still leaking fresh blood when you poked at it. It refused to scab over or give you any kind of reprieve from the torture.

"You know you'll have to face him tomorrow at some point. He'll want to talk to you."

"That's why I'm going with you. You won't have a problem telling him to leave me alone."

Max sighs. "Yeah, I suppose. If that's what you think is best."

The trudge up the stairs and subsequent silent elevator ride allows your thoughts to wander to Victoria. It wasn't her fault that Pierre had asked her to come with him after you'd canceled, after all she was already planning on going and the late notice meant it was likely no one else could make it, but it didn't stop the pang of jealousy that rocketed through you each time you ruminate on it.

It didn't help when she wrapped you in a hug the moment she saw you and whispered an apology in your ear, like she knew she'd done something wrong. Tears spring to your eyes again and Victoria shoots Max a leave us alone look.

"Uh, I'm gonna hop on the sim. Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge if you're hungry."

"Thanks Max." Your eyes are pinned to a smudge of dirt on the wood floor, safely out of range of anything triggering. Keeping it together was more of a struggle than you'd expected.

"I hope you don't hate me," Victoria starts genuine concern lacing the words. "It was just easiest-"

"I know," you cut in. "And I don't." Your smile is tight, not quite hitting home as she returns it.

"Well then. Let's figure out how we're gonna do your hair tomorrow, shall we?"

**********

The dress was a single, simple piece of fabric, spun of sunset orange and free of any bells or whistles. The feather light chiffon hugged every supple curve through your hips until flaring out slightly at the bottom just enough to allow you range of motion. The deep vee of the neckline prominently displayed your cleavage, toeing the line between attention grabbing and scandal starting and leaving little to the imagination. The back dropped low, leaving the elegant curve of your spine free to be kissed by the salty Mediterranean breeze.

The dress is nothing special compared to the thousand dollar pieces that the other boy's dates would be wearing, but you didn't have the money- or the will- to find something new. It by no means broke the bank when you picked it up from the second hand store last year, but it looked the part. It had been a showstopper at the spring formal you'd originally worn it to and judging by Max's reaction, it still was.

He let out a low whistle when you stepped into the living room. "I'm sorry, did you pick that out with me in mind?" He laughs and despite yourself, heat rises to your cheeks. You hated being the center of attention, even among friends. "It's the perfect shade of orange to match my tie. I swear I didn't plan it that way!"

"I know you didn't." You give him a forced smile, praying he doesn't call you out on it. The dress you wore hadn't been your first choice. The one you originally planned to wear still sat in your closet at home collecting dust. It had been the perfect shade of blue to compliment Pierre's sky eyes, but it didn't match Max's deeper ocean blue. So at home it had stayed, and you had chosen the orange one because it made the necklace at your throat pop.

Your fingers engulf the stone before you can stop yourself, as they always do when your thoughts wander to him. Him, because you could scarcely think his name before your heart wretches at the reminder of what you'd lost. Flashes of bright smiles and soft kisses filter through your mind, making you lock up. You swear you can feel the ghost of plush lips to your throat and the scrape of callouses over the curve of your spine. Your eyes fall shut, desperate to get lost in the idea of him like you used to.

"You good?"

Max's quiet words startle you back into the present. No, you were in no way shape or form good, but you had no choice to fall back on the familiar mask of humor to cover up your inner turmoil.

"The real question is are you?" You smirk and look him over. The Red Bull navy suit strains over his broad shoulders, suggesting he had put on muscle since the last time he'd been forced into it. "You look stiff as a board in that tux."

"I feel so awkward." He straightens the suit coat and absentmindedly lifts a hand to tousle his hair. You grab his wrist just in time to keep him from ruining his sister's hard work and shoot him a chiding look. He grins sheepishly and lowers his hand.

"Vic would kill me if you got to the gala looking like you got run over." 

"That's a good point." He offers you his arm and you accept the lifeline he unwittingly offers you. "But I refuse to leave the windows up on this beautiful night, so we'll test how well it'll hold."

You quirk an eyebrow at him. "You're driving us there?"

"Well duh. I always drive when I'm at home."

You glance sidelong at the glaringly orange Acura parked at the curb a few floors below. Your dress would blend right in with the paint, but perhaps that was a good thing. It would provide that much more of a shock factor when you arrived and stepped out.

"Just don't crash out on the hairpin," you tease half heartedly. 

He rolls his eyes. "At least it's just the two of us so I don't have to call an uber. Vic's getting picked up by-'' Max cuts himself off and gives you an apologetic smile.

"You can say his name," you whisper, eyes trained on the tile of the hallway as you walk. "It's not like he's gone."

"Getting picked up by... Pierre," Max tries, carefully monitoring his neutral tone. God, you thought you could handle it but you can't, stumbling over your own feet with only Max's grip on your arm to catch you.

He'd dance with Vic tonight, and probably countless other women, his hands drifting over their bodies like they'd done on yours only days ago. You'd be forced to watch from the sidelines and make small talk that no one would remember come morning, utterly unable to do anything about it. At least Daniel’s girlfriend would be there to be the voice of reason, if you could peel her away from Daniel long enough to speak with her for any length of time.

Max was uncharacteristically quiet on the ride to the venue, leaving you to study the city as he drove. Few yachts were left in the harbor as the sun was swallowed by the sea, the owners undoubtedly set sail for a weekend getaway. Your gaze involuntarily searched for the slip that held Charles' Ferrari red speedboat that you'd visited countless times with Pierre. The eyesore was hard to miss when surrounded by its monotone brethren, memories flooding back in droves at the sight of it.

Sighing, you turn away to glimpse what you can of the city through the ridiculously tiny sliver of windshield. How anyone could confidently drive the Acura while having so little field of vision was beyond you. It was probably second nature to Max, who weaves through the narrow streets with practiced ease and barely lets off the gas through the corners. 

The city of Monaco rarely slept, and tonight was no different. Soft yellow fluorescent glow seeps from high rise balconies, the occupants soaking up the last dregs of sunlight before heading out to the casinos and clubs. People spilled out of cafes onto the sidewalks, their laughter lingering on the breeze as you speed past.

The list of people you trust enough to get in the car with and let them drive with such intensity is short: Max and Pierre. Not even Daniel made the final cut, not when his then not-girlfriend had recounted the tale of him losing the rear of his McLaren 570s at a track day and nearly sending them into the wall. According to her, he'd been too busy ogling her to keep his full attention on the road, but it was enough for you to question his judgement at times.

If you close your eyes, you could pretend it was someone else next to you, cutting through the gears like a hot knife through butter and coaxing every inch of performance out of the car that he could with the light traffic. You draw a surf-scented breath deep, lungs aching with the effort. 

Max joins the queue of cars waiting to park outside the venue, your attention trained on the guests stepping out of cars and climbing the wide set of marble steps leading to the sleek glass building. The modern structure is slightly out of place among the Roman-esque buildings surrounding it but the air of importance it exudes overrules any who dare say it doesn't belong.

"I can't tell you how glad I am that there's an open bar," Max remarks, hanging his head out the window to wave at someone. "It makes these events so much easier."

"You're telling me," you mumble, searching involuntarily for a familiar head of dusty blond hair in the droves of people arriving. Instead of sight, it's the unforgettable rumble of his Civic Type R's exhaust that alerts you to his arrival. Your head whips around, eyes eating up the pearl white paint of Pierre's favored car as it slides in behind you. You silently thank whatever deity is listening that his windshield is tinted, protecting you from seeing the smirk you are certain is playing on his lips.

Once upon a time, the cockpit of that car had been your favorite place in the world. You'd spent countless hours inside it eating shitty gas station cuisine and singing along to the radio at the top of your lungs as Pierre drove you to whatever adventure he had planned for the day. 

Max waves at your- his friend, you remind yourself sharply- and revs his Acura in response. He leaves the keys with the valet, picking up on the tension in your shoulders as the white car parks behind you. Max tugs your arm in attempt to turn you away, but your feet are rooted to the spot. 

“I see you found another date-” The flash of a grin on Pierre's face as he steps out is immediately dashed when he notices you on Max's arm.

If looks could kill, Max would keel over then and there. A muscle in Pierre's jaw flutters as he takes in the sight of the two of you together, your hand on the Dutchman's forearm and your matching attire looking for all the world as if it was purposefully coordinated. 

Max lifts his chin, spine going straight under Pierre's threatening glare. “Her airfare was already paid for and she already had the dress. Someone had to take her.”

Your stomach sinks; the last thing you wanted to do was become a point of contention between the two boys, but you refused to apologize for at least attempting to enjoy yourself. 

Pierre doesn't speak again, only nods to Max and pointedly avoids your stare. He tosses the keys to the smart-dressed kid serving as his valet, coming around to open Victoria's door. With his back turned to you, you take a moment to study the crisp white suit he's chosen for tonight. You had always told him black wasn't his color and he seemed to have taken it to heart. White was what you loved seeing him in, and the tight cut brought back memories of a different type of suit in an entirely different city only a few weeks ago. You'd peeled him out of that Alpha Tauri race suit the moment he made it to the trailer, eager to worship him after his podium. You'd be lying if you said it hasn't been the best sex of your life.

"Come on," Max urges, placing a chaste hand on your upper back and turning you around. He leads you up the stairs, his comforting touch never leaving your skin for a moment. The callouses were all wrong, the fingers too broad to be who you wanted it to be, and yet you couldn't help but imagine it was Pierre leading you up, stopping to smile for the few cameras scattered around.

Flashes spot your vision as you pull your face into an expression of excitement. Max murmurs something in your ear that you think is encouragement but the din of reporters is too deafening to be sure.

"How come you aren't with Pierre?"

The shouted question comes from an unknown assailant but it strikes you like a physical blow. You freeze, mouth going dry as you search for a suitable excuse. Max grants you the space of a single heartbeat to respond before he does so on your behalf.

"How about you mind your own damn business and worry about your cheating wife?"

The man who had bombarded you goes slack jawed, Max's wild guess clearly somehow hitting him just as hard as he had hit you.

"Keep walking," he urges you, leading you through the blinding sea of flashing lights. When you hear the same question directed at Pierre, his flippant laugh grates on your nerves.  

You don't have it in you to appreciate the grand architecture of the entrance hall, too busy trying to keep your breathing in check. Max steers you off to the side and places his hands on your shoulders.

"Look at me," he demands, and you drag your eyes up to his face. "Breathe. He's hurting just as bad as you, only difference is he's better at hiding it. Just enjoy the night okay? I'll grab you a drink and we can find Daniel and his friend and you two can catch up."

You nod, placing a hand on your throat. The delicate chain of the necklace is a vice around your neck, the reminder of him pulling it tight. Your pulse hammers beneath your fingers and you focus on it until it slows. "Get me whatever you're having."

Max disappears in the crowd, and you take a seat at the bench tucked in the corner. No one pays you any heed as they walk past, entranced by the elegant decor and fragrant florals. Your head falls forward to rest in your hands and you struggle to take deep, calming breaths.

Pierre was here. Inhale.

He looked happy. Exhale.

He was getting by. Inhale.

You could get by, too. Exhale.

Renewed, you glance up in time to find Max standing before you with a drink of dark liquid adorned with maraschino cherries in each hand. He extends one glass to you and you don't bother to question what it is before swallowing half in one go. "Better?"

"Much." You stand and brush out the wrinkles in your dress. "Where are we sitting?"

"Er, about that," Max starts, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "They put two teams at each table. We're at the Red Bull Alpha Tauri table."

"I see." You take another deep, steadying breath, letting the anxiety ebbing in your veins fade out with the exhale. It was times like this that you channeled Daniel a bit. It sounded silly and you would never admit it, but the slogans on his helmets worked if you focused on them hard enough. All good, all ways.

If Pierre could get through tonight, so could you.

“I can try to see if I can switch tables-”

"It's fine," you say and down the rest of the drink. “I can handle it.”

Max shifts on his feet, his discomfort something you rarely see from him. He usually excelled at keeping a straight face in uncomfortable situations but it seems that your unease rubbed off on him. “We should get going then, dinner will be served any minute.”

You once again take the arm he offers you, the liquor in your veins already granting you false courage. “We would have time to mingle if you hadn’t taken the scenic route.”

“It was nice out,” he protests, and pulls you to a halt when he spots Daniel across the hall. His girlfriend waves at you with a sad smile. She gestures between the two of you to indicate that you’ll talk later before Daniel pulls her towards the McLaren table. That boy was punctual to a fault and would be caught dead before he was late to anything.

Thankfully, the two of you arrive before Victoria and her date and are able to secure seats that ensure there’s a buffer between you. By some small miracle Christian Horner and his wife were absent and instead a few engineers and their significant others sat at the packed table. Max greets Gianpiero while you take your seat, happy to observe.

“Hey!”

You twist in time to see Yuki’s short frame emerge from the crowd and point to the empty seat to your right. “This one taken?”

You shake your head, standing to give him a quick hug. “How are you doing? Where’s your date?”

“Ah, she couldn’t make it. Had some family stuff to take care of. You look great, by the way.”

You dip your chin in thanks, unsure how else to respond. He was in a white suit that you were sure would wind up stained five minutes into dinner. “Did they mandate that you wear white?”

He shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Honestly, it’s the only one I own. I haven't been to enough events to build up my closet yet."

"Well I think it's…"

You spot Pierre before he sees you. His brow is slightly creased as he hunts for the correct table using the same focused determination as when driving his Alpha. For a split second, he meets your gaze. The cacophony of the event fades to background noise and suddenly it's just the two of you and you damn near lift your hand in a wave. You're positive he can see your heart beating out of your chest like in an old cartoon as you curl your fingers into a fist in your lap. Your restraint proves fatal, the floor falling out from beneath your feet when he drops your stare. This was your new normal, you remind yourself. Stolen glances were all you would get.

"I can move," Yuki says, starting to rise. You grip his wrist, holding him in place.

"Please don't." The only other open seats were across the table, and at least then you didn't have to worry about brushing elbows with him all night long.

Yuki nods, slowly settling back in. Max finally takes his seat after giving your shoulder a supportive squeeze.

"You don't have to say anything to him," he reminds you, barely audible over the scrape of chairs and various chatter.

You find anywhere else to look as Pierre pulls out Vic's chair for her and makes his rounds to greet everyone. Daniel and his girlfriend are seated a few tables away and you distract yourself by attempting to read their lips. You manage a few minutes of tenuous peace, catching snippets of Daniel's cheesy jokes and her disapproving, yet flirty, responses.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of home. His words are honey and you lap them up like you'd never tasted anything sweeter. They weren't even directed at you and yet somehow you twist them to fit your narrative.

Pierre stands at the bottom of the stairs like a chaste high school prom date patiently waiting for your grand entrance. He checks his watch and rakes a hand through his messy hair. You stifle your laugh with a hand, amused by his unnecessary nervous energy.

Taking mercy on him, you clear your throat. His gaze snaps up to you, mouth falling open. You take your time gathering the orange fabric of your dress and descending the stairs, savoring the way he eats you up. He was resplendent in his crisp white tuxedo and you had half a mind to make him late for the gala and strip him out of it then and there and devour him.

Your heels clack on the marble floor of his entirely too fancy apartment and you pause to do a little spin for him, earning you an appreciative whistle for your trouble. A laugh bubbles out of you and you place your hands on his shoulders. His own settle on your waist to pull you flush against him, his body heat soaking through the thin fabric of your dress to warm your core.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You start when knuckles graze the back of your bare neck. The touch is there and gone but you know immediately that it's Pierre. It's slight enough to be brushed off as accidental to anyone else, but nothing was accidental with Pierre. The barely there contact conveys more than any words ever could. 

He still loved you. You looked stunning. He wishes you were still his so he could prove it to you. All this and so much more contained in a half second brush of his skin to yours.

It all comes back to you in a rush, the emotion you'd so carefully tucked away in a locked box in the back of your mind finally set free. His touch ignites any other thought in your mind that isn't him, burning it away until it's ashes on the wind. 

Despite your better judgement, you lean into him, giving him permission to unravel you. This time you sigh when his fingers ghost over your skin, electricity sparking in their wake. You didn't care who might be watching; the tiny touches were slowly repairing your shattered heart. Your traitorous mind replaces his fingers with the brush of his lips to your nape, imagining the heat as he slides the strap of your dress off your shoulder, lips moving to follow.

You bite your lip to stifle a groan when his heat is withdrawn, leaving you feeling inexplicably naked. You open your eyes to find Victoria's pitying stare paired with an apologetic smile. Max nudges you with his elbow, and you realize someone has addressed you.

"Um, what?"

"I said I like how you guys coordinated outfits," Pierre repeats and openly prods your shoulder. "Obviously Max chose the color."

His tone is playful, but his words are clipped in a way only you understand. Craning your neck, you twist to look up at him. His eyes are cloudy and his smile doesn't reach them, more for show than anything else. "It was an accident."

"Doesn't look that way."

Your retort is ready on your tongue but he doesn't give you a chance to reply before retreating to his seat. His ability to act as if nothing has changed astounds you, as your head is still reeling from the pinpricks of his skin on yours. Instead of being rendered speechless, he strikes up a conversation with Yuki about the Alpha's performance, leaving out the confidential details but giving enough away that it surprises you.

The sheer fact that he can so easily switch off whatever feelings he harbors is unfair. The sensation of his fingers on your neck still lingers and it's all you can do to keep from stepping around the table and slotting yourself between his legs like you had in that bar in London. Your nails bite into your palms, listening in if only for his voice to wash over you and calm your racing heart.

When he mentions the rake angle, you know it's just to mislead anyone who might be eavesdropping. He'd told you the exact angle in the past, and it certainly was not one degree, and it did not cause the level of understeer he was describing.

"The understeer comes from improper tire selection," you blurt. "And driver error."

All eyes turn to you and you straighten. You knew enough about the construction of a Formula 1 car to be positive your assessment was correct. You were almost as certain that he'd said it to force you into speaking to him whether you liked it or not.

"What was that?"

If Pierre could torment you with his subtle touches, you could do the same and call him out when he was wrong.

"Driver error caused the rear end to slide out around that turn in Japan, not the rake angle. That's got nothing to do with it. Your tires were blistered because of you taking an imperfect racing line and they were old. You miscalculated the level of traction they'd give you."

Why no one else had pointed it out was beyond you.

"So you're an engineer now?" Pierre challenges, crossing his arms. Something about the arrogance radiating from him rubbed you the wrong way. You let all the emotion of the past few days surface and add fuel to the fire.

"No, but I've learned enough to see through the bullshit drivers spin to mislead other teams."

Max murmurs your name in warning but your frustration is boiling over. He replaced you tonight, didn't even pause to consider going alone and instead choosing to take Victoria. Sure, it had been your fault that he was dateless, but that didn't give him the right to hurt you too. He knew it would destroy you to see him with anyone else even if it was completely platonic, but he did it anyway.

"Why don't you tell me where I should brake on turn ten since you're an expert all of a sudden?" Victoria lays a hand on his arm but he yanks it out of her grip. "What crack in the pavement? Or is it a mark on the barrier? Drive one lap in my car and then you can tell me how to drive."

It wasn't your analysis that had upset him. You'd done so plenty of times and he had always taken your criticism with an open mind, using it to tweak his driving style to improve his lap time or turn it into a teaching experience so you could learn. No, judging by the way his eyes are lined with silver that he fights to blink away, it's your betrayal that upsets him and rightfully so. You glance around the table but no one is willing to meet your eyes save for Max, who angles his head as if to say fight for it.

But you can't. It's monumentally easier to let Pierre win and sweep it under the rug than to address the deeper issue. "I was trying to help," you say lamely, picking at the salad in front of you.

"You don't get to do that anymore."

The venomous words hit like knives, knocking the breath out of you. Your mouth hangs open like a fish gasping for air but any reply you think up dies on your tongue.

As the music fades out and a man climbs up onto the stage, Pierre gets up and leaves. You track his progress as he weaves through tables, noting Daniel reaching for him as he passes. You flinch when the balcony door slams behind him, an astonished murmur rocking through the crowd.

"You should probably talk to him," Max whispers.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. You had no idea what you would say. 'Sorry' was insignificant and 'I love you' would be cruel when the barest of thought regarding how the media treated you made your stomach churn. 

Max pulls his phone out under the table and you think you see Charles' name on the screen. Good; someone had to make sure Pierre didn't do anything he would regret in the morning and if it wasn't you, Charles was the next best chaperone. A minute later, the Ferrari driver leaves his seat too, exiting the same way as Pierre. 

Focusing on what's said on stage proves fruitless. Try as you might, your attention is trained on the side door Pierre had disappeared through, praying he returns despite knowing it would mean more barbed words hurled at you. Neither he nor Charles return at any point during the presentation. His absence was quickly becoming a gaping black hole, swallowing up any semblance of sanity you had managed to gather in preparation for tonight.

"Try to have some fun," Max says, nudging you with an elbow. "As soon as this guy shuts up I’ll get us some more drinks and then we can eat and get out on the dance floor and forget about everything, yeah?"

You nod. You already feel the buzz of the first drink, and one or two more would push you thoroughly over the edge into blissful forgetfulness. "I don't wanna be sad anymore."

**********

He didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away from you before he said something that would tear whatever hope he held of repairing what was between you to ribbons. He registers Daniel's low, "Gas, you good?" as he breezes past, but doesn't pause to answer. His sights are locked on the wide, carved oak doors that lead to fresh air.

The breath whooshes out of him when he flings open the balcony doors. They slam behind him and he winces. Chalk that up as something else for Helmut to pick him apart for on Monday.

Pierre rakes a trembling hand through his hair and rests his elbows on the railing, sucking in lungfuls of air like he'd just surfaced from a dive in the harbor. 

When you'd agreed to come to the gala with him, he had been overjoyed. You hadn't made it to the winter gala earlier this year due to a last minute exam and he had sulked the entire night. He still had the place card embossed with your name in the fishbowl by his door, the sizable container nearly overflowing with memories of you. Everything from forgotten earrings to plastic hotel key cards filled the bowl and it was a bright reminder of your adventures together. His plan had been to add another place card to the mix after tonight but after what he'd just said to you, he'd rather forget today ever happened. 

He fucking hurt. Everything just hurt, from the shirt collar scratching at his neck to the bone deep ache that had started when he laid eyes on you on those steps, arm locked with Max's. You'd stolen the words from his mouth, the jab he'd planned to toss at Max dying at the sight of you. 

He hadn't expected you to come tonight. Despite anyone's objections, he'd been fully prepared to get completely shit faced to the point that the ghost of your skin no longer haunted his fingertips and your voice no longer sang in his head. But seeing your damned face had shattered the false reality he had constructed, the one where you never broke him and left him scrambling to piece himself back together.

The universe had dealt him another low blow when he discovered Red Bull and Alpha Tauri would be at the same table and he'd be forced to endure your presence at arms length, close enough to touch but absolutely not allowed to do so. It was his own personal hell, constructed solely to punish him for whatever transgressions he'd made in his life.

And that fucking dress. 

The orange painted the aquamarine charm at the hollow of your throat in sharp relief, showing it off like he somehow still owned you. If you had arrived with him, he would have already led you back to the Civic and bunched that damned dress up past your hips to drag his favorite sounds from you with his tongue. If he could just get you alone, he's sure it wouldn't take more than a single touch to have you crashing into him and begging for more.

Seeing you with Max tonight paints an entirely different picture.

It's Max he sees tearing off the dress at the end of the night when you get back to his apartment. Max's hands slide over your hips and you laugh, walking back so you can keep your lips on his as he slams the door shut behind you. You dip your head back when he presses you to the wall, Max unfaltering as his lips and teeth trace the curve of your exposed throat and he slips the straps of the matching dress of your shoulders to let it pool at your feet. Max's name breezes past your lips on a shaky exhale as you become putty beneath his fingers.

No matter how loud Pierre calls your name, you don't hear him, instead cupping the back of the Dutchman's head and pulling him in for a heated kiss. When you do finally notice him observing from afar, agony wracking his body, all you do is grin. It feels real, even though Pierre is certain it's a crazed fever dream, his mind spinning his worst fear to life: you seeking comfort in the company of someone that wasn't him.

Pierre starts when the door squeaks open, the nightmare thankfully dissolving. Charles steps out clad head to toe in blazing Ferrari red and instantly he knows who sent him. The thought alone stokes rage in his chest, the image of your lips on Max's still fresh.

"Not as easy as you expected it to be, is it?" He asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Fuck off," Pierre growls and immediately regrets it. Beyond you, Charles was his closest friend. They had known each other for ages. It wasn’t a friendship he was willing to sacrifice just because he felt like shit. Pierre sighs and throws him an apologetic glance. "No it's not."

"Why don't you talk to her?"

"She doesn't want to fucking talk, Charles. Take one look at her, she's hanging on Max like she can't get enough of him." Pierre hangs his head in his hands, emotions shifting faster than he did on race day. "I can't go back in there and watch her choose him over me."

"You don't really believe that bullshit, do you?" Charles asks, joining him at the railing.

Not entirely, but he still struggled to understand your thought process. He thought he knew you, but you being here tonight when he had been certain you wouldn't be proved he didn't. 

"I don't know what to believe anymore. I thought it would be forever, that I'd finally found someone who didn't mind my lifestyle and accepted it for what it was, who loved me unconditionally. I thought she was my forever."

"You think she's done with you just because some assholes invaded her privacy?" Charles shakes his head. "She's loved you for a long time, years even. You haven't seen the looks she gives you, but the rest of us have. You hung the moon in her sky, Pierre. That kind of thing doesn't just get swept away by the breeze."

His shoulders curl inward in an attempt to hide the frustrated tear that escapes him. "What am I supposed to do?"

Charles shrugs. "I don't think there's a right answer to that. Try giving her some space. She didn't grow up in the spotlight like we did. It's not an easy adjustment for some people, mate. And blowing up on her when she tries to make conversation doesn't help anything," he says gently. "Let her figure it out and come to you when she's ready."

The concept of letting you go even temporarily was terrifying to him. Waiting on you to make the first move was even worse because he was setting his fate in your hands. 

"I miss her," he murmurs, turning his face to his friend.

"I know." Charles throws an arm around the taller man's shoulders and follows his gaze out over the tiered streets of Monaco's city center. "My suggestion is to throw yourself into the season. Show her you know how to fight, y'know?"

Pierre nods. He could do that. It was how he normally handled his problems anyway; let the track wick away whatever was on his mind and force him to hone in on the details surrounding him in each moment. 

"You ready to head inside?" Charles asks.

"I don't think I can go back just yet."

"Want me to hang out here with you?"

"No. I'll be back eventually."

Charles' hand falls from his shoulder after a short squeeze, the sound of a tinny voice over the speakers temporarily flooding the balcony as Charles returns to the banquet. Pierre allows himself a few more moments of reprieve before slipping back inside just as the applause starts. Rather than returning to the delicately portioned meal that sat cooling before his empty chair, he orders a drink. Whiskey on the rocks, his go to in times of crisis. He takes one sip before the reminder of you ordering it for him in London makes holding the glass of caramel liquid unbearable and he downs it in a single swallow, going back to order a beer instead.

He nurses the green bottle of Heineken as he leans against the wall until the meal is finished and the chit chat starts. You stand with Max, practically pressed against him as you snatch a flute of champagne from a passing server. You search the crowd, brows drawing together when you don't locate your quarry. Pierre had made sure that he was tucked out of the low lighting, unsure if he could survive you stealing worried glances at him all night. 

Charles winds his way over to pass off a roll he snagged from dinner, practically forcing the Frenchman to eat it before returning to his date. He nibbles at it absentmindedly, entirely too focused on you to divert an ounce of focus elsewhere.

Your dress is a glowing sun in a sea of earth tone garments, drawing his eye as you pull Max out onto the wood platform serving as the dance floor before the tables are fully cleared. The flush in your cheeks tells him you're deeper in your cups than you should be; Max didn't know your limit as well as he did. Three drinks was all you could manage before you got tipsy, five if you wanted to be completely blitzed. 

The lights dim and his hiding spot is no longer quite as good as the party lights sweep over him from time to time. Max places one hand on your hip and you place one on his shoulder and grin up at him. Judging by the fit of giggles that requires you to lean into Max for support, you were teetering dangerously on the edge of being wholly drunk. You throw your head back and laugh at whatever Max says in response to your fit, Pierre straining to hear the musical sound over the band. 

"Hey," Victoria says, breaking his concentration. "You wanna get out there?"

Pierre grimaces. He had managed to completely forget about her, too stuck in his own head. "Sorry, Vic. I don't think I'd be a very good partner tonight."

"No worries," she says, a soft, understanding smile on her lips. "I can keep myself busy."

Pierre nods his thanks, his attention immediately returning to the dance floor. Daniel and his girlfriend steal the show, both laughing as he dips and twirls her across the floor. 

Being together was so fucking easy for them, effortless in a way it wasn't for you and Pierre. They never once paid any heed to the photographers that swarmed them or the headlines printed about them, they just laughed the rumors off and carried on. No one could question their love for each other because they were vocal about it- sometimes annoyingly so- and Daniel was rarely seen in public without her at his side. They were always touching, holding hands or stealing kisses or even the near scandal of his hand blatantly on her ass at the podium a few races back, and neither of them cared.

Their love was all that mattered. They didn't care who knew it.

But you and Pierre were far too private to be like that, at least not when you were still trying to figure things out yourself. The first sign of outside pressure had you cracking, and he wouldn't stand for knowing he was the source of your pain.

He tries and fails to convince himself he isn't jealous of the way Dan's hand so easily glides under the navy blue silk of her dress to caress her back without a second thought, wishing he could do the same to you. If he's being honest, he's living vicariously through Daniel for the next few songs, pretending he was someone else observing you and himself on the dance floor instead. It almost works; the way she shudders when his lips graze her ear is strikingly similar to how you'd react. The smile she flashes up at him is agonizingly close to your own wicked grin.

When her mouth finds his, Pierre gathers his wits and turns away. Their blatant public affection flipped a switch inside him, disgust rocking through him for a split second before he pushed it away.

He was happy for them. He knew what a long, rocky road it had been for them to become lovers instead of friends, had firsthand knowledge of the stress they'd gone through before they'd finally admitted their feelings to each other, put their pride aside and got together. Pierre had been the one to offer her advice on a night not much different than this one months ago, helping repair the damage Daniel's idiotic, thoughtless words had caused. 

But Pierre had since become the person who was sickened at the sight of others in love. It reminded him that part of himself was missing and he hated it.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering back to you. You still occasionally scan the room as Max struggles to lead you through a dance. By some stroke of bad luck your gaze snags on him just as a spotlight illuminates his face and he grimaces. A slow blink is the only surprise you let show before laying your head on Max's shoulder. Jealousy spikes through him like wildfire, igniting his blood and tinging his vision with red.

He wants to march over and rip you off Max. He wants you tucked safely against him as his thumb rubs circles on the bare skin of the small of your back. He wants, more than anything, to take you to his apartment and half carry you up the stairs, having to shush you because you're giggling loud enough to wake the dead, and lay you down in his bed. He wants to help you out of that stunning dress and into a pair of his sweats and curl up against you, letting you sleep off your hangover until noon.

He'd fucked up that chance though, hadn't he? He had slipped up and driven you straight into your friend's arms, who he trusted not to make a move on you but not enough to negate the jealousy coursing through him.

In that moment, he hates you. He hates the hold you have on him, the way a simple gesture between half-drunk friends could send him into a spiral so steep he didn't recognize himself. He hates that he can't keep his eyes off you, your gravity too strong for him to resist.

Most of all, he hates that he doesn’t know how to quit you.

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max​ @sunshinesewis​ @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval 

[dennou-translations]

Violet Evergarden Ever After: Chapter 2

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The Night and the Auto-Memories Doll

   Everything went around.

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

People went around as well.

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

Everything went around.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything went around.

——O God, I want to                                .

Everything.

   A voice that sounded like bells echoed.

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

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

“What would you like to do?”

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

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

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

“As if.”

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

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

“Captain.”

“.............................”

“The civilians are in a predicament.”

“................................”

“Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea.”

“............”

“What would you like to do?”

“..................”

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

“.....................”

“The civilians are in a predicament.”

“........................”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She now smelled of nothing but flowers.

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

“You’re a siren.”

Silence.

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

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

“Damn troublemaker.”

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

——It goes round. All of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, did you really stop breathing?”

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

“I was joking; breathe.”

Violet’s blue eyes blinked with a snap.

“Yes.”

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

“Hey, you.”

“Yes.”

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

“All right.”

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

“No, Captain, he—”

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

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

Asset. Girl soldier. Automatic assassination doll. Witch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea.”

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

“What’re you doing, Monster?”

Violet Evergarden.

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

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

“I was looking at the paintings, Captain.”

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

“You, paintings? Can you understand them?”

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

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

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

Dietfried was scared. This girl was terrifying.

“I caused you trouble last time.”

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

“By asking about Major.”

Because she was a monster.

——O God, I want to                                .

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

“Hey, wait.”

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

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

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

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

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

——What did you think of that painting?

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

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

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

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

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

She would normally not be like this.

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

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

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

“Ha...?”

Without hesitation, almost as if she were a tool.

“I am still. Feel free to.”

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

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

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

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

“You, what the...”

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

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

Those eyes.

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

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

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

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

“Feel free to.”

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

“I hate that about you...”

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

“...to death.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If anything could be changed, that was the moment.

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

——Gilbert.

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

“You... I...”

——If I could change for Gilbert...

“Captain...?”

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

Would it be easier for him to breathe?

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

“GYAAAAAAAAAH—AAAAAAH—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

...an incident occurred.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But, Captain—”

“Stay put!”

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

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

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

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

——Why now of all times?

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

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

——Gil.

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

And such was how they had arrived to the present.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All right.”

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

Like a child, Violet nodded repeatedly.

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

“To protect...”

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

“Understood.”

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

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

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

If, at that time...

“This is also linked to protecting Lord Gilbert.”

...in that place...

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

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

“Shut up.”

Would she have thought like that?

“Shut up, Monster.”

He had never even thought about it.

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

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

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

...he would undeniably have not.

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

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

“We’re gonna do an act.”

——Aah, Gilbert.

“An act?”

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

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

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

“Understood.”

——You were able to change her like this.

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

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

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

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

   Why had robbers attacked the Artemisia Gallery?

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

This case was a crime committed by a habitual criminal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A naval captain who loved art...

“Ugh...”

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

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

“What?”

A few armed men gathered around them.

“It seems her stomach hurts.”

“Just a stomach ache? Leave it alone.”

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

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

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

“What do we do? The Head is...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then, I guess it’s okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, he told you to use this.”

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

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

“                              .”

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

“It’ll be over soon.”

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

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

“Woman it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She runs quick.”

“Ha?”

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

“Hey, shut this dude up.”

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

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

“So, what’re you saying?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——Everything goes around.

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

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

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

Not love, passion, attachment, desire, anything.

“Captain.”

There was nothing, but one thing was for certain.

“Captain Bougainvillea.”

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

“I have just returned. Are you unharmed?”

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is summer, after all.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About what happened...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll take you home.”

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

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

“No need.”

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

“I cannot accept your command.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Defend’, you say?”

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

“What do you do out there?”

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

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

——When did you become like that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——I wanna go back.

Not even he knew where to.

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

He was not annoyed.

——O God, I want to...

But painfully miserable.

“Captain.”

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

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

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

“How was I today?”

“What?”

“Did my work earn your satisfaction today?”

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

“What do you want to say?”

Silence.

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

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

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

“I...”

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

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

“What d’you mean by ‘debt’?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——I also threw her away.

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

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

This woman.

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

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

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

This woman possessed an element that transmuted people.

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

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

“I do not know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

“Captain, what will you do?”

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

“A painting or Major?”

“That’s right.”

“May I go see it?”

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

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

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

[novelconcepts]

I love your filling in of the moonflower scene. Just the tenderness of it all 🥺

Do you think you might write a short piece about Dani finding the first grey in Jamie‘s hair in the future? Every time I see the gifsets of Jamie‘s (very sexy) grey strands I have to think about Dani‘s possible reaction

Jamie doesn’t tend to notice these things--little changes in her own appearance, little alterations made by the simple passage of time. Her attention, she scoffs when Dani laughs over her failing to pick up on a burr caught in her hair after a trip to the park, is better suited to other things. “World’s big,” she says, tilting her head to allow Dani to comb the remnants of whatever tree she’d walked beneath from her curls. “Why should I go wasting time starin’ at my own damn face?”

“Because it’s a good face,” Dani tells her. She doesn’t add that Jamie’s face, like everything about her, makes more sense than the rest of the world. That nothing about Jamie seems to come out of nowhere--every scrape and scar is accounted for with a story, every wrinkle turned out from the edge of her lips or around her eyes sparked by the familiarity of her frown, the inevitability of her smile. Everything about Jamie can be traced back to the honesty of time spent in the sun, or injuries incurred at work, or letting another year stroke its fingers across her skin. 

She notices the first gray hair maybe five years in. They’re on a camping trip, small tent pitched just upshore of a gently lapping brook; Jamie, crouched beside the water to inspect a turtle, looks up with a grin, and Dani notes a flash of silver at the crown of her head.

She doesn’t point it out. It’s too easy to anticipate Jamie’s amused drawl: “Got a gorgeous beast right here, and you’re worried about my hair?” She tucks the knowledge safely away, entertained by the idea that Jamie is carrying a secret upon her own head and has no idea.

She says nothing, but her fingers seek out the unexpected silver the next time Jamie comes close enough. She trails her hand through rumpled hair, watching the familiar warmth of brown cascade across her skin, pleased to find several more bursts of light wound in among the dark.

“What?” Jamie asks, smile crooking the way it always does when she senses Dani is about to poke fun. “Bein’ a weirdo again.”

“Am not,” Dani replies, and kisses her. 

It becomes a bit of a private game, an amusing turn of events: Jamie, the most naturally-observant human being in the world, has absolutely no idea she’s shot through with unexpected arcs of silver. No idea at all. At first, Dani thinks she’s intentionally ignoring the color leaching out of her hair; a flash of memory spirals back, Judy plucking what she called my little secret out by the strand and holding a finger to her lips as she reached for a box of red dye. Heavy maintenance is very much not Jamie’s speed, but maybe turning her cheek and feigning ignorance achieves the same goal.

A month goes by. A year. They’re turning up on their own time, these pops of colorless strands standing stark against dark waves, and Dani takes it upon herself to brush her fingers across each one she finds. She likes very much the depth they bring to Jamie’s hair, the way the sun catches a little differently when she turns her head. Likes the knowledge that each strand is a stamp of memory--proof of time spent. 

Likes, most of all, that Jamie legitimately seems to have no idea. Jamie, who tugs a black elastic band off her wrist with her teeth, raking the messy tumble out of her eyes, perpetually annoyed with the curls that always seem to evade her hands. Jamie, who spends hours with a book in one hand and Dani’s hair sifting through her fingers, and still has absolutely no clue what’s happening on her own head.

“You’ve never cared, have you?” Dani asks one afternoon, watching Jamie sort through their spectacular collection of cassette tapes, little plastic cases clicking comfortably to break up the quiet. Jamie, cross-legged on the living room rug with Survivor’s Vital Signs in one hand and REO Speedwagon’s Hi Infidelity in the other, raises her eyebrows.

“Seemed silly to go alphabetical while they were multiplying like fuckin’ bunnies, but now we’ve slowed down a little--”

“About looks,” Dani corrects. She’s hanging half off the couch, the tips of her fingers brushing Jamie’s knee. Life has been getting less predictable lately, messier around the edges; she looks into mirrors with breath held tight in her lungs, uncertain of what will look back. Touching Jamie has become less about habit and more a matter of lifeline. “You’ve never cared about how you look. Maybe the only woman I’ve ever known to say that.”

“I care,” Jamie says, with very little defensiveness. It is astonishing sometimes, looking back at the woman she’d met in that manor kitchen, how little defense Jamie seems to have for her these days. Questions are met in good faith, answered in kind, like Jamie knows there’s nothing Dani could ask that would intentionally bear teeth. “Care when I need to.”

“Like when?”

“At the shop,” Jamie says, tossing aside a Paul Simon cassette with a wrinkle of her nose. She finds Pat Benatar instead, sets it in the pile between The Beatles and Blondie. “Always look professional, don’t I?”

“But you don’t like--think about it? What you’ll look like in twenty years? Or fifty?”

“Fifty, Christ.” Jamie rolls back her head, grinning. “Be a hell of a thing, stacking fifty more years on. What d’you think you’ll look like in fifty years, mm?”

Dani doesn’t answer. It’s too early to tell what the smudged face in the mirror might mean--too early to panic--but the idea of fifty years more with Jamie seems terrifyingly unlikely. 

“Anyway.” Seeming to sense her unease, Jamie rocks up onto her knees, awkwardly shifting across the rug to lean against the couch. She braces a hand behind Dani’s head, her eyebrow arched. “You tryin’ to say I don’t pay enough attention to my looks? I don’t scrub up enough for you, is that it?”

Her fingers brush Dani’s ribs, digging in just hard enough to tickle. Dani squirms, laughter burbling out against Jamie’s neck. 

She doesn’t bring it up again, preferring the secret of Jamie’s slowly graying hair held within her own heart. The threads are becoming more insistent as the years drift by, joining tiny lines etched into Jamie’s skin. Her hands, put through so much work, are comfortably worn at knuckle and fingertip. Her smile pulls the skin around her eyes a little tighter as they celebrate eight years--nine--ten. 

She looks good with the extra age, Dani thinks. She wears it all so well, without pausing to prod at herself in the bathroom mirror; if she’s the least bit unnerved by the passage of time, she never lets it show. If Dani didn’t know better, she’d think Jamie never really looks at herself in the mirror at all. 

Too busy looking at me, she thinks, and tries not to ache at the idea that Jamie has forgotten herself beneath the need to keep her attention on what she considers more important things. Like watching for one of Dani’s moods to spike up in public. Like waiting for Dani’s shoulders to hunch against ghosts only she can see. 

Dani doesn’t look into mirrors herself much these days, either--though, every once in a while, a glimpse will sneak up. Just the barest flash of her own face in the passenger mirror of the car, or the idling bathwater. Sometimes--less and less often--the face waiting is even her own. 

It is so her own, those days, that Dani finds herself embracing a new concern. Something odd, something she’s only started to really see in recent memory. 

Jamie is starting to show her age, little by little. Not all at once, not in any way that is strange for a woman creeping into her forties--but the years are there, certainly, stamped gently into her skin. The years are threaded through her hair, these silver pops around which Dani’s hands seem to take on a mind of their own. There’s something wonderful, lively, even sexy about the way time is impacting Jamie--grounding her a little more every year, the natural wearing of all those hours hung like medals around her shoulders. 

Dani, catching sight of herself in the bathtub, can’t help but notice: no one could say the same for her. Not that time is beating away at her, not that time is turning her to stone before she’s ready--but that time appears to be doing nothing at all. Her eyes bear no extra marks, though she has spent just as much time as Jamie laughing, frowning, holding her breath as the world spins beneath her. Her hands look just the same as they had in 1987. 

Her hair is still stubbornly gold.

“Do you think it’s strange?” she whispers one night--not entirely sure if Jamie is even awake, not sure she can even bear the answer Jamie might give. 

“What is?”

She swallows hard, fingers carding gently through Jamie’s hair. The gray seems to gleam in the glow of the streetlamp through their window. 

“That I’m not...that I don’t look...”

Jamie pushes onto one elbow, peering at her in the dark. “You look like you,” she says, when Dani is unable to press on. “You look like Dani.”

She’s trying to answer the other question, Dani understands, the one being asked with greater frequency: am I here? am I me? what if I’m her, deep down, and have been all along? She shakes her head. 

“That’s not...I’m not...”

Jamie waits, brow knit the way it always has when she’s listening. Even when her expression smooths out into sleep, that small divot will remain, etched into her skin like a tattoo memorializing all these late-night conversations. Dani reaches up, presses her thumb gently to it now, her breath hitching when Jamie turns to kiss her palm. 

“It’s nothing,” she says. There’s no way to explain it without making Jamie worry more, worry again, lose yet more sleep watching for signs Dani is slipping away.

Jamie nods slowly, not quite believing, not quite daring to call out the lie. “All right,” she says, and the silver in her hair seems to burn, and Dani loves her enough to close her eyes and pretend everything is okay.

When morning comes, she wards off the thoughts. It’s easier, in daylight. Easier to turn her head, fix her eyes on Jamie, allow the familiarity of Jamie’s hands, smile, kiss sweep the fear back under the bed. The nights are long, the dark heavier than it has any right to be, but in sunlight, Jamie shines. The chain around her neck--the colors in her eyes--the silver shot through her hair. In sunshine, Jamie is the most alive any person can be.

And if she is, so must Dani be--because there is so much love in the way Jamie tips into her arms, so much affection in the sweep of her kiss, in the way she leads them around the kitchen in an impromptu waltz. Jamie, as always, burning away the shadows. 

Jamie, who dips her backward, drinking in her laughter with the biggest grin in the world. Who cuts her eyes to the right. Who tightens her mouth in surprise.

“Hang on,” she says, her hands still braced at Dani’s back and hip. “What the fuck is this?”

Dani’s heart gives a giant leap, her hands clutching at Jamie’s shirt for balance. This is it, she thinks. She can see her now. She can see her, not me, and it’s over, it’s all over, it’s--

“Dani.” Jamie is frowning, easing her back to her feet. She crouches down, gazing into the window of the oven. One hand rises to her head, her brow furrowed.

She sees her, Dani thinks, backing toward the sink. She sees her, and--

“Jesus, how long has my hair looked like that?” 

She blinks, shaking the panic away. “What?”

Jamie is looking at her, almost awestruck, her face clean and younger than usual with the last vestiges of sleep clinging to her eyes. “All that gray. Knew there were one or two, but--”

Dani is laughing. Leaning back against the counter, the mirth spilling out of her, she laughs. Jamie, straightening up with a low groan--her knees pop audibly, her head shaking--looks bewildered.

“Suppose you thought you’d just wait,” she says dryly, “and see if I ever noticed?”

Dani nods, cackling too hard to answer. It’s become so normal, counting the bright bursts amid Jaime’s natural hair color; she’s honestly forgotten Jamie ever didn’t have these silver sparks. Every inch of her, from the crow’s feet etched near her eyes to the tiny scars on her hands, is quite simply home. 

Jamie is plainly trying to look grumpy now, her hand tangling her hair. With Dani giggling like this, unable to catch her breath, she isn’t doing a very good job.

“Been this way a while?”

“Years,” Dani giggles. “Since I proposed. Before.”

Jamie rolls her eyes, slouching the two steps it takes to reach the counter and Dani’s shaking frame. “You,” she says in a mock-irritated tone, “are supposed to help with these things.”

“With what?” Dani brushes the hair back from her eyes. “You’re beautiful. And more than that, you’re...stately.”

“Stately,” Jamie repeats with a snort. “Haven’t heard that one. That’s a Hannah word, if ever there was one.”

They sober, just a little, the appropriate affection offered to memory. Jamie’s head bows against her own, her nose brushing Dani’s lightly. 

“I like it,” Dani says, her voice soft. “I like watching it happen. Like growing old...”

She trails off. She isn’t growing old, is the thing. Isn’t changing. Is as incontrovertible as a lake set into ancient grounds. She is not growing old at all.

Jamie’s fingers curl around her chin, tipping her head back. “Growing old together,” she says, firmly. Not denial, exactly--just certainty. Jamie, imposing her will on a world that tries so hard to have its own way with them both. 

“Growing old together,” Dani repeats, and even if it isn’t true in the strictest sense--even if it doesn’t look like it should--she knows Jamie believes it. Knows Jamie will fight tooth and nail to make the universe bend around her love. 

There are things, Jamie believes, that are natural. Organic. Exactly as they should be. There are things that can’t be changed by dreams, whims, magic spells. 

They will grow old together. That is, Jamie believes, the way the world works. The way it has always been and will always be. Jamie’s hair grows silver. Jamie’s skin etches with lines. Jamie’s hands are solid in her own, though she sometimes bends her fingers with a grimace, rubs her wrists when the weather angles toward snow. 

They will grow old together. For Jamie, there is simply no other consideration to be made.

“I like it,” Dani repeats, fingering the nearest strand of gray. “It’s distinguished.”

Jamie, shaking her head, is grinning as she leans in for a kiss.

[benevolent-savage]

this is what happens when u enable me lets go

(spoilers ahoy)

Firstly, here’s some somewhat miscellaneous reasons that don’t contribute to any sort of narrative analysis but are still parts of the character I like.

His boss fight is my favorite in the game thus far. It’s not super hard, but it isn’t super easy either, and I even managed to solo it on my Balance after a few practice rounds. Sufficiently challenging without feeling unfair.

His boss fight music. It is a bop and a half, go give it a listen, my soul ascends from my body a few centimeters every time I hear it start up.

His voice. I’m sure it’s processed at least a little but gotdamn his voice is so deep and spooky it startled me when I first heard it. Very curious who his actor is; I think he and Inyanga Whitestripes share the same one. Either way, very well voiced and acted.

His design is very good. It’s the perfect mix of innocuous but also spooky sorcerer fella who knows some shit. And I was afraid that the designers would try and make him like. Handsome? Under the hood? To try and make him more sympathetic? But they didn’t and I’m glad for it.

With those out of the way, the next thing to establish, I guess: I don’t interpret Old Cob to be the main villain of arc 3, nor do I interpret Raven as such. They’re definitely antagonists, but they’re not the ultimate problem; the ultimate problem is their divorce, and how they keep dragging people into their bs. It’s established the Aethyr is a physical manifestation of their anger towards each other, and as it thins, communication between them becomes possible, as Sparck puts it in this thinly veiled metaphor toward the start of Empyrea part 2.

But Cob’s still an antagonist and I love him so I’m gonna talk about that. Most of this is going to be talking about his motivations for doing what he does, since I don’t see him quite as the ‘likes to watch the world burn for the hell of it’ archetype that others might.

One of the reasons that drew me to his character is how legit his gripe is, when put in perspective. Old Cob- or Grandfather Spider, if you prefer- is not a mortal like the other antagonists of previous arcs, which establishes he has a different thought process right off the bat. This new universe was built on his suffering and he has a grudge against the ex wife who made it, so as a god, it makes some sense he’d try to destroy it and build one he would like better. He’s fully aware that what he is doing will hurt people but decidedly doesn’t care, and I appreciate that so much. He’s chaotic as fuck and he owns it, along with his superiority complex that’s as wide as the day is long.

Yet his reasoning is like. Weirdly understandable? Like, if my ex-whatever put me in jail for a lifetime sentence and stole my kidney to pay for a new house or something, I too would go apeshit and want my fuckin kidney back. That’s mostly how I interpret his situation. He’s not doing this for hell of it, he’s doing it because he wants to get back at his ex because he’s bitter and petty and for the most part he knows this but he feels justified in doing do because she ripped out his goddamn kidney- I mean heart, and he wants that back.

And then, even after all that, he and his magic are treated as if they’re inherently evil. While, sure, Shadow is a ‘dark magic’, its actual properties aren’t anything malicious by itself. It is described as “a magic that changes reality,” and that’s it. Incredibly exploitable and you should practice caution while handling it, but used correctly it is powerful and helpful; this is likely alluding to the backlash mechanic, where likes decrease the percent of damage you take, dislikes increase the percent, and I imagine the person meant to be the literal embodiment of the magic in question to be similar in nature: not inherently harmful and lashes out if he feels he’s been mistreated.

Going off that, I’m not sure he ever wanted the FirstWorld to be destroyed, and therefore believes his incarceration to be entirely unjust; he doesn’t deny that he instigated the fight between the Titans, but when it comes to being accused of its actual destruction, he gets angry.

...Okay the written text doesn’t really display how mad he got here, but he was like. Big Angy. Super offended. Honestly, a big part of why I love and analyze the hell out of his character comes from how his VA delivers his lines and his voice in general. If you haven’t heard it for some reason, I recommend looking it up. Anyway, here he’s basically saying he didn’t destroy the First World, and even if he did, he’s suffered enough punishment because of it, to my interpretation. The only one I remember blaming him for it is Raven; Bartleby was there, and I don’t recall him blaming anything other than the Titans for it. This is of course not accounting for the various changes made to the lore since he was introduced, but they could have easily thrown in a line like ‘And now Spider plans to destroy the Spiral the way he destroyed the FirstWorld!’ or something to make it clear it was done intentionally.

And this may very well be straying into headcanon territory here, but I think he holds positive relationships very closely to him, even if things went sour in the end; he clearly still has some remaining affection for the Titans, calling them ‘the children’ and being incredibly angry at Raven for forcing one of them to destroy his Heart.

When Rat loses in Polaris he shows up to praises his efforts and even comfort him, in his own weird way. He reprimanded Scorpion in Mirage, but it’s because Scorpion wasn’t doing what his dad asked him to and got his ass kicked as a result. As for Bat, every time they’re in the same room together he pays him some sort of compliment.

Bat claims that he and his brothers are meant to be his tools, and to some extent that’s true, but he also genuinely cares about them, and it’s really interesting to see a villain defect from the usual ‘not caring about anyone other than themselves’ and openly show affection for his kids while still managing to be an incredible asshole.

In line with this is his relationship with the Wizard. There is, of course, a foundation of manipulation to their dynamic, at least to some degree. I thoroughly believe that Spider was overshadowing Coleridge, at least partly, so our character could bust him out of prison.

And while this is happening, he regains some of his spent power and removes threats to it as well, namely Morganthe, using the Wizard’s help. In fact, I have very little doubt that he was at least partially responsible for her fall; his timing on that two-liner was too on the nose.

But even with that, I think he genuinely treasures the Wizard’s help and company, which is why he attempts on four different occasions to either sway them to his side, or warn them away from what he’s doing.

Boy, I want that vacation, but it’s your fault I’m here.

And then, of course, his relationship with Raven, something that is basically a summation of his character arc. Laden with baggage and tragic in concept, it is my belief that most of what he’s doing isn’t because he genuinely hates the Spiral or he wants to get back at her, but because he loved her and treasured their relationship; so upon her mistreating him, he lashed out at everything she’d made and detested it as a result. But only because he felt betrayed and hurt so he has to inflict that on other people because he is, as aforementioned, a petty and bitter old fuck.

Moving off that line of thinking, an admirable quality he possesses is how smart he is. This guy has so many wrinkles in his brain it must look like a raisin. Well, perhaps not ‘smart’ exactly, but how good he is at manipulating certain situations to his advantage. Like in Mirage; you just know that he was fully expecting Mellori to be there and fully planned to use her as a back up plan, or you could even argue that the whole debacle in Mirage was a ploy to get his hands on her, while having the added possible benefit of things actually working out.

Actually his scheme in Mirage was really interesting now that I think about it. His aim was to turn back time to when the FirstWorld was whole, further implying that he never wanted its destruction in the first place. It would also, of course, be a time where he had his Heart and would have the ability to avoid having it ripped out again. This would involve not having the Titans fight each other again, or at least not starting it and suffering the consequences. It would be everything he wanted to achieve knocked out in one go with minimal muss or fuss, compared to other methods. It’s probably a part of why he shows up personally to bargain with Eerkala and the Cabal, and why he directly intervenes in our Wizard’s efforts to stop him; it was too important to trust to any of his kids, so knowing Scorpion probably wouldn’t have been able to execute it anyway, he used his kid as a distraction for the most part.

I also like looking into the fact that his element, besides Shadow, is Storm, as opposed to pure Shadow or Death, as most major antagonists are. Storm is a school based on invention, experimentation and improvement. This is something that interests me for two reasons: one, the magic of major antagonists is always a part of their character, Malistaire the most blatantly, and two, because of this line he says in Mirage.

To my interpretation, this would imply that he sees the Spiral as something that could be improved. And as a god, he would of course find it his obligation to try and fix this flaw. When he made the barter with the Cabal, I don’t doubt he was being at least partially honest about restoring the FirstWorld; it would certainly fix the flaw it has in the context of stealing his internal organs, but he would also probably seek to improve it, make it more suited to Shadow or something.

Something else I find intriguing is how weirdly honest he is; I don’t recall him ever lying to us once, unless you count omitting certain facts as lying. But that’s absolutely something I can see him using against people, like “I didn’t lie to you, I just didn’t tell you, your fault for not asking ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ .” As said before, he;s really good at manipulating people and he weaponizes whatever he can; @that-wizard-oki​ made a really great post about how he uses conflicts- his fault or not- to his advantage, and does his own thing in the background without interruption, Mirage and Neumia probably being the best example of this, with Scorpion and the Cabal serving as distractions while he either carries out things himself or gives instructions.

To pull all of this together narratively, I think it’s important to consider this line from Mellori during one of their confrontations:

He feels powerless, so he puffs up his god status. He has little power to fight with, compared to before, so he mostly manipulates and creates back-up plans while causing conflicts to serve as distractions. His love hurt him, so he lashes out at others and drags them into his problems.

You may ask, “But Sam, these are all bad qualities, why should we like him because of this?” And I would respond “Because it makes him a complex and interesting antagonist.” The kind of character that executes his shitty actions in such a way that you can’t help but respect- even just for the level of dramatics put in to it- while also having a motive that makes you stop and consider that maybe he has a point but is very much handling the situation the wrong way.

Like, c’mon, he ticks so many villain boxes. Tragic backstory? Check. Blatant thespian who owns it? Check. Gets his hands dirty before the climax of the story? Check. Smart/ manipulative/ has back-up plans? Check. Understandable, strong motives? Check.

He’s got layers. Like onion. I felt like there was always something new to discover about him, and for that I can assert my opinion that he’s one of the best characters in Wizard101.

lmao if you read this far into my simp-for-shithead post congrats. feel free to shoot me more asks on the subject bc i cant write persuasive-essay-esque format anymore my brain is rotting. if you will excuse me, im off to listen to the chronoverge combat track for the 82937487734th time

[ginmo]

How do you think the Bran and Jaime’s meeting will go in the books? I’ve read theories guessing he might end up as King Bran’s Hand, meta where the writers want him to become a mentor or father figure to the Starks in a full circle of his redemption arc, while others don’t want or think he should be involved with the Starks long-term either because of his and his family’s sins against the Starks or because they view his arc as reclamation rather than redemption or atonement. 1/2

This is what GRRM said about Bran and exploring time. 

“It's an obscenity to go into somebody's mind. So Bran may be responsible for Hodor's simplicity, due to going into his mind so powerfully that it rippled back through time. The explanation of Bran's powers, the whole questions of time and causality - can we affect the past? Is time a river you can only sail one way or an ocean that can be affected wherever you drop into it? These are issues I want to explore in the book, but it's harder to explain in a show.” - Fire Cannot Kill a Dragon

Hodor’s name reveal is neat and all, but Bran’s power to manipulate the past doesn't exist just so we can randomly learn Hodor’s pointless name origin. That would be ridiculous unless the scene was used to introduce that ability. Hodor’s name reveal is important to the narrative, and I believe its purpose is to set up a much bigger event/reveal involved around Bran interfering with the past, not just observing it. I’m pretty sure GRRM was hint-hinting to D&D about this, which is why he told them about the random ass Hodor scene that was already written, thinking it would be obvious what that means for the overall plot and letting them run with it but………………..

Because of this, I think it’s possible Bran brought himself to where he is. 

IF Bran isn’t involved in The Push, then he could have been involved with Jaime killing the Mad King. I kinda like the idea of Bran playing into Aerys’ madness, causing him to stock up on wildfire around the city, because then the wildfire would be an essential future plot element for a bigger purpose towards the end of the series and it would be a question of time, “a river you can only sail one way, or an ocean that can be affected wherever you drop it,” but for the entire series. (And, as someone with a passion in astrophysics, I’m a sucker for discussions around time. BUTTHAT’SJUSTME) 

Do I totally subscribe to this theory? Eh. I’m still not convinced Bran is King of All of Westeros for reasons, but I’m open-minded. I DO think Jaime is surviving the series, for reasonsssss, so I’m putting that disclaimer out there right now. I will never claim with absolute confidence that he is surviving though because, I mean, nobody fucking knows, and there’s an argument for death. I’m just going off of narrative clues that I perceive to be clues, and taking other character arcs into consideration. After literally drawing up a table because I’m weird, the column for Survive has more evidence and justification than the column for Dies, so that’s why I lean the way I lean. SO with that being said, I think it’s possible he has more of a political future.

IF this is what GRRM is writing, Jaime would still be responsible for pushing him, of course, but future Bran would want to be pushed. He'd be setting everything in motion to create the butterfly effect that makes it happen. 

Even if that isn’t what GRRM had intended with exploring time, it’s highly likely Bran’s character development is taking him down a path of apathy over it, meaning he wouldn’t be needing Jaime to do something for the purpose of redemption for him. 

Speaking of Redemption…

-deep breath-

I’m going to go off on this a bit because it IS relevant, I swear. 

“Limits of redemption” is probably the biggest wtf interpretation fandom has when it comes to what GRRM actually said. I’ll try not to go off on it too much here but -

Interviewer: Both Jaime and Cersei are clearly despicable in those moments. Later, though, we see a more humane side of Jaime when he rescues a woman, who had been an enemy, from rape. All of a sudden we don’t know what to feel about Jaime.

GRRM: One of the things I wanted to explore with Jaime, and with so many of the characters, is the whole issue of redemption. When can we be redeemed? Is redemption even possible? I don’t have an answer. But when do we forgive people? [...]  I want there to be a possibility of redemption for us, because we all do terrible things. We should be able to be forgiven. Because if there is no possibility of redemption, what’s the answer then?  [x]

I bolded “we” from the interviewer, because it gives context to GRRM’s answer with “we” being the readers, not the characters or Jaime himself. (I think there’s another interview where he says “limits of redemption” but it’s in the same context. I could be wrong but I SWEAR I heard it. Anyway…) 

“I kind of tried to ask, ‘do you think he’s changed?’ to get him to talk about Jaime’s redemption arc, so he said something like he wanted to explore the concept of forgiveness and whether it’s possible to be forgiven for doing such horrible things, and that his goal was to ask the question, not give an answer.” [x]

Fandom thinks this is the characters giving Jaime forgiveness, and maybe there will be a small element of that in the books, but the question is for the readers. No, Jaime is not actively seeking redemption from people. His redemption is for himself, through living his best life, by rediscovering the person he used to be. Yes He Will Be Redeemed and No He Will Fail assume redemption is some arbitrary checklist determined by One Big Act, and they’re answers to a question GRRM doesn’t want to give an answer to. 

The purpose of Jaime’s POVs is to ask the readers, and the most obvious moment of this was the bath scene. GRRM smacks us over the head with the Aerys confession, and then as we’re introduced to more and more of his POV chapters, he slowly chips away at the Jaime illusion that was intentionally established the moment he pushed one of the perceived child protagonists out of a window. It’s brilliant, and I’m sorry GRRM that a large chunk of your fandom is too dense to get it. How frustrating lol. I’ll be insulted for him. (I’m legit wondering if his recent angsty tweets about grey and redemption about real life stem from a concern that his fandom won’t understand the point of the series.) 

To give you an idea of where these people are coming from, at least one BNF idiot on Twitter believes redemption hasn’t been explored with Jaime yet. 

But uh… 

GRRM mentioned his intent is to “explore redemption” after delivering Jaime POVs, because... it’s... not a spoiler… he’s already exploring redemption, because the question is being asked TO US. We were supposed to have an “oh shit” moment, realizing this is more complex than the surface level, biased perspective we were delivered at the beginning of the story. “Maybe Westeros and my protagonist have it wrong.” -cough- the people in the village in BatB -cough- 

No matter how much fandom likes to pretend they love GRRM for pushing the boundaries of fantasy, they secretly fucking hate it. They love to be comfortable, dude. That’s why they read this series as if it’s a clear cut Good vs. Evil, because a) ego and b) that’s easy. If GRRM was writing Jaime as doing everything with ill intent then…. his… question isn’t being asked. They think everything he does right now is selfish and Bad, so they’re waiting. They want it spoon fed to them. They want classic fantasy. They want Starks = Good, Lannisters = Bad. 

But… if the author sees Jaime’s actions as grey and complex, enough to ask the question to the readers if he’s redeemed in their eyes or not, then he’s not going to write an endgame that punishes the character for narrative payoff, because he doesn’t see his actions as “sins” or “crimes” in the same way that these people are. Once upon a time, a person on tumblr reblogged one of my posts and said that Jaime will rape Cersei before he kills himself and that will be his endgame. But GRRM doesn’t view Jaime as a rapist, so he’s not going to write Jaime as a rapist. I’m bringing that up, because it’s the same phenomenon. People can ignore authorial intent all they want, but NOT when it comes to predicting narrative trajectory. The general fandom is terrible at that lol. 

The exploration of redemption for Jaime comes in the form of confronting his disillusioned self and everything attached to it. Before someone thinks, “lolllll he isn’t disillusioned” 

 “he actually was a very idealistic young man who was disillusioned by life” [x]

Jaime’s redemption is the path of returning to that idealistic man for himself. It’s by feeling ashamed of the things he’s done to hide his love for Cersei. It’s by gaining independence and detaching from the toxic relationship that caused a mess outside of them. It’s by wanting to be like the knights he admired in his youth, and like the woman warrior that inspired him. 

So when I think about narrative payoff for Jaime, I don’t see it framed as him being “punished” for actions viewed as “crimes,” when GRRM clearly established those “crimes” as complicated and grey with a character already going through some positive development, and especially when the characters judging are written to be flawed as well.

On the other side, having him be “punished” by succumbing to hatred and anger is for sure giving an answer (this just… -sits on hands- don’t even get me started on THIS fucking hot take). That answer would be a clear, solid, “No, no matter how hard he tries to turn his life around, he can’t be redeemed, because he’s a hateful, angry, fucked up person.” I’ve legit seen people think “limits of redemption” is a boundary of redemption drawn in the sand that Jaime is walking towards but he won’t be able to cross it. I-......................... 

And what’s even the point of his handchop if scenario number 2 happens?  

“And Jaime, losing a hand, losing the very thing he defined himself on is crucial to where I think I want to go with the character. And he questions what do you make of yourself if you’ve lost that.” - GRRM [x]

(I’m going to put this quote in every post sorry not sorry) 

So he’s going to take Jaime on this big identity journey just for him to be like “lol nah he isn’t that” …?? That makes the loss of his hand meaningless, not “crucial.” Is it really crucial for him to lose his hand if he’s bringing him back to the beginning? Is it really crucial for him to lose his hand to make himself realize he’s hateful and a failure and murder Cersei and then himself? No. He could have still met Brienne and been inspired by her knightly ways, attempted to live a better life, found out about Cersei’s affairs, etc. He doesn’t need to lose his hand to reach a point of fucking murder/suicide lmao fuck (not saying he’ll do that but I KNOW people are thinking it). 

The loss of his hand is “crucial,” because GRRM has bigger endgame plans for him in the form of politics, and the journey to believably get there requires the forced loss of his warrior identity and everything that the hand symbolized. 

AS FOR THE ACTUAL HAND THEORY...

Even though I’m undecided on it, I CAN see it IF Bran is King. I get it. Jaime’s missing his right Hand, he becomes the Hand to the kid he pushed out the window. Hardy har har. I understand how that would be pleasing.

And we all know GRRM said something about how the best ones for power are the ones who don’t want it…  

And… this suspicious scene at the very beginning of the series… 

“You should be the Hand.” 

“Gods forbid,” a man’s voice replied lazily. “It’s not an honor I’d want. There’s far too much work involved.” 

Bran hung, listening, suddenly afraid to go on. -AGOT

BUT IF that happens, it wouldn’t be there as some sort of #atonement #forredemption. It would be there because of Jaime’s growth as a character after developing into a political player, after asking himself, “what do you make of yourself if you’ve lost [the swordhand]?” He’s no longer the warrior he once was. He dislikes any sort of political position, because he feels most alive with a sword in his hand. But that was Warrior Jaime, and the point of “what do you make of yourself after you’ve lost that” is Jaime going down a different path after discovering that Warrior Jaime has died. I mean, he’d never be actively seeking power and thinking it’s the best career ever, like he’d probably be all -sighhhhhhh- about it, but he’d be doing the responsible thing and what’s necessary. He’d make himself useful in a new way. 

“The Warrior had been Jaime’s god since he was old enough to hold a sword. Other men might be fathers, sons, husbands, but never Jaime Lannister, whose sword was as golden as his hair. He was a warrior, and that was all he would ever be.” - AFFC (Do I really need to make a post about how GRRM foreshadows? Mr. Bran: “I never fall”...?)

Jaime losing his hand was the narrative consequence for The Push, making all of his development post handchop -ALL OF HIS POVS- the redemption theme. It was the hand that pushed Bran, fucked his twin, killed his king, swung the sword against fandom’s Precious Protagonists… 

“You ought to be pleased. I’ve lost the hand I killed the king with. The hand that flung the Stark boy from that tower. The hand I’d slide between my sister’s thighs to make her wet.” - AFFC

So if Jaime becomes his Hand, it would be the two characters meeting in the middle, not Jaime groveling at his feet, begging for forgiveness, framed as a punishment for sins - “sins” that fandom views as “sins” that need narrative payoff, because they don’t understand intent. 

[sageyrage]

My End and My Beginning

This was written as my first collab piece as well as my first MHA fic! The collab is Afterlife, so please check out other amazing works here: Afterlife Collab Masterlist

I know that many people don’t like when writers put their OCs in because they want to place themselves in the scenario. However there’s a particular flow I wanted to share that required my OC to be part of the story. For this tale, please take note that my OC’s quirk is Hallucination, and I have included descriptors of attacks and weaponry that I have come up with for my OC. However, I intentionally left in “Y/N”, they/them pronouns and other descriptors for readers to add in so as to not completely ruin the story for Kirishima x reader.

***TRIGGER WARNING***

Mentions & Implications: Death

Smoke stung Kirishima’s eyes as he squinted to see where the attackers ran. Explosions, and varying colors of green and yellow electrified the skies as he heard his friends yell out their attacks. He pressed on, focused on finding the enemies that destroyed the city block. Amidst the yells for help and battle cries, he ran until he cornered his prey. Sharp shark-like teeth gleamed in his grin as his bulky shadow covered the wall of the alley. The man before Kirishima showed no fear as he grew, his body quickly covering with coarse, dense fur while a long tail grew. The head of the man transformed into that of a wolf and a loud howl pierced the darkness. The man growled at Kirishima exposing sharp fangs of his own before crouching into a fighting stance, ready to take on the unbreakable hero.

The two hulking men charged at each other and collided in a cacophony of thuds, growls and struggled grunts. Red Riot bulldozed the wolfman against the building, the hardening of his body keeping the snapping jowls of the other at bay. Back and forth, the battle of the braun went, both men clearly exhausted though neither would give up. “Why won’t you quit already?!” Kirishima grunted through his jagged teeth. The two pushed against each other; teeth, spit, sweat and determination fueled the duel until the wolfman jumped back from Kirishima with a yelp. His bloodshot eyes bulged as his paws swiped frantically at his fur. Yelps turned into terrified screams as his quirk dissolved and revealed the flesh of the man. Nails scraped and slashed at his skin, trying to remove whatever illusion he saw on his body. Kirishima turned his head to the darkness of the alley just as a shadow darker than black stepped forward.

A hood was pulled back to reveal a seemingly floating head, E/C eyes smiled at the red-haired hero. “I thought you could use some help, Red Riot. You good?” Kirishima nodded while the panic-stricken werewolf thrashed on the ground in front of them. “He going to be ok?” The vantablack clad figure nodded. “Fur or no fur, he’s really afraid of ticks. Dynamight, Deku, and Chargebolt have the others rounded up. I’m going to do search and rescue. I’ll see you after!” A gloved hand gently cupped the rough edges of Kirishima’s face. A soft ‘I love you’ whispered at him before throwing the hood over their head and boots quickly carried the hero away. Red Riot chuckled before turning to the wailing villain and pulling him to his feet and dragged him to the waiting police cars. Seeing Y/N’s cape fluttering against the dirty yellowed building, he called out. “H/N! BE SAFE!” Y/N turned and lifted the hood of the cape to blow Kirishima a kiss before ducking into the darkened building, with only the echo of thumping boots along the floor to indicate they were there at all.

Inside the ruins was an eerie stillness. Removing the hood, Y/N shone the flashlight to watch for obstacles ahead. Faint cries lead Y/N to part of the building that was dangerously crumbling, and their voice reverberating through the exposed beams and concrete. “I’m here! I’m going to get you out, don’t worry! Everything’s going to be okay!” As Y/N sprinted onward, creaking and low rumbling throughout the rubble caused even more destabilization to the wreckage. Still, Y/N continued forward, determined to answer the pained cries of the innocent.

Tremors caused heroes and police to lose their footing and stumble as the section of a building tumbled down nearby. Chatter of the officers and stable survivors shook their heads and lamented their losses. Kirishima jogged up to his friends, patting his best friend on the back. “Great job today guys! Hey, where are Deku and H/N?” Bakugou turned around, his wild scarlet eyed friend glared at him with his lip upturned. “That damn nerd is over there talkin’ to the cops and Y/N went into that….oh shit. They were in the part of that building that collapsed. Fuck!” Kirishima’s face paled at his friend’s realization. Panic set in his eyes when he turned to see a haze of dust slowly rising into the air.

Y/N blinked to see the gray of a swirling fog. The atmosphere, not cold nor hot, but… different somehow, like the pressure had been released. “Hello? Eiji? Guys? Where is everyone? What is that light? Is it the way out?” They walked onward, steps echoing around the dizzying gray fog. The silence was deafening and why couldn’t Y/N remember what was happening before ending up in this place?

The rolling fog thinned, and Y/N found themselves in a familiar kitchen. The sizzling and popping sounds of meat in the skillet. Taking the handle in one hand and a spatula in the other, Y/N flipped the cooking ham. Mumbling voices heard in another direction. The TV was on in the other room. A brief glance showed a news blurb of a villain being taken down by H/N and Red Riot. Pulling a plate from a cabinet, food was plated and placed on the table, Kirishima already sitting and ready to eat. “Hey baby! That smells delicious! Thank you for the food!” He smiled up at his Pro Hero partner as Y/N reached out to cup his cheek only to find the image of home overtaken by the grayscale fog. Confusion on their face as they looked around and continued forward. Maybe that light in the distance was the way out. “I must’ve been hit with someone’s weird quirk. Eiji has to be on the other side of that place. Then we can get this straightened out.”

He took off toward the piles of rubble screaming their name. “H/N! Y/N!” The squad of friends followed, equally worried for the fate of their friend. The reverb of Kirishima’s bellows vibrated the breaking walls and bending beams, sending chunks of concrete tumbling around the large pro hero as he ran into the dark space to search for his love. His friends followed close behind until Dynamight held his arms out. “Get back, it’s collapsing! Riot, get back here! Eijirou!”

Fog wisped away and took Y/N to the one of the training areas at UA. Standing before them stood Kirishima, Hagakure, Midoriya, and Bakugou. Aizawa, Ectoplasm, and Gang Orca stood off to the side and watched the students get into battle stances. “Begin!” shouted Gang Orca, and the populated side of the stage rushed forward toward the single combatant. Y/N’s hood blew back as they cried, “Shrouded Sabers!” Two safely capped swords ejected from the void of their sleeves. Y/N gracefully danced around her classmates, the steel of the blades connecting with Bakugou’s gauntlets while their feet connected with the side of Midoriya’s face. “Warp refraction: Say Cheese!” The light bounced off of Hagakure effectively lighting up the training area. With quick thinking, Y/N pulled the hood over their head while reflecting the light from their sword back to her friend. A yell from Invisible Girl, and Y/N bounded backwards, their eyes peeking from the vantablack hood, and watching her classmates drop to the ground with shouts of panic. “Spiders! Get them off get them off get them off!” Hagakure screeched, while Midoriya cried, “No...no! Why?!” Explosions could be heard behind them, Y/N turned in enough time to reflect the light off of the swords into Bakugou’s eyes, causing him to veer over their head. “Ah, dammit Y/N! I’ll kill you!” Kirishima activated his hardening as a sword came down to connect with his shoulder. A hard grip to either arm and Y/N looked up to see a toothy grin just before being flipped over Kirishima’s head and thrown like a ragdoll onto the ground. Unable to sit up, the dust cleared to see the unbreakable hero straddling them and smiling. “Gotcha!” Y/N raised their hands up to hold Kirishima’s face when the scene faded into darkness.

“Y/N? Where are you?” Kirishima stumbled over debris, tripping over exposed pipes, ignoring the falling concrete from the shaking building. He ran the flashlight over the dark area, the light being enveloped into a void that caused him to gasp and run forward. “Y/N! I’m here baby. I’m here.” He removed the hood to see a mass of H/C hair sticky with sweat and blood covering eyes that were closed and holding a tranquil look of sleep. He cupped their warm face, tears streaming down his dirtied cheeks. He barely heard the voices of his friends when another assault of stone came crashing down.

Gray fog eventually gave way to gray walls of a hospital. Walking along the corridors, Y/N weaved around people, careful not to touch anyone. Hurried nurses heading to check on the multitudes of patients, and doctors on their way to various floors ready to save lives. Y/N wandered floor by floor, greeting and speaking to some they knew. Upon entering one floor, the void hero saw the backs of their friends’ heads before turning eyes to the door they waited near. Reading the red haired hero’s name, Y/N burst into the room, only to find Kirishima not in the bed. Taken aback and exiting the room, Y/N snuck from the prying eyes of their friends to seek out their love, finally finding him staring out a nearby window, drink in hand.

“Hey tall, red, and handsome.” Kirishima swiveled at the sound of a familiar voice, his face immediately lighting up the rest of the hall. He scooped up his partner and spun them into a tight hug, splattering his drink all over the floor. “Apparently you’re happy to see me!”

“Of course I’m happy to see my best babe! Don’t worry, I haven’t been waiting here for long. Just had a few bumps and scratches. They wanted to keep me for observation but I’m fine. Hey… you wanna sneak out of here? No one knows where I am!” A happy Kirishima beamed as he took another long drink from the can he held. Y/N held up a hand to cup his cheek and smiled at the contact. Bringing his face down for a kiss, Y/N shed a tear of joy, excited to be reunited once again.

The unbreakable hero held out his arm, delighted that Y/N threaded their small arm through his. Y/N laughed and nodded. “Let’s go home, big red. I’ll make dinner tonight.” Neither of them heard the panicked voices of their friends around the corner as nurses ran into Kirishima’s room with a crash cart.

[dioptre-hertz]

Pathologic 2 ending thoughts

i don’t really use tumblr much anymore, but i recently finished Pathologic 2 and i have thoughts on the ending, which i felt was somewhat incongruous with the rest of the game’s themes and ideas. and tumblr felt like the right place to put a long-form post about it. so, here i am, haha!

MAJOR spoilers for Pathologic 2 below, obviously. this post will probably only be interesting to you if you’ve already played the game, so if you haven’t, be warned! hehehe!

okay, so. i have a lot of thoughts about the ending stuff, but basically it boils down to: i think the ending as presented would have been a good ending for a different game.

quick summary: towards the end of the game, Artemy learns that the Polyhedron, a physics-defying tower and architectural wonder, is rooted into the ground with a long metal spike that pierces the Living Earth. destroying the Polyhedron would therefore open a gaping wound in the Earth, spilling rivers of blood that could be used to mass-produce a cure for the plague. however, doing so would not only destroy the Polyhedron, but also kill the Living Earth, and by extension the Kin. alternately, Artemy can choose to preserve the Polyhedron, which would prevent the Living Earth from bleeding out and dying; but it would come at the cost of the lives of everyone in the town, since the plague would then be unstoppable.

so, the ending choice is principally about this: you have to choose between preserving the magical wonders of the world, the Kin and the Polyhedron and the Living Earth, but at the expense of the actual living humans of the town; or, you save the town and all its mundanities and its ordinary people you've worked so hard to protect, but at the expense of your cultural heritage and all the magical, impossible things of the Steppe. do you choose a world that is dreamlike, enchanted and strange, even if there is no place for regular humans in that world; or do you choose an ordinary, realistic world, one in which there is life for common folk but not for magic and fairy tales?

here’s what irks me though: this dichotomy is not at all what the game is about. or, to be more precise, it never felt to me personally like this was what the narrative was setting up. the choice as presented is fine in a vacuum! there’s nothing wrong with telling a story that creates this kind of clash between magic and realism, and asks you to choose between them. but it doesn’t feel congruous with the rest of the game’s story. let me elaborate.

so, part of what’s going on here is that the game is asking you to make a sacrifice. as the game itself repeatedly tells you: “you can’t save everyone”. either the Kin, the magical steppe creatures, and the Polyhedron are destroyed; or, the ordinary humans of the town are destroyed. you can’t protect both. Pathologic 2 goes to great lengths to show you that you are not a magical fantasy RPG hero who can complete every quest, rescue every NPC, overcome any obstacle and get the Perfect Ending. that’s the whole point of the overly punishing hunger and exhaustion mechanics; that’s why you die so easily in combat, why you’re always running out of time, and why the game is perfectly willing to punish you for every single mistake you make. it’s not a game about being the chosen one, who has magic powers and is uniquely capable of saving the day. right?

except... it kind of is precisely that, if you think about it. Artemy’s story is very clearly a traditional “chosen one” narrative! he is the sole inheritor of his father’s legacy, he is the town’s only menkhu, and so much of the story revolves around his spiritual journey. over the course of the game, Artemy undergoes a coming-of-age of sorts, reconnecting with his heritage, unlocking the secrets of being a menkhu, brewing magical tinctures that slow down and ultimately cure the plague. multiple characters make it explicit that Artemy is important - Foreman Oyun, Aspity, Isidor, and various minor characters of the Kin (like Nara) all talk at length about how Artemy is special, and his role (should he embrace it) is to lead the Kin once he is ready. and the entire conflict with Rubin revolves around the fact that Rubin isn’t the “chosen one” the way Artemy is!

this whole plot thread reaches its climax when Artemy ventures into the Abattoir to seek answers. there, he undergoes a series of harrowing spiritual experiences. several really important things happen here, and i want to focus on two of them.

firstly: upon reaching the central chamber of the Abattoir, Artemy is tasked with performing “surgery” on three seemingly random objects: a candlestick, a fingernail coin, and a spindle of thread. he has a metaphysical conversation with the odongh he meets there and then “connects” these objects into a living, beating heart, and the heart speaks to him. this scene is either hallucinatory or supernatural (or both), but it doesn’t matter which; the point of the scene is that Artemy has finally learned to read the Lines, learned to see how seemingly disparate objects can be spiritually connected into a singular whole. he takes three items that appear to have nothing in common, and he forges a beating heart out of them, a living thing. as Artemy himself learns:

This system isn't symmetrical. It's not just "Nerves, Bones, Skin." Or "Nerves, Bones, Flesh." Or "Spirit, Hair, Blood." Any triad is correct.

Truth is not a set point, but an intersection and confluence of many small truths. Knowing this, I can match and connect anything.

furthermore, shortly after leaving the Abattoir, Artemy has a dream in which he returns there and speaks to the ghost of Isidor, his father. here, he learns a difficult truth: that Isidor intentionally brought the plague back to the town, believing - essentially - that it was necessary for the town’s growth. the decision seems monstrous. Isidor justifies it thus:

This town was… connected wrong. Its parts were tied with artificial seams—so different, so awkward. One could say that Simon, the Mistresses, and I held it all together by force.

So I tore it apart, so you can sew it all back, better than before. Because you're better, and smarter, than I am.

so here we have the high point of Artemy’s spiritual journey, the part of the story where he finally understands why things are the way they are, and what it is he must do.

and this is where things start going wrong, in my opinion.

because all of this, all of what we’ve seen, seems to point in one very clear direction: Artemy will find a way to connect the Kin, the Town, and the Polyhedron into a single coherent whole. it fits so perfectly! Artemy learns that there is a way to mass-produce a cure, but doing so would require him to destroy the Polyhedron and the Living Earth. it appears as though the Polyhedron, the Living Earth, and the Town cannot all coexist; something must be sacrificed. but this choice is presented right after we’re told that Artemy’s destiny is to “sew it all back, better than before”. it is presented once we’ve seen that Artemy can connect a coin, a candlestick, and a spindle of thread into a living, beating heart, no matter how impossible that may sound. knowing this, he can match and connect anything.

and yet, he... doesn’t. the game does not end with a solution that connects the Kin, the Polyhedron and the Town. ultimately, Artemy fails to sew it all back together - and it’s not just that he fails, it’s that the game itself seems utterly unconcerned with that possibility once it heads into its final act. the mere idea that there could be a solution that “connects things right“ goes unexplored. even if the game wanted to be pessimistic and suggest that it can’t be done after all, it should at least acknowledge the thought! the game does admittedly have a focus on the idea that “you can’t save everyone”; this is one of its core motifs. so, fair enough! but since it fails to address that cynicism, it feels less like a statement on the game’s part and more like a lack of awareness.

but that’s not all! there’s a second thing that really bugs me. see, there’s another major event that takes place in the Abattoir: Artemy finally has his fateful encounter with Nara, the Herb Bride who has haunted him throughout the game, insisting that their destinies are intertwined and that he will one day kill her. here, Artemy finally comes to understand what it all means. in the depths of the Abattoir, Nara is waiting for him; the other Herb Brides give Artemy a menkhu’s knife, and they task him with cutting open Nara’s body without killing her:

We know how to open things up. Our way. You know how to open things up. Your way. Do you want to know why the sand pest passes us by? Show yourself.

Cut a living sister in such a way that she stays living. You can do it, if you know the Lines.

Artemy follows through, and he converses with Nara even as he cuts into her flesh; they talk to each other right until the end, when Artemy retrieves a spindle of thread from her body, and she dies.

now, this scene is somewhat tricky to interpret; Artemy must show that he can “cut a living sister in such a way that she stays living”, but in the end, Nara does die. so was he successful or not? well, i would argue that he is; even though Nara dies, he proves that he is able to read the Lines with such precision that she can speak calmly with him until the very end.

more importantly, this scene is the high point of a recurring theme in the game: Artemy’s skill as surgeon.

on Day 1, the very first part of the game, Artemy is sent by his old friend Bad Grief to perform surgery on Piecework, one of the thugs in Bad Grief’s gang. Piecework has gotten in a fight and been stabbed in the gut with a lockpick; without Artemy’s intervention, he will die. you can choose to save him, flub the surgery and kill him, or ignore the sidequest altogether; in any case, this early quest introduces the player to the surgery mechanic and serves to establish Artemy’s unique skills as a surgeon.

on Day 11, the last day of proper gameplay, you have a repeat of this encounter. while pursuing the main quest for the day, you wind up in a pub, where a gang of local bandits have set up shop. they threaten you and order you to rescue one of their pals, who has been shot in the stomach and is about to die. here you again perform surgery to save a man’s life, but this time you don’t do it through the usual surgery minigame - it happens entirely through dialogue choices, and i’m actually not even sure if it’s possible to fail this interaction. in any case, you retrieve the bullet from the man’s stomach and inform his friends that he’ll live.

so what’s the point of all that then? well, the way i see it, the point of all this is to foreshadow a climactic conclusion: Artemy will remove the Polyhedron without killing the Living Earth.

the game spends a lot of time setting this up! on Day 1, Artemy saves a man by removing a long metal spike from his gut non-lethally; in the Abattoir, Artemy proves his spiritual growth by demonstrating that he can “cut a living sister in such a way that she stays living”; and on Day 11, the game throws yet another surgery vignette at you in a scene that frankly feels a bit out of place otherwise.

all of this feels, to me, like it's foreshadowing and setting up one very obvious result: Artemy, having mastered not only practical surgery but also the art of reading the Lines, of being a menkhu, is the one person who can remove the Polyhedron without killing the Living Earth! the game spends all this time explaining that in the Steppe culture, cutting open flesh, or the earth itself, is taboo: only a menkhu is allowed to do so, because a menkhu is someone who knows how to read the Lines, who knows how to cut in a way that will not harm the Living Earth. the culmination of the story, therefore, needs to be that Artemy puts this exact skill to use. that was the point of his character arc, right?

except... no, it isn’t. in the end, there is no way to surgically extract the metal spike from the Living Earth. the only two choices we are presented with are: botch the surgery, or leave it be.

...

in the end, i feel that the ending(s) of Pathologic 2 aren’t appropriate conclusions to the ideas, motifs, and overall narrative progression we’re shown throughout the earlier parts of the game. Pathologic 2 is in many ways brilliant, and i do not hesitate to call it a masterpiece, aforementioned criticisms notwithstanding - but that’s precisely why i cared enough to write all this down! it’s a story that gets into your head, really stays with you, and maybe that’s the reason why i have such strong feelings about the direction the story takes in its final act.

if you reached the end of this post: thank you so much for reading it! i hope you enjoyed my thoughts, and i hope you have a great day!

[willthecleric]

i really wanna have hope that byler will happen, and i agree with all of the subtext you've pointed out, i just have a really bad feeling that they're not gonna pull through :( i haven't watched the movies on the s4 list, so maybe that's why i feel less certain, but i'm just generally unsure that it will actually happen, despite really wanting it to? how can you be so sure that it will? love ur blog by the way! :D

Aww, thank you so much! Well, I used to have doubts too, so I get what you mean. But remember a few different things:

1. Mike is clearly written as gay, seeing as he is very much comp het in S3 (bisexual boys can imagine themselves in love with females, it isn’t some foreign concept and ‘something old people do’). Many straight guys found Mike’s behaviour with El strange. For a reason: he was trying to be straight and took it too far. He was especially mimicking Lucas. Seeing Mike as gay also recontextualizes a lot of his behaviour in S1 and S2. I just don’t understand why they would make Mike gay and give him so much coding for it if they were planning to have him with a girl. Makes more sense to have him bisexual or straight then. I’m not exagerrating when I say that Mike’s main story arc is about him realizing he is gay and coming to terms with that and accepting his love for Will.

2. When originally writing the S1 script, El was supposed to die. They changed it, my guess, because she helped them with a few plot points (mainly as a beard for Mike). I’m not sure why they’d have wanted her dead initially if Mileven was planned as endgame. That on top of Mike being gay is another strike against Mileven.

3. El is way behind Mike intellectually. Mike is very smart, and El doesn’t even know what a State is. It just doesn’t work and Mike is way older than her intellectually. It is creepy and will just get worse and worse. Not sure why they would do that if Mileven was meant to be endgame.

4. The Duffers parallelled Mileven with ET and Elliott multiple times in S1, and told Finn that Mike saw El as an alien or a puppy. Not at all romantic. Mileven was paralleled to Dustin and Dart in S2. In S3 it was mentioned that Mike saw El as a pet. Mike doesn’t trust El. He couldn’t answer when she told him to trust her, and changed the subject when Max said he doesn’t trust her. Mike was also justifiably upset about El spying on him (which El never felt bad about). Mike lies to El and El stalks/spies on him. Most of S2 Mileven was El stalking and spying on Mike and they used ominous music (so clearly it is not meant to be romantic). Mike had no idea she was watching him, and we saw in S3 how he would have felt if he found out about her doing that. They danced to a song about a stalking ex. Multiple movies hint that El stalks Mike in S4 (which is supported by her in S2 and S3). Those S2 Mileven scenes weren’t meant to be romantic, they are meant to be creepy. Not that I blame El. She is confused and doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know any better. The Duffers hate Mileven. They have dissed it many times (which kaypeace has shown examples of).

5. Mike and El do not share interests or even seem to like each other. El thinks Mike’s interests are dumb and that he talks too much. They don’t trust each other, and trust is essential to love. Period. Neither even sees the other as a person. She has been a tool/weapon to him. And an alien/puppy. It’s a part of his using her as a beard. He doesn’t feel bad about it because he doesn’t see her as a person. He did feel some guilt over her death, but most of him wanting her back in S2 was wanting her to fix him. His attitude problem and issues with Max in S2 were about his growing feelings for Will, NOT about El. Mike was angry at Hopper at the end of S2 because he blamed Hopper for keeping his beard away from him. He thougnt if El was there, he would not have these feelings for Will. Mike blamed Hopper for everything. Why he was so angry with him in S3. And El doesn’t see Mike as a person either. To her, he is a sense of comfort and normalcy, like her teddy bears and Hopper’s shirt. She also projected a soap opera character she liked onto him. El only found Mike attractive when she thought he was a bad boy. She didn’t know if she liked kissing him after months of making out. She referred to him as her first boyfriend, implying she was thinking of dating others in the future. There is a reason why she came to Mike three months after the main events of the season. Comfort. She lost her dad and was moving away from her new home. She was seeking normalcy. Mike is that to her.

6. They made the ending with Mileven ambiguous as far as if they are dating or not. Which idk why they would do that if Mileven was the main ship. Why make it ambiguous? I think it was intentionally done that way. El was acting romantic while Mike was more platonic in nature. I think that is to hint towards them not being on the same page. As I mentioned, numerous movies and show canon hints to El stalking Mike and spying on him. Multiple movies have Mike frustrated and not interested. And we already saw how he felt about El spying on him. I think El believes they are dating and doesn’t get it when Mike and others tell her that they are not. She doesn’t understand.

7. They made numerous Mileven and Byler parallels in S3, of S2 Byler moments redone for Mileven, and things happening between both ships in the same season. Byler always won by a landslide. They completely destroyed Mileven instead of building it up, which makes no sense if it’s endgame. Mileven had poor development from the start, and if they wanted to pull it off, makes more sense to work hard to build them up instead. Also driving away the fandom so it’s not popular anymore... why do that? It makes no sense. Queer baits don’t do that. Seems more like a straight bait to me.

8. In S1, homophobic Troy was: shoved by Mike (who is gay), forced to piss his pants in front of the school who laughed at him, had his arm broken, and was made to look like a fool. This shows what they think about homophobes. They also have posted LGBT+ positivity on Twitter. They are not homophobic and do not support homophobia. They are not going to work to please a bunch of homophobic Milevens.

9. According to multiple movies and show hints, Byler is essential and key to fixing everything. The Never Ending Story was repeatedly in S3 for a reason. It’s a hint. Not just at Will being the chosen one instead of El, but also... ‘and there upon a rainbow is the answer to a never ending story’. It’s outright telling us that Byler is the answer. Not only because rainbows are a gay symbol in itself, but Mike is also connected to rainbows as a part of his coding.

10. Multiple movies hint that Stranger Things is a book written by Mike for Will, sharing his story and their love story. Mike is the character who wants to be a writer, and the episodes are called CHAPTERS. That supports Stranger Things being a book. And the book is always written by the Mike character for the Will character. They let it be known that Mike wants to be a writer. It was mentioned as his career goal in his yearbook page, and he writes most of the D&D campaigns (besides the one that Will wrote).

11. Byler is the biggest and main relationship of the show. It’s the relationship that gets the most development, the one that gets the most romantic scenes, the one that gets the most coding by far. And every single pairing (minus Jopper and Ted/Karen as far as I can tell) parallels Byler while it is healthy and happy. The moment that stops being the case, they start paralleling Mileven. Not a good sign for Mileven. And Mileven only parallels Byler a lot because Mike has been using El as a substitute for Will (something that is mentioned by the Mike character in a number of movies, using the El character of the movie as a substitute to the Will character).

Hopefully this helped you (and anyone else) feel better about things. 😃