#they are not parallels but like they are. twice removed and shifted to the left

[dykecrocker]

theyre like magnets but the same kind…if they ever met it would be like nuclear level meltdown.

[oreosmama]

In the Black Widow’s Nest (Henry Creel x Reader) 🕷️Chapter 1🕷️

*GIF not mine*

Summary: 

Prince Henry of the Creel Dynasty is finally in search of a wife, and in the spirit of courtship, King Victor has invited young royalty from all neighboring kingdoms to vie for his hand. But with so much royalty introduces the need for many more maids in the castle than usual.

Enter: You.

You're nothing but a servant in his home, an intruder in his prized library, and an utter nuisance in his mind. But then you survive his attack, and in an unexpected way nonetheless. That makes you... interesting. 

You've caught his eye---congratulations! Now, you must deal with the consequences of loving a heartless prince in a world where far worse things lurk in the castle than dirty garderobes.

A/N: All i ask is that u imagine henry creel’s evil face on jace wayland’s body that’s it that’s all u gotta do, the fic will do the rest. this may or may not be a series, i do have a few ideas for it (but let it be known begging will not speed up the process). one final comment: henry creel hot. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 4328

Amongst the cobwebs, the dust, and the black widows, in the abandoned royal library surrounded by the scent of mildew and what once was and is no longer, a pair of eyes watched your every move. Like two frozen fingers poking into the back of your skull, the gaze ran chills down your spine and tightened the muscles in your shoulder blades.

Every move you made was stiff. Despite the season outside being spring, winter had found perpetuity within the four towering walls. There were no windows nor any lit chandeliers; the only light was provided by the brass candlestick that had been forced into your hand before you were thrown into the library, with the promise of being released after ten hours or at the the sight of one hundred spotless, unblemished bookshelves—whichever came first. 

Decidedly, you had three hours left. 

The candle was almost completely diminished to a pool of wax, and the flame on its wick had long weakened and begun flickering. You suspected one last breeze would leave you in complete darkness and at the mercy of whomever was watching you from the shadows. No matter how many times you weaved in and out of the bookshelves that stood at twice your height, five parallel rows of grimy mahogany stacked with fading leather spines, you could not escape the unmistakable feeling. 

This person had not made a sound when they had entered the room. There were no new footsteps tracked in the dust layered on the floor aside from yours, and you had not even heard the twin doors creak open as they had when you entered. You couldn’t hear them over your own breathing and certainly not over the pounding of your heart. 

With every precarious flick of your feather duster over the worn titles, the clouds of your efforts mingled with those of your own exhales. You kept your gaze low, eyes focused on only the task in front of you with the hope—artificial hope—that if you did not disturb them with your own attention, they would eventually remove theirs from you. 

Time trudged by as you shifted from bookshelf to bookshelf, the clogs on your feet scraping the hardwood floors. You kept a wooden chair in tow, collected from one of the tables arranged in the center of the room, and dragged it in closer to the nearest bookshelf, clambering atop the seat and lifting onto your toes to dust the top row of books. The cobwebs were thickest here, spiders having been left to their lonesome far too long and creating their own colony. 

You could barely reach and dusted blindly, allowing the length of the feathers to do most of the work as you ignored the cramps festering throughout your calves. A soft gust of wind floated past and tousled the flyaways at your brow, and as you purse your lips to blow them back and out of your lashes, the room flickered and fell into darkness. 

The candle had finally gone out. 

You squinted and hissed a curse under your breath, your gaze snapping to the outline of the table, where you could barely make out the bowl of wax and nothing more. Just my luck, you thought as you withdrew your feather duster from the bookshelf top. You would have to retrieve a new taper from one of the maids’ closets, though you sincerely doubted the head maid would be all too pleased with your explanation.

Excuses, excuses, you could imagine her barking at you, ire swirling in her small, black eyes. Candles don’t just go out on their own.

“She’ll probably just set my hand on fire and lock me back in here,” you grumbled, huffing as you grabbed the backing of your chair to dismount. A faint tickle on the back of your hand drew your attention. “Hell will freeze over before she—”

Spider.

You yelped, a blasphemy falling from your lips as your clogs slipped on the polished wood seat. Your back hit the ground first, a pained shock shooting from your tailbone up to where your head smacked against the ground with the whiplash of your fall. 

White sparkles lit up your vision, and you sputtered out a cough, not bothering to blink them away. An ache throbbed at your lower back, pulsing at the same wavelength as the ringing in your ears and drawing a groan from your lips. An odd smarting festered up your spine, not unlike a chill. 

Carefully, you slumped back, your head resting against the hard floor and your legs straightening out. You didn’t want to get back up; you didn’t want to move. For a few moments, you let the pain overcome you while you wheezed for breath, choking on the dust that had become unsettled by your fall. It rose and hung in the dark air around you, blurred and wavering with your heartbeat. 

For a few moments, you forgot that someone had been watching you. 

And you certainly didn’t want to know where the spider had wound up. 

The smallest vibration of light footsteps trembled underneath your fingertips, and a sharp pain shot through your skull. Light, blinding and bright and excruciatingly insistent, is all you can see when the vibration stops and some glowing form hinges over you. 

“Not dead,” are the words you think you hear, husked in a monotonous, low gravel and feeding into the loud hum in your head. It’s muffled between the blood pounding in your ears and the hazy confusion that had begun to fog over your mind. 

“Not yet, at least.”

You licked your lips, eyes fluttering closed, then open, then closed again. “What?” you mumbled breathlessly. 

The glowing form dims, gradually painted by an orange hue. When metal thuds on wood, you guess it must be a candle joining your pool of wax on the table, and before long the presence hovers over you again. Tree sap swarms where the scent of mildewed books had been lingering, and, in a cruel twist of fate, you hazard a guess that this is one of the courtiers the head maid had shrilled about avoiding at all costs. 

Or worse—a member of the royal family. 

But how? And why? None of them would ever idle about in a damp, endlessly cold library. The smell bordered on revolting, half of the volumes were wrinkled and illegible, and you couldn’t walk two steps inside without grime caking your face and clothes. Not to mention, the spiders. Disgusting, horrid spiders. 

Black widows, if the head maid was to be believed. 

The wintry library would never be home to festivities of the upper class, not even the occasional unsolicited rendezvous. There were dining rooms and bedrooms and poor, innocent gardens for all the horrific things they did to one another; entire wings dedicated to the sybaritic tendencies of royalty. 

But this man before you—oh, how otherworldly he was. 

You could believe that he had been the one watching you with how his eyes pierced you in this moment, a being such as him the only one capable of having a tangible effect with a single glance. 

You took in his sharp cheekbones, the soft slope of his nose, his slate blue eyes. His face was haloed by mussed, golden hair, and two pale pink lips set against each other as a look of disinterest with ease. His entire appearance, from his lithe figure to the way his eyes dragged over you, exuded a superiority that had been trained to perfection. 

Staring at him felt like drinking a sweet wine, far too indulgent and alluring to ever be truly satiated, and yet you know all too well it would be condemning to keep on as you are. You know this man has a rank heavens above yours; his skin, tanned and unblemished, has never felt the dust and dirt that encompasses you every day, and his body has never held your scars.

In your muddled daze, you imagined barreling headfirst into damnation for acquainting with this handsome being. Whether he be a marquess or a lord or, God forbid, even a duke, being seen in such close quarters with him was strictly forbidden, especially with the royal prince’s season for courting beginning in a week. 

And then you felt yourself spiraling—you imagined him curling over you, his deft fingers sliding underneath your nape, tracing the curve of your scalp and feeling for injury. You imagined his eyes warming pleasantly as he found you safe and unharmed. You imagined he gave a damn. 

But he didn’t. He never would. 

His hands fell to his hips, the loosely fitted, half-unbuttoned white tunic he donned exposing more toned skin while he glowered down at you.

He certainly wasn’t going to wax poetic about your welfare. 

“No blood.” His head tilted to one side slightly, blond tufts of hair following suit. “And thankfully no mess. I’d have hated to invite yet another servant in here, even if it was to drag your body out.”

A shiver tore through your spine, and you had the most horrible feeling that if you died somehow in this moment, no one would bat an eye—especially not the man before you.

His voice had that regal lilt, the one you could have never gained in your small village outside of the castle. You’d only ever heard it on a few of the higher-ranking maids—certainly none of the girls you had been hired with had such accents either—as well as some passing royalty on your first few days of traipsing the castle with a guide. His voice was deep and raspy, as though he spent his days either growling out orders or not speaking at all. You wonder if that was how he found it so easy to watch you mutely.

Feeling entirely too vulnerable, supine as you were, you brace your hands against the floor and writhe your way into a sitting position, head swimming with vertigo. Bile rises in your throat, and you press your eyes closed, tight, waiting out the wave. The idea that dragging your gaze away from him had played a part in the nausea tickles the back of your mind. 

He watches, seeming somewhat interested, as you struggle.

Once, in your small village, a wolf had snuck into the farmer’s fields. You remember watching from your doorway that morning, the sun barely risen, as the wolf tackled a single lamb and began eating it alive. 

The blood coated its paws and muzzle. Bones crackled with the snapping jaws. Even after the lamb had stopped squealing, the hunger in the wolf’s eyes never quite seemed satiated. 

Something in the man’s and the wolf’s gazes made them indistinguishable to you in that moment. 

The cruel sneers and jeering laughs of the royals you’d seen so far could only contain so much antagonism. This man was cut from a different cloth. 

His body, all relaxed muscles and agile limbs, had a vigorous, agitated thing running within the veins of his arms, sleeves rolled to the elbows; the cruelty in his mien was something you had only ever encountered in wild animals. 

Panic chills the sweat on your brow. Laboriously, you wrench one hand on a bookshelf, hoisting yourself up despite the blaring pain climbing up your spine, and onto your feet. You can feel the weakness in your knees the second you try to take another step, the defiant outcry of your mind and body as you try to move, but the man is so close. The warning sirens in your mind wail. 

A hand grapples around your free wrist, insistent and rigid. 

“Stop.”

You flinch, and your first instinct is to twist away and run. His grip is iron-tight, though, and without much resistance, he spins you back to face him. Frantically, your eyes once more swallow up his bronze, toned skin in the shadows of his candle, waiting for a strike. 

In return, the weight of his gaze bows your shoulders, fostering an urge to find a corner and curl up until you can’t anymore. Something you can scarcely identify flickers through his blue eyes. He’s staring at your wrist, locked in his, and then he’s staring at you, his lips tight and his face hard as stone. Like before, you can feel him searching you, taking note of your every move. 

He’s scrutinizing you like a bug, uncertain of just how and in what way to crush you under his heel. It’s the way he had when his gaze was all you knew about him, and you have no trouble imagining yourself splatting underneath his boot. 

But a sound rings in the distance, drawing your attention away from him entirely. 

Ringing. Ringing like church bells. Ringing like the clang of the metal clapper striking tarnished ocher and rust. The kingdom’s clock tower made the same sound. 

A chime, maybe.

Or a knell. 

But you were almost positive that sound couldn’t be heard so far away, crammed deeply within the towering castle walls. Especially at its volume. 

It chimes again, and you slam both hands to your ears, heart pounding. It’s deafening. You can’t breathe, and you can barely see, still tangled up in the man’s eyes. They’ve grown so cold and strike you so much harder your teeth begin to chatter. 

“No,” you whisper, though you’re not quite sure what you’re protesting. “Please.”

His pale lips turn red as he smirks, and every angle of his face sharpens into focus. The room fades into black and white. Musty bindings and rotting pages no longer invade your nostrils. It’s like your brain is shutting off each sense one by one so you can take in more of him. 

And you can’t seem to look away. 

No. 

By the third chime, you can barely feel the pain that had been radiating through your body, and the release is almost blissful. Beckoning. You’re swathed up in the tranquility, ears stuffed with cotton and head buzzing in the silence. When your whole body starts rocking back and forth, waiting for another agonizing chime, your knees begin to feel like rubber, suddenly too malleable to stand upon.

A fourth chime, earsplitting. 

They buckle. 

You snap your hands forward in a panic, yelping when you stumble.

All your senses return as fast as the pinch of a needle. Blood roars in your ears, and soreness floods your every limb. It’s like trying to squeeze into clothes that have become too small and completely ripping the seams—all the sights, the smells, the feelings overload your brain too quickly, causing it to swell and split open. 

Your only lifeline is a radiating source of heat, and you cling to it so hard you're half afraid you might smother it. But when your embrace tightens, so too does your grip on reality. You can almost unscramble your own thoughts again—all the curse words you’ve ever known combined with prayers to the heavens above. Giving yourself into refuge becomes second nature, and you burrow further into the cradle of warmth.

A jolt runs up and down your back, and your skull feels cracked in two. 

But the eerie quiet of the library registers anyway. The chiming is gone. 

Blissful silence remains, only occasionally pierced by your gasping breaths. You want to nuzzle deeper, the warmth firm and solid, as the simmering underneath your skin wanes, yet there seems to be no space left that your form hasn’t already curled into.

“What just happened?” Your voice wavers, and it echoes back so loudly that you flinch. 

You can’t see a thing. The dim outlines of the room fuzz and blend, and if you weren’t standing on your own two feet, you wouldn’t have been able to tell up from down. But the chill still nips at your skin. The library hasn’t changed. Nothing’s changed but you. 

But there’s no explanation for the bell-ringing, the sensory overload. It must have all been in your head; it feels like any second now, your ears are going to pop and reality will flood back in. You’re alive. But whatever had just happened was as close to death as you could have imagined—

A breath away from becoming nothing. 

So what stopped it?

Even more—what started it?

The questions slipped your mind the second you heard the library door creak. The pitiful sound allowed the entrance of sunlight directed by the hallway’s window, and the stiffness of your bones crackled at the thought of even more warmth. You felt half-thawed and left for dead, save for the fount of heat caught in your white-knuckled grasp. 

You went still. 

Heat. 

Heat in the library. 

That had to have been one of the most preposterous realities you had imagined since you had first stepped foot in here seven hours ago—and you had raked through your mental fantasies quite thoroughly in that time. 

Carefully, as though jaws might snap at you from the darkness, you withdrew your arms from the motionless frame and craned your head upward. 

Dear God. 

The man was even more beautiful when washed in distant sunlight. Heart-wrenchingly so. More alluring when his hair glowed golden, combed back waves ending neatly at his nape. More potent when his gaze speared yours, his arms limp at his sides, elbows brushing the backs of your hands at his waist. 

Terribly heady.

Five seconds passed before you caught on to your ill deed, and his white tunic fluttered from the speed at which you pulled away from him. When his slender fingers twitched in tandem, you could only assume that, had you waited another second, he would have grasped your wrists so tightly the bones would have snapped. 

How could you? Oh God, this was it. It’s all over. 

You’re seized under his watchful eye, his face washed over with rage, or vexation, or downright disgust at your entirely-too-close, worthy-of-execution contact. 

Certainly, it could not be the wonder you had initially thought it was. 

That was just not possible. 

Impossible. 

Maybe. 

“YN!” 

You jump when the library’s twin doors slammed open, a crotchety, accented voice rattling against the shelves. The clomping of two clogs no different than yours—though, possibly better polished—thunder towards the pair of you, located by your and his candlesticks, stained brass and glossy gold sitting side by side on the oak center table. 

The head maid—Miss Miriam Swinebottom, which, in your humble opinion, was evidence that fate did in fact understand the concept of justice—was a woman of an angular, acidic countenance. Two beady eyes sunk deep into her skull like snakes nestled within a tumbleweed, and she had the capacity for two emotions: disappointment and fury. With a distaste for all things insouciant, the skeletal woman wielded the newly hired maids like an army of rats; she sent all of you scuttling over every inch of the castle and cleaning until your bodies were slow and stiff as though submerged in deep water. 

And you had no doubt that, the second that gaze fell upon you, she was out for blood. The terror that began pulsing in every nerve was no different than when you had first noticed the foreboding air around the blond man. You were not going to get out of this without a scratch. 

Miss Miriam took in you first, but not for long. Soon enough, both of you, as one incriminating sight, were being ascertained. 

You knew what she saw. 

One of her new maids, no better than the grime beneath her shoe, inches away from a royal. 

Unseasoned in the ways of the castle, naive to the new problem you’ve just sprouted, a true simpleton for what you’ve done. You. 

You, with unsteady eyes and flushed cheeks, his shirt unbuttoned, blond hair tousled. 

Fresh meat. 

Dead meat. 

And you hadn’t even done anything. 

You stumble back another step and hesitate to make an excuse. Words, you’d learned, were no better than handing Miss Miriam a switch. Best stay silent and pray for mercy.

Or, rather, for a quick recovery. 

Curiosity slips out of your hands, and you sneak a glance at the man. 

He’s wicked all over again. Somewhat unimpressed by the turn of events, he appears, but the emotion mingles with a strong sense of antagonism no nobility can seem to restrain. You’re only half-glad looks can’t kill. Miss Miriam would be worse off than six feet deep by now. 

To your surprise, she does not snatch you away with promises of a beating. She doesn’t get a step closer. 

Instead, the head maid folds into a low curtsy, then rises back up, bowing her head. “Your Highness.”

You tense at her actions, mind falling blank. 

No. He couldn’t be. 

Your Highness? Your Highness?

But as his gaze trails away from her and back to you, his face abruptly void, you can only stagger back another step, knees giving way into a curtsy as you copy Miss Miriam.

Waiting.

He is.

His Royal Highness, Crown Prince of the Creel Dynasty.

And here you had been, none the wiser, completely ignorant to the danger you’d just placed yourself in. 

For a long, excruciating moment, nothing happens. He does not touch you, nor does he move. The only sound filling the room is bated breath and whispering winds. 

Prince Henry. The prized catch of all the kingdoms. Aristocracy who’d never even scoff at a servant like you were here to court him. 

And you’d been so close—you could still feel the ghost of his warmth under your fingertips. 

A huff perks your ears, but you bite your tongue, waiting. He moves, one slow footstep at a time, nearing you with his polished, leather boots. You watch them as they grow closer. 

You watch them as they hesitate in front of you.

And then you watch them as they pass, each thump of leather against hardwood further and further away until there’s no doubt he has left the library. 

The older maid hitches a second longer before she rises, spitting your name like bile. “YN.” Her footsteps thunder toward you, and you barely have time to straighten before she has an iron grip on your upper arm, hauling you out of the room. 

“You had such a simple task. Clean the library and get out.” She grits her teeth, eyes flaring. “No one has used it in a decade, and yet what do I find but a dusty library and you. You, whoring yourself around the prince. And you said you weren’t a wench before I hired you.”

  She leads you down the castle’s marble hallways, dim from the setting sun yet well-lit by the sconces lining the walls. No matter how much you stumble and grunt, she drags you after her into the servants’ wing, swiftly finding the maids’ hall and barging you through the doorway. 

The room falls silent when the door slams shut, and while no crowd gathers, you are certainly the center of attention to the maids awaiting attending dinner. Stomachs are rumbling, but you have no doubt they would rather feast their eyes on this spectacle first. 

Tears pinch at the bridge of your nose. You can’t cry; you didn’t want to be one of the maids that cried. Those that did were in the latter half of the new hires who were younger than you. And you weren’t a little girl anymore. 

No crying. 

But, oh, you were scared when Miss Miriam paraded you in front of the others, hissing warnings and threats of punishment for girls who did what you had done. 

“-traipsing herself around in front of a most respected royal.” Black, burning eyes latch back onto you. “Tell me, YN, what did you think would happen?”

You flinch. 

There’s no point in looking to others for help. You don’t know them well enough to have friends. It’s been three days, and only one name has stuck. 

But you know it’s a sea of pity, disappointment, and nervous movement flowing back and forth. 

“It,” your voice cracks, and you pause, blinking rapidly. Another older maid, same regal accent, same strict demeanor, same gaze hissing you deserve this you deserve this you deserve this, approaches from behind. “It was an accident—”

You reel back into her waiting arms with a yelp. A stinging burn lances at your cheek, and if you hadn’t seen Miss Miriam’s bony hand fall back to her side, you would have thought she’d slashed open your cheek with an average kitchen knife. 

A seasoned backhand. Was there anything worse?

Miss Miriam stepped back, her appearance leaning more towards irate than strictly furious. She turned away from you, searching the walls of the dormitory. Though you had never seen it before, it hung on the wall with a single nail and a small, looped string on the handle.

A riding crop, yet you had the distinct feeling it had never been used on horses before. 

“No,” you plead when swift fingers begin untying your garment backing. “Please, it—it was an accident!” You try to yank away, but the crop swings at your head. When you lurch back, the fingers resume and Miss Miriam simply tilts her head. 

Dread claws up your throat. The edges of your vision begin contracting with your heart beat, while a shrill voice in your head begins screaming to run, to get out, to escape. Cold air assaults your bare back, and when you feel the tears begin to fall, the maid spins you around, presenting the stripped canvas of flesh to the others. 

“Let this be a lesson to you all, girls,” Miss Miriam announces. “This is not a whorehouse. You are not here to prostitute yourselves to royalty. You will not even look at them.” Her voice directs towards you, “They will certainly not look at you.”

You scream when the crop comes down, the white walls blurring, and the skin of your back wails at the betrayal. 

The tears don’t stop for hours.

Masterlist    Next

[tansu-bomb]

Musings on the most important and least explained pivotal conflict between Jin Seol-Ran & Choi mage + parallels 200 years ago vs now

1. A severe drought dried up Lake Gyeongcheondaeho.

2. Jin Seol-Ran performed a sacred dance & used her divine energy so the energy from the skies flows down to earth as rain; and with the rain came ice-stones (plural).

3. Choi mage extracts ice-stone(s) from the lake, and experiments with it - thus documenting the Alchemy of Souls book that much later, Shaman Choi (likely his grand-daughter), attempts to save during Jang Gang’s raid & gets burnt in the process.

4. All across Daeho, folks kill each other to obtain the ice-stone(s) and use it primarily for soul-shifting as they please, thereby creating the great chaos.

5. Jin Seol-Ran cannot end the chaos by herself so she chooses to partner with Seo Gyeong - the one with King’s Star energy - and puts an ice-stone into his body (just like she much later does with Jang Uk, the next King’s Star) thus turning him into the most powerful weapon.

6. Jin Seol-Ran and Seo Gyeong use their complementary powers to end the chaos — she by using her divine power to track down ice-stones and he by using his muscle power to single-handlely squash armies (like Cho Yeong & Jang Uk do towards the end).

7. Up until then, folks likely physically possessed the ice-stone but not anatomically like Seo Gyeong (courtesy: Seol-Ran), but Choi mage - the mastermind behind AOS - probably figured out a way to do so as well. (Even Shaman Choi and Jin Mu were unable to accomplish this)

8. As it would’ve been difficult to kill Choi mage who also possessed the ice-stone, Jin Seol-Ran must’ve trapped his soul in the Gwido barrier (along with others). Much later, when Seol-Ran/Cho Yeong enter Gwido again, all soul-wraiths fear her but one chases her with vengeance.

9. In one of the flashbacks, Jin Seol-Ran and Seo Gyeong are shown standing shoulder-to-shoulder and extracting the power of the ice-stone that Choi mage possessed. Seol-Ran most likely turned that ice-stone into one that seeks (not gives) energy and left him to die a painful death in Gwido (like Cho Yeong does Jin Mu).

10. In return, the Choi mage must’ve cursed Jin Seol-Ran and Seo Gyeong that they too will turn into soul-shifters - in this life or the next. This curse is most likely what plays out 200 years later for both Jang Uk & Cho Yeong both of whom are Seo Gyeong and Jin Seol-Ran’s supposed reincarnations.

11. Seo Gyeong falls in love with Jin Seol-Ran; but most likely Seol-Ran is already a married woman with a heir in tow (likely Jin HoGyeong’s mother) coz, by the time great chaos ends, Seol-Ran is injured and about to die — most likely due to overusing her divine powers that accelerated her aging —and we know the Jin family line continues. That makes theirs an impossible, forbidden romance on multiple fronts (which comes full circle with Jang Uk & Cho Yeong finally defying fate and falling in love twice)?

11. After the great chaos ended, Jin Seol-Ran likely removed the power of ice-stone from Seo Gyeong as well (but unlike Jang Uk who died and had his soul resurrected only due to the ice-stone), Seo Gyeong lives on even without it.

12. At this point, only one final ice-stone remains which Seo Gyeong wished to use to protect Seol-Ran but Seol Ran, who sees future, about the fire bird and the Choi mage’s curse, chooses to attach her soul to the ice-stone itself (which Jang Gang & Jin HoGyeong think resurrected a dead baby Jin BuYeon)

The Choi mage’s curse, I think, is critical for what follows.

13. When Jin Seol-Ran’s memories & divine powers start to come back (likely around ages 8-10) while she is resurrected in dead Jin BuYeon’s body, she likely figures out that A) Choi U-tak (the grand-son of Choi mage) is her father (the blasphemy this is; ties perfectly to Chois wanting revenge against Jins above all), B) Jang Uk, the King’s star, was born through AOS, and C) Jin Mu destroyed Cho Yeong’s family.

14. While Jin HoGyeong and Jang Gang engineered BuYeon’s birth star, Cho Yeong was likely naturally born under that same birth star - the one that’s destined to accompany the King’s star. The King’s Star and the accompanying star are likely binary stars — stars whose gravitational fields are interconnected (example: Alcor/Mizar or Vasishta/Arundathi binary stars in Ursa Major).

14. Seol-ran attempts to fight fate & masterminds the attempt to find the ice-stone with Jin Mu and Choi U-tak — to once and for all destroy the ice-stone and the greedy men — in one ago. Despite her supreme divine powers, she fails given how weak she physically is having been reincarnated in a baby who’s been dead in the womb for atleast few hours if not few days (plus she’s only 10 years old and has overestimated herself).

15. There is no way Seol-ran can now go back to Jinyowon coz she has gambled and revelaed her supreme divine powers — and if she goes back, she’ll certainly meet death at the hands of her own family (Jin Mu) and Choi family (Jin U-tak). So she bides time in Sari village to let future unfold so she can interject at a more optimal time. (Seol-Ran says this at the end; that seeing into the future, one can cleverly interject. While one may not change the pre-fated outcome as she painfully learns, she knows optimal points to interject at to tightly control the flow of events & minimize damage)

16. The Choi mage’s curse of her turning into a soul-shifter is also likely the biggest reason why Seol-Ran lures in and traps Cho Yeong’s soul in the first palce coz Yeong’s compatible and immense energy would be useful for their survival when they’d both run wild (at end of S1)

17. All along S1, Jin SeolRan keeps on protecting Jang Uk & Cho Yeong. She orchestrates it all — a) allowing Yeong her power back in the lake very early on so that these two don’t drift apart, b) the exposure of ice-stone so she can inject the ice-stone into Jang Uk knowing that he’ll be hunted for his King’s star fate (she probably also knows that his death would happen at Naksu’s hands), and c) she doesn’t stop Jin Mu from causing her to run wild coz she very likely calculates that she’d be saved by the King’s star or Jinyowon or both.

17. Ultimately, Choi mage’s curse comes true — both the King’s Star Jang Uk & Seol-Ran/Cho Yeong eventually become soul-shifters — the last two that will continue to live on.

18. Seol-Ran stayed true to her purpose for 200 years and must’ve been very happy to witness that the King’s Star and his accompanying star’s love saga. An unrequited love story finally becomes requited through their reincarnations.

19. Seol-Ran’s restorative justice was to leave everything to Cho Yeong — all of her divine powers, all of the burden of protecting Jinyowon, all of her blessings to protect & live happily with the King’s star, and the responsibility to carry on the lineage of girls with unparalleled divine powers. Of course, Cho Yeong, with all the choices she makes through S1 and S2 proves herself more than worthy of this role.

[leiawritesstories]

Another Place

Nessian Week, Day 5: Alternate Universe (AU) Day

Yes, I took the prompt literally. ;)

Word count: 2914

Warnings: fuzzy science, fuzzy space mumbo jumbo, language

Skye Penderwick belongs to Jeanne Birdsall. All other characters belong to SJM. 

@nessianweek

~~~~~~

“I’m heading out, Doctor.”

Dr. Nesta Archeron, who held a PhD in astrophysics, looked up from her desk. “All right, Skye, thanks for everything. See you tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. Don’t forget to sleep, Dr. Arch!”

“Never do, Dr. Pen!”

The other astrophysicist’s snort of laughter floated down the hall. “Yeah, right.”

Fine, maybe there were nights when Nesta stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, scribbling calculations on the chalkboards and in her notes, combing through theories of all the great scientists before her, adding bits and pieces to her own theory, and generally ruining her sleep schedule with badly timed, random “a-ha!” moments. But to be fair, seven years of developing a theory of alternate universes would do that to a person. 

Seven years ago, she’d run across an anomaly on a deep-space image that didn’t match anything ever recorded or observed by any scientist, ever. And yet it was small enough that most scientists could easily overlook it; it blended into the edge of the nebula that was the focus of the image. Nesta had noticed it, though, and that small imperfection, the wrinkle in the darkness of space, rooted into her mind and stayed there, leading her to question what the hell that blur was and why the hell it was there.

Which in turn led her down the murky rabbit hole of various theories of wormholes and other flaws in space-time, none of which aligned with her observations. And then down the even murkier rabbit hole of theories (of varying degrees of coherence) of parallel and alternate universes. The alternate universe idea in particular intrigued Nesta, and she spent weeks researching every bit of information available, noting how it lined up with her observations, and finally coming to a realization that this image her team had captured could serve as visible, concrete evidence in favor of a theory of alternate universes.

She’d drafted the first bit of her theory and formed a small team to develop it by the next morning.

After five years, countless different images of the anomaly, multiple variations on complex equations, much screaming, and three lifetimes’ worth of coffee, Dr. Nesta Archeron hit a wall.

Literally and figuratively.

Because when she ran into what seemed like an insurmountable block, she punched the nearest wall as hard as possible.

The cracks still radiated across one wall of her lab.

That block, and her efforts to break through it, introduced her to Dr. Skye Penderwick, a brilliant American astrophysicist who, coincidentally, also happened to be fascinated by the theory of alternate universes, despite having no theory of her own. She’d been working at the same facility as Nesta for several months before the two actually met, and within days of Nesta inviting her into her lab, she’d proposed a potential solution to the Archeron team’s roadblock.

It worked.

Nesta offered her a collaborator position that very day. Skye accepted.

Two years later, they were on the edge of breakthrough. Both of them knew it. Both of them saw clearly where their calculations, their notes, their carefully chronicled, detailed observations of the motion of the anomaly, and their years of hard work were leading. The theory Nesta so elegantly posited was nearly complete. All the two self-described space nerds needed was something, anything, to hint beyond scientific explanation that on the other side of that anomaly laid an alternate Earth.

Unfortunately, that something hadn’t shown up quite yet.

For, despite all the remarkable achievements of space science--lightspeed travel, quantum leaping, imaging software capable of capturing formations’ minute details, even the discovery of other habitable planets in faraway galaxies--nobody had yet been able to present a coherent, plausible theory of an alternate universe.

Yet.

Sighing, Nesta pushed back from her desk and walked to the back of her laboratory. She placed her index finger in a barely visible indent in the pristine white wall. A panel slid silently open, revealing a space illuminated by a soft blue glow. A nondescript grey-and-cobalt pressure suit hung neatly in a glass case. Nudging the panel closed, Nesta opened the case and removed the pressure suit.

Hers.

For her…uncatalogued trips. Trips to the station her team had planted by the anomaly. 

Trips which Nesta took regularly. She couldn’t risk any of her team traveling; each and every one of them was needed in the lab. No, it was her job and hers alone to make a regular leap to the station, check on their telescopes, and observe the anomaly up close.

She’d never tried to cross it. Not that she believed there was no passage; in fact, she’d painstakingly detailed the fascinatingly inexplicable illusion of a gap that appeared once every year, and had always failed to conclude if there truly was a gap.

Hence tonight’s little jaunt to the station. That gap had just appeared, and since it only showed for sixty hours, she had to go now.

So Dr. Nesta Archeron slid into her pressure suit, fastened the sleek boots and gloves, programmed the correct coordinates into the screen built into the underside of the suit’s left forearm, locked on her helmet, and keyed in the quantum leap sequence.

A blink later, she stood on the steel tiles of her team’s small, simple station deep in the reaches of outer space. Removing her helmet, Nesta allowed herself exactly three minutes to drink in the wonders of deep space.

Then she set the station’s timers for forty-eight hours, sat at the control panel, and piloted her space station/highly advanced spaceship into the gap in the universe.

For it was indeed a gap.

~

Commander Cassian Ilnair released the cockpit hatch of his sleek “interstellar exploration transport,” or, as he called her, the Millenium Falcon. Bloody government and their bloody idiotic pompous names for spaceships. That’s all it was, a spaceship, albeit a highly advanced, highly adaptable one that had carried him and up to four crew safely across nearly every corner of the universe and back to Earth.

Pulling his flight helmet off, he shook out his unruly shoulder-length hair, half- unzipped his navy blue pressure suit, and started postflight checks. 

“She’ll need to be refueled and the usual before she travels again, but other than that, good as new,” he reported to his CO, a woman five feet tall if she was an inch whose impeccable, formidable exploration resumé and take-no-bullshit demeanor made up for her diminutive height. 

“Excellent, Commander. I expect a full report on Disturbance AS-2947C by noon.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Cassian saluted.

“Dismissed.”

As he headed for the shower, Cass stole a glance at his wrist screen, which showed eight-fifteen a.m. Damn space time, he grumbled to himself, throws off my goddamn body clock. Luckily, he’d noted no significant change in that particular disturbance since the last time he visited it two weeks ago. That’d make his report much easier, indeed.

Sure, the disturbance was rippling ever so slightly, but it did that every year at this time and had been doing so since it appeared exactly seven years ago. 

Not a single scientist in all the ranks of the space force could provide a plausible explanation, or even a cohesive theory.

Disturbance AS-2947C was just that, a disturbance. A puzzling, inexplicable snag in the fabric of space time that had just appeared one day and sat around for seven years, following a routine path of motion but not really moving anywhere, just pulsing, and showing a ripple for exactly sixty hours exactly once per year.

Cassian knew his brilliant astrophysicist friend Dr. Emerie Nguyen was developing a theory that AS-2947C was a wormhole, but so far she hadn’t found any evidence to support there being another side to it. So far, all Emerie could say was that this disturbance could very well be the concrete evidence of stable wormholes she and every other member of the space sciences sector had been chasing for years. And yet they were still chasing it. 

He quickly showered and changed into his everyday uniform, slipped his wristband back on, and drew up a quick set of notes for the commodore. At exactly two minutes before noon, he knocked on her office door.

“Enter.”

Cassian stepped into the office, closed the door, and saluted. “Ma’am.”

“At ease, Commander. I believe you’re early today.”

“Some days I try to be punctual, Commodore.”

“I see.” She motioned to the west wall. “Report, Commander.”

Tapping three fingers twice against the wall, Cassian swiped an image from his tablet onto the wall, which doubled as a presentation screen. 

“Today’s imaging of Disturbance AS-2947C shows no remarkable differences from the last set. The formation has not morphed or shifted noticeably in any direction.” He swiped to a new image. “The annual irregularity in the approximate center of the disturbance appeared on schedule roughly three hours before we arrived, making it now roughly seven hours visible.” 

“Any notable observations about the irregularity?”

“No, Commodore. The irregularity is behaving exactly like it has for the six years we’ve observed it. It merely appears as what looks to be the illusion of a gap, holds steady for sixty hours, and disappears. We have never been able to decipher if the irregularity is in fact a gap or if it is simply a change in the observed color.”

“Have you never attempted to pilot your craft towards this irregularity?”

Cassian swallowed. “With all due respect, Commodore, yes. I believe you are familiar with the deep-space engine failure incident of last year?”

“I am.”

“That was my attempt to discover more about the irregularity.”

“Ah.” The commodore tilted her head, her eyes calculating. “Though I never did hear the pilot’s explanation of this failure.”

“First, may I ask what the engineers’ conclusion was?”

“The engineers concluded that the engine failure, which somehow you managed to prevent from becoming catastrophic, was the result of a power failure caused by the change in the conditions of space within the disturbance. They informed me that the engine short-circuited when your craft entered the boundary of the disturbance, but they could not explain or even theorize why.”

Cassian nodded. “I can theorize why. Commodore, I believe the power failed because, simply put, the way we fuel our crafts does not exist within the disturbance.”

“Are you implying that neither solar nor stellar energy exists within AS-2947C?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am. The instant I entered that region, my engines went completely silent. I had no time to observe anything else, as my immediate reaction was to reverse course and exit, lest I risk total craft failure and being stranded in the deepest parts of space. My craft regained power once outside the disturbance region, and I made it back, despite one of my engines being nonfunctional. As I’ve thought about it over the months, I can only come to the conclusion that the power cut off because there was no available power source.”

Commodore Amren considered Cass’s explanation. “It is logical, and it would explain why the engineers could not determine the cause of the failure. Power source failure, when rectified immediately, leaves behind no visible evidence within the engines of our craft.”

“Commodore, I still want to enter the disturbance. I believe that a craft carrying physical fuel could safely enter the region.”

“Physical fuel became obsolete decades ago, Commander.”

“And yet we still have stores. This is why. We knew there was a chance some mission might need to use fuel rather than energy to power its craft. This is that mission.”

“Commander, I’m afraid I cannot give you clearance to enter the disturbance. Not at the moment, at least. You know the regulations.”

Cassian sighed. “Right, right, seven days between active pilot duty.”

“There is one thing I can do, if you wish.”

“Tell me?”

“You may take a small stationary craft to the observation point. Stations do not qualify as actively piloted craft. I can assign you a seventy-two-hour observation mission, which will allow you to be as close to Disturbance AS-2947C as possible without endangering yourself or your craft, and also will allow you to report any noteworthy changes. Acceptable?”

“Accepted, ma’am. Thank you.”

The commodore nodded once. “I’ll get the assignment written up now. Prepare for launch at 1600 hours.”

Cassian snapped a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Dismissed.”

Four hours later, Cassian’s small observation stationcraft left Earth’s atmosphere, set its destination coordinates, and blinked away into a quantum leap, arriving at the observation point in mere seconds. 

Arrived at destination, the cool, mechanical autopilot voice announced. Artificial gravity effective in sixty seconds.

Cassian sat back, checking his harness. All secure.

Artificial gravity in effect.

Unbuckling, he stood up, pulled off his helmet, and walked to the windows, staring into the fascinating mystery of Disturbance AS-2947C. The irregularity rippled, gently, like he’d seen it do before, taunting him with the possibility of something on the other side. He stood there barely thinking, just marveling at the sight of this enigmatic corner of deep space.

And then the irregularity expanded. And a craft like nothing he’d ever seen flew out.

~

Nesta hadn’t known whether she was sane when she flew into the gap. Hell, she hadn’t known if she was thinking, let alone doing. If wormhole theory meant anything, then she’d expected a moment of terrifying flight through stark blackness that ended in her ship landing in some other, possibly uncharted, part of the universe.

She hadn’t been expecting to see an alien station.

But there it was.

The gap was a tunnel of sorts. And at the other end was a station Nesta didn’t recognize. 

She directed her ship around the foreign station, intending to capture images for examination in her lab. But before she could key in the command to the ship’s cameras, her radio cracked with static. And then someone spoke.

“Who the hell are you?”

Nesta stared at the receiver, then dragged her gaze to the station. Standing in what looked like an observation deck was a man wearing a pressure suit and boots, holding a comm device to his mouth.

“I repeat, who the hell are you?”

“You tell me first. And while you’re at it, what the hell is that station you’re in?”

“It’s a standard observation craft, of course. Unlike whatever alien craft you’re flying.”

“This is a typical exploration ship, you coarse, callous idiot.”

“Like fuck it is.”

“What’s the matter, never seen a woman fly a real ship before?”

“Never seen that particular ship before in my entire life as a pilot. Or in any of my texts.”

“You’re telling me this very real ship I’m flying doesn’t exist?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then--” Nesta’s eyes widened in shock. “Pilot, may I have your name and credentials?”

“Commander Cassian Ilnair, Earth’s space force.”

“Earth’s space force,” Nesta muttered to herself, scanning through her mind for anything related to that name. Nothing. And then it hit her.

“Commander Ilnair, who leads your nation?”

“My nation?” He seemed confused by the word. “Nations melded into a global government centuries ago. President Amarantha currently heads the Global Council.”

A look of wonder crossed Nesta’s face. “It’s true…it’s true. I can’t believe it.”

“Believe what?”

“Commander, my name is Dr. Nesta Archeron. I’m from an alternate Earth.”

The man standing in the unfamiliar station dropped his comm device. And stared.

“Permission to attempt to dock at your station? We have some items to discuss.”

He sat down on the deck floor and picked up his radio. “Granted, if you can.”

Nesta flew a slow lap around the station, noticing two docking ports, both with airlocks that seemed oddly familiar. Hmm, she thought, airlock design is clearly universal. Aiming for the port closer to the observation deck, she carefully guided her ship into the space and sighed in relief when the hatch clicked into place with the station’s airlock. 

“Connect the airlock to my ship, if you would?”

“What’s the magic word, Dr. Archeron?” Nesta swore she could hear his damn smirk.

“Please connect your airlock to my ship so I can explain myself.”

“Of course.”

Less than two minutes later, Nesta heard the familiar hiss of an airlock sealing into place around her ship’s hatch. 

“Clear for exit, Dr. Archeron.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

Nesta placed her tablet and several images into her pack, slung it over her shoulder, released her exit hatch, and swiftly ascended the ladder into the station. The moment her head cleared, she was looking around, mentally cataloguing every detail of the spacecraft. It was basic, functional, only containing living quarters and an observation lab. 

“Whenever you’re done gaping, Doctor, we can talk.”

Nesta turned to face the commander, who was leaning against a wall just outside the airlock. “There is a difference between observing and gaping, pilot, not that you would know.”

A cocky grin crept across his face. “Naturally, I’m just one of the best pilots in the universe, I wouldn’t know.”

“Your universe,” she corrected.

“What?”

“Your universe, Commander Ilnair. Or has your tiny brain already forgotten what I said about being from an alternate universe?”

He shook his head. “Right. Sorry, I’m still trying to process that.”

“As am I. Show me to the lab?”

“Not much to show, but follow me.” He led her down a short hallway onto the observation deck and laboratory, clearly the main space of the station. “Here we are. I believe you mentioned something about explaining yourself?”

“I did.”

He gestured toward her. “Go ahead.”

So she did.

[sugarmaplewings-fics]

The Price of Being A Hero

Pairing: Tamaki Amajiki x reader

Warnings: None really

A/N:

Could this be . . . angst? On my blog? Nah, I already did some/have been doing some, but I got this request a long time ago and finally finished it nearly a month later. Then took another month putting it through my system before I was able to post it . . . .

Yeah I have no excuse.

Huge thank you (and also sorry) to @why-am-i-here-please-help-me​​ for requesting!

Enjoy!

-Sugar

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

When you’re a hero, fighting is a part of your job. It was an unspoken fact that every day, when you went out on patrol, you put your life on the line for your city.

Tamaki knew this, and so did you. It was what you had trained for since high school, and simply a small downside to your dream. A dream that you were now able to live every day of your life.

Today was a day as any other; you were wandering your route with your boyfriend, Tamaki, ensuring the sector of the city was safe. You made idle conversation with him, the sounds of your moving and shifting costumes quietly accompanying your voices.

This was how the two of you had met, and over the past few years, you’d only grown closer with each other.

The both of you rounded a corner, amiably discussing plans for a day off when someone ran up to you.

“Heroes! Thank goodness.” The man must have been about ten years older than the you, and looked distressed and out of breath.

“What is it?” you asked.

“That guy over there just blew up the bank!” The citizen pointed behind him and took off running again, along with a small crowd of other people trying to get away from the chaos.

Sure enough, when you looked a little further ahead, you saw smoke pouring out of the windows from a building. You and Tamaki ran towards it, eyes scanning for a possible culprit. It wasn’t difficult to spot him, seeing as he was the only one moving in the opposite direction of the crowd. Also, he had a large bag of cash gripped in one hand.

You commenced in pursuit, hoping he wouldn’t catch on to you and your boyfriend coming up fast after him. Unfortunately, he happened to glance behind himself, immediately picking up his pace at the sight of two heroes with their focuses trained on him.

He began weaving through pedestrians and hopping over cars, attempting to shake both you and Tamaki from his tail. You, however, happened to work very well as a team together. You were the faster of your pair, so Tamaki allowed you to go ahead.

Without the villain noticing, you cut him off, skidding to a halt in front of him as Tamaki came up from behind. In a last minute effort, your culprit turned and ducked into an alley. The two of you followed him into the narrow space, noticing that within a few meters, it dead ended.

It was as if both you and Tamaki had the same thought: Got him.

The villain took one look at the wall before him, whirling around to face the two heroes who had cornered him.

“A bank? Seriously?” you mocked, knowing that he was captured. “At least try to be more original.” You sauntered closer to him, mind intent on the best way to secure the man so you could drag him back to your hero station for Fatgum and the police to deal with. “You’re coming with us.”

“I don’t think so.” The man sneered at you.

You glanced up, reminding yourself that you had to be wary of his quirk, especially since there weren’t any physical signs to clue you in as to what it might be. That civilian guy had said he had bombed the bank? Maybe it was something explosive like that Ground Zero’s quirk. His friend, Red Riot, never quite shut up about him.

Just as you began to ready your own quirk for defense, the villain before you dropped his bag. You watched as his hand transformed into a single, long katana sword, silvery and serrated. Swift as lightning, he brought it down on you, slicing from just above your collarbone to your shoulder.

Tamaki witnessed the glinting flash of the villain’s sword cut you in slow motion. He hadn’t had enough time to react. You had been too far away.

Rage began to leak into Tamaki’s nerves. How dare he? It was a hero’s duty to safely capture and secure villains with minimal damage, but for the villains themselves, there were no rules. No regulations other than their own fleeting morals in the heat of a moment. And many of them had no objection to murdering a hero in cold blood. This was the risk you took every day, and this was the horrific price of justice.

Less than a second after the man’s sword came into contact with you, Tamaki raised his hand and activated his quirk, turning each of his fingers into long, red octopus arms. He sent two towards the villain, but the man was ready, slashing at the appendages with his saber-hand. 

Tamaki’s world felt like it was shattering around him, time slowing as the metal blade sliced towards his writhing tentacles. You were everything to him, but now, because of this man, this man, you were hurt. You were suffering, and it had been all Tamaki’s fault for not stopping you from getting any closer. It should be him bleeding to death on the ground, never you.

Tamaki sent a third appendage, this one lower, at the villain’s legs. He dragged the man towards him and away from you, wrapping a shell-enforced tentacle around his manifested weapon.

You were always so cocky, too cocky for Tamaki’s comfort. The minute you felt like you were in control of a situation, you tended to exercise it, finding satisfaction in the defeat of law-breakers. Tamaki had brought it up only twice, but he guessed that it wasn’t enough to have made you stop. It wasn’t as though anything had ever come by it. Until now. And now you were both paying the price of actions already done.

Just as Tamaki pulled him within a foot of his body, the villain morphed his left hand into a second sword, slicing off the tentacle that had captured him. He took the moment of Tamaki’s wince of pain to stagger to his feet and try to bolt past him, only to be grabbed once more around his entire body. 

All Tamaki could do was ensure that you would be avenged. This man would pay for his actions against you. The only thing Tamaki could do for now was to capture him. Maybe there was still a glimmer of hope for you. Maybe the ambulance would be fast, and you would live. This man was the only thing standing in the way of that.

Tamaki pulled him in, clocking him over the head with a hard clam shell manifested on his other hand, making sure the villain slumped completely forward, solidifying his defeat.

The hero double checked that he was out cold, noting how his body had gone completely limp. Next he whirled around, ready to help you, prepared for the worst.

Except, you weren’t on the ground. You weren’t even bleeding. Your costume was torn, yes, but otherwise, you looked perfectly fine.

“Wow,” you said, removing the hand that was holding up an edge of your costume to clap. “I’ve never seen you take down a villain like that before. You made it look so easy! Your form was perfect and everything. I really—”

Tamaki cut you off, running full throttle towards you and crushing you in a hug. “You’re alright!” he said, feeling pent up tears begin to spill a little from his eyes. “You’re here, you’re okay.” Tamaki continued to whisper these words for a few moments, solidifying to himself that you weren’t lost, and were instead in his arms. Right where you belonged.

“Hey,” you said, beginning to rub at his back. His hero cape creased and smoothed with the circular motions of your hand. He noticed you were shaking a little, and that only made him hold you tighter. “Don’t you remember?” you asked gently. “My quirk?”

Your quirk . . . that had been one of the last things on Tamaki’s mind. “What about it?”

“Metal can’t hurt me,” you explained. “I can get cut, but I heal really fast. It’s kind of a weird and random side effect to the other, more hero-ey aspect, but that’s just something I can do.”

Now that you said it, Tamaki did remember you mentioning that part of your power before.

“It’s alright now,” you said, pulling back so you could place a kiss on Tamaki’s forehead, which had grown damp with cold sweat.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Tamaki said, brow furrowing with his seriousness. You placed a hand on his cheek to brush away the small tear streak that had briefly run down his face. “I want you to promise me.”

“I will.” You averted your gaze, feeling foolish and slightly ashamed of your actions. If the villain had had any other, more dangerous quirk, you could very well have been dead right now.

Tamaki placed his hand over yours, tilting your chin with his opposite so you could once again meet his eyes. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

“Me too.”

The sound of a car pulling up a few feet away from you caught your attention. A few policemen stepped out, looking from the passed out man on the ground to your hunched figures further back in the alley.

“This the bank robber?” one of them called over to you.

You pulled apart, walking up to the men and woman dressed in blue. “Yeah.”

Tamaki let you deal with everything, just as he always did. He watched from a safe distance away as you made your statements, gave your report, and even greeted a passing journalist. 

Tamaki wanted to get going. Where there was one reporter, there would inevitably be a swarm, no matter how small the crime. Besides, he had something more important on his mind that he needed to do.

As if half reading his mind, you began to say your farewells to the policemen, making sure the villain was safely secured in the car. You came back and collected Tamaki, going about what you had been doing a few minutes prior.

“Well,” you said, looking down at your costume in dismay. It looked almost like some kind of cutoff, an almost straight line running just beneath and nearly parallel to your collarbones. “Guess I’ll have to pull out my spare. We should probably head back. A hero’s got to look their best, you know.”

Tamaki nodded and entwined his fingers in yours, happier than ever at the warm feeling.

You looped around the block in the direction of Fatgum’s agency. It wasn’t too far from where you were now.

You began to lapse back into light chatter with Tamaki at your side. It was clear you were still a bit shaken from what you’d just been through, but Tamaki was glad to see you weren’t taking it too harshly.

Even so, Tamaki was forever grateful to whatever divine beings may be watching over you. He couldn’t imagine what his life would be like without you. You were his sunshine, the one person who could light up his whole world no matter what. Keeping you safe at his side was what he intended to do for as long as he could, and there was nothing that would stop him from doing so.

The small ring box dutifully waiting in the darkness of his back pocket was enough to prove that.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Author’s Note:

At first I was going to rewrite this one because I hated it, but then I let it sit in my WIPs for a while and finally decided to just finish it as it was. I think it turned out ok, and I hope it was what you were thinking of when you requested! Sorry it took me like 2-3 months to do. I don’t really have any excuses, but thank you for being patient!

Love you!

-Sugar 

Taglist: @basicaegyo​ @iiminibattlehero​ @katsugay​ @nabo39​ @pyrofanatic​​ @sendhelpimstupid​ @sokkasangel​ @xoxopam4​​

[elysianslove]

all the little moments ; jason todd

synopsis; all the little moments between you and jason that ultimately lead up to the most important words you’ll utter to one another. 

pairing; jason todd x reader

genre; fluff 

warnings; hints at nudity towards the end

i.

in the frequent occurrence of a thunderstorm, you find tranquility. somehow, the relentless tapping of rain against your window, and the occasional rumble of thunder that's usually accompanied by a flash of a lightning bolt, set your nerves at ease. oppositely, they teeter jason on edge. with every boom of thunder that's sent from the sky to the earth below it, jason flinches. he's very obviously trying not to let it show, and with your head tucked underneath his chin, on his chest, you can't see the grimace of discomfort he wears on his lips. you can, however, feel the unruly beating of his heart beneath your ear, drumming loud and too quick.

a laptop is placed across from you on the bed, but you barely mind it any attention as the rain begins to lull you to sleep. you're minutes away from slipping away from reality when a flash of lightning illuminates the whole room momentarily, and jason sinks within the mattress deep, hiding a whimper in the crook of your neck. goosebumps riddle his skin, and a small shiver racks through him when you pull apart to sit up properly.

jason looks awfully like a small puppy at the moment.

he sinks lower onto your bed, turning onto his side and bringing a pillow above his head. he balances it with his arm, and with a muffled voice he tells you, "i can't take this shit anymore."

his tone is anything but scared, and the frustration laced in his words makes you laugh. you move to sit on your knees, legs parallel to his sprawled body, and you lean forward to move the pillow away from his face.

when jason had explained everything to you, about his past and especially about his death, he admitted that sometimes, breathing was a foreign concept to him. that he'd find himself holding his breath unintentionally while doing mundane tasks like grocery shopping or research for a case. that he wouldn't notice until he'd start to get lightheaded. it scared you when you awoke in the middle of the night to a silent jason: his chest wasn't rising and falling in speed with his breathing because he wasn't breathing. you had shook him awake with fright unknown to you, only to find him alive and well, only slightly dizzy. when he had moved the pillow to place it above his head, you notice through the movement of his chest that he'd been holding his breath.

you take the pillow into your own hands and set it aside. in response, jason twists slightly to face you, but remains on his side. his hair is ruffled from the pillow placement, so you shift forward and rest your fingers atop his head, carding them through the soft curls of his hair gently. instinctively, jason sighs, shutting his eyes. it's momentary, because not a second later does he jump up at the sound of thunder outside the window.

"hey," you softly say, bringing your hands to cup his cheeks. his attention turns to you fully, but you know his mind rests with the sky and its storm. "you're safe here, always."

he moves his head to press his lips on your palm, kissing it gently in gratitude. he breathes easier as your hands shuffle up back into his hair, brushing through it. "i ever mention i hate storms?" jason states, and you laugh again lowly.

"once or twice," you reply, shrugging. you briefly remove your fingers from his hair to lay by his side, facing him, when you bring your hands up to his face again. one hand gingerly rests at his chin, tilting his head to face you directly. "will kissing me make it better?" you offer.

he smiles smugly, tilting forward to press his lips against yours. the kiss is brief, but eternal in a way. jason always kisses you like it's the last time he ever will. always leaves the lingering taste of him your tongue. always leaves your lips tingling with the afterthought of him, forcing you to bite down. he always kisses you in a way that you won't forget, but will always crave for more. kissing jason todd is one of the many reasons you've found yourself falling in love with him, even if you’ve yet to say it aloud.

ii.

"which red is nicer?"

jason comes up from behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle as he rests his chin atop your shoulder. he looks over to the two plastic tubes of lipstick you hold in your right and left hand. to be honest, both reds look the same to him, and the fact that you can see the difference only slightly scares him.

still, he lifts a hand up from your middle and points at the red in your right hand. maybe it's darker, or maybe his eyes are just tricking him. "that one," he answers you, and you continue to stare at the tubes in contemplation, before twisting your head to look at him.

"you don't know the difference, do you?" you tease, and he smiles sweetly at you shrugging. "i like the one you chose better anyways." you replace the other tube back, and throw the darker red into the small basket slung on your forearm.

jason watches you as you observe the aisles full of color, following behind you closely. you aren't blind, and neither is he, and the both of you can see the stares from the women and men towards him. you can't blame them. jason is beautiful, in a rough sort of way. he's tall and dark and handsome, and the facial scars along with the spontaneous white streak in his hair do him wonders. he dresses the same way he looks: mysteriously. it's always enough to draw out all the attention from a crowd.

you call him beautiful everyday. he never believes you. not even when all eyes are on him, like this.

"alright, i'm done!" you announce, stepping towards him. "let's go checkout," you tell him, and link your arm with his.

from miles away, it's obvious you two are a couple. even if it's not from the way neither of you can avoid the small, lingering physical touches — whether it's jason's hand brushing against yours or you sweetly reaching up to cup his chin with a hand — or the way the two of you talk in hushed tones like you're hiding a secret from the world. it's from the way jason glances back at you after surveying a scene: like you're his entire world, like you ground him to his spot on his feet, like you're keeping him from spinning away, like you're the only thing that matters, has ever mattered, and will ever matter. he looks at you with such unbelievable love and comfort and ease. like you're the only person he can envision himself running away with anywhere in the world.

so the girls and the boys look, but they keep their distance. even when you're at a distance from him, and especially when you're intertwine your fingers with his.

iii.

there's two occasions in which jason kisses you like you're the oxygen he breathes — he takes your lips in his and kisses you wholly, and so passionately and his hands are everywhere and his lips breathe you in so well and he tastes so good against your mouth, and he won't let you go until your gasping and begging for air, whether that be on your bed in the familiar comfort of your sheets or at a wayne gala in front of a very large audience.

the two occasions are a near death situation or he's just really fucking horny.

right now, it's the second one. it's obvious it's the second one because he's pulling at your clothes like they offend him, and his lips are latched onto your neck in a way that reassures you that you'll need to waste away a bottle of concealer. he's shirtless and breathless above you, covering your entire body with large frame. his hips grind down onto your yours, his skin burning with desire. your hands are traveling from his biceps up to his shoulders, towards his neck. your fingers find their way to his hair and you pull at the strands as the pit at the bottom of your stomach deepens with every move of his body and every kiss he places along your throat.

breathlessly, you say his name, but it's lost among the many gasps he emits from the back of your throat. he pulls away for seconds to push your shirt above your head, grinning as he lowers his open mouth to your chest when he finds you bare.

"jay," you plead when he kisses you over and over. he's relentless and unforgiving when he comes up to kiss you fully on the mouth. your hands travel to waistband of his pants and you tug down —

the phone rings, and jason freezes only for about three seconds before he decides he's going to continue to let it ring, opting to carry on with the ministrations on your lips and neck and chest. after a while it stops ringing, and your hands travel lower along his body. he moans into your mouth, losing himself in the taste and feel of you until the phone starts to ring again.

this time, you place a hand steadily on his chest, pushing him up and away from you slightly. you're completely out of breath when you speak — jason tends to have that effect on you — and reluctantly, you tell him, "jay, maybe you should see what that's about."

jason looks like he's contemplating, he even glances over at the phone resting on your nightstand. then he looks back down at you, and shifts until he's resting his elbows on either side of your head. you questioningly look at him, and his answer is in the kiss that swallows you whole. you're an honest person, and you're not going to complain at the way he's making you feel. not for a single phone call.

iv.

there's a lot of activities you and jason do together that he's inexplicably good at. baking is one. he always, always takes control in the kitchen. most of the time you just stand there and hand him the things he needs. it's basically the same with cooking, with the addition of him allowing you to taste test. it serves well that he isn't just good at cooking, but that he actually enjoys it. equally, you love watching him cook. he gets to enveloped within the action, like he's one with the herbs and the spices and the sauces. he's also one of those people that just know the measurements,

which is fairly frustrating.

there are lots of occasions in which you and jason prefer to stay in rather than go out. in all honesty, it's the majority of the time.

today is definitely one of those days, especially with the way he keeps yawning every five minutes. it ensures that neither of you will be leaving your home, let alone your couch. you're already placing your order for chinese takeout as jason flops onto the couch, sliding down low until he can rest his neck on the back of the couch. you walk around to where he is and seat yourself next to him, smiling sweetly when he glances your way.

"i ordered chinese," you tell him. he sighs gratefully, and the two of you say little as you await the arrival of your order. when it's finally here, you two eat it in silence, a replayed episode of how i met your mother playing on the tv screen before you while you group your noodles into your chopsticks' hold.

silently, as he always does, jason steals a piece of sesame chicken from your plate, and you yell loudly. your yell, however, is muffled by the food of your mouth and jason only laughs at you when he places your chicken in his mouth. when you swallow your food, you point an accusatory pair of chopsticks in his direction.

"i always tell you to get it but you never do," you say, shifting to sit further away from him. "suffer chicken-less now."

jason follows you across the couch, leaning towards your plate to try to take another piece of chicken. "please," he whispers in your ear, and you can see his pout from the corner of your eye. "you can have my spring roll," he says, his voice dancing suggestively in waves.

"you're a liar," you accuse him. "how many times am i gonna fall for that?"

as you turn to look at him, he quickly and sneakily steals away a piece of chicken. he tosses it into his mouth before you can object, and laughs again when he spots your expression. it's almost impossible to be angry with him when he looks like this: carefree in some sweatpants and a tee shirt, his hair a wild mess and his eyes tired, and his smile wide. he looks so much like any other man here; it's so easy to forget how just a little over an hour ago he'd been a completely different man, a really dangerous one. but here he is, with his heart on his sleeve, and the brightest laugh — all for you.

"you're staring at me, doll," he comments, and you shrug shyly. he leans forward to teasingly kiss your nose, then shifts lower to kiss your lips. as he's distracted, you move your hand slowly to hover over his plate and then you steal away his spring roll. you pull back from the kiss and quickly bite down on it, grinning victoriously as his mouth falls open in shock. "you cheated!" he mentions.

"so what?" you reply. "not like you took my chicken fairly."

"i'll never forgive you for this," he says, shoving his chopsticks harshly and dramatically against his food.

you roll your eyes at him, and begrudgingly, you take a piece of chicken and place it on his plate. "happy now, my love?"

he gingerly kisses your cheek. "always with you."

v.

jason trusts you. it's an understatement. sure, you haven't said the three magic words to each other, but it's there in the way he holds your hand as you walk the street, or in the way he hands you a special cupcake he made for you and watches as your face is overtaken by bliss the moment you bite down on the sweetness, or in the way he finds comfort in the crook of your neck, or in the way you're so good at making him feel good, in every possible way, whether it's a gentle goodnight or good morning kiss or whether it's a generous body massage or whether it's your naked body against his, losing yourself within each other.

sometimes, the trust he holds towards you and the unsaid love is in how he lets you put his head in your lap, and lets you use all your skincare products on him, however you'd like.

at your mercy.

"how many products have you put on my face?" he asks, his eyes closed. he'd never admit it out loud, let alone to you — he doesn't want you to know that this isn't just fun for you — but the way your hands or the brush glide along the skin of his face is so relaxing. and honestly, he's already feeling refreshed.

"i've only used a cleanser and a toner, jay," you reply.

jason frowns. "and how many more steps are there exactly?"

you pinch his nose slightly, causing him to scrunch it up and raise up his hand to brush away yours. "don't ask questions you don’t want answers to, mr. todd."

he sighs, and continues to let you work your magic. you pull out a container and a brush, and you begin to apply a face mask. the brush and the product are cold on his face, and he frowns and starts shifting, moving his facial muscles.

you smack at his shoulder. "you're so restless," you tell him, and he only smiles smugly up at you. you continue to apply the face mask. "jay," you begin. he hums out a response. "can i ask you a question?" he nods in your lap. "if you could change one thing about the past, what would it be?"

slowly, jason's eyes open. they don't meet yours, even as you're staring down at him while you apply the mask, but eventually they do when he seems to have found his answer. he breathes deeply, and replies, "i think a while ago i would've had a lot of different answers. like not go to that warehouse, or not even accept batman's offer to be robin. but, um, there's still good in what life i've made as the red hood, you know?"

you smile proudly down at him. "yeah," you agree. "like roy, and lian, and kori, and artemis and bizzaro —"

"and you," he cuts you off, pointedly looking you directly in the eye as he says it.

shyly, you nod. "and me," you repeat after him.

"i think," jason starts, but he's reluctant. you avoid looking him in the eye, knowing it'll only make him more anxious, and opt to looking for any spots you've missed. when he's ready, jason says, "i think i'm in a good enough place to say that i wouldn't change the past."

your eyes meet his again, finally. "everything led to this moment, right here," you say to him. "you, on my lap, with a pink face mask on."

jason's eyes widen. "it's pink?"

"what?" you wonder. "not masculine enough for ya?"

jason sighs. you take your phone from the desk near you, and swipe to the camera app.

"no pictures."

"too late, pretty boy."

vi. 

the water has cooled down by the time jason knocks on the bathroom door. he's fully clothed, completely opposite to you. you tuck your knees in at your chest and rest your cheek above them, looking at where he leans against the doorframe.

"hey, gorgeous," you greet him. you smile sleepily at him, lifting up your fingers to wave.

he chuckles lowly, stepping into the bathroom and towards where you sat in the bathtub. he sits on the edge, and brings his hands to your hair, beginning to brush and comb through it gently. you hum delightfully at the feel of his fingers, shutting your eyes. his fingers trail down to your neck, hovering over your skin before settling on the shoulder opposite to where he sits. he squeezes lightly, reassuringly, before leaning down and settling a kiss on the top of your head.

"join me, please," you ask of him, and he hums, smiling.

"my pleasure," he tells you, then stands up to rid himself of his clothes. he strips off the shirt first, slowly, allowing you to trail your eyes and follow with them the movement of his shirt as it reveals his skin underneath bit by bit. scars scatter across his hips, up to his chest that looks as if it was carved out by an artist of the 14th century. you can see the faint autopsy scar down the middle of his chest, but it's barely there. you've asked him before if it hurts sometimes, or itches, like scars tend to — it's all psychological of course.

he told you it hurts the most on april 27th.

he rids himself of the rest of the clothes: his shoes are disregarded followed by his trousers, then his socks, then his underwear until he's clad in nothing but his own human skin. he's bare before you as he climbs in behind you, settling in the space you've left for him when you scooted forward.

the water isn't as hot as it had been when you first started the bath, but it's still warm enough to soothe one's muscles. he sighs blissfully as he sinks lower into the water, his hands gripping the edges of the bathtub. for a moment, he sinks down deeper, submerging his entire body beneath the water, wetting his hair. then he sits back up and leans forward, capturing your waist in his hands as he pulls back against him.

in his arms, you feel even calmer. the nerves or the tension resting on your shoulders and the back of your neck drift off of your skin and sink into the water. his arms wrap tighter around your waist, bringing you closer to him, your naked back against his bare chest. it's quiet, the only noises sounding through the bathroom being yours and his steady breathing and the occasional slosh of water. jason's resting his chin upon your shoulder, his cheek against yours. your hand raises up to brush through his hair and he sweetly kisses your neck.

he breathes in, breathes out, then trails his lips upwards to steal a kiss from your lips. it's short lived, but momentous. you kiss him again, lasting it longer, before he pulls back. his eyes remain on your lips, which hover over his even as he speaks. and he says, "i love you," ever so quietly, ever so timidly. his arms grip your waist and hips tighter, afraid to let you go, afraid you'll vanish — as if those words are what will make you run away. he's never said them before, and he didn't even think before saying them, not long enough to decide what your answer or reply might be. not long enough to decide whether he should have even said them or not.

he doesn't realize he's holding his breath until you say, "i love you too, gorgeous," and then he breathes out in relief.

then he kisses you again, open mouthed, and he loses himself in his lover.

[hawkinsschoolcounselor]

What do you think of when Mike said "I love her and I can't lose her again!". I don't know why they had him say that if they planned on going with Byler. And it didn't seem like he was lying, like Nancy saying "I love you" to Steve in S2.

There’s two things to remember about Mike in regards to his relationship with El. 1) It’s always been paralleled with his relationship with Will. 2) He does not seem to be enjoying his relationship with her in Season 3. Given these two facts, I don’t think that statement was even meant for her. He’s been using her as an outlet for his “inappropriate” feelings for Will all along.

In Season 1, Mike is supposedly crushing hard on El, but he gets angry with her twice (in the same episode, I believe). Both of these times are the result of Mike thinking El is lying about being able to help Will. First he’s annoyed that she seems to be sending them on a wild good chase (”Why did you bring us here?”) then he flips out when Will’s body is pulled from the quarry (”You were supposed to help us find him alive! You told us he was alive!”).Mike starts to “fall” for her after she reveals Will is alive and helps find him in the Upside Down. 

In Season 2, Mike is intensely worried about Will. He stays by his side, promises to protect him, and manages to break through to him by talking about how meeting Will was the best thing he’s ever done. El walks back into his life again as it looks like he may lose Will for a second time. It very conveniently allows it to seem like El is the one he’s worried about losing when she goes with Hopper and Will goes with Joyce, Jonathan, and Nancy. He later encourages Will to dance with the random girl, looks surprised and sad when Will agrees, and sits and mopes until El conveniently shows up. 

In Season 3, Mike’s relationship with El is a constant show for others. Look closely at any of the scenes where they show physical intimacy. When they’re kissing in El’s room, Mike removes her hands from his face. He also breaks the kiss to sing along with the music. When Dustin is showing off his gadgets, he is standing with his arms crossed while El clings to him. He even seems to shift slightly only for her to pull him closer. He makes it a point to bail on the party with her after making the trip to the hill in order to make it clear that they’re going to make out. He enjoys other people knowing they’re dating, but he doesn’t enjoy the relationship itself. When they fight he’s more annoyed than upset. He doesn’t try to make amends himself until after he fights with Will. 

He’s once again afraid of losing Will, and, as a result, he tries to make up with El. He makes a mess of it, of course, and eventually this results in him shouting out “I love her and I can’t lose her again!” Now, he does care about El, and he doesn’t want her to get hurt (or worse), but this line was entirely based on the turmoil from his fight with Will. This is why we never see Mike and Will make up. This is probably why they needed them to get into a fight in the first place. Mike even uses similar language to what he’s said to WIll before (”We’ll go crazy together”/”They say it makes you crazy.”/”It was the best thing I’ve ever done.”/”You’re the most important thing in the world to me.”) They need to keep up Mike’s plausible deniability by making sure he’s constantly in fear of losing both of them. This allows him to pretend it’s El that he’s in love with, as well as misleading the audience into thinking the same thing.

This is all hammered home at the end. El’s clinginess to Mike is back, apparently out of nowhere if Mike’s surprise is any indicator. He either doesn’t remember their conversation or is pretending not to. He doesn’t kiss her back, instead he stands there with his arms at his sides with his eyes wide open. He’s very confused as El walks off. Even when they hug outside, it’s entirely El that is physically intimate. Watch the scene closely. El moves Mikes head so that they have the face nuzzle. Again, she is the one initiating all physical intimacy. The last thing we see from Mike is him sadly looking back at the Byers house before pedaling home. He walks into his house in a daze and hugs his mom, reminiscent of the scene where he thought Will was dead. I think he may have just put everything together.

We’re supposed to think Mike loves El, but they’ve left us more than enough clues that he really loves Will. They never even really made Mike and El’s relationship look healthy when you think about it. Poor Mike was just as confused as many of the fans. 

[mc-critical]

(Okay head’s up, I’m going to be on your blog a lot since I absolutely LOVE your takes and analysis’.) Do you think (strictly theatrically speaking, not in the non-fictional and historical sense) Suleyman really loved Hürrem? As I watched the show I found it very silly how other characters of the show would remark how Suleyman “loved Hurrem so much he refused to ever take another concubine again” because..he did? And multiple times from what the viewers have seen too. Majority of the times the concubines/other women in Suleyman’s life (Isabella, Firüze etc) were only removed from his life via Hurrem’s intrigues, not by Suleyman’s decision. What do you think?

Aww, thank you so much for the nice words! 💕 Be here as much as you wish, absolutely no problem! (there are some takes I've had in the past that are quite passive-agressive in retrospect 😅, so I might as well also give you a heads up.)

As for your question, I think yes, SS loves Hürrem, but in his own, sometimes honestly incomprehensible (even outright toxic), way.

The writers perhaps wanted to hint at love at first sight in the beggining, due to the way she fainted in his arms in the first episode and how he kept thinking about her (that Ibrahim had to tell him that where he was supposed to go was the other direction) and the wave of excitement and anticipation he felt while waiting for her. But when they spent two nights together and he truly got to know her, was where it was at. Her uncanny ability to make him laugh, entertain him in a way no one else had before, was what impressed him first. He felt calm, safe in her presence, and wanted to keep this probably forever, along with him doing whatever else he wanted in the meantime regardless.

I feel the point of contention of whether he truly loved her or not comes from the fact that, the show wanted to make their love story integral to their both historically thematic and narratively soapy story - what I mean is, they wanted to make it the central plotline. And as a central plotline, it creates and/or extends on the other plotlines, having to show the other characters' reactions in excessive detail and even center parts of their motivations around it. You see how S01 and S02 of the series played this aspect of Hürrem and Süleiman's story completely straight - it presented it as The Love, this big, (thematically and narratively) unprecedented thing, this vital aspect of the series' DNA, the very tool that moves the story forward, that is only bound to have consistent narrative opposition: and I'm not referring only to Isabella and Firuze and all the other concubine arcs that force love triangles suited for the genre, it all is also about the continuous, frequent attacks on their love, that only stopped when the show made a complete genre shift by the second half of S04 and didn't have much time left. They worked with the idea that the more this love is attacked and antagonized, the stronger it becomes and the more shall people root for it. That's where the problem comes, because in retrospect, you can honestly see that these attacks played a major part in provoking a bunch of stuff SS did for Hürrem. Mahidevran beating her to death and poisoning her? SS gives Hürrem a chamber only for herself. (the other one she shared with Ayşe.) Them accusing her incessantly? Valide complaining about her? The various attacks? He continues to care even more for her. Valide and Ibrahim arranging that attack with the bandits? He married her. And one would wonder: is this even genuine or does the writing simply use her enemies' failings to lead Hürrem to SS? Is that the only reason he actually cares? What does MC want to achieve?

There are people who say that the entire point of SS loving her was that she was so different from everyone else (and that the concubine arcs ruined it), and yes, it was like that, in the very beginning. First impression is important and he truly began to enjoy her a lot since their first two nights, for her bringing him something new. However, both of Hürrem and Süleiman's characters and their relationship overall, drastically evolved throughout the show. When the first impression had passed and Hürrem gained SS's utmost attention and she became pregnant, she very quickly started taking stuff for granted, considering him only hers (the demonstration of the ring in front of Mahi; the twinge of jealousy towards Ibrahim.) and as a parallel, him still being a Sultan, having to follow the customs anyway, and calling Gülnihal in his chambers twice. Both of their ways of living clash, because Hürrem wants a monogamous relationship and takes every sign of care for him at face value, while SS lives in an environment that wants him to do what is expected of him.

SS both loves and hates when Hürrem stands up to his will. There have been times where she acted rashly, making borderline silly accusations (like blaming little Mustafa for the fire in E10), where she made moves out of jealousy (like stealing Isabella's pendant) and where she was complaining to him for something she didn't succeed to get (like Valide's chambers in S03). Süleiman sees her rebellious nature and goes out of his way to do moves to spite her. (this guy invited Isabella on a halvet out. of. sheer. spite and nothing else! smh honestly..) But there are as many times where he simply covers what she did (like killing Isabella) and caves to her demands anyway! Why would he cave to her demands and close his eyes on so much stuff she did, if he doesn't feel at least something for her?

The different treatment she gets also comes into play, because no matter how many times she's attacked and he seemingly stood by and watched aside from more serious cases, all it honestly does, is trigger his protective instincts. Despite of all the bumps on the road, Hürrem always was his darling, his special snowflake, whom he clearly felt something for. If anything, he wouldn't have freed her and this isn't something he would do to just anyone. (as we see how he refused to free Mahidevran when she desperately begged him to in E45.; and what's important, him freeing Hürrem wasn't provoked by someone else attacking her.) And when she makes all these jealousy fits, he listens, because Hürrem's character development represents full adaption to the circumstances of the harem, and by that, getting just like the others and learning their tricks. This has turned him off numerous times and when she shows that rebellious side of hers yet again, he couldn't help, but listen. What he said to Ibrahim after he sent off the Russian concubines, is especially telling: "No. (I don't love Hürrem as much as she loves me.) But now I fell in love with her even more." This summarizes extremely well what he thinks of her at this point, because while he's ready to cut her some slack, he's still helpless to her.

Though, later down the line, it gets very abundantly clear that if he loves her, he doesn't love her because she's different and she's rebellious, but because she's loyal to him. Infinitely loyal. She loves him this much, that she's not only ready to willingly drink poison and kill herself for him anytime, but she doesn't even want to give up his throne. It is all very well highlighted by his infamous line to Fatma: "Hürrem is not an angel, but she has something that none of you have. Loyalty! Absolute loyalty... / "She never saw anyone else on the throne but me." Over the years, SS began to live with the dramatically increased paranoia of betrayal, turning his natural ego from a strength, to an everlooming weakness. It destroyed every single relation of his, except for Hürrem. She's the only person that wasn't targeted by this crippling paranoid fear, he perhaps found piece and tranquil in her presence, because he knew that she wouldn't ever turn her back on him. And all these times he got mad at her, he had halvets to spite her, he caused her to prove to him how much he loved her, it turned out to be not only because his ego was tempered with, he wanted to test her loyalty the entire time. And all the times he prevented her from digging deeper into him and told her to stay out of political matters, now in S04 he no longer does that, since she actively joins every single conversation. Hürrem and Süleiman's relationship was put in a thorough deconstruction in S03 and S04, because after the slow Cerebus Syndrome transition began occurring and Yılmaz Şahin fully took over the script, the narrative stopped playing the love story completely straight and it put in the impression that it isn't focused on as much as it was before. So its more problematic aspects began showing even more down the line and it all lead into this very realization. The last episodes of Hürrem's life, while seeming like a cop-out, are genuine love letters for the fans and for Hürrem, with having Süleiman realize who he will lose and what will happen next, giving her the attention he never did. (I think the best Hürrem and Süleiman scenes we got, were in these episodes, along with the ones in the beginning episodes and right after the wedding, in E43-44.)

[And the episodes after Hürrem's death also make us question whatever he cares for her, because all he did there was straightforwardly betray her dying wish. Still, we should keep in mind that SS was at the peak of his downward spiral and it was Hürrem's death that sealed everything for him - losing the person who loved you dearly and was the most loyal one to you in your book, only caused catastrophic and devastating results, with SS going in her chambers in E136 and begging her to forgive him, right before the big fight between Selim and Beyezid began. There is everything else he did, yes, but losing HER is what caused him the truly neverending misery and what pushed him to such extremes, the loss of her loyalty broke him and finished him.]

Isabella and Firuze and Nazenin also add to these tests of loyalty, as well as being love triangles, added in for the drama. I feel SS did this not only to spite Hürrem, but also because he liked her unpredictability and he truly never expected for her to be this loyal in his eyes. It is possible he thought at some point due to his paranoia that she would give up on him, betray him, knowing that she also has her own ambitions. But seeing that none of that happened... perhaps all these continuous rifts in their relationship strived to show how strongly she loved him after all and maybe he came to appreciate that, even if it were too late. {note: the others said that SS loved Hü not exactly because of him refusing to take in concubines, but rather not taking concubines in for a long time. It illustrates more their hopes and beliefs (Mahidevran in E61: "Did you really think that his majesty couldn't be with other women?") and arguments presented when they need to win someone over for their cause to get rid of her. (like Hatice with Afife in S03) I always considered the Firuze arc more of a thematic tool than a dramatic one: aside from showing an actual continuous rift between Hürrem and SS, it breaks Hürrem's season two finale victory in half, enforcing even further that there isn't just any true long lasting victory that the themes won't condemn in this franchise. Nazenin was more for the parallels (Nurbanu - Nazenin; Hürrem - Gülnihal), while I never fully figured out what Isabella Fortuna was for, tbh.}

{He regarded Isabella as more of a toy, unfortunately, even with him saying that it was all somehow "a political game" with her and we had only him succumbing to his "manliness", protecting her from the snake and inviting her to a halvet only to spite Hürrem. With Firuze it was, admittedly, a bit more complicated, because he sure was infatuated with her to some extent, recited the exact same poetry to her, as well, but then again, we have the poisoning as a factor, and we have no idea to what extent it began to affect his psyche, besides him having to lay in bed in E78. I don't think Hürrem's intrigues had anything to do with the feelings he had for both of them, and I believe he would at some point have let them all go, exactly due to his ego and loyalty complex.}

I don't say that Süleiman's love for Hürrem is a healthy one, because oh noo, IT IS NOT, very far from it, in fact. Especially with the writers still keeping the status-quo with them the exact same even after he freed and married her, and for a while, it never made an actual difference. However, it is something that he didn't feel for anyone else in this harem and I would say that he indeed cherished it a lot.

[kat-hawke]

Sequestered

(Immediately following [Near & Far] & [Threads])

Ethereal fingers continued to pluck each mental string until the elf Kat sought cautiously responded. 'Why do you seek me now?' Seraanna's words echoed in the vacant meditative mind, narrowing the search as the thread sparked with like, provided the anchor for connection. Kat's focus shifted to the single point as she grasped at the nexus and pulled them together across the mental gap. Her eyes opened as the breath was sucked from her lungs to find herself standing inches away from the manifestation of the Ren'dorei who answered.

"To ask something of you," Kat answered, guarded. Here in the artificial reality, her accent was absent. Here, she was presented as her own perception, the speech normal to her ears, and projected as such. But the empty expanse behind her failed to hide the truth; Shadow and Light shifted like the ocean upon the shore, each side pushing and receding in rhythm.

The mindscape behind the Ren'dorei revealed an equal truth of the woman's will and shape; Shadow gathered bound yet untamed. A sight that spurred envy to mix with remorse in Kat's very core.

"I have offered words to you before," Seraanna murmured with a gentle tilt of her head, voice still soft here but no longer halting, "and given respect to the disdain shown within the Forge of Iron." A slow breath's pause. "What would you ask?"

"I don't particularly care for those who intrude my mind without invitation," Kat responded in monotone as she briefly inspected the mindscape behind the elf before turning away and walking four steps with hands collected behind her back. 

"There is an individual hiding somewhere in the kingdom." With a wave of one hand, a map of the lands outlying Stormwind was conjured with ease. The manipulation of this mindscape was second nature to Kat after so many years and many other connections. "A necromancer, in fact. Over the years, he has gained the name 'The Renovator'. Likely in league with the Cult of the Damned during this chaotic invasion." Slowly, her gaze turned back to Seraanna. "I'd ask you to find where exactly the menace is."

"Intrude?" Seraanna inquired as she took languid steps to close the distance, the right hand clasped loosely in the left and the thumb rubbed absently over the palm as she arrived at Kat's side. "At most, it was that I borrowed your sight. But of your thoughts, your - integrity? Of those, there was no invasion." Her dark lips were pulled by a quiet smile, "What you term intrusion was little more than a conversation overheard." 

"One needs earn my enmity to experience intrusion, and you have long been absent of my own Sight. No opportunity," Seraanna mused, "to earn enmity, or - to gain the trust of a request." She turned her attention, unhurried, towards the conjured map. "Why, then, ought I do this thing for you?"

"Don't think of it as for me, then," Kat replied. "Look at it more as, for the people. Friends or family, loved ones, or those tucked away in quiet graves. The Scourge holds no biases, and neither does the man who digs up the bodies to create the fiends." 

With a twist of her wrist, the Director conjured a plush and ornate chair of Gilnean make, grays and golds. She dropped into the seat with grace to face the elf, one knee hooking over the other—an unnecessary display of her skill within the artificial reality.

"I'm not a stranger to this." She motioned to the vast mindscape. "Though our abilities run parallel in some regard, they differ in others. I, for example, cannot borrow one's sight or mind. Not without an established anchor or catalyst. Memories, however. Those I can pull apart and manipulate at the touch as if weaving a blanket. I do not have the time to wade through the myriad of truths and lies the darkness will present me to find the one where this monster truly is."

Seraanna settled backward with a slow exhale. Plumes of shadows rolled up and gathered as if to catch her, only to fade as she came to rest in an overstuffed armchair embroidered in red and gold. 

"More plain-spoken," she quietly mused, regarding the Director, "than I had thought to expect of you." 

The Ren'dorei turned her hands, gaze falling to a ring on her left index finger - rough silver set almost randomly with several small stones. "I am of Quel'thalas, lest you forget, and more than intimate with what the Scourge may do." Her finger grazed lightly over the ring before she looked at Kat.

"There is a time and place for more elaborate and riddle-like wording, but quite frankly, I find myself too exhausted to dance around the points at this very moment." Kat's reply came without emotion. "And no, I did not forget where your breed hails from." 

"Provide me with three things, if you would see this done." Seraanna continued as their eyes met. "All that you know of this Renovator, that I might discern his presence. Sanctuary for the task, for this, is no simple casting of my Sight within Stormwind's walls. And last...?" 

"State how I ought name you." A soft smile pulled at the elf's lips. "You, and not any position or title that adheres."

Kat's hands collected in her lap, slowly folding over one another as Seraanna listed her demands, the final of which elicited a narrowed gaze. She expected an accord, payment, or a favor, but to identify herself now left the Director agitated. The usual escapes to the answer were carefully blocked off in the elf's requests, clever yet bothersome.

"Unfortunately, for us both, the knowledge is rather lacking. But, very well..." Without a single movement, Kat willed a table into existence, a folder laid face down upon its surface. A key made of wrought iron appeared beside the paper. "You must destroy that after our business is concluded, both in fact. Though the key has limited uses, tear open the void with it in hand, over half a dozen candles. You will find your sanctuary." 

"As for a name..." She trailed off, flattening her lips. "Wise to state you do not want a title or position. Puts me in a corner, no? Yet you never offer your own."

"Neither have you so offered, yet it is that I have asked." The Ren'dorei remained in her chair of red and gold, legs curled beneath her, no move made to reach for the items brought into being. "Like will be given for like," came the soft murmur, "I give you that assurance."

"Very well," Kat muttered as she drew a deep breath. "Friends call me Kat, and though we are far from such a prospect, it will do all the same."

"...like for like..." The elf sounded.

"Seraanna." After a brief pause, she spoke in a more precise tone before reaching a hand for the folder and wrought iron key upon the table. "Those with familiarity often use Seraa, and some few," the faint smile remained on her dark-painted lips, "name me the Paper Lady." 

Turning and twisting the other hand Seraanna clenched a fist for a split second as a wisp of shadow toiled around the flesh. Opening her palm out to the Director, the elf presented a slick, glossy sphere perhaps twice a marble's size. The dark between the stars ebbed within.

"Take this, and hold it close to your memory of me. For each of us, it will be the anchor of which you speak. When our - business is concluded? Cast it from your thoughts as you wish."

Slowly wetting her lips, Kat reached for the offered anchor, plucking it from the elf's palm with two fingers. A circumspect gaze examined the object, and the churning darkness within as Seraanna sank back into the plush ornate seat.

"And if you find that it pleases you? Then, dear Kat, keep it near."

"You may overestimate or assume how my power or vessel operates, but very well." Kat tucked the curio into her blazer pocket and glanced to her left hand, a glass of whiskey neat conjured in the wisps of shadows, and while nothing here was a reality, Kat indulged in her vice all the same. 

"Yours, I know not, but I know my own. Shadow of my own weaving, held close to the memory of me, is anchor enough for words. This," Seraanna gestured vaguely to encompassed the mindscape and their seating, "would require greater."

"Anything else?" Kat inquired without eye contact, watching the amber liquor swirl within the glass vessel.

The elf's half-lidded gaze left the Director, diverting to the map first conjured, of the lands outlying Stormwind. "I will search for your Renovator, then, from the sanctuary, you have offered. And give you word when I know of him."

"Is there aught else that you wish?" Seraanna echoed.

The faintest hint of a smile graced the corner of Kat's lips as her fingers drummed slowly on the whiskey glass before it melted away in shadow. She stood and smoothed wrinkles that did not exist from the end of her jacket, fixating on correcting the sleeve cuffs as she addressed the elf in front of her.

"Once finished with the sanctuary, remove every trace of its existence from your memory." 

The chair behind her legs was next to dissolve in plumes of gray smoke as the demand was given. The expressionless visage of the Director cast in the Ren'dorei's direction as their connection to one another was severed.

Again, Kat opened her eyes. She was seated in the snow, overlooking the roaring sea at the cliff base, the faint orange glow of the burning city in the distance. Fixating on the distant stars, she pondered over the level of trust she was bestowed in the elf, for the sanctuary offered tethered her to a remote island, a secret kept for years.

Instinctively, gloved fingertips grazed the hilt of the soul-bound dagger on her thigh. Any future actions could be justified, should she need.

[ @longveil​ ]

( [pt.I] [pt.II] [pt.III] [pt.IV] [pt.V] [pt.VI] [pt.VII] )

[goldenkamuyhunting]

Ramblings about the changes in vol 21

So, as promised, I wanted to ramble a bit about the huge changes in vol 21 and how they impact on the characters.

I’ll divide them according to affected characters.

For the visual I recommend you checking my previous post “Quick outline of the changes in Golden Kamuy Vol 21 ”.

We’ll start first with those who were only vaguely affected to progress with the ones who were HUGELY affected.

TANIGAKI

Ironically Tanigaki, who’s on the cover of the volume is the least one to be affected by changes… but well, they’re an improvement for him.

1)

While in the magazine version Tanigaki only said he was sure Inkarmat was well and they should go visit her once back, which implied a baseless confidence in her recovery without him not even attempting to check on it and a medium wish to see her again, now Tanigaki talks of receiving telegrams confirming she has recovered and her urgency to see her as soon as he’s back is more marked.

It’s overall nothing big but gives the impression he cared more about her than in the magazine and therefore make smoother how he’ll want to go back to her in what will likely be vol 23.

2)

He also seemed more involved in the vision of the movie, as if to imply for him too that scene was a touching moment of bonding with Chikapasi. Nice but it’s still pretty weak and underwhelming.

TSUKISHIMA

Tsukishima also get minor changes. I like to think some of them give his feelings more deep.

However it’s worth to mention something before talking about the changes in Tsukishima and this something is that in vol 20 the scene was changed so that Tsukishima was present when Ogata called Koito ‘Barchonok’ (Барчонок  ‘pampered little rich boy’) so I expect this change would affect the plot of vol 21. This wasn’t the case. The scene in which Koito mention such a word in chap 201 is completely unchanged, Tsukishima not recognizing it in the slightest and if he recognized it in chap 210, when Koito contextualized it… well, it’s hard to say as the scene is again unchanged.

So what changed?

1)

Tsukishima was less pushy when, in chap 205, he tried to get Sugimoto to talk with Asirpa, as this time he doesn’t say they’ve no time before Tsurumi will get there. I’m not sure why this was removed as Tsukishima will be pushy as they make the movie but maybe this merely interrupted the flow of Sugimoto’s words.

2)

We see an interesting thing. When Noda redraw chap 103, he removed Ogata’s smiles as he talked to his father. In the volume version Ogata will remain serious through the whole talk and smile only at the end and when he talks to Tsurumi.

Instead here Noda had Tsukishima, who in the magazine was serious, smile as he says he was tricked too. Tsukishima also digs more in Tsurumi’s deception, saying how Tsurumi poured affection into a place in him that was wilted away so as to better describe how meaningful for Tsukishima was what Tsurumi did. That moment in which Tsurumi made him feel he was important enough for Tsurumi to go so far Tsukishima should have felt really impressed… and it’s meaningful how there seems to be tears in his eyes, when he says that it’s fine for him if he was used and that his life didn’t matter much to him.

Tsukishima is saying it’s fine but it actually pains him.

Tsukishima becomes a good example of how men sometimes smile when they’re in pain not because they’re happy but because in that way they seem/feel more in control, their smile being actually a bitter one and of how one might say he’s okay and instead think the opposite.

KOITO

Changes about Koito are also fundamentally minor but they work to flesh out his feelings better in consideration of how Koito’s perception of the world and stance are going to change.

1)

Personally I found interesting how Noda added Koito saying ‘like his Excellency Hanazawa and Ogata Hyakunosuke… like that parent and child’. The sentence remarks their parent/child relation and the parallel with himself and his father. It draws a connection between his situation and Ogata’s, allowing Koito to humanize someone he has always despised but, at the same time, strongly implying Koito’s judgment is strongly tied to his own perception of father/child relations.

It’s hard to judge where this will lead but I think Koito’s view of Ogata, while talking with Tsukishima, has shifted completely from the previous view he had. Probably he felt him closer, both tricked, both, according to Koito, caring about their parents. Koito, who strongly wants his father’s approbation, despised Ogata for betraying Hanazawa’s memory and rebelling but if Ogata was pursuing revenge for his father… well, I think Koito thought this he could approve.

2)

Koito now looks a lot less happy and comfortable to see Tsurumi so, differently from the manga, it’s much more clear he was faking when he pretended to be impressed by how far Tsurumi went to get him. Therefore, even though later he’ll decide to still put faith in Tsurumi, from now on he’s clearly no more a compliant and enthusiastically blind follower.

SHIRAISHI

Minor changes for Shiraishi too but they are relevant enough. Shiraishi qualifies as a smart guy who can watch things objectively and has a better grasp of the situation.

1)

In the volume version in fact, he’s present when Sugimoto and Asirpa discuss, so he heard their little chat but he clearly wasn’t involved. Asirpa asked for Sugimoto’s opinion and Sugimoto first missed the point of her worry (the Ainu, not herself) and then gave a pretty unrealistic reply, at which Shiraishi left, with the result he ends up overhearing half of Koito and Tsukishima’s discussion. Actually, if he got out just after he left Sugi and Asirpa he overheard part of Koito’s accusations and all of Tsukishima’s confession.

In this way the volume tells us that Shiraishi might have heard quite a good part of their chat… and while he was completely sober.

2)

The following changes are in the discussion he has with Sugimoto. In the magazine Shiraishi said Asirpa isn’t the Asirpa he knew anymore. In the volume he says she isn’t the Asirpa he first met. It’s overall similar but I think here Shiraishi remarks more not so much that Asirpa has changed as a person but that what she has learnt had pushed her into different goals. The Asirpa Sugimoto met was unaware of many things and thought since she didn’t need the gold she could happily hand it out to Sugimoto and Shiraishi and lived a life unaware of how Ainu could end up. Present Asirpa wants the gold to be used for the Ainu, she’s more aware of the situation of her people and wants to improve it.

It’s a different type of change in her, one not given by an abrupt shift in her character but by a greater awareness of the world around her.

Character wise Asirpa is still the same. She doesn’t want to kill, she loves her people, she’s a glutton at heart. But now she has knowledge of the world around her, of the dangers for her people. It’s as if she’d sampled the forbidden fruit of knowledge and can’t turn back anymore. This is what Asirpa had been trying to tell Sugimoto, that it’s not that she doesn’t want to go back to say citatap and hinna hinna, it’s not that those things don’t interest her anymore, is that she knows she can’t because her way of living, her people, are in danger.

3)

Always in that same discussion Shiraishi points out something else that’s really relevant and that before he didn’t mention. He basically questions Sugimoto’s ‘naïve belief’ Tsurumi might care about the Ainu. Sugimoto in the volume told Asirpa Ainu would have a use for Tsurumi as a workforce (which, let’s be honest, is not really a great option as this would imply Ainu should leave their own way to live and start to work in Tsurumi’s army factories or in his opium factories so bye-bye Ainu lifestyle). Shiraishi’s question points out not only how this is naïve, but that he doesn’t think Sugimoto himself believes this.

(Note that Tsukishima and Koito didn’t talk about the Ainu so the fact that this is naive is something Shiraishi figured by himself)

Shiraishi in short is showing he understands the Ainu cause is important for Asirpa and, in a way that probably surprises him as well, he has sort of grown to care for it as well and is basically asking Sugimoto if he’s stupid, delusional or a liar when he’s saying Tsurumi would care about the Ainu. I won’t dig into Sugimoto now because I’ll talk about him later but in the volume version Shiraishi comes out as someone who got a more objective look on the situation and a better grasp to what Tsurumi wants as well as even more critical of Sugimoto’s actions than in the magazine.

4)

The last change is very minor. In the magazine Shiraishi throws up, distracting Tsurumi in such a providential way it seemed done on purpose. In the volume version Shiraishi doesn’t throw up, he burps when Tsurumi claims he wants everyone’s happiness and to cooperate with Asirpa which sounds more like a sound of lack of disbelief, even if his face is slightly shadowed. Personally I prefer this change. We already saw Shiraishi getting drunks but in the morning he was always fine. Even though it was clear this time he came back completely wasted (and I wonder if Vol 22 will develop him more) he had also thrown up twice with Sugimoto. He shouldn’t have anything anymore in his stomach.

If anything the only thing I question is that they still have used him as a comic relief not having him escape with Sugimoto and Asirpa but allowing an arrow to hit him. Changing this would have been appreciated.

ASIRPA

Changes about Asirpa are very relevant for how we read Asirpa. Sure, if you want they take from her a ‘first glance’ intuition that however seemed unrealistic but Asirpa becomes more thoughtful and more proactive and determinate. Even more she doesn’t let others order her around but demands for explanations and take her own decisions.

1)

We start really tame, with Noda remarking how Tanigaki’s words about how they can’t try helping Shiraishi because if the sniper is Ogata, the target is Asirpa.

Let’s go back to that scene and look to a bit that remains the same in the volume.

When Vasily started shooting they immediately realized the one shooting them was a ‘sniper’ (狙撃手) and not a random guy. Asirpa sweats slightly hearing the word ‘sniper’, repeating it as Noda shadows her face with an uniform toner. Asirpa knows who the sniper could be and it tosses on her a shadow.

They will however need the sniper to shoot again before Tsukishima (or is he Tanigaki? Hard to say as we don’t see the speaker) will claim the sniper has to be Ogata Hyakunosuke, something Sugimoto also thought, since as he runs toward the sniper he thinks he’s gonna fight Ogata.

When Tsukishima states so, Asirpa’s face is shown again but, although she’s sweating because she realizes the situation is serious, there is no shadow on her face. I take it’s a hint that Tsukishima’s words merely confirmed what she had thought but didn’t verbalize, that the attacked could be Ogata.

Noda didn’t feel the need to add a shading here.

We go on, Tsukishima points out how Sugimoto is moving to attack Ogata and Koito points out how it’s weird Ogata would forget to check on Sugimoto.

Asirpa worries about saving Shiraishi and Tanigaki tells her they can’t because if it’s Ogata it’s her he wants to kill. And Noda here, in the volume version, added a shading but not an uniform shading like when Asirpa heard the word ‘sniper’ but a swirling shading.

Of course it’s possible it’s just because he wanted to remark which sort of burden Tanigaki pushed on Asirpa. It’s due to her that Shiraishi got shoot, because Ogata wanted to kill HER.

But, I wonder, if Noda didn’t want to hint more here.

Later in fact, Asirpa will question herself and the others about Ogata.

For start she question if he’ll come back at which Sugimoto replies she’s the key to the gold so there’s a chance he’ll do.

Asirpa doesn’t reply at first, then mentions how Ogata ACTED LIKE HE WAS GOING TO KILL HER. If she’s the key to the gold, killing her means giving up on the gold. It’s also interesting she doesn’t say he attempted to kill her, but that he acted as if he was going to do so. Asirpa knows two things Sugimoto doesn’t know.

The first is that Ogata encouraged her to shoot him, deliberately gave her reason to do so and time to do so. The second is that when she hit him, he smiled as if he had got exactly what he wanted.

Honestly I’m not sure she understood most of what Ogata said as she should need previous knowledge about his father and brother.

There’s a third thing Asirpa might have realized but, on this, I’m not sure. She knows first-hand Ogata is very fast but, although both of them were supposedly startled by Sugimoto’s scream, while she let go her arrow in surprise, Ogata didn’t push the trigger. His eyes remained on her but he made no attempt to harm her even though he threatened her about it.

To sum it up when Asirpa basically rejected him Ogata’s first instinct wasn’t to kill her, it was trying to goad her into killing him, although he threatened her to do so he didn’t and, lastly, killing her would lead him nowhere. He still wouldn’t have the gold.

I think that swirling shading might be there to point out how Asirpa had tried to let the whole thing of the drift ice behind her, maybe hoping after Ogata’s escape she wouldn’t see him again, forgetting the whole thing as she had attempted to do with her father’s memories the first time she believed Wilk died but Tanigaki’s words brought it all back and with it, the need to figure the whole thing out.

Not only Ogata’s behavior made no sense from her point of view but also the idea he’d really want to kill her makes no sense either and it’s possible Noda felt a shading was needed to hint how it was Tanigaki’s sentence that triggered Asirpa’s following questioning.

2)

The second change actually refers to what Sugimoto will say to Vasily but, as Asirpa overhears him and that conversation ties with another conversation she will have with Sugimoto, this will become relevant.

In fact originally in the magazine Sugimoto said just because the world Asirpa was looking at had him in it, this cleaned him and he thought he could be saved. There were many reasons due to which Sugimoto could think so, starting with him thinking that if someone as pure as Asirpa were to be friend with him, this somehow made him a better person.

So in the magazine Asirpa saying Sugimoto was doing it merely because he saw himself as a child in her, felt as Asirpa hugely interpreting what she overheard Sugimoto saying. Sure, she was right, but since Sugimoto’s original sentence was so different, it felt like a huge leap.

Now instead not only her words aren’t anymore that distant from Sugimoto’s words but the type of burden pushed on her changes.

In the magazine her existence somehow made Sugimoto feel he could be purified and he saw this as a chance of salvation.

In the volume her existence is just a reminder Sugimoto was like her once, he sees himself in her so he wants to protect her the way he couldn’t protect himself. For Asirpa, who has a crush for Sugimoto, it’s clearly something painful because Sugimoto doesn’t want to protect her for herself, but because he sees himself in her.

Sure, it pushes on her less responsibility than being considered a ‘purifying deity’ or some sort of ‘purifying shaman’ but, at the same time, it denies her as her own person and it makes the matter worse how, when this is discussed, she learns her father too didn’t see her as her own person but as a way to continue his own partisan fight.

Both Wilk and Sugimoto are pushing their own wishes on her (we’ll debate another time on who has the best wish for her) without considering her own.

They don’t ask her which sort of future she wants, they decide for her which future is the best for her, the future THEY WANT.

It clearly pushes Asirpa, who was so proud of choosing for herself her own fate, in an unpleasant place… until, at the end of the volume, she’ll take back the reins of her own life. But we’ll discuss about this in a while.

3)

It’s a tiny change but Asirpa is less of a rabid movie director in the volume. Asirpa is generally not particularly polite but not overly rude so maybe Noda decided to remove it not fitting with her character.

4)

The next change is about the discussion Sugimoto and Asirpa will have as they wait for Tsurumi to come.

In the magazine Asirpa asked Sugimoto what he would do afterward, if he would cooperate with Tsurumi, to which Sugimoto didn’t reply.

The volume removed this scene because it was plainly stupid. Asirpa had already asked Sugimoto what he was going to do in chap 192. The volume even expanded the magazine scene. Having her ask it again with Sugimoto not replying to it didn’t really make much sense.

The other change to the scene has Sugimoto answers to Asirpa’s question about what will happen to the Ainu. In the magazine he said nothing. Here he said that since Asirpa knows the code she has an advantage over Tsurumi and can get him to do what she wants. Although Asirpa is doubtful this actually works much better for Asirpa’s character.

In fact, in the magazine, despite having shown she cared so much about the Ainu and wanted the gold to be used for their benefit, after Sugimoto told her about how terrible it would be if she were to have to kill someone, the fact she doesn’t oppose to being handed to Tsurumi even if Sugimoto doesn’t know what will happen to the Ainu afterward makes her look as if she is considering giving up on protecting the Ainu interests to protect herself from killing.

Sure, later in the magazine she’ll claim she’ll understand which sort of man Tsurumi is just by watching him and, as what she saw didn’t please her, she’ll escape but… we’ll discuss about this later and as if this happened in chap 211 it clearly made her look way too remissive in chap 210.

Here instead, Asirpa’s apparent compliance can be explained with her thinking that agreeing can still work to protect the Ainu, that by giving the gold to Tsurumi the Ainu still have lot to gain.

In short the change it doesn’t make Asirpa consider giving up on the Ainu for her own wish to protect herself. They’re always her first thought and she’s considering going through Sugimoto’s plan because he presents it as one from which the Ainu could still possibly benefit.

5)

And so we reach the hugest change in the story.

As mentioned before, in the magazine Asirpa states she’ll understand which sort of man Tsurumi is just by looking at him. Apparently Tsurumi saying her she has her father’s eyes didn’t impress her positively because she decides to escape a second later.

In the volume Asirpa doesn’t claim she’ll decide which sort of man Tsurumi is just by a glance, she just listen to Sugimoto who, for the second time, tells her everything will go well.

It’s Tsurumi who basically fails to act smoothly, evidently undervaluing her. In fact he begins immediately making clear he plans to part Asirpa from Sugimoto and Shiraishi.

This causes Asirpa to smell disaster and she begins to question Tsurumi asking him why they aren’t going together. Tsurumi, evidently thinking he’s dealing with a child, claims it’s just because there isn’t enough space for them in the ship but Asirpa reminds him he said afterward Sugimoto and Shiraishi would have to remain on stand-by at Wakkanai, meaning she won’t wait for them nor they would reach her.

She asks to know where he’s taking her to which Tsurumi gives a dismissive answer ‘I’ll tell you later’.

As Sugimoto sweats but says nothing Asirpa continues to question Tsurumi, demanding to know if he’s trying to divide her from Sugimoto.

Tsurumi denies this, claiming she will be able to meet Sugimoto wherever she wants, they’re just aiming to bring her to a safe place because everyone is targeting her.

Asirpa isn’t deterred by this.

She remarks that her father only told Hijikata Toshizou about her existence, which might imply she’s starting to wonder how Tsurumi knew about her, and how he did so in order for her to oversee that the gold were to be used for the Ainu’s sake.

So she demands to know if he’s really going to take care of the Ainu in his future plans.

Tsurumi tries to give her one of his propaganda talks, they aim for a future in which everyone is happy and they want her cooperation (which we know is a lie as a previous page made clear they actually plan to keep her trapped in a jail until they got the skin and the Ariko chapters made clear Tsurumi forces people to cooperate with them by blackmailing them).

Asirpa insists she won’t help him if the gold isn’t used for the Ainu. She’s calm yet firm, she’s not sweating, only frowning slightly.

From this exchange Asirpa comes out as someone who’s confident, who doesn’t bow easily and who can read between lines. She doesn’t fall for Tsurumi’s fake reassurances and pretty words, she insists on her line and trying to protect her interests. In a way she is left alone to face Tsurumi as Sugimoto won’t say a word against Tsurumi’s plan and Shiraishi only makes a mocking sound.

It’s worth to mention though that Tsurumi’s emotions play to Asirpa’s advantage. Tsurumi’s brain fluids keeps on dripping always a bit more and he’s clearly reminded of Wilk more than once as he watches her. This is probably why, even though Tsurumi is a consumed liar, he snaps and tosses against her how that gold was a war fund to kill Japanese.

In short he stop trying to smooth Asirpa into doing what he says and tries to scare her into compliance, which surprises his own men.

While I think in a way his answer is what Asirpa wanted, as with such answer he reveals his not benevolent feelings toward the Ainu, Asirpa wasn’t prepared to him attacking her like that.

She sweats as she replies that the few Ainu who had that goal in mind died, that not all the Ainu want to fight and that the usage of the gold should be for the Ainu who are alive in the present to decide.

Tsurumi takes this as Asirpa claiming she’ll inherit and follow Wilk’s wishes and that she has his eyes. Then as he starts laughing hysterically, brain fluids dropping everywhere Asirpa will take her decision to escape which now makes a lot more sense than in the manga as Tsurumi has clearly proved himself as a man with malicious intentions toward her and toward the Ainu, a liar who tried to manipulate her into compliance and someone who’s not all right in the mind.

I won’t stop talking about this much, although the fact Tsurumi tattled out he knew Wilk’s eye colour, combined with how he knew about her existence (something Wilk revealed only to Hijikata), might have helped her to realize he knew her father personally (and might have been what pushed her to escape in the magazine as that her eyes looked like her father’s was the only thing Tsurumi managed to tell her).

I’ll focus more on Asirpa’s last sentence. Skipping for a moment how she continues to affirm she believes the Ainu gold should be used for the Ainu which was something she always claimed wanting, her previous statement regards how she claims that the Ainu who wanted to kill the Japanese were few and had died.

The cynical person that’s in me and who knows how partisans work felt like this is just her assumption. She can’t really know if there are more people like that or not.

Partisans work in secrecy, if there were some they wouldn’t openly discuss this around, especially with someone who is, by their standards, a child.

In short I speculated there should have been partisans in Hokkaido, it was just Asirpa didn’t know about them.

On the other side I assumed Asirpa’s idea that there aren’t Ainu who would want to kill the Japanese, or that those are a negligible minority, is not merely due to her religious belief killing is wrong and all Ainu would abide to this precept, but because she’s not really informed on how partisans work.

In fact not only she didn’t go to school but this wasn’t exactly a common concept among Japanese people at the time.

In fact Ushiyama, an adult man, had never heard the word and Hijikata had to explain it to him (chap 70).

The previous Ainu rebellions were due to Ainu clans deciding to fight against each other or against Japanese. From an Ainu perspective they were wars, battles or occasional uprising. Even the gold, although collected in secrecy, was collected by villages, not by a bunch of men in secrecy.

So Asirpa might be completely ignorant on how partisans would operate, how they would hid among her people, acting one way and thinking another, meeting in secret and keeping their identities secret.

As there’s no such malcontent between Ainu villages that they would revolt, for an Ainu like Asirpa, it would be reasonable to assume they wouldn’t revolt, that the Ainu who died moving the gold supposedly because they wanted to use it to wage war, were ‘oddities’ without real support.

Despite her religious beliefs she knows Ainu can kill, not only they too have murderers, but Ainu went to the Russo-Japanese war, Kiroranke and Ariko being veterans from it and Makanakkuru knowing many other Ainu veterans so it’s hard she could have been unaware of Ainu killing people existing. So I don’t think she ruled the idea out just because Ainu don’t kill but merely because Ainu didn’t act as if they were willing to wage wars. There was no such malcontent (conditions that spurred the rebellions were way more terrible than the ones we see in GK) and there were no councils of war and for her this is probably what’s matter. Even if she were to take into consideration there could be one or two Ainu willing to kill Japanese, in the great scheme of thing  one or two people couldn’t wage war and therefore wouldn’t matter.

This would cause her to completely miss the existence of partisans because she doesn’t know well how they work (Kiroranke told her something about their partisan life but I think he wasn’t detailed enough and she might have mistaken their secrecy for them having been involved in the emperor’s murder and being fugitive) and therefore she would be unable to spot signs of their existence in Hokkaido, not mentioning she doesn’t know all the Ainu of Hokkaido, although she definitely knows many people in various town and travelled through it (Asirpa knows where they’re going during their travels, she has an idea of where her relatives are and how Ainu of certain regions live so maybe she travelled around with Wilk).

It doesn’t help Wilk completely overlook that part of her training. Although he wanted her to be a guerrilla fighter, he hadn’t taught her secrecy and lack of faith as well as he didn’t toughen her up to ready her to kill people nor, apparently, made her politically aware of Ainu condition, of his past and his belonging to partisans.

Long story short, my feelings were there was a tight network of partisans and Asirpa just didn’t know because she lacked the instrument to spot it. You can’t find something of which you don’t truly know the look. Even if it were placed under your eyes you wouldn’t recognize it, same as she didn’t recognize Kiro was a partisan, nor did Sugimoto, who only though he was a competitor for the possession of the gold.

It will be Inkarmat who’ll inform the group about how Wilk was a partisan but from the way she describes the partisan movement to Asirpa, she doesn’t seem aware of how it works because from the way she describes how Wilk was hurt, it’s clear she seems to think of him having been involved in a real battle, which not only is false but also unlikely as the partisans’ modus operandi isn’t actually to give battle to the enemy.

From the way Inkarmat put it she also doesn’t consider a possible involvement of partisans from Hokkaido, who might have joined forces with the ones in Russia and no one corrects her belief.

No one expects partisans to exist in Hokkaido, even Sugimoto who at first was afraid of Ainu assumed there would be rebellious villages, not men plotting in secrecy.

After all it’s meaningful in Japanese the word “partisan” is “パルチザン”, which is merely the katakana version of the French word “partisan” and the same goes for the word “guerrilla”, “ゲリラ”, the Katakana version of the Spanish word “guerrilla”. Japanese people didn’t have such word, they adopted it from other cultures so it’s possible to assume back then they didn’t know well how such things worked.

However, as I was discussing in Discord about it, two things dawned on me.

The first is that actually so far Golden Kamuy had given us no single proof such partisans exist.

Hijikata do not search their alliance, nor, apparently, did Kiro or Wilk. In fact Wilk was supposed to contact the partisans and revolutionaries in Russia, not to rally the help of the partisans in Hokkaido, and Kiro too wants the help of the revolutionaries in Russia, and doesn’t search the one of the partisans in Hokkaido.

Also Wilk, who tried to get Hijikata to find his daughter, didn’t give him names of Ainu partisans who would join him. Even with all his faith in Asirpa, leaving his daughter, a young girl, alone into an allegiance with Japanese men is risky, it would be much better if Asirpa were to have Ainu allies to support her.

The Ainu who join Hijikata are Kirawus, who apparently did it because he searched for money and who met Hijikata coincidentally and Ariko who was yes, the son of one of the Ainu moving the gold, but he’s clearly not a partisan.

As for the Ainu who helped Wilk to move the gold, they didn’t necessarily have to be partisans. As Boutarou figured out, before it was moved, there were too many people already who knew where it was. Wilk could have managed to persuade the Ainu the Japanese government had found out where it was as well and planned to steal it, so that the Ainu would have to relocate it in a more secret place.

Long story short yes, it can be it just wasn’t in the Hokkaido Ainu culture to be ‘partisans’, that they simply didn’t conceive such a way of fighting, so there weren’t partisans, just some unhappy people who wouldn’t really manage to do much harm.

The other important thing is that… well, even if Asirpa had been aware of Hokkaido pullulating of partisans she couldn’t really tell Tsurumi this in such a situation. She was testing ground to see if an allegiance was possible, giving him a speech about how Hokkaido had plenty of Ainu who wanted to kill him would have only sparked animosity toward the Ainu in a moment in which Japanese had a army to fight them while Ainu had not.

So it’s hard to judge Asirpa’s reply since it’s actually the only reply she could give regardless of her knowing/believing partisan existed or not.

6)

The last change is rather small but Noda added a sentence in which he made clear Asirpa’s position.

She says that between going back to her village and WAGE WAR to protect the Ainu there’s only an option she can take. This paints her intentions as much more belligerent than they were in the volume and makes clear that, if Sugimoto is her partner, she wants his support in THIS.

In short she comes out as a much more determinate Asirpa. I think there might be changes in vol 22 as well, so it’s possible that it’s by this point Asirpa starts to consider she could murder people to protect the Ainu and not some chapter later, just to protect Sugimoto.

However we’ll need to wait and see.

SUGIMOTO

Sugimoto… well, he goes though a lot of changes but, in a way, except for a couple, most of them don’t play in his favor in the sense they mostly don’t show him acting better than in the magazine (except in one instance) but digs more and more into how terrible and self serving Sugimoto’s plan was, even if his intentions were good, so that the volume is ultimately a VERY HARSH critic to Sugimoto’s idea it would be better for Asirpa to be handed to Tsurumi.

1)

The first change is minor but, as I’ve already commented, it’s probably also relevant. Noda removed the light in Sugimoto’s eyes when he runs toward where Vasily is, persuaded the attacked is Ogata.

I take this is Noda’s attempt to hint that what Sugimoto wants to do is no good for him on a psychological level, as the lack of light in people’s eyes often hints ‘inner dead’ (see for example Sekiya’s eyes prior to his daughter’s death and after he realized she died). I like to think this hints at how Sugimoto’s wish to kill Ogata is actually psychologically harming Sugimoto who was a man who started this adventure saying he wasn’t a murderer and that he would only kill if someone were to try to kill him back… but now he’s running to kill Ogata not so much because he thinks Ogata is holding his friends at gunpoint but because Sugimoto wants to kill him, because when Ogata escaped he remarked his wish Ogata would come back so he could ‘fucking kill him’. This is no more self defense, ‘oh, I didn’t want to kill him but he attacked me so I had to’, this is more ‘I want to kill you so, please, please, please, give me a reason to fulfill my wish’.

And of course since Sugimoto doesn’t want to be a murderer, longing to murder someone clashes directly with this.

2)

The second change refers to what Sugimoto will say to Vasily.

In fact originally in the magazine Sugimoto said just because the world Asirpa was looking at had him in it, this cleaned him and he thought he could be saved. This caused Asirpa to look like she was an entity who, just by turning her gaze on him, would wash away his sins, sort of like a goddess giving him her blessing.

And just to be clear, this is not romantic, this is delusional. Even though ‘Golden Kamuy’ has joked Asirpa was Jesus not even Jesus would clean people of sins at random, just by happening to look at them when they weren’t even planning to stop sinning. Pushing on Asirpa the role of his magical sin-washing-machine was pretty terrible.

Noda then decided to change this for the volume version, a change that was probably already planned not much later that chapter was printed as Asirpa’s words in chap 206 matches with what she overheard in the volume version, not in the magazine version.

So in the volume version Sugimoto says when he watches Asirpa he thinks he can be saved merely because he retained part of his purity which he had when he was a child.

Long story short in Asirpa Sugimoto sees the ‘little Saichi’. As he thinks ‘little Saichi’ was pure and deserved to be saved and ‘little Saichi’ is a part of him, he thinks he as a whole can be saved.

It’s still bad, even if in a way that’s different from before.

We don’t exactly know what Sugimoto means by ‘salvation’ but it’s clear a part of him loathes himself, thinks he deserves a special place in hell, but now he finds a renewed appreciation in himself because as a child he wasn’t a murderer. Which would be good only if he were to act over it.

Just because he was pure as a child, it’s not like this will make all his wrongdoing magically disappear. Everyone started as a pure child.

And it’s interesting compare his words with Ogata’s.

Now take this with a grain of salt as I’m going by the definitions as they were explained to me as I’m not a Japanese expert.

Anywa…

Ogata talked about ‘Kiyoi’ (清い) “Pure/innocent” with Yuusaku and Asirpa (yeah scanlations translated the word in two different manner, ‘innocent’ with Yuusaku, ‘pure’ with Asirpa but Ogata is actually using the same words). Interesting enough ‘kiyoi’ is the word used in this sentence, ‘Kokoro no kiyoi hito-tachi wa saiwaidearu’ (心の清い人たちは幸いである) or, if you prefer “Blessed are the pure in heart” from Matthew 5: 8 (full sentence being “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.”)

Sugimoto used ‘Kirei’ (きれい) “Pure/Beautiful”.

Apparently ‘Kiyoi’ isn’t commonly used, except in literature but it has a strong meaning of ‘nobility’ as it implies not just ‘cleanliness’ but also ‘honesty/inner nobility’. What Ogata complains is that no one is inherently ‘kiyoi’, pure, noble, innocent. We’re all imperfect beings after all, we all not only have the power to hurt/kill others but we’re also responsible of what we let/encourage/empower the others do. Yuusaku lead the men to murder other men, even if he didn’t kill anyone he was still involved in the massacre, motivating men to do it. Even though he didn’t personally stain his hands in blood, he was no better than the others because he actively encouraged others to commit murder.

Ogata, who probably was also used as hit-man, denounces the hypocrisy of who believed that, as long as he weren’t to commit the deed personally but had another do it for him, he remained pure.

Sugimoto’s ‘kirei’ instead is a much more commonly used words and implies a general ‘beauty of clean/pure things’. I think his idea is that having something that’s ‘kirei’, beautiful, pure, gives him a sense of worth. He can be saved just because a part of him is worth being saved.

So, even if, in the English version, they seem to talk about the same thing, ‘purity’, their speech is actually referring to something different.

Something that was believed to be pure but actually it felt so merely because it let other do the dirty work versus something that was pure because it was never tarnished and therefore remained beautiful.

Probably Sugimoto would see Yuusaku as ‘kirei’ as he never personally killed, never tainted his own hands with it, while Ogata feels he’s not ‘kiyoi’ because guilty of murder by association.

Anyway, since Sugimoto sees his child self in Asirpa, he wants to keep her ‘pure’ as in ‘untarnished’, he wants her to be saved the way he couldn’t.

He doesn’t want Asirpa tainted by Ogata’s death, he doesn’t want her to become a killer. It’s not a matter of her remaining noble, of her keeping on believing killing is bad, but of her remaining untainted, unsullied by the action of killing.

Sugimoto won’t tell her ending a life is bad, just that the guilt that will come with doing it will make you feel bad, as if that guilt wasn’t tied to the wrongness of killing.

There’s a bizarre dichotomy in Sugimoto. He agonizes over his kills, over how he couldn’t go back to his own old self but, at the same time, he thinks killing is the best choice when something threatens him and tries to overcome his sense of guilt by telling himself those he kills are soulless creatures. Sugimoto can never go back to his own old self as long as he doesn’t accept killing is the wrong choice and that he had made a mistake, that he had been forced during war to make it, but that killing wasn’t right.

Of course since all this is hellish hard and people normally would need to go into therapy before realizing it, I get it’s not so easy for him but anyway, his belief that Asirpa doesn’t have to be tainted, explains his view.

3)

The next changes are in the words Sugimoto says to Asirpa after they watched the movie.

In the volume Sugimoto reports Wilk’s words correctly instead of just his own interpretation. Now… this is better on a storytelling level. In media there’s the recurring trope that, if a character has to report the words of another, he’ll quote him word by word and if he doesn’t he’s trying to hide something. In the real world of course it doesn’t work like that, more often than not we don’t remember words that exactly however, as this is a media, Sugimoto not quoting Wilk in the magazine, gave me a bad impression, as if he were trying to push on Asirpa a falsehood or, at least, a biased information so the change is definitely an improvement in Sugimoto’s favor.

Sugimoto in the volume also better explained how things went with Kiro.

In the magazine it sounded as if Kiro died to push Asirpa to fight… when Kiro actually had no intention to die in the first place as he very clearly was murdered against his will.

In the volume version Sugimoto gives a better account of how things went but the implication is that, along with Wilk who forcibly pulled Asirpa in the gold fight, Kiro also took Asirpa to Karafuto to have her remember the code and paid this act with his life but, doing so, pushed her to think Asirpa has to fight for what she wants to protect.

This is more what had happened although the implication is that Kiro’s actions were forceful and moved by the will to drag Asirpa into that battle... when Asirpa actually wanted to remember the code and willingly followed Kiro because THAT WAS THE PLAN, should things go bad. Actually, hadn’t he been shoot, Sugimoto would have gone to Karafuto with her as well.

Ultimately is clear that Sugimoto is telling the fact through his visions as his summary ‘stand at the head of the Ainu and die’ and ‘fight and kill people’ aren’t exactly what Wilk and Kiro told her to do.

Wilk in particular never said she had to die… and Kiro didn’t tell her to kill people.

Sugimoto interprets their words and actions as such and, while in the magazine he said just this was what they were telling her, now he says with those words they’re casting a curse on her.

This new choice of words implies even more than the previous how negatively Sugimoto sees their actions but also kind of undervalues Asirpa’s ability to decide for herself and, more importantly, doesn’t offer any other way to protect what Asirpa wants to protect, nor admits his own role into dragging her in that gold battle as HE is the one who started Asirpa’s involvement.

In light of the changes of Sugimoto’s sentence in chap 203, it’s clear that although Sugimoto in the past commented Wilk’s cause was just, he prioritizes preserving Asirpa’s purity. Someone has to fight but it doesn’t have to be Asirpa who’ll fight to protect what she’ll care about and it’s clear Sugimoto isn’t saying this just because Asirpa is young or female. He doesn’t want her involved but he doesn’t offer any other solution from saying ‘I’ll do it’ to ‘you can protect the Ainu in another way’.

It’s more a ‘give up on protecting the Ainu and protect your purity instead or you’ll regret it’, that fails to see the problem that Asirpa is an Ainu and by protecting Ainu she’s also protecting herself.

So overall the changes made Sugimoto more sincere but didn’t really change him much even if now it’s more clear he was trying to preserve Asirpa’s purity not because her existence washed away his sins but because he saw himself in her.

Although he would chose something different for Asirpa, overall his way to go at it is the same as Wilk.

Both he and Wilk saw Asirpa as a version of themselves and both tried to force her on the path they preferred without asking about Asirpa’s opinion.

To Sugimoto’s defense it can be said his own seems safe, but only in a superficial way, as he actually plans to hand her to Tsurumi, which would be very unsafe for Asirpa, although in a way that’s different from taking part to a war.

4)

Another important change in the volume is that while in the magazine, when Asirpa claimed she worried for the Ainu Sugimoto didn’t reply, now he does. However it’s clearly something he’s not really believing. His eyes are completely black, and at first he hesitated and turned his gaze away from her when replying Tsurumi doesn’t want the Ainu as enemies but as a workforce, continuing they’ve overwhelming advantage over Tsurumi so he’ll do as Asirpa demands.

Now… while it’s good he answered his answer is… well, pretty farfetched and misleading.

Although Ainu in Hokkaido back then were 15,000 this count included old men, women and children.

The only things Tsurumi might need the Ainu for are as extra troops for his army or as workers in his weapon and opium factories. This would mean the Ainu would have to drop their lifestyle, which Asirpa wanted to preserve, to become soldiers or factory workers (never mentioning factories would pollute nature damaging Ainu environment fundamental to hunt or fish) or, in case of the females, wives of Japanese, otherwise they’ve no use for him, it’s not like Ainu are producing something fundamental for Tsurumi he can’t get rid of them.

Sugimoto either knows his own is a lie (or, if you prefer, a very misleading answer) or he’s seriously deluding himself.

He then goes on claiming since Asirpa is the only one who can solve the code, they’ve overwhelming advantage so Tsurumi should just obey her.

This also is completely wrong.

First of all it he can’t be sure the tattooed code couldn’t be solved without Asirpa as he has not the slightest idea how the code works. Tsurumi could get code breakers to solve it or maybe figure it out on his own for all Sugimoto knows. Other codes were cracked after all, and we’ve no idea how versed Wilk is in making codes. Just because Sugimoto doesn’t know how to crack it, it doesn’t mean no one can.

But the real problem here is once Tsurumi has Asirpa he can very well torture her to force her to tell him the code, or just threaten her by telling her he’ll kill one Ainu after the other until she doesn’t talk.

And if Asirpa gives him a wrong key to the code he can just resume torturing.

After all we were shown in this exact volume how Tsurumi coerced Ariko into cooperating.

Sugimoto can’t be unaware of this as Tsurumi imprisoned and tortured him too and Tsurumi has, differently from him, the means to carry it on.

So while Sugimoto would never torture Asirpa and might not manage to force Boutarou to talk, Tsurumi has plenty of means to torture Asirpa and plenty of time and if she gives him a wrong answer it’ll only slow him down a little.

The changes in the volume, which show how Tsurumi in truth never planned to get her cooperation but just to imprison her and postpone worrying about the code after he got the tattoo add to this.

Noda wanted us to be extremely sure Sugimoto’s choice to entrust Asirpa to Tsurumi was wrong, wasn’t moved by great ideals or sense of responsibility but merely by personal feelings.

5)

We’ve another moment that’s changed and that’s when Shiraishi questions Sugimoto, asking him if he really thinks Tsurumi will care about the Ainu. Sugimoto is surprised by being questioned but also nervous (he’s sweating), yet his reply is ‘Dōiu imida?’ (どういう意味だ？) “What do you mean?” however this isn’t only used in the sense of ‘I hadn’t understood you’ but in the sense of ‘What are you implying?’ and in the sense of ‘what in the world are you saying?’

Shiraishi was accusing Sugimoto with his question, basically asking him if he’s stupid, delusional or a liar when he’s saying Tsurumi would care about the Ainu. Honestly I hope this will be developed further in the next volume but, for now I think Sugimoto is probably being neither of the three. He’s actually being dismissive about the Ainu.

When Asirpa questioned him it’s clear his first worry is Asirpa, in fact in his reasoning he didn’t consider the Ainu at all.

“Nobody will come after you.” Which match with his previous “It doesn’t have to be you (who’ll fight).”

When he’s pressured by Asirpa ABOUT THE AINU, he likely replied the first thing that came to his mind that would reassure her and make her play along. There’s not Sugimoto’s heart in that answer, it’s just a way to reassure Asirpa (hence the ‘dead eyes’ and him avoiding her gaze).

Sugimoto claimed he didn’t care about what Tsurumi plans to do with Hokkaido, implying also he didn’t know what this thing is.

However if he were to care about the Ainu he should care about what Tsurumi wants to do because it would affect the Ainu and this something Tsurumi plans to do, as far as he knows, could be everything, from world peace to Ainu extermination. This is relevant.

His words are basically words said to push Asirpa to accept but they’re based over nothing. Sugimoto hasn’t asked himself what Tsurumi would do with the Ainu and doesn’t care, he cares about protecting Asirpa but Asirpa is an Ainu so he’s hugely missing the point.

6)

Another minor change.

After Tanigaki suggests Asirpa to ask Tsurumi to go visit her grandmother, Sugimoto tells her it’ll go well. This is a call back to the talk they had in chap 192, when Asirpa pointed out how she didn’t believe Tsurumi would allow her to see her grandmother and Sugimoto (in the volume version, in the magazine version he agreed with her) insisted that Tsurumi would let her do it.

Basically Sugimoto’s words are again aimed at reassuring Asirpa so she’ll play along with the plan… with Noda immediately informing us that no, Tsurumi won’t let her see her grandmother, Tsurumi tells Usami he’ll plan to hide her in a basement with no windows or furniture for all the time it’ll need him to crack the code, even several years if that will be the case.

7)

The following change isn’t a change to be honest but an addition and sadly it’s not about something Sugimoto does or say, but about the chat Tsurumi has with Asirpa, during which Sugimoto will look at first a bit surprised and then sweat but won’t comment not even once. And this is really terrible because although it became clear Tsurumi wanted to rip Asirpa from him and Shiraishi and hid her and, since he didn’t even bother to lie about where he was taking her, it probably was nowhere good and, if she couldn’t be with her friends it’s even more clear she couldn’t be with her grandmother, Sugimoto says nothing.

It’s Asirpa who questions Tsurumi, if she hadn’t, Sugimoto would have let him just take her away.

There’s an expression we use in my country to imply that a person in order to keep another safe, doesn’t want to allow that person to get in contact with anything and is ‘to put someone under a glass bell’.

Basically this is what Sugimoto wishes for Asirpa. As long as Tsurumi doesn’t ask her to murder, even if he keeps her jailed, he’s fine with it.

It gets worse.

Tsurumi, instead than trying to manipulate Asirpa into being obedient with lies, ends up on arguing with her, clearly showing he has not benevolent feelings and creeping out even his own men. Sugimoto still does nothing, he doesn’t try to defend Asirpa saying ‘no, she’s not going to wage war like Wilk, she’s a peaceful person’ nor, apparently consider walking back from that deal.

But sadly this is still not the end of it.

When Asirpa tells him she’ll chose her own destiny, in the magazine Sugimoto was first surprised then smiled.

Here instead he’s visibly more anxious, sweating, his eyes thinning slightly (in the magazine they widens) as he chews his lips for ultimately agreeing with her with a nod… that’s clearly without the smile he had in the magazine.

Sugimoto is not happy with Asirpa’s decision. He bows to it to remain her partner but he would have let her in Tsurumi’s care.

8)

There’s another change, even if it’s hard to spot. At the very end in the volume Asirpa says that between going back to her Kotan and waging war to protect the Ainu there’s only a choice she can take, implying she’ll wage war to protect the Ainu. Therefore her words about wanting Sugimoto to say something optimistic like ‘let’s do this together’ tie to ‘wage war to protect the Ainu’.

Sugimoto’s reply though is unchanged. He says ‘let’s find the gold by themselves’ but this doesn’t imply his future involvement in the Ainu protection.

It can be something that will be developed further in the volume version but, for now, this volume set up firmly several points about Sugimoto.

His plan to protect Asirpa from killing by entrusting her to Tsurumi was the WORST POSSIBLE IDEA he could have. I’m aware many thought that since it would be terrible for a child like Asirpa to murder people, this seemed a good plan but, actually, it’s just another type of horror.

Sugimoto, differently from Asirpa, is not interested in the future of the Ainu at all. He acknowledges their cause might not be wrong but overall, as he said to Wilk, they should just keep quiet and do what they’re told to do so as not to cause a civil war. Or maybe change lifestyle and serve in Tsurumi’s army and factory.

Sugimoto’s interests as stated in this volume are therefore: find the gold, protect Asirpa from murdering and murder Ogata.

There’s also something I should have noticed earlier when watching chap 211 but that I missed and that was actually noticeable also when the chapter was released on the magazine.

The argument between Sugimoto and Shiraishi parallels another argument they had, in chap 62.

Back then Shiraishi suggested they would just take advantage of Inkarmat’s magic ability of predicting the winner of a race to get the money they both needed without running around risking their lives.

Sugimoto claimed he couldn’t do so because it would mean to tell Asirpa to fend for herself… in short to go to Abashiri on her own to discover the truth about her father (on a completely unrelated note can you see Wakayama and Nakazawa behind him?).

While Sugimoto’s words are painted as noble it’s worth to note that, as Shiraishi pointed out, going there meant to risk their lives and it’s Sugimoto who involved Asirpa in the gold hunt and is not even considering telling her ‘Asirpa, is dangerous, you should go back home’ in an attempt to persuade her to give up. In short he’s not prioritizing her safety but HER WISH, or so he says.

In chap 211 Shiraishi turns the argument against Sugimoto.

He points out he keeps on saying he is doing it for Asirpa but it turns out he hasn’t given up on the money, in fact he had made an agreement to get the money. Asirpa has made clear she wants, same as when she wanted to go to Abashiri, know the truth about her father but handing the code to Tsurumi doesn’t insure she’ll get what she wants.

In short this time Sugimoto is prioritizing his own wishes, getting the money and keeping Asirpa pure (which isn’t even ensuring her safety) while Shiraishi points out how Asirpa has grown for that time and, instead than deciding for her he should support her, and how Sugimoto’s decision might not even protect her.

Now… just to clear things up.

I don’t think Sugimoto is doing what he’s doing because he’s evil or something like that. But he’s taking wrong choices under the guise of doing something good for Asirpa.

By doing him do this and remaking he’s doing this, Noda is telling us that Sugimoto isn’t the classic Shonen hero whose decisions, even the most controversial ones, either ultimately work out greatly (think to how Goku spared Piccolo and Vegeta and they turned out to be allies) or are immediately set right (when Goku spares Freezer and Freezer betrays him Goku immediately kills him… well, tries to as Freezer will survive) or, at least, immediately pointed as wrong (Goku’s plan to have Gohan fight Cell without warning him is quickly denounced as dumb by Piccolo).

Sugimoto’s decision was bad, very much so, but he took it in vol 14 and we had to wait till vol 21 to see how bad it was and it’s not even Sugimoto who acknowledges ‘ops, I made a mistake’ when Shiraishi warns him and fixes things or tries to but it’s Tsurumi who screws up while it’s Asirpa who fixes things.

Long story short, just because Sugimoto has the ‘main character’s status’, it doesn’t mean he’s always right or that he’s always doing good. He screws up like any of us.

Noda didn’t want us to despise Sugimoto, just remind us that the road to hell is paved with good intentions and if you aren’t careful you might screw up beyond belief.

TSURUMI

Actually there are no changes regarding Tsurumi, there are additions.

1 & 2)

We learn contrary to what Sugimoto and Tanigaki thought Tsurumi had no intention to let Asirpa some measure of freedom, he just wanted to keep her trapped until he were to solve the code. We also learn he planned to part her from Sugimoto and Shiraishi as soon as possible.

Honestly I’m not particularly surprised by this and I don’t think Noda made us aware of this to point out that Tsurumi is a jerk. The chapters with Ariko but also the one in which he cut Nikaido’s ear or murdered Wada or have Ogata kill Hanazawa or kidnapped Koito, should have told us Tsurumi would do everything to get what he wants. He wants the code and he doesn’t want others to get it. Of course the safest way it to keep Asirpa trapped in a place where nobody can find her and get that info from her.

Also, as long as he hadn’t checked the info, even if she were to tell him the code, he could never be sure she had been sincere, hence the jailing.

The changes in the volume version though, only remarks what was already pointed out. Tsurumi doesn’t come out worse or better, he just confirms his modus operandi.

3)

Tsurumi has a giant size grudge toward Wilk, seeing Asirpa immediately causes him a beyond strong emotion that causes him to leak brain fluid like crazy and the fact she reminds him of her father only causes him to lose his cool, stop attempting to manipulate her and attack her verbally, claiming Ainu wanted to kill Japanese and she’s going to follow her father’s footsteps, a flashback implying Tsurumi believes Wilk might be responsible for Funa and Olga’s death.

This is all new material for Tsurumi. We knew Tsurumi knew Wilk but in the magazine it wasn’t shown Wilk shoot, it was something that was added in the volume, and anyway, as Sofia blamed herself, it was assumed it could be her who murdered Sofia and Olga.

Instead he suspects Wilk and he seems very hung up on his loss, to the point he loses it in front of Wilk’s completely innocent daughter who, however, got to grow up differently from his own.

This definitely adds quite a big load of new meaning to Tsurumi’s actions.

On another side I’ve always wondered if the loss of Tsurumi’s brain fluid is mean to imply an orgasm or him crying. I think Tsurumi is so messed up in him pain and pleasure conflated and, in a way, it’s both. But it might be just me.

Well, this is all for the comments to the volume version. Sorry if it was a bit late.

[nymphl]

Lie to Me - Hux x Reader x Ch. 15: Reliance & Mistrust

A/N: Hello there xD Well, this time I’m ahead of schedule. I’ll see if I can keep the updates here thrice a week. I think it’s best to update what’s already written at once here, before I get caught up with my schedule and other real-life things and all. So here we go xD 

Story Summary: Falling for the enemy… That’s probably the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. Letting him live… for he should be dead. And you should’ve been the one to kill him. You had him, right there… and you let it escape through yours fingers. He lived. And now only the time could tell if you made the right decision — more likely wrong — by saving the amnesiac General of the First Order and telling him he was your husband. [Hux x Reader - Hux x You]

Warnings for the entire story: Will contain at times; graphic violence, sex, drugs and manipulation, coarse language and OOCness.

AO3 Tags: from enemies to lovers; eventual romance; memory loss; fake marriage; fake marriage becomes real marriage; rebellion; married couple; canon divergence; slow burn romance; politics; rebel alliance; resistance; first order; OOCness; eventual smut; eventual sex; power play; power dynamics; syndicate; lies; you lie; Hux lies; Hux backstory; manipulation; political alliances; political betrayals; secret organizations; tros fix it; anti tros; nobody likes general pryde.

Wordcount: 5747

PREVIOUS CHAPTER *** NEXT CHAPTER

YOU HATED IT.

And you should hate him…

…for his cryptic…

…cold…

…unfeeling…

…kriffing …

Behavior.

Instead, you hated yourself.

You hated that it hurt.

That you let him hurt you…

…emotionally and physically…

With the pain came the anger…

…strong…

…fervent…

…unstoppable…

However, your mind worked differently when you were furious. You became much more reclusive. Focused. As you were right now. Instead of lashing out, you did take greater care with everything you did.

Tightened your hold on the blaster, you did your best to control a pained hiss. Your arms seemed on verge of falling off as you waited for him to finally tell you to stop. To be in this kriffing position for so long, waiting for his instruction, was torture. And he knew it. Otherwise he would not have you going through the same simulation so many times. As you managed to get through the next phase of the staged attack, he would set you up for another round, till you were almost begging him for mercy.     

As if you could…

Outside bedroom affairs — which, you thought would not happen anytime soon —, the General hated when you begged. And you did not want to be seen as weak. Even if it would render you another lecture on not showing your weakness unless out of necessity — you wondered if that would be the way to get him to talk to you again.

Honestly, he was talking to you. But only what was necessary. Your husband was gone. In his place, only a General was left — and this General could be harsh when he wanted. 

Your worst nightmare.

Biting your bottom lip forcefully, you held the blaster firmly between your hands and waited for the targets — Imperial Troopers — to leave their hideout before you could fire. This time, however, there was something different. One of them — one of the targets — was hurt. You knew it was not true — apart from being a make-believe situation, the targets were not even real beings —, but even so, you lowered your arms.  

“How did you manage to get us here?” You breathed out in your speaker device. Apart from the VR glasses, you had your earmuffs firmly in place. The glasses set up the parallel reality and the earmuffs kept the outside sounds at bay.

The Crystal Cave indeed had training facilities that were more than adequate in your opinion. This was different from any simulation room you had seen before; instead of a practice field in which teams worked together towards some goal, you were alone and unmoving. The targets came to you and you had to shoot them before they could reach you in your own hideout. If your avatar got hurt, it would be the end for you. Luckily, you managed to escape their blasters twice now.

As expected, he did not answer your question. He seemed very focused on the targets ahead — even if he did not participate in your training, he had no avatar for himself, he too could see whatever you saw through your glasses. It was all it took for you to take a deep breath and let your attention slip somewhere else.

Even if he was a jerk, you felt safe with him.

It is… you did not let your mind drift to the last time in which he had his hand wrapped around your throat…

You were very tired; physically and mentally exhausted — every single person you knew worked overtime. The new disease in Dantooine continued keep you — and your peers — on edge. In no time, the number of alien dead would surpass the number of those who died in the last few days; even the most talented physicians in the planet were worried. So far, in pediatrics almost ten alien kids had died — in your shift. You had no idea if you could trust the data provided by those in charge. And as much as you understood they were merely trying to prevent some sort of collective hysteria, at least you and your coworkers were entitled to know. Everything you had found out was your own doing.

Shaking your head, you tried to focus your attention on your surroundings. You knew this place — this part of the cave. You had been there once with Aurra Sing before, when you were in your late teens. If your husband — the General, you quickly corrected yourself, there was no need to keep indulging your thoughts of that lie; he had figured out everything — thought it was adequate at best, it was because the First Order was… otherworldly.

A shudder ran down your spine.

He was fine now — more than fine, if you were to be honest, his physical condition was flawless —, so why would he still linger? Why not go back to the First Order?  

Honestly, you were not sure if you could trust him.

His negative answer when you questioned him about you being a bait to attract and defeat — that was important — the Resistance had you relieved.

Now…

…now you were not so sure.

“Fire.”

His voice, so detached and whispered through the speaker device, had you shivering. He was right behind you, quite but not touching. The last week living in the Cave he barely got within an arm of distance from you — always distant, always in his own mind. Having him this close now was… almost weird. Even when you trained — and for the maker, he made sure you trained hard every day and he could be as intense in your training as he was in your bed; your ardent lover had vanished, in its place, there was the business-like General — he would keep his distance. The last time in which you were in his arms, you were crying and asking how you could trust him, only to get a vague answer.

It was difficult to trust him — or get even near to it — when he barely interacted with you. How could he expect you to follow your krifing instincts when he barely looked at you? When all you had were a huge pile of doubts that only got bigger? When he was vague in his answers? For whenever he answered one of your questions you had another ten springing in your mind.   

You snapped your attention back to the targets, but nothing seemed to have changed in their previous stance. You furrowed your brows, but he paid you no attention.  

“Now,” he spoke again, this time his voice was firmer than before.

You had no reason to shoot when they were not moving — they were not attacking — and seemed to be paying some sort of medical care to one of theirs. Your moral convictions prevented you from attacking any hurt being — real or not, enemy or otherwise. The General was the living proof of that. It was simply beneath you and everything your father — your mother and Aquilla — stood for. However, you quickly realized your mistake as one of them — who was previously stretched out on the floor and apparently hurt — rose to his feet and opened his hand. A grenade lay in it, ready to be launched.

Without waiting for your move — you sincerely did not expect such plot twist —, the General opened fire against them — his avatar flashing before your peripheral vision —, knocking out all four targets quicker than your eyes could follow.

Next, he pressed a button at your left, shutting down the transmission before the grenade could go off. Your glasses darkened, forcing you to remove them. As you were greeted by the strong light in the simulation room, you had to blink a few times to get used to the new sight before your eyes. Honestly, you did not know which was worse: the light or the General’s judging eyes.

Not really ready for the reprimand of your life, you took your time to remove the earmuffs, letting them rest around your neck.

“I am sorry?” you tried, unsure on what to say. Besides, what could have you done? You certainly did not expect the targets to fake a situation — in a simulation! — just to attack you shortly after. Your first instinct was to always believe a hurt person — how else could you save lives if you did not believe your patients in the first place? You knew they did not qualify as such, but your point was still valid.

At least it seemed in your mind.     

“Your naivety almost got you killed.”

You pursed your lips into a thin line. You expected him to call your action one of compassion, not ingenuousness — and honestly you did not know which was worse in his eyes. You even opened your mouth to say it was only a make-believe situation, but you figured out it would do you no good. Apologizing would not do, as it would be seen as another act of weakness in his eyes.

“Who runs this part of the Cave?”

The General narrowed his eyes at you; he certainly did not see that question coming. With his hands entwined at his back, in what you called his General posture, he walked away from you; his shoulders set straight.

“I do.”

You furrowed your brows. It simply made no sense. No one in their right mind would simply abandon this place, only for the General to take it under his control, that much you were sure. And only one person crossed your thoughts at the moment: Aurra — and her precious Syndicate, of course.

“Aurra Sing gave up this place for me. In its entirety.”

At least you were sure of the first part; the second made no sense whatsoever. You did not know the details of their partnership, but you were sure she would not simply give up a Crystal Cave, that was so closely related and so important for the Jedi she hated so much that easily. Something smelled fishy.

Everything about him smells fishy.  

“Why?”

How?

“She already controls the Jedi Enclave, the Imperial Outpost and the Mining Outpost, giving up the Cave did not seem to bother her that much.”

You gaped. Besides the unlikely gesture or deal — that did not seem anything alike the Aurra Sing you knew —, it had been days since the General last spoke that much to you, that he even deemed you worthy of his stare. Shaking your head, you concentrated on the topic at hand: the Cave had training facilities unlike any other in Dantooine. Why would Aurra— you stopped mid-thought. Of course…

“She doesn’t truly know about the simulation rooms.”

The General snorted. You took a few steps closer to him and folded your arms at your chest. Contrary to your expectations, he did not step away.

“She does.”  

Then…?

“Aurra Sing doesn’t care about simulation rooms,” he said, taking two steps closer. It was enough to set his shiny boots barely an inch away from yours. “However, she isn’t aware this Cave has some old, albeit functional ships.”

It simply made no sense.

You shook your head. You did not know what that quick mind of his was working on, but you did not like it not even one bit. You did not trust Aurra…

…and you were not sure you could trust him either.

In spite of his words, in spite of your foolish heart that wanted so bad to believe him — to believe he had feelings for you —, your mind… your guts… told you to stay wide awake when near him. 

I trust him with my life…

A shiver ran down your spine. His involvement with the Resistance and the Syndicate at the same time made no sense at all. And made it very difficult to trust him. How could he be loyal to two distinct factions — with very different beliefs — at once?

I am loyal only to myself…  

You shook your head. You even reached out to him, but not sure if you should touch him or not, you entwined your fingers in front of your lap.   

“I don’t want you involved with her.”

And part of me wants you away from the Resistance now.

The fact that General Organa had not contacted you yet, made it all the more difficult for you to trust him.

His response was immediate this time, “I know.”

Then… why?

You even opened your mouth to ask him to clarify this issue, but his leather-gloved finger over your bottom lip made your freeze in place. It was the first time in days… It was the first time he touched you. Willingly. Sometimes he would fix your posture in your training, but that was not a lingering touch. Unlike this very one. He cast a sideways glance, directing your own eyes towards the point over his shoulder. Before you could say anything, his lips fell upon yours in a.. kiss.

You could not even describe it.

Mechanic?

Cold?

Thought-out?

Everything but passionate.

If his words made no sense to you before, his actions felt even more absurd. Either way, you sighed against his lips and kissed him back, holding onto him for dear life — you were touch-starved, which was laughable considering you spent five years without… getting any action. He seemed determined to keep it — the kiss — in a… professional level. His usual voraciousness was gone.

It was a relief when he broke apart when the lights went out and the two of you were left in the dark.

You could say now you missed the power shortages in Dantooine. At least it was something completely predictable, contrary to the General’s cryptic behavior. The growing doubt that gripped your heart and did not seem about to let go seemed to only increase.

“What was that?” you asked, but quickly shook your head. “She’s watching everything, isn’t she?” This time, you spoke in Ryl, your voice no more than a whisper against his lips — you were still in his arms, still holding onto him, still waiting for him to kiss you properly. Yearning for it. Even if she knew and spoke the language to perfection, you doubted any of her henchmen — if any of them was in the Cave following you, which was probably the case — knew.

He nodded.

“I just don’t understand…” you spoke in a rushed tone, trying to clear your mind of any doubts before the lights flickered back — part of you wondered if that was not staged by him; to act as if he was being watched to get you to believe Aurra was the enemy —, but it was very difficult. His shady decisions had you on edge. “Why would you do what she wants?”

“Why not?” the General replied. His lips moved over yours in a small caress that had you sighing against him.

In your current state — in your heart’s current state —, it was very difficult to say no to him. Unlike his kiss, his fingers ghosting over your clavicle — but never getting closer to your throat; he seemed very conscious how he snapped last time — was anything but mechanic. His lips moved from yours to your cheeks and then your jaw… running the length of your skin towards your chin and finally stopping at your chin.   

“It’s just…” You shut your lips when he started unbuttoning your shirt. You blinked. That was absolutely not the best moment to engage in intimacy, but you were so… needy right now. If you thought about using sex as a way to get the upper hand in this relationship before, now you knew you could never be as good as him. “How long till the power is back?”

“Two more minutes.” You shuddered as he parted from you and removed his own black shirt and brought you back to his arms. You were about to comment it was not enough time for the two of you to… do anything properly — the lights were about to flicker in and the cameras would record everything —, but his lips were on your ears, “She’s just found out about the ships and she’s going to destroy them.”

“But I thought…” You closed your eyes as he sat you over the balcony where you put your training devices and settled between your thighs; your legs automatically wrapped around his waist. “You’re making absolutely no sense.”

As his lips fell over your throat and he kissed it lightly, you knew you had lost your ability to think. He did not take his time there, however, going back to your mouth and brushing his tongue against your bottom lip. He merely teased you, not kissing you for real. You groaned in frustration.  

“Please.”

You were conflicted.

Part of you wanted — needed even — to go further with that. Needed him. Realistically, you knew it was all a game to deceive Aurra — or deceive you, you did not know anymore —, he knew what you wanted — he always seemed to know — and he was using sex as a tool to… — you swallowed, because you hated how truthful the word rang — to manipulate you.  

“So easily distracted…” the General finally silenced you with his lips. As the lights flickered in again, you could not be gladder that he was finally kissing you for real.             

A disappointed sigh left you as soon as you closed your eyes in the darkened bedroom.

Your bedroom.

Not his.

You were alone.

Not with him.

After bestowing you with a mind-blowing kiss, the General took you to your chambers. Part of you thought — you were hopeful even —, that the two of you would finally get physical.

Tsk.

All he did was to drop you onto the mattress and turn on his heels. He just left you alone. For a few minutes, you just stood positioned on your elbows waiting — hoping — for him to come back. Right now, it did not matter that he was using sex as a tool to manipulate you, you just needed it.

Now… as the lusty cloud left you — after you took matters into your own hands — you were glad he did nothing. You were glad he left.

At the same time, you were angry.

With yourself.

For the maker!

How could you be so stupid? You were never this irrational — gullible and stupid — with Aquilla. It is a fact that Aquilla never used sex as a tool… However, being married to an alien — and having sexual relations with them — was completely different than with a human — there was always extra care involved and twi’leks saw marriage was something sacred — not a lie to toy with. What you meant was that Aquilla would never tease you and leave you… wanting.

Perhaps next time you saw him you should tell him that.

If he said last time you kept comparing the two of them, then you should take comparisons to the next level. You wondered how long it would take for that nonchalant mask of his to fall after you told him Aquilla never teased just to leave you… unsatisfied.

Shaking your head, you tried to clear your mind of everything. Honestly, you were horrified you could think of something so mean. The General had issues — several, actually — and your childish behavior could — would — worsen them.

You closed your eyes and pulled the blankets to your chin, falling into an uneventful slumber shortly after.

It was middle of the night when you woke up by yourself. A nightmare about the General leaving you for good — without looking back — haunted your sleep. Your swallowed, but it was raspy. Your throat felt dry.

You sat on the bed and reached for the bottle, only to have it handed to you.

If the situation — if you did not feel so numb because of the dream —, you probably would have been startled. Instead, you accepted the bottle and drank the water in big gulps. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and looked at him in the darkened bedroom.

He was sitting in a chair close to your bed, completely focused on his datapad. The sound of his fingers working on the screen had you blinking a few times. Even if you had just woken up by yourself, you were still struggling to stay awake.

You bit your bottom lip and shook your head. So many questions you wanted — needed even — to ask, that you could not afford to sleep right now. It could — and would — come later.

“What was that earlier?” Your voice was small, unsure as you started. “Why are we really here?” You cast your eyes to your lap. Your body was covered with the softest fabric you had ever touched. The sheets were very pleasing to the touch. Even after a week living in the Cave, with sheets like that and a bed way bigger and comfortable than yours, you could not say you were happier here. You were very happy in the Cave in the first time you visited it, after your small adventure with the General. And even if you knew his demeanor had nothing to do with the place, you did not want to live in a place where he seldom spoke to you — in a place where he only kissed you because cameras would capture it. Your eyes widened when the thought hit you, “Are there cameras in this room?”

The corner of his lips tilted slightly upwards — which set your heart into a frenzied beat —, but his answer came quickly, “No.”

A relieved sigh left you. Honestly, you did not need for Aurra Sing to watch whatever you did in that room. Or even the General. That would be beyond embarrassing. You did not know about him, but you did mind being in the spotlight.

As you saw the lingering shadow of a smirk on his lips, you froze.

“You know.”

His lack of answer had heat touching towards your face… gripping it. That was the perfect time to compare him to Aquilla.

No.

You shook your head.

There were far more pressing matters. This… whatever this was… Is… — you had no idea anymore — could wait. You had to question his decisions concerning this very night. His touches — even if welcomed — came out of nowhere. He was using sex as a means of distraction. You were sure of it. If you yourself thought about it before — even if you did not act on it, you planned it —, the General would act on it; he was not above such machinations. What’s more, he proved for the second — third? you were no longer sure — time you were his to do as he pleased.

Easily distracted…

What bothered you was the fact he was right. The feeling of being beaten in a game you planned to play in the first place did not sit well with you.

“You manipulated me through sex.”

He shifted his attention to you. His piercing, impossibly blue eyes focused on your face. There was no need for a loud answer, for his orbs told you enough.

You bit your bottom lip.

“You think I am easy to manipulate.”

He did not look anywhere when the next words left his lips, “I know it.”

His answer knocked the air out of your lungs. You sat rigidly in your bed and tugged the sheets to your chin — you felt stupid for taking your clothes off. You would not feel so vulnerable right now if you put on something before you drifted to sleep.

But that was all.

It did not hurt you. His mean words. His cold demeanor.

By now… you were almost used to it. You felt so numb right now nothing he could have said would make you feel any worse.

“What are you doing here?”

Unlike last time, now he took his time to reply. You just sat there watching him type something on his datapad in silence. He was no longer looking at you — which was somewhat a relief —, his attention solely focused on the device.       

How long were you here? you even wanted to ask but gave up shortly after. You could deal with everything right now, but not with the fact of knowing he had seen you — watched — as you pleasured yourself and sighed his name — imagined him doing things to you.

You shook your head.

“My…” You closed your mouth — addressing him as my Lord when you suspected he may have caught you doing the deed was far too embarrassing —, and tried again “Armitage?” you asked, your voice wavering this time, you were not really sure what to call him. Going back to your usual my Lord would not do, not with all the memories of that first night in the cave… Calling him your husband was an even greater absurd. But would he find it weird if all of a sudden you stopped addressing him formally or he would welcome it that you called him more intimately?

Besides, going back was not what you had in mind. If you wanted to move on with him, with you wanted to have a real relationship with him, you had to get closer… Your heart sped at the thought, but you knew it to be truthful: you had to start trusting him.

Right…?

You rose to your feet and cast a look at his datapad. It took you a while to recognize what he was doing and where he was doing it — for you were seeing everything upside down — but as you realized he was staring at some sort of files concerning the First Order, you felt an irrational fear gripping your heart.

Trust him with my life…

He chose that exact time to ask you to repeat the symptoms you had told him earlier when you told him about your day at the Hospital. You furrowed your brows, but recited them nonetheless, “It’s like a common cold, except that those infected with it are dying in three days-time. They’re afflicted with nasal congestion, fatigue, coughing and high appetite. What does it have to—

You stopped yourself. He would not answer to your question. And you were afraid of his answers. This conversation had you leaving the bed and looking for your clothes in the dim-lighted room. If you were to have that conversation — or any sort of conversation — it would absolutely not do to stay naked.

He cast a glance at you, his eyes narrowing as he watched your covering yourself from his prying eyes. Very conscious of his rapt attention, you wetted your lips and sat back on the mattress, pulling the blankets to cover yourself, “They seemed to have acquired a new taste for human flesh out of the blue as well.”

There was a moment of silence between you as his fingers stopped working on whatever he was… working. His eyes remained on you the whole time as he seemed to contemplate the new bit of information you just released — something you did not tell him before and that you regretted telling now.

“You’re not returning tomorrow.”

And there we go…

You felt highly stupid for saying that. So far, only two of the infected alien species showed any sort of addiction to human flesh — out of several! You thought that you were particularly safe. Not to mention, you were responsible for taking care of the children — and they rarely represented any danger.

Not to mention… He did not seem to care about you.

To love you.

Did it really matter if you died or lived?

And if he wanted you alive, was it because he felt something for you or because he thought you could be useful?

“Listen,” you started, biting your bottom lip. Convincing the General you were out of danger would be a difficult task, but you were willing to reason with him either way. Then you furrowed your brows, curiosity — mistrust — taking over you. You almost said that Aquilla would never ask you to stop working — to stop helping others when they needed you most. But should the words leave your lips, you would regret them forever — like you regretted reveling the whole truth that day. You shook your head and said, “Why are you so interested? You’re not even a doctor.”

He narrowed his eyes at you — it was as if he knew your traitorous thoughts —, but instead of giving you a direct answer, he opted to ask, “What do you know of the Kryto virus?”

You furrowed your brows. You simply hated how cryptic he was sometimes.

It did not make it any easier to trust him.

For the maker!

Your doubts were bordering on paranoia. For the first time, you realized that him knowing everything — and not telling how he figured out everything — was a heavy burden. His silent, offended even demeanor — and what did he have to be offended about when he lied to you as well? — prevented you from trusting him fully. It prevented you from letting go of the past — look at how many times you compared him to Aquilla in a short spam of time! — and truly moving on.

Trust him with my life…

As if…

Not even ten minutes ago you were sure he was manipulating you through sex. He was hiding something from you.

Loyal to myself and to you…

For real?

If he could lie about believing — buying — your own lies, why would he say he truth his loyalty?  

“What does it have to do with—” You stopped midsentence, realization finally sinking on you, “Oh.”

“Oh, indeed,” he replied, handing you the datapad. He was reading some sort of article related to deadly viruses released by the Empire in an attempt to destroy the New Republic, of them was the famous Kryto Virus, a bioweapon responsible for taking the lives of millions of aliens back in 7 ABY.

You were a mere toddler when it happened and the subsequent Bacta Wars, but the misery you saw taking over the very planet in which you lived now would be forever marred in form of your father’s frown whenever he looked at you or you listened to him crying himself to sleep at night.

The mere thought of something of such scale taking over the galaxy again made a cold shiver ran down your spine and a deep, horrendous fear grip your very heart, squeezing it mercilessly. 

Clearing your throat, you handed the datapad back to him. All traces of sleep had left you and now you were wide awake and very much frightened. Subconsciously, you reached for his hand and entwined your fingers together. When you realized what you were doing, you were ready to pull away, but he tightened his hold over you lightly.

You will have to follow your instincts.  

For the first time his words started making sense to you. The paranoia was leaving your system. Understanding flooded you. He did hide tons of stuff from you, but if he did have anything to keep from you — concerning the disease at least —, he certainly would not show you the article, would he?

With his left hand only, he started typing something else in the flat screen and shortly after you were staring at several sketches. It showcased a Dantari with some red spots on the face and body. Each spot had a brief description that matched exactly the symptoms the patients at the Hospital displayed.

Instead of asking the obvious question, instead of putting the blame where it was due — paranoid! you were paranoid —, you said, “So… you have all of your accesses to the First Order database?”

You bit your bottom lip as you waited for his reply.

“Mostly.”

You took your time to voice your next question. You were really not sure you were ready for his answer — whatever it may be.

“Did you know it?”

“Possibly,” he replied, his eyes focused on you. When you looked down at your joined hands, he used his thumb to caress the inside of your wrist. His touch burned your skin, so you quickly disentangled your fingers and moved away from him. Your action made him straighten his back. “I have not regained all of my memories, so I do not know.”

The thought of his lost memories — he would not and could not know, for he knew nothing of his past before the attempt on his life — should make you feel relieved, but you felt even tenser now. Without knowing, he could be the very responsible for this new development in Dantooine. It is, if he coordinated the invasion of your planet, he could also have orchestrated this new virus, right?  

Not for the first time you wondered if you did the right thing by saving him. And even if it hurt you beyond imagination the thought of how empty your life would be, you could not help but ask yourself if you were not in the wrong right now.

“Have you ever lost your memories?”

He narrowed his eyes at you.

There was moment of absolute, sepulchral silence. You thought you forgot how to breathe; your heart was beating madly inside your chest as you waited for his answer. When it came, you were left agape. 

“You should sleep,” he said, getting on his feet. You were not sure if his face was that expressionless or if you were imagining stuff. 

He moved his fingers over your temple, placing a strand of hair behind your ear. Before he could caress your face, however, you snapped his hand away.

“Is there any cure in any of these articles?”

He had his eyes narrowed, but he did not comment on your sudden change in behavior. He retreated — both physically and emotionally —, looking for his leather gloves in the dressing table in the other corner of the room.

The silence was almost unbearable as he placed his blaster in its holder. You wanted to say something, your throat even burned with it, but you felt unable to even open your mouth.

“Do you trust me?”

…with my life.

You bit your bottom lip. You wanted to say yes. You wanted to be as sure as you were when you told General Organa just a few days ago, but could not.

For the maker!

You swallowed.

He grabbed his coat and headed for the exit. He had his hands clasped on his back when he spoke without even casting one last glance at you, “Do not wait for me.”

A/N - And that’s all for today. I’ll see you on Wednesday xD

[theavengerfairy]

One Step Closer - Prologue

Previously known as “Gravity”

Before we start the story, I just wanted to give you, my readers, a couple disclaimers. First and foremost, this fanfiction and pairing is NOT AN ATTACK ON RUTHARI OR ANY OTHER RUNAAN SHIPS! Second, this story takes place in a parallel but alternate timeline where Runaan isn’t married or in any prior relationships and his sexuality is open to the interpretation of each individual reader. Please think before you comment and just be kind to one another, myself included. Next, there is an original species of Ocean elf in this story as opposed to a Tidebound elf character because I started this story and created the particular character long before the name of the Tidebound elves was released. Lastly, the time frame for this story is between seasons 2 and 3. That is all; now please enjoy the story.

Opeli just had to pick him. Given the nosedive that his luck had been taking as of late, Marcos shouldn't have been surprised when the aforementioned advisor of Katolis' High Council chose him out of all the other competent souls in the Royal Guard to go seize from Viren's former study any magical objects that could prove potential dangerous to the kingdom, a category to which the mage's entire collection more or less belonged to, and dispose of them, but as the soldier drove along the bumpy, winding trail through the woods that enclosed the castle, his internal organs continued to twist themselves into a knot so complex it would have baffled even the most proficient pretzel chefs in all of Katolis.

"You need to relax, Marcos." he tried to reassure himself as he gripped the reigns of the two slow but stocky Clydesdale mares pulling his cart so tightly that his knuckles were turning the color of alabaster, the tightness in his chest leaving him feeling somewhat winded since he couldn't draw in a deep, solid breath of crisp air. "Viren is locked up tight in the dungeon, and without him, none of these items can hurt you....probably."

Glancing back at the bed of the wagon behind him, he half expected to find that one of Viren's trinkets had managed to wiggle its way out from underneath the large tarp that he had secured over his load and snuck up behind him, ready to pounce, but he found nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Maybe this was just going to be another ordinary assignment where nothing went wrong.

Then the horses gave a frightened shriek, and Marcos' voice along with two others screeched out an equally shrill reply as the guard yanked sharply on the reins, bringing the cart to so abrupt of a stop that he nearly went tumbling from his seat onto the two mares' backs.

"Benny! Jaime!"

Once he had managed to settle down the startled horses with a few gentle pats and soft shushes, Marcos shifted his attention in the direction from which the other voices had come only for his heart to drop like a stone in his stomach when he saw two identical little boys sprawled in the dirt in front of him, their caramel-colored eyes brimming with tears behind their slightly long, unkempt hair as one caressed his left shoulder and the other clutched his right arm tightly to his chest. Hearing the rapid thumping of running feet and heavy panting, the soldier's hand instinctively flew to grasp hold of the hilt of his sheathed sword only to fall back his side when a slightly older youth, likely the two boys' brother given his similar hair color and skin tone, broke out of the brush and dropped into a slide, throwing his arms around the two kids as soon as they were within reach.

"This is why I told you two not to play near the road! You need to be more careful!" he scolded them, his voice reprimanding but gentle as he drew the twins to him.

"W-We're sorry, Luka!" they blubbered in reply, clinging to him tightly as he helped them to their feet.

"Don't be upset with them. I should've been watching where I was going." Marcos exclaimed as he leaped down onto the forest floor and made his way towards the huddle of siblings only to stop when the older boy, Luka, shot him a warning glare. "They're not hurt, are they?"

"They're just a little bruised, lucky for you!" Luka snapped sourly as he positioned himself protectively in front of his brothers, his leery eyes flitting back and forth between Marcos and the two horses, who had begun to munch innocently on some tufts of grass that had shot up in the middle of the road. "You should keep those beasts under better control before they actually harm someone!"

Marcos blinked slowly once, twice, three times before quickly throwing his fist over his mouth to try and suppress the surprised chuckle, causing Luka's scowl to deepen.

"You think this is funny?! You royal guards really are just a bunch of insensitive, pompous boneheads, aren't you?!"

"No, no! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh. It's just that Momo and Bae-Bae here are the most docile horses out of the entire royal stable; they wouldn't hurt a fly. Your brothers just startled them is all." Marcos hurriedly apologized. Noticing the skepticism still painted on Luka's face along with the fear radiating off of Benny and Jaime, who peered at him nervously from behind their brother, he removed one of his armored gloves and stooped down along the side of the road, plucking a handful of the dandelions growing there, "Here, I'll show you."

Though still somewhat scared, Jaime and Benny leaned out a little bit farther from their hiding spot and watched with interest as Marcos held the flowers out to the two mares. Lured by the sweet aroma, the two horses raised their heads and tenderly nibbled on the treat until there was nothing left, followed by gently licked the soldier's open palm to make sure they got every trace of the taste.

"See? Nothing to be afraid of."

"Uh huh. Whatever you say. Come on you two, we better get home." Luka griped rather loudly as he grabbed his brothers' hands and started pulling them in the direction from which he had come.

Marcos' brow creased with concern. "Are you sure you boys are okay? Why don't you let me escort you home? It's not safe for a bunch of kids to be wandering alone in the woods."

"We're fine. Besides, I'm sure whatever royal mission you're on is much more important than us." Luka crowed back before disappearing into the foliage with his brothers, the leaves and branches concealing them so well that the only evidence left of their presence was a steadily fading rustle as they left Marcos alone without another word.

"O-Okay! Just be careful!" he called after them, though he figured the effort was likely futile. Heaving a heavy sigh, he started to climb back into the driver's seat of the wagon only to halt when a potent uneasiness washed over him. Biting the inside of his cheek, he swiveled his head to look scrutinizingly back at his cartload of magical knickknacks, but once again nothing appeared to be out of place.

"You're being paranoid again, Marcos! You'll never make a good guard if you don't stop being such a scaredy cat!" his conscience squawked irritably, its voice sounding oddly similar to that of his disapproving Aunt Cadence who had always insisted on him becoming a healer like his uncle. The likeness made him shudder and he hastily spurred the two mares forward before his mind had any more reason to scold him, ignoring as best to could the nagging dread that continued to construct a bird's nest for itself out of his stomach and intestines.

Luka's eyes did not leave Marcos until he and his cart were no more than a speck in the distance, and as he dropped down from his hiding spot in the large oak tree that overlooked the road, his lips twisted into a wicked sneer.

"All clear!" he shouted.

Immediately, Benny and Jaime darted out of the bush at the base of the tree and scrambled to their brother's side, eyes gleaming with excitement as each boy nudged the another aside so that he was the center of Luka's attention.

"How did we do, big brother? Huh, huh? Were we good?" Benny chattered eagerly, his words all tumbling together into one giant, incoherent heap as they flew from his lips at inhuman speeds.

"Well, the two of you smearing your snot on my shirt wasn't really necessary, but other than that, you devils weren't bad." Luka clucked smugly, lovingly ruffling the boys' hair before resting his hands on his hips and leisurely throwing back his head. "What a dolt! That was almost too easy!"

"Too easy?! If it was so easy, you should've been able to keep him occupied for longer!"

Luka's smirk wavered slightly as his eyes flitted over to the raven-haired girl emerging from another one of the nearby bushes, meticulously plucking twigs and brambles out of her two stubby braids and brushing the dirt off of her skinned knees and elbows, but but it soon returned when he caught a glimpse of the sack dragging in the dirt behind her.

"Maybe you should've just worked faster, Lennie." he taunted her in the way all brothers do, snatching the bag out of her hand and surveying what was inside. "Still, it looks like you managed to scrounge together a decent haul....."

His voice trailed off as he stared into the sack, disbelief and disgust distorting his imp-like face to such a degree that the twins' couldn't help but grow curious and try to catch a glimpse of their sister's gains as well.

"What the heck is this? What garbage did you grab, Lennie?" Luka sputtered, his lips puckering and nose wrinkling as though the articles in the bag were actually emitting so horrid order that only he could smell.

"It was all garbage, Luka; that guy had nothing on him but junk! You picked a dud target!" Lennie trilled defensively.

"Okay, maybe I did, but you're the one who still snitched some of this rubbish!"

"Well we can't exactly go home empty handed! I grabbed whatever I thought looked restorable!"

"Restorable? We're thieves, not artisans, Lennie! These scraps are useless to us!"

Benny shot Jaime a perplexed look, "What's an artisan?"

Jaime shrugged his shoulders, "Beats me. Hey Luka, can Benny and I at least look and see if Lennie grabbed anything that we might want to use for our fort?"

"Psh, knock yourselves out. Go ahead and pitch whatever is left over, but don't throw away the sack this time, alright?" Luka grumbled before tossing the stolen scraps at the twins' feet and resuming his argument with his sister.

Benny and Jaime pounced on the bag faster than a pair of famished dogs, nearly ripping in two in their haste to flip it over and empty its contents onto the ground. To anyone who did not know their magical value, most of these items did indeed appear to be no more than worthless trinkets, but two innovative, imaginative mind of a child, even a bag of trash can prove to be a treasure trove.

"Jaime, look at this! It looks like a finger!"

"Why would there be a finger in a jar?"

"Because it's cool!"

"Hey, this looks like one of those rune stones from the book we snitched from the old librarian!"

"No way! That's totally fake!"

"Well so is your finger!"

"Is not! Hey, look at this-"

And so the boys continued to examine and sort each object as Luka and Lennie bickered, completely oblivious to their younger siblings' enterprises as they hurled petty jabs and insults at each other much like kids themselves, and aside from the occasional squabble over an item's identity or sorting, little trouble arose between the twins until they both grabbed hold of the last item, a small purse made of stormy gray cloth.

"Hey, hands off! I touched it first!"

"No way! You got to hold the last one!"

Clenching their tiny jaws in determination, the brothers pulled on their side of the purse, straining against one another till the bag finally tore in half and a flash of gold caught their eyes.

"Benny, Lennie actually got money!"

"Shh! Don't shout it!"

"But-"

"Shh!"

Glancing back at the two older children to ensure that they hadn't heard Jaime's outburst, Benny hurriedly began stuffing the handful of coins into the pockets of his pants, much to the astonishment of his lookalike.

"What are you doing?"

"Lennie and Luka always get all the credit even though we do all the hard work, but if we give these coins to Papa..."

Jaime's eyes brightened when he caught his brother's implication and his plump, youthful lips curved into a broad smile. "Let me hold onto some! Let me hold onto some!"

"Alright! Alright! Keep your voice down!"

After checking again to ensure that Lennie and Luka were still fully engaged in their spat, Benny quickly handed Jaime two of the four coins in his pocket only for the latter to suddenly scream and drop one of them, startling his brother in the process and thus rousing a squeal from him as well. Ironically, it was this unified exclamation that finally earned the attention of the other siblings.

"What the heck are you two squawking about?! Are you trying to get somebody's attention?!" Luka barked.

"S-Something moved!"

"What?! Where?!"

"O-On the coin!"

"Coin? You guys found coins?!"

"What were you saying about my haul being nothing but garbage?" Lennie quipped smugly before strutting over to the twins and plucking the discard coin off of the ground, "You probably just saw your reflection, you big baby-"

Her words were cut off by a surprised gasp as she too dropped the coin, though she hastily snatched it up again before it could hit the forest floor. Bringing it close to face, she stared at the glistening surface in disbelief, unable to believe her eyes.

"Oi, could you all stop screaming?! I'm starting to go deaf here!" Luka lamented, but his remark flew right over Lennie's head.

"...Luka, you know anything about coins with moving pictures on 'em?"

Brow furrowing skeptically, Luka strolled up alongside his sister and leaned over her shoulder, but all suspicion left him when he saw firsthand the blinking eyes, silently babbling lips, and flailing fists of what appeared to be an elf rippling along the surface of the coin.

"...I've never seen anything like this in my life...." he drawled, his jaw agape with disbelief. However, after a moment, a mischievous glint ignited in his eyes. "I bet Pops hasn't either! He's gonna love this!"

Lennie barely had time to comprehend what was happening before Luka suddenly ripped the coin from her hands and took off in a sprint, leaving her frozen in a state of shock until her mind finally caught up and she darted after him with an angry screech.

"Luka, come back here! That was my find! I'm giving it to Papa!"

In the blink of an eye, they both were gone, and Benny and Jaime simply stared at one another in silence for a moment as they too tried to process all that had happened. Lifting up his right hand, which still held the other coin, Jaime slowly opened his fist and stared down at the golden piece.

"Does that one have-"

"Uh huh. Do yours?"

Checking his pockets, Benny nodded mutely, and slowly, the two boys started to smile.

[tysonrunningfox]

Ripped: Part 19

Remember how much has happened in this AU?  So much has happened.  Things just keep happening.  

Ao3

Eretson works like someone who knows the goalposts will be shifted by the time that he gets there, but he sees it as a challenge, rather than a guarantee of failure. Maybe his ceaseless, determined flipping through pages and pictures and notes in an untidy, almost childish scrawl would be reassuring if Astrid weren’t still half cuffed to an office chair.

She knows her rights. She hasn’t been arrested officially, just taken in for questioning under a strong and understandable suspicion, and she could demand that he uncuff her or actually arrest her, but then she’d have to decide what to do next.

Her eyes flick to the evidence bag in the middle of Eretson’s cluttered desk, a halo of medical records strewn around it, all of them read twice. The bullet looks harmless now, mushroomed and useless, a relic crusted streaked with long dried blood and scratched by the tools that removed it from the site of its discovery.

Stable.

When they left the hospital, Snotlout was stable, and Hiccup was anything but. Stable still isn’t an answer, it’s not the black and white yes or no that he wanted. She didn’t know what to do but tell him the truth, tethered to the chair, back cramping from twisting to keep her hand on his shoulder as he stared sheathed daggers at the wall.

When her uncle died, it wasn’t sudden. It was months and months of doctors and fighting and planning for the impossible, and she remembers feeling like something was wrong with her when relief hit quicker than grief did. Hiccup took no time at all to shift into the stunned limbo that precedes bad news, like it was a practiced position, a place he was comfortable living until he remembered its inherent timeline.

If she complained about the cuffs now, she could get back to the hospital and be there, if nothing else. Except she doesn’t know if Hiccup is still there or if there’s even a reason to still be there, since her phone is back on the kitchen counter at her apartment. The apartment she was so stubborn to leave until she had to, only to be discovered by Eretson, her sweatshirt a finger in a dam breach that was letting boats through.

If he uncuffed her, she’d have to go back there and face the consequences of clinging to her sunk cost.

Consequences exist even when you don’t face them, of course, but she’d like to think the three in the morning buffer against them exists for more than just a private tour that never should have led to all of this.

“Have you found anything?” She asks when the clock on the wall strikes three thirty, her voice coming out tired even though she doesn’t think she could sleep when she can’t blink without seeing Hiccup’s panicked face or the wall outside her building’s courtyard splattered with blood.

“Huh?” Eretson looks up with bleary eyes, startled like he forgot she was there.

“Have you found anything?” She can’t blame him for bringing her here, given the circumstances, but the brutal silence is absolutely his doing. “Any leads? Did the doctors give you anything?”

He looks at her for a long, exhausted moment, waffling over treating her as a suspect or something else.

“You know, I’d be a pretty shitty murderer if I paused my grand escape to try and stop the bleeding.” It’s the last thing she should say and the only thing she can. Her voice sounds metallic like it did in a hospital hallway, telling Hiccup that for a second, ‘Snotlout Jorgenson’ was a name that would be whispered late at night on the corner by someone in a vintage Tom Brady jersey to set the scene.

“It’s a nine millimeter,” Eretson picks up the evidence bag and stares at the bullet, “police standard issue, but that doesn’t mean anything because anyone could buy a box of the same at any Walmart in this bloody city.”

“So it doesn’t mean anything?” She sighs, slumping down in the uncomfortable chair and trying and failing to find a new part of her butt to sit on. “We spent two hours at the hospital waiting for them to dig it out of his shoulder and it doesn’t mean anything?”

“The doctor said the angle of the first shot, the one with the exit wound, indicated he was shot by someone taller than him.” Eretson looks levelly at her for a second and she waits for him to present his case again, linking the truth into a tangled web of a cage around her, but then he shrugs. “So it could have been anybody.”

Astrid snorts, too exhausted to stop herself, and Eretson relaxes ever so slightly, leaning forward in his chair to take his suit jacket off and pushing up his sleeves.

“I’ve spent the last twenty four hours sifting through every connection you have to this case,” he folds his hands on the desk and sighs. She doesn’t doubt it, from the circles under his eyes and the fact he’s only broken concentration to refill his coffee mug. “You’re halfway through your Masters in criminology at Berk University, I could use a second set of eyes.”

“I’m a suspect,” she says automatically, looking between the cuff on her wrist and the pile of papers on the desk that represent possibly the only way she could actually help Hiccup right now.

“My top suspect, in fact, until last night,” he stands up and stretches his arms over his head, “coffee?”

“What changed? I’m still connected to the other three m—events.” She barely stops herself from calling it a murder, but the damage is done anyway, and it feels like Hiccup must have heard her from across town, giving him the closure he wanted with the heaviest consequences attached.

“Like you said, you’d be a pretty shit murderer if you stopped to save your victim’s life.” He picks up his coffee mug and hints at another almost smile, “plus, anyone who disembowels indiscriminately in alleyways wouldn’t stop to help someone as annoying as Jorgenson. Do you not drink coffee?”

“Yes, I mean, I do,” she nods, shocked but grateful, and on the way to the door he pauses, flicking a finger against the chain on her handcuffs. The cuff around the arm of the chair falls open, like it wasn’t ever fully clicked into place and her eyes widen. “You were testing me.”

“Cream or sugar?”

“If I’d done it, I would have tried to get away,” she takes the key that he hands her and unlocks the cuff on her wrist, rubbing the sore line from where she stretched against it in the hospital.

“Black then.” He leaves the office and she scoots her chair forward, starting her sort at the outside of his piles and working in.

The coffee is burned, but it’s enough to keep her awake as she updates herself on the parts of the case she isn’t familiar with. There are witness accounts, most of them Grimborn enthusiasts from Hiccup’s doomed tour, drawing parallels that half make sense. There are notes on knives and how they cut and doodles of how victims were dragged to where they were found. There’s screenshots of the footage of her and Hiccup and a Google Maps estimate of how long it takes to walk between locations on various paths.

It’s the most complete file Astrid has ever encountered, the criminology story problem that doesn’t exist in which a case begs for a one variable solution.

“It’s a set up.” It’s seven thirty in the morning when she finally gets there, startled enough out of her study by the first few diligent officers settling at their desks to look up. “It’s too thorough.”

“Maybe I’m just good at my job, Miss Hofferson,” Eretson’s eyes don’t stray from his most recent print out, but the straight-faced tough-guy routine doesn’t work on her exhaustion frayed nerves.

“The witness accounts all agree, there’s not one Grimborn-ologist in here claiming a double event with a murder across the city or trying to call out a politician.”

“To be fair, one thought it was aliens,” he puts down what he’s reading.

“There’s always someone who says aliens,” she rolls her eyes, sliding that particular account towards him, “that was the body found behind the frozen yogurt shop. It probably has a rooftop refrigerator unit, the spaceship sound they claimed they heard could be someone walking on sheet metal.”

“Both you and Hiccup were there,” Eretson narrows his eyes and slowly slides a stack of papers towards her, “can you make any sense of this?”

It’s a sheet detailing health insurance payouts related to Snotlout’s benefits. Yearly physicals, the occasional mental health visit relating to occupational concerns, a couple of internal medicine visits pertaining to something gastro-intestinal. All in all typical, except for the prosthetics fittings.

Every visit is listed in chronological order and it appears that Eretson has some sort of provisional access to the system, because the patient in each line is only identified as ‘Male: 25’.

“Yeah,” she sets the stack down and waits for Eretson to reveal what he knows, Hiccup’s casual kindness to someone now fossilized in Berkian history on the front of her mind.

“I didn’t know I was risking a workplace sensitivity lecture every time I said Jorgenson didn’t have a leg to stand on,” Eretson jokes, still testing, still refusing to commit to anything in case he’s wrong and Astrid sees for a moment what she’s not allowed to see.

She sees that the well-documented case is still open and unsolved because Eretson refuses to ask for clarification, let alone help.

“It’s not him,” she sets the stack down, “it’s Hiccup. He has a prosthetic leg, he’s obviously on Snotlout’s insurance.”

“Do you know the second victim?” Eretson’s trust wavers briefly as he shoves a picture in front of Astrid.   Dave, who Hiccup introduced her to when one murder seemed impossible, in an army uniform, younger and better groomed.

She’s said too much to Eretson already, but she’s also learned more than she ever trying to stay out of it, like that was ever possible.

“Hiccup introduced us once,” she makes her move, hoping it’s not a mistake, “he knew him from volunteering at Gobber’s shelter. At some point he gave Dave an old prosthetic that he wasn’t using.”

“He didn’t mention that.” He tucks the picture of Dave back into his folder, “neither did you when I interviewed you at the crime scene.”

“Well, it would have made him look pretty guilty.” She shrugs, “especially after he stumbled upon two bodies in a row with word of mouth as his only alibi.”

“It would have, wouldn’t it?” Eretson looks at the clock and rubs his red eyes before standing. “You’ve given me lots to think about. Can I give you a ride home?”

“Home?” She thinks of the stain on the pavement by the courtyard wall and shakes her head, “I can stay here and help more, at least until we hear back from the hospital.”

“Grisly will be in soon, I think it’s in the best interest of my job if he doesn’t know that I let my top suspect see the case file.” He looks sympathetic anyway, more human for the night spent together.

“Right,” she nods, “makes sense.”

“Probably best if we leave through the back,” he double checks the hallway before waving her forward and herding her a little too fast to a door that opens into an alley that makes her head spin. An alley that looks like tours with Hiccup and blood and old pictures that don’t capture how it feels to see someone splayed out and taken apart.

Eretson doesn’t say anything when she gets in the front seat of his unmarked car and her eyes burn with the morning sun even through the window. Hours of reading without blinking enough in a vain attempt at not seeing what’s etched on the inside of her eyelids left them dry and itchy, and they seem to dry out more as the car approaches her building.

Her building that’s felt more like a bivouac than a home, exposed and impermanent in blunt ways that she pushed back at out of habit more than decision.

When the car stops and she looks up at the sound-deadened window of Elizabeth Smith’s apartment, her hand freezes on the handle.

“Miss Hofferson?” Eretson is all manners again and it’s so normal that it throws everything into sharp relief.

Ten feet away, she saw Snotlout almost die the night before. She’s used to handcuffs and polite police voices and the wrong end of murder accusations and suddenly the level head she prides herself on feels like a lead helmet, holding her down and drowning her in this chaos. If she gets out of the car right now like everything is normal and walks up into her apartment like it’s home, it would be inhaling brackish ooze and accepting her fate.

“Can you drive me to Ruffnut’s?” She re-buckles her seatbelt and starts giving him directions before he can ask about her change of heart.

She hasn’t showed up at someone’s house without texting first since elementary school, but she doesn’t hesitate to knock, pivoting again on a fallback point. Ruffnut was the first person she called when all of this started and maybe if she’d listened then, things would be different now.

But she wouldn’t have gotten to know Hiccup, and she feels awful for thinking it so soon after hearing those echoed gunshots and seeing Snotlout under the streetlight.

“Astrid?” Ruffnut opens the door in her pajamas, frowning slightly, “did you text?”

“No,” her voice shakes, just barely, but it’s enough for her friend to notice, “Eretson just dropped me off—”

“Is he still here?” She asks, too interested, and Astrid scowls, shouldering past her into her place.

“Is Tuff here?”

“What’s wrong?” Ruff shuts the door and follows her as she knocks on Tuffnut’s bedroom door.

“I’m mad at you, I’m here to see Tuff.”

“You’re mad at me?”

“Yes,” Astrid smacks Tuffnut’s door a couple more times until she hears signs of life inside, “Snotlout is actually a pretty good guy, I think. Or close to it. And you couldn’t take a murder investigation seriously enough to keep you from hitting on Eretson in front of him, let alone a relationship.”

“Giving me whiplash,” Ruffnut is genuinely concerned as she leans on the wall, “are you ok? What’s going on?”

“I thought I heard Astrid’s distinctively brutal knock at my door,” Tuffnut opens the door and places his hands on her shoulders before inhaling deeply. “You look like shit, what happened?”

“You don’t know.” She sighs, the weight of telling the story almost as heavy as the idea of living in it. She gains a new appreciation for the fact that Hiccup tells Viggo Grimborn’s story nightly, because the last few weeks must have felt like penance for something he didn’t do. Something horrible he’s been tied to for no reason.

“I don’t know anything,” Tuffnut grabs her arm and steers her towards their couch before sitting next to her, “and Ruffnut knows even less.”

“Not true, I know I was hanging out with Hiccup yesterday and he got some call and freaked out mumbling something about the hospital, but I definitely didn’t grab his ass that hard so—”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about!” Astrid snaps, dry eyes suddenly wet as Tuffnut slings his arm over her shoulders.

“I was just kidding with him, Astrid, I know you like him, I wouldn’t—”

“You can’t take anything seriously, it’s all about how you can shock someone or—Snotlout was over at my place last night, I think he was worried I was scared or something,” her voice dips and she stares at her lap, “and I guess I should have been, because he got shot right outside.”

“Is he ok?” Ruffnut blanches and Astrid feels like she’s letting Hiccup down all over again when she shrugs.

“He wasn’t yesterday.”

Ruffnut starts texting, all traces of humor gone from her expression as Tuff gets the rest of the story, pausing Astrid at the crime scene to suggest that she take a shower. He listens through the bathroom doorway as she scrubs under her fingernails, trying to be as vague as possible about what happened with Eretson. Tuffnut would say things he shouldn’t, even if it does seem like Eretson is coming around.

To what, she’s not sure, but she can’t think about that anymore today, not without news.

Astrid’s just changing into the band tee-shirt Tuffnut insisted she borrow, as she’d earned it by telling Ruffnut off, when Ruff bursts into the room, phone outstretched.

“It’s Hiccup.”

“Hello?” Astrid mouths ‘thanks’ as Ruffnut sits on her brother’s bed, curled up and holding her knees.

“Hi, Astrid,” Hiccup sounds impossibly more tired than she feels and it makes her chest ache, worried and off center. “How’s it going?”

“That depends,” she sits down next to Ruffnut, “how’s it going over there?”

“He’s out of surgery, in the ICU, we’re just waiting for him to wake up now.”

“That’s great,” she nods, accepting Ruffnut’s head leaning on her shoulder, too relieved to stay mad.

“I tried to call you but—”

“Yeah, I don’t have my phone.”

“I thought you might have said that, but um, last night was…kind of a blur,” he leaves room for a laugh that doesn’t come, “did Eretson take it?”

“No, nothing like that.” It’s a new euphemism for ‘legally, it’s not any worse,’ and she hates coming up with those. “I can come down there and wait with you.”

“They’re only letting one visitor in the room right now, but I’ll keep you posted.” He sighs, “you sound tired.”

“So do you.” That gets a breathy, exhausted laugh she feels in her chest and Hiccup says something about a doctor heading his way before hanging up. “He said he’d keep us in the loop.”

“He told me Snotlout hasn’t woken up yet.” Ruffnut is unusually somber and Astrid nods. “Was he—I mean, did I piss him off?”

“You pissed me off,” she sighs, “did you know he got suspended because he wouldn’t speak up as a witness and complicate the case?”

“That’s stupid,” Ruff wipes her face but her guilty expression doesn’t budge, “he should have just lied.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t.”

Astrid doesn’t expect to be able to sleep, but the long night catches up to her almost as soon as she hits the twins’ couch. She sleeps past hospital visiting hours but is glad to wake up to a text that Snotlout woke up alright and the doctors think that the next day they should be able to move him to a more private room. She gets the feeling Hiccup isn’t going home, but doesn’t know what to say about it, especially from someone else’s phone. After all their dates but one became public domain on account of murder, it seems unnecessarily rude for this urge to comfort him to be between anyone but them.

So when he calls Ruffnut again the next morning, almost sheepishly asking if someone could bring him a phone charger and a toothbrush, Astrid gets a ride from Tuffnut. There’s a strange blast of déjà vu entering the hospital without handcuffs and seeing Hiccup in a corner chair in the waiting room, pale but livelier than he was sitting next to her and shaking two nights ago.

“Hey,” he stands up and the extra little hop on his right leg makes her think back to Eretson’s office and all the things she can’t say right now. “I walked down so that you wouldn’t have to sign in. Thanks, Sharon!” He waves at a nurse behind a nearby station and points with his shoulder down the hallway.

“Is she taking a shift?” The nurse raises a maternal eyebrow and Hiccup shakes his head.

“Just bringing me supplies, I told you I’m here for the long haul.”

“I don’t think he’d mind a break from you!” Nurse Sharon teases and Hiccup waves her off.

“How’s he doing?” Astrid asks, reaching for Hiccup’s hand and tugging lightly so that he’ll look at her.

He’s exhausted, face waxy and jawline dusted with more stubble than she’s seen him with. It makes him look younger instead of older, like he’s dealing with too much to remember to shave. His eyes are determined though, even if his expression is cautious, taut with hope he doesn’t want to have.

“He’s awake,” he shrugs, squeezing her fingers and pausing outside a door, “the stitches are holding, and his vitals look good. Mostly the doctors are worried about mental changes, since his heart stopped in the ambulance and he’d lost a lot of blood so they don’t know how long his brain went without oxygen. Memory loss or personality change or…”

“Hey,” she tilts his chin up with the toothbrush in the hand not holding his, “let’s just go in, ok?”

“Sure,” he nods, self-convincing, before opening the door.

Snotlout is propped halfway seated in the hospital bed, tubes from his arms connected to a beeping machine at his side. She remembers being twenty in her uncle’s hospital room, watching similar machines stop beeping, but when she glances back at Snotlout, the comparison is shattered. His shoulders are bandaged, and his face is bleary, but he’s flipping her off with a disconcertingly gloating grin.

“Hey Astrid, Pats are winning.”

Personality change seems an unlikely symptom.

“Put your arm down,” Hiccup snaps, rushing to Snotlout’s bedside and ignoring when the middle finger is turned on him, “someone just tried to shoot it off.”

“It’s not football season,” Astrid tries not to feel awkward about how comfortable it feels to sit on the small couch next to the bed and look up at the TV. The relief is like a drug, an internal release as strong as whatever’s obviously dripping into Snotlout’s arm through one of those tubes. “Is this a rerun? You’re watching a rerun football game, really?”

“My boys are bringing it home, again,” he laughs then glares at Hiccup, “stop reading the papers, the doctors read the papers.”

“This says your cholesterol is up from your last check up, I’m going to ask a nurse about it.”

“Dude, I just got shot.”

“With a butter bullet?” Hiccup snorts, shaking his head and hanging the chart reluctantly back on the foot of Snotlout’s bed.

“No, with an actual bullet from a fucking gun, so could you please sit down next to your hot girlfriend and shut up for a second?” He winks at Astrid with both eyes as he compliments her and she remembers the reason for her visit.

“I brought the charger,” she takes it out of her pocket, but Hiccup isn’t paying attention as he’s staring Snotlout down with his best stern nurse impression.

“The doctors said mental changes could be anger issues—”

“Fuck off.”

“I don’t think he’s having any issue being angry,” she tries to joke, but it falls flat with Hiccup’s falling expression.

“Or memory loss, and you don’t remember who shot you.”

“Yeah, I was pretty busy being shot, I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself.” Snotlout’s heart monitor beeps slightly faster and Hiccup panics, rushing over to pet his head.

“You have to keep your blood pressure down—”

“Hiccup,” Astrid stands up and grabs his shoulder, attempting to pull him back towards the couch with her, but he shrugs her off.

“The stitches in your artery aren’t healed and it could burst—”

“Well it’ll burst all over your face because you won’t get out of mine!” He snaps, and the door cracks open enough for a nurse to peek her head in.

“Everything ok?”

“I don’t know, Hiccup, is everything ok?” Snotlout looks pointedly at the couch. Or he tries to and his bleary eyes drift sideways towards the floor.

“We’re fine,” Hiccup sits down, hands folded neatly on his lap, and Astrid sits next to him with a nod.

“Let me know if you need anything,” the nurse gives Hiccup a warning look as she shuts the door and Astrid lets her hand rest on his knee to keep him from jumping back up the second she’s gone.

“Just remember, the blood pressure,” Hiccup mumbles and Snotlout rolls his eyes.

“I know, which is why I’m relaxing,” he points at the TV, “by watching the Pats win, like they always do.”

“It sounds more like you’re gloating to me,” Astrid snorts and Hiccup relaxes in a disjointed, uneven way, like clothes falling halfway off a hanger.

“Maybe I can relax a tiny bit about the personality change.”

Snotlout’s hand curls into a triumphant fist on his lap when a play he had to be expecting goes right and Astrid shakes her head, relaxing back into the couch and dragging Hiccup with her. He’s more than stiff, he’s pulled taut, like invisible wires are attached to every point of him and yanking.

“Have you left since you got here?” She recognizes his jacket from the other night and maybe the shirt underneath it.

“Nah,” he shrugs with none of his usual bounce and Astrid wants to cut the cables holding him so rigid.

“Or slept?”

“Sleep?” He snorts, “who needs sleep?” There’s a frantic tinge to the edge of his smile, but it feels like the first time he’s actually looked at her today when he drops the joke, “just kidding, I got a couple of hours this morning when they moved him to the room with the couch. How about you?”

“More than that,” she shrugs, “not lots. Ruff’s couch isn’t the best.”

“Ruff’s couch?” He turns his shoulders to look at her more fully.

“I haven’t been back to my place either,” she shrugs, and even saying it sounds wrong. It’s Elizabeth Smith’s place and it has been for a hundred years.

“Astrid,” Snotlout says her name like he’s about to ask for too much and she narrows her eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Can you scratch my feet?”

“I’ve got it,” Hiccup jumps up, hopping again on his right foot and stumbling to the foot of the bed.

“No,” Snotlout shakes his head, “I want Astrid to do it.”

“Which foot itches?”

“It’s weird if you do it, dude,” Snotlout squirms, “it’s kind of a sex thing.”

“Then I’m definitely not doing it,” Astrid opens her mouth to add something addressing the fact that she didn’t try and save his life just so that he could be disgusting about it, but Hiccup speaks up first.

“I would say that I’ll call my mom right now, except you know you’re not supposed to raise your blood pressure!”

“Dude,” Snotlout adjusts his seat, eyes clearer than they have been since Astrid arrived, the shock of what Hiccup just said blazing through the painkillers in his system, “I was just teasing Astrid because it’s funny when she gets all red and huffy. You’ve got to calm down.”

“I’m calm,” Hiccup examines his shaking hands and laughs, “ok, maybe I’m not, but—”

“Come here,” Astrid doesn’t mean it like an order, but Hiccup takes it like one, deflating exhausted with the weight of momentary decision off his shoulders. When he sits down next to her, she tries to rub the back of his neck, but it’s so tense she makes about as much headway as she would on the wooden arm of the couch.

“Don’t do that,” he groans, head in his hands, elbows on his knees. “That feels too good, it’ll put me to sleep.”

“Maybe you should sleep,” she rubs a circle into his shoulder with her thumb and ignores the selfish, gratified twist in her stomach when he groans again. She’s felt helpless since the other day in Eretson’s office when the truth twisted circumstance and shoved her in the middle, but this is something she can fix. She can get Hiccup to sleep, she can take some of the stress literally off of his shoulders.

“What if the doctors—”

“I’ll talk to the doctors,” she insists, pushing on his far shoulder and guiding his head into her lap when his resistance runs out. It takes him a minute to accept the position and curl his legs up on the couch, shifting to get comfortable. She brushes his hair off of his forehead and he sighs, resting his hand on her knee and stroking Tuffnut’s borrowed jeans with a slow thumb. “Go to sleep.”

His head feels heavier as he drifts off, mumbling some kind of approval when she starts combing her fingers through his hair. It’s soft and a little overgrown, edges curling slightly above the collar of the jacket she should have suggested he take off before laying down. Boyish where his stubble isn’t, the contrast even more striking on his slack sleeping face.

“You’re like the Hiccup whisperer,” Snotlout says after a few minutes of silence, shifting in bed and wincing more than she’s seen.

“Are you ok?”

“No, I just got fucking shot,” he snorts, “it hurts even through the fun stuff they gave me, but if I so much as flinch, Hiccup has a fit about it.”

“He’s worried about you,” she traces the dark line of his eyebrow and it relaxes at the touch. Snotlout is watching his face, some drug-addled version of fond, and as irritating as the concept of the friend-group was the other night, she feels it now. “I was pretty worried about you too.”

It says something about her tenacity that it took this much for her to stop seeing being alone as a victory, but everyone has their limit.

“His mom’s really hot,” Snotlout sighs, relaxing back into his pillows.

“Huh?”

“Hiccup’s mom? Milf. It pisses him off when I point it out, kind of an inside joke.” He looks back at Hiccup, frowning like he just said something normal for this situation. “When I was moving in, she was trying to convince Hiccup to move back with her. It was like right after his dad died and the room I was moving into was this sad shrine he wouldn’t touch.”

“Oh, that’s…I’m sorry.”

“Our dads hated each other,” his eyes flick bitterly at the door, “which, considering who’s here right now and who’s not, I think we know who is actually a piece of shit. I was just trying to get out of the town I grew up in, because I knew I wanted to be a cop and if I did it there, I’d just be working for my dad and at my uncle’s funeral someone was asking Hiccup about getting a roommate.”

“You guys are so close, I assumed you had to have grown up together.”

“Like I saw him at Christmas and stuff, sometimes, he’s like my second cousin once across or some shit, but he was always doing something nerdy so we didn’t really talk.” He looks at her like he’s asking her to swear on something vital to him and she looks back at Hiccup’s head in her lap, his long eyelashes twitching in his sleep. “I just moved in because I needed a place I could afford, but I couldn’t take all his moping. He used to stare at the front door like he was waiting for his dad to come through it or something, depressing shit. If I didn’t do something, I was going to lose my mind.”

“So you made friends.”

“I tried, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he’s a weirdo.” He smiles affectionately, “I tried taking him to clubs, but he doesn’t even have one left foot, so dancing is a lost cause, just a warning. I made him a tinder account and got him a date with some girl who wanted to go on a geeky historical tour and you know how that ended up.”

“He started doing Grimborn tours.” As complicated as this whole mess is, she still can’t make herself regret it.

“And he started going to class again and generally acting human. Well, his weirdo version of human anyway.” Snotlout sighs, “I’m really glad I didn’t bang his mom, then this really would have been like his dad getting shot all over again.”

“I don’t think you saved him any grief, Snot.”

“Maybe I’ve still got a shot then,” he grins, raising an eyebrow, and Astrid sighs.

“You know when you love someone, and they do or say something so incomprehensibly stupid that you judge yourself for a second? Like there’s that second you think to yourself: ‘I had to choose that one’?”

“I live in that feeling,” Snotlout shakes his head at Hiccup. “Why?”

“Me too,” she looks at Snotlout and admits defeat, “but I think it’s about to get a lot worse with the whole friend-group to consider.”

[fireteam-dumb-luck]

Ralia launched herself off the platform, the flashes of white in the corner of her vision running parallel to Liran’s glowing green robes as her friend swung Malfeasance to the left, shooting once, twice, three times into the approaching Goblin. Ralia dashed to the front, scooping up the glowing Motes and absorbing them into her Collector gloves, before sliding over to her team’s Invader and retrieving the Motes he had dropped from Vex left in his wake. Liran flanked her, nodding briefly to the red Warlock, before Ralia goes sprinting, sprinting, sprinting to the centre platform, Archer slamming a fist into the Taken Captain’s head before following it with a burst of fire from his hand cannon — Crimson.

The Taken disappears in a swirl of black energy.

She slams her right hand to the bank access point, the 12 Motes stored within her glove leaping into the bank with a flash of white light.

(The portal opens.)

A beam of red streaks past her head as she shifts, and in response a knife goes flying through the air, hitting the approaching Hobgoblin in the arm. As the Vex shifts into its Solar barrier, the Invader goes vaulting through the waiting portal, prompting an alert from the Drifter in her helmet.

She spun Last Word by her side and fanned the hammer into the Hobgoblin’s squishy centre, causing it to explode in a burst of radiolaria. Bullets rocket past her ear, the green and yellow of her Fireteam backing her up as once again Ralia goes running.

“Your Invader’s back, with three kills! Yes!”

The Warlock dropped in a swirl of red and black robes, Scout Rifle swinging into his hands as he shifted Hammerhead into the clasps on his back. She flashes him a quick thumbs up before she’s dashing and dodging and sliding around the arena, picking up Motes in rapid succession.

(Although she misses his brief wince at her praise, not to mention Drifter’s enthusiasm, Liran decidedly does not.

She knows this Warlock.)

She turned back to the bank, Mote storage full, when dark energy flashed around the centre platform and her vision tinted red.

“Invader’s here! Find them before they find you!”

As one, the team’s heads snapped to alertness, Ralia quickly dodging behind a box to give her at least a little more cover from the enemy before her team found them. She spun Last Word in her hand, filling the partially empty chamber, before bursting into a dead sprint, watching for where her team was and definitively avoiding those places.

(The Warlock in red landed the final blow with a well-placed grenade, Liran’s Malfeasance driving the Invader into his range.)

Ralia sees Liran run up to his Ghost, grabbing the three Motes scattered on the ground, before beckoning to the other. The two of them use one of the conveyor belts to rapidly move to the next den of Vex.

Before long, Ralia was dropping two more Large Blockers on the enemy side.

“Primeval’s up! Drop the envoys first!”

They went through the motions, killing the Goblins, breaking through the Envoy’s shields, throwing a Nova Bomb and a Blade Barrage and a Thundercrash at the menacing Knight.

Her vision went red.

Liran was already turning, greeting the unfortunately placed Invader with a full clip of Malfeasance to the face.

“Nice!” she gasped, breath catching at her lungs as she used her Trust to break a solar shield, Distant Relation barking behind her as she and her Warlock worked in an instinctive team.

(The red-clad Invader leapt through the portal as the measurement gage filled with white.

It turned increasingly red, then the rest of it burned grey as the Invader went to town.)

Before long, the Primeval is crumbling to the ground as Archer lands one more bullet in its head, and the three are meeting their Invader in the Derelict and Spook is buzzing around Liran’s head.

“Okay okay, tell me if I’m wrong, but we’ve met.”

Huh?

The Invader turns to them, attention fixing on Spook before his posture softens a little, then removes his helmet.

He’s human, grey-haired and one-eyed, and seems to recognise Liran and Spook. “We have met. Liran and Spook, if I recall correctly.”

“Yup. How’re you going?” As Spook began a conversation, Liran tapped Ralia’s shoulder and indicated to her and Archer that they can go if they want. Seems like she’s making friends!

“Have fun, and get home safe! Come on Archer, let’s go get some food. I don’t know about you but I want something deep-fried.”

(Liran smiled sadly at Gideon behind her helmet, engaging in conversation as best she can while they discuss the match they had just won.

She likes him, and feels for him too. She wants to be friends.

And she thinks she’s seen him with Echo-3, the nudist Exo that she and Ralia had met a couple of weeks ago. Maybe there could be a friendship there?)

—————————————————————

Featuring @newbabyfly ‘s best boy Gideon with a mention of Echo as well. This is kind of a follow up to my last story because I really love the kindernerds and I feel for Gideon so much.

[namheeyoung-blog]

FULL NAME: nam heeyoung  AGE: twenty - six / one hundred - six. PRONOUNS / GENDER: she / her / cisfemale. SPECIES: vampire. HOUSING: a quaint one - bedroom apartment in halkirk, rent paid in cash on the 1st of every month.

FAMILY:

having been born an only child and turned soon after her 26th birthday, heeyoung outlived her parents and most close relatives. while her biological family is unfortunately no longer given the nature of her supernatural status, she surrounds herself with acquaintances to form what she dubs a ‘ found family. ‘

BACKSTORY

heeyoung born to two well - meaning, though slightly over - protective parents in a small town just outside of new york city in 1912. having come to the country shortly before 1910 -- notable for the immigration halt -- her parents ran a restaurant to make ends meet, often teetering a baby - talking heeyoung in one harm while carrying a plate with the other. though her parents were often busy, a side effect of running a business, she grew up loved, always sure of her importance in her parents’ lives. for all intents and purposes, she was their princess, and their modest home was a modern, albeit modest, castle.

though it likely wasn’t her parents’ intention, heeyoung grew sheltered in the confines of the family business. when she was old enough to work, she began her shifts at the restaurant and was left with little time to enjoy simply being a kid. her youth came and went, but that child - like innocence, a product of her upbringing, remained. it would break her parents’ hearts if she were to ever leave, their only daughter and hope for continuing on the family legacy running out, but she longed for the freedom outside of four-walls and a town that felt stifling. what was a princess with a castle, without a prince?

he was a customer, blonde and blue - eyed and everything that her father, in all of his wisdom, was careful to remind her to stay away from. he was dangerous, aloof with a grin and a sly glance. it began as a tryst, his visits becoming routine and the notes passed back and forth, dropped on the table with whatever scraps they could find. she never questioned skin that was cool to the touch, the way he only ever seemed to pick at his food. she never questioned the ring, glinting in the sunlight like a secret. for the first time, she felt hopeful that there was something else out there, something beyond the known. he promised her forever and she never asked twice. 

her poor parents bawled and begged when she told them about the boy who promised her forever, promised to whisk her away and make for a better life. he’d come into some inheritance, and they’d have to lay low, but it was something more... something better than a stationary life going nowhere fast. her father kissed her forehead, both her cheeks while her mother’s hands clasped one of her own, and reminded her that promises could be broken -- that things weren’t always what they seemed. that their princess, their precious princess, deserved only the world and she ought to be sure she was going to get it. 

she signed on the dotted line without a second thought, chin upturned and neck exposed. he bled her dry soon after her 26th birthday, stilling the clock and stilling her heart. when she awoke, thirsty for something she couldn’t bring herself to name, the realization of what she’d done begun to sink in. and when he told her this was the end of the line, that she’d served her purpose to him only days later... he stilled her heart and broke it all the same.

the years after blurred. she supposes she’s one of the lucky ones, one of the lucky ones who’d managed to find their way without their maker’s guiding hand. he’d disappeared without a trace, though she’d never stopped being haunted by that head of blonde hair and that sick, sick smile. it wasn’t long before the need for revenge began to bloom and flower in her chest, the idea of what she would do if ever presented the opportunity taking root in her mind. she savored the thought, the possibilities. he’d destroyed her deepest desires, made a joke of her wildest fantasies. he’d taken and taken and taken until there was nothing left to give, until she’d left her mortality lying at his feet. gone was the sweet little girl who’d wanted nothing more than to be wanted, nothing more than something more than the hand she was dealt. how could she be blamed for the desperation to make him pay when he’s the one that created this monster?

PERSONALITY:

heeyoung is incredibly blunt, veering on abrasive ruthlessness, and rarely with good intentions. she lacks the ability to believably sugar - coat her words, preferring a direct and often painful approach. while she attributes this to her hatred of ‘beating around the bush,’ her intentions are frankly more sinister: she enjoys coaxing the brief crest-fallen looks that come with every well - timed low blow, enjoys the downcast eyes and somber air. she refuses to handle others with kid gloves, and after all, the world never sugar-coated itself for her.

she’s manipulative in nature, often employing others to do her bidding for her. she thrives on chaos of her own creation to cure her boredom -- she doesn’t seem to understand that just because you can, doesn’t always mean that you should. she enjoys exerting her will on situations and she relishes the control. neutral evil at best, chaotic evil at worst.

her ability to conceal her emotions often leads to others not quite being sure what to expect. what’s going on in that pretty little head of hers? what is she thinking? what is she feeling? the air of mystery is so carefully constructed, the girl she once was -- the girl who longed for happiness and freedom, the girl who longed for something so much more -- concealed by a grim facade. in truth, her personality is a myth, a survival tactic. it’s unclear if that little girl so desperately naive still lingers somewhere down deep, and even more unclear if that girl will ever make an appearance again. 

NICKNAMES?

if you’d like to keep your head, no nicknames allowed. however, if you’re feeling particularly daring and want to press her buttons, spin the wheel and see if she responds. 

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES?

devoid of tattoos and piercings other than the standard ears, there’s nothing particularly distinguishing about her, save for a small mole at the outer edge of her left eyebrow.

ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIPS?

heeyoung is careful to always hold herself at arms’ length. while she’s had the occasional tryst throughout her life, her motivations have stemmed from a place of boredom rather than genuine desire for a relationship. though it’s been over a hundred years since the betrayal that changed her life, her supernatural identity serves as a constant reminder of what she went through. a romantic relationship would nearly require an act of god, a bond that awakens the part of her she’s longed to keep at rest -- relationships with mortal beings are fleeting, temporary. and the last person to promise her forever... well, you can see why she’s not keen on it.

LIKES / DISLIKES?

heeyoung is quite the fan of mystery. not only a good novel, but also in the way she presents and carries herself. she prides herself on being always out of reach, on having at least one card tight to her chest. she derives pleasure from being a woman unknown -- the girl known by everyone and yet, known by no one. in addition, she loves a good horror movie and a quiet night in. she wouldn’t say no to a little chaos, either. she has a taste for luxury items, though never overly extravagant or flashy -- she prefers understated to overstated. and of course, a little fresh blood seems like a no - brainer. 

her dislikes are a never - ending list of pet peeves. account for the usual “talking with the mouth full” and add the curve - ball “messy feeders.” she hardly tolerates fakeness, with a hint of irony given that much of her appearance to the world is a facade. boredom is impossible to deal with. 

FRIENDS?

bold of anyone to assume she has friends.

BIGGEST FEAR?

her biggest fear is simply... what happens when it’s over? so much of her life has been dedicated to extracting revenge on what had been done to her, on finding her once lover and forcing him to pay for his crimes. so what happens when it’s over? where does she go, what will she do? without that drive, what else is left? she fears the inevitable sense of emptiness where the fulfillment should be. because while this thing feels so big, so overwhelming, so huge in her life... it’s so small in the greater aspect of her eternity. and so she grapples with what will happen when it’s over, how she’ll feel and what she’ll do. 

it’s something she’s never told anyone. it’s something she barely wants to admit to herself. 

SECRETS?

her biggest secret parallels her biggest fear. it’s so heavily intertwined that one cannot be separated from the other. she refuses to allow anyone to know just how closely her vulnerability lies to the surface.

IN LOVE?

heeyoung’s been in love once. nothing more, nothing less. no one had caught her eye before him, and she’d never allow herself to fall for someone after. the first and only time cost her her mortality -- she’s not interested in seeing what the price would be next time.

while she’d say that her heart isn’t broken, she’s never allowed herself to fully grieve what was lost -- her heart broke the day she woke up alone, immortal and damned, and it’s never recovered. her desire for revenge sat in the space where the hurt should have been. it was easier to be angry, easier to hate than it was to mourn. to an extent, though she’s so far removed, her heart still is a little broken.

FLAWS?

her desire to keep everything hidden and remain a mystery. it’s impossible to let anyone in, because she’s terrified of getting hurt. more so than that, she’s terrified of losing someone after allowing them into her life. she’s not interested in temporary and fleeting things -- allowing someone in for the lifespan of a human when her forever stretches far beyond feels pointless. additionally, her ruthless and manipulative nature, as well as her selfishness.

MEMORIES?

acutely, she remembers every aspect of telling her parents all about this boy who was going to whisk her away, make for a better life. she remembers lamenting on how he promised her forever -- their own little inside joke -- and how her parents had warned her, almost knowingly, to be careful, that things weren’t always what they seemed.

[sol1056]

the consequences of unexplored implications

One of the hardest things to do in writing (above and beyond all the regular hard things) is recognizing the unexplored implications. Some of these can be more obvious with some simple stats: how many characters are male vs female? how many white characters get speaking parts or are named, vs how many non-white? 

Others take a bit more thought, like realizing the only female characters are unnamed prostitutes, or the only Hispanic characters are janitors. Sometimes it means untangling a well-meaning attempt to subvert a racist trope (ie uncivilized/inferior primitives) that actually ended up unwittingly in a completely different but equally racist trope (ie the noble savage). 

And then there’s a really tricky one to realize, that at least in my experience needs a big-picture view of the entire story. Only then can you see how seemingly independent parts, when overlapped, result in unfortunate implications. 

It’s this last one that I’m starting to twig on, in VLD. And it comes from a combination of a particularly pernicious trope in American media, the canonical relationship between Keith and Shiro, and the purpose of repetition in stories.

the bury your gays trope

Basically, this trope shows up when a story establishes a happy queer relationship, and immediately decides one of the two must die. 

Often, especially in older works (to the extent that they are found in older works, of course), gay characters just aren't allowed happy endings. Even if they do end up having some kind of relationship, at least one half of the couple, often the one who was more aggressive in pursuing a relationship, thus "perverting" the other one, has to die at the end. ... Nowadays, when opinions on sexuality have shifted somewhat, this justification will often be attempted via Too Good for This Sinful Earth. Sometimes it's because the Magical Queer has died in a Heroic Sacrifice so that the straights may live. 

(Also, for some reason, it’s a particular favorite to have one-half of a lesbian couple killed by a stray bullet. Google it.)

Honestly, this trope is so pervasive, it’s damn hard watching popular media. You end up constantly braced for the inevitable death (sometimes followed by the surviving partner going totally evil, a la Willow in BtVS). Well, unless the relationship is toxic or controlling, and then the implication is that het relationships are the only healthy ones, but that’s a slightly different trope. 

In short: if you’re queer, happy endings are not for you. And if you do manage to get a happy ending (ie Bill in Dr Who), you had to suffer ten times as much as anyone else to get there. Compared to het relationships in the same story, it’s always the queer couples that suffer the most. One way or another.

canonical and word-of-god Shiro/Keith

Assumption: Keith and Shiro have an emotional bond much deeper than any couple we’ve seen on-screen. The very least one could say is that they have a deep relationship, albeit presumably platonic. (I should also note that I do consider ‘platonic’ love to be an equal to ‘romantic’ love; it’s just a different type of consummation.) 

Apart from that, there’s word-of-god: the EPs’ comments (ie “beloved mentor”), VA interviews, and various directors/artists posting sheith images with romantic vibes. Yes, that’s all non-canonical, but the message is: if you read this platonic as simply pre-romantic, well, the series’ creators are there with you. 

I will note, I don’t consider this as representation. In canon or it doesn’t count! (Looking at you, Rowling.) Still, word-of-god is clearly impacting the fandom’s interpretations of the relationship.  

using repetition in stories

The try/fail cycle and repetition have a core element in common: an event repeats until the character learns what they need to achieve victory/resolution. The difference is that in try/fail, the character should move up each time. In repetition, the character must re-experience a lesson they failed the first time.

To compare: 

try/fail: the antagonist has a black belt! get white belt, challenge antagonist, fail. okay, green belt! challenge antagonist, fail. next belt!

repetition: the antagonist has a black belt! test for white belt, fail. test for white belt again, fail. test for white belt again... 

When the overall plot’s try/fail is too similar, readers will see the protagonist as too stupid to quit (or change tactics). Repetition works best as a recurring motif: event A, parallel event B, character learns and changes, we have development, and this happens in support of, or alongside, the plot’s try/fail cycle.

Example: if Lance were to flirt with ten different girls and they all shot him down, that’s try/fail. His development is via repetition: it’s a repeating pattern with Allura, until he learns to take a different approach.

Here’s the important thing: like try/fail, repetition is a lesson to be learned. Most readers assume repetition means the previous instances were failures. If the character does the exact same thing and this time it goes beautifully, expect some side-eying from your more astute readers. 

But at the same time, if the character had no control over the outcome in previous instances, expect frustration instead. Readers will intuit the story is indulging in a kind of victim-blaming: the character had no power to ‘do it right’ before, yet the repetition implies that failure was their fault.

And that brings us to how these three parts, combined, make me see some seriously unfortunate implications in VLD.

all three together

So we have sort of this gray-area kinetic-platonic, potential-romantic, relationship. And twice now, one-half of that relationship has been, well, not killed, but sort of killed. Gone, vanished. The other half is left behind, grieving. It’s implied Keith fell apart the first time, and then we got to see it on-screen, the second time. 

It doesn’t actually matter whether S3/S4 Shiro is the ‘real’ one. If he’s not, then we have a third loss. If he is -- but compromised as a tool of the empire -- then it’s still a loss, if a psychological one. He’s there, it’s just not... him, anymore.

In other words, three times that a potential-queer relationship has been put through a Kill Your Gays maneuver that ended up being just a ploy. 

Done once, it could’ve been a subversion of the trope. Aha, the writers could say, we didn’t kill anyone, instead, we brought him back! Yes, one-half of the couple (and later, we find out, both halves) suffered during the separation, but since that’s mostly backstory, it’s all good, they’re happy now. Carry on, Jeeves.

Done twice, the writers not only re-triggered a possible KYG interpretation, they also tripped over the issue of repetition. Remember, the repetition is a lesson -- something must be learned, to prevent its recurrence. 

The problem is removing Shiro leaves Keith to experience the aftermath. By default, he takes the protagonist’s role, and according to the literary convention, he has to learn something to prevent a repeat. But in neither instance -- the Kerberos mission, or Shiro’s disappearance from Black -- does the story give any indication that Keith had a direct impact on the outcome. He did nothing to cause either, therefore there’s nothing he could feasibly do to fix either. 

That makes it especially infuriating that the third time around, one could conceivably say: gee, Keith kept looking, until he found this not-Shiro. If not-Shiro does any damage, that can be traced back to Keith. 

On its own, that could be an interesting dilemma. Taken in light of repetition, not so good. The unfortunate implication is he should’ve learned from the previous two times, and his failure to do so is the reason he ended up here.   

what’s the lesson, then?

Is it: stop caring for this person? Is it: loving someone that much means you have to suffer? Is it: you can’t just be happy? Is it: if you want to try for happiness, you have to earn the right to it? 

How is it that Lance can just flirt, make peace, and develop a deep friendship with Allura -- and neither are forced to undergo repeated trauma in the process? Or that Pidge has just one scene of implied loss, and it’s over and resolved in the same episode? Yet meanwhile Keith -- the only one with a same-sex relationship of significant depth -- has to lose, and lose, and lose? 

Maybe the writers figured: well, it’s not really death, it doesn’t count, let’s go ahead and yank that chain a second and third time. The story is blind to how their plot-twists aren’t all that better. It's still the same old bullshit: if you’re queer, you don’t get the happy ending. And if you do, it can’t be the simple meet-like-love of a het relationship. You’ve got to suffer for it.  

But the story they’ve written, and the choices they’ve made, tell me: these implications are not on their radar. Worse, I end up feeling like they don’t care enough to even put it on their radar.

That’s why it really bothers me when the EPs say they’re pushing for queer representation. Because if the writers can’t even see the implications of doing this to a deeply caring platonic relationship between two people of the same gender, like hell if I want to see what they’d do to an actual, onscreen, queer relationship. 

If you are rising up right now to insist ‘this is what the story demanded!’, I strongly recommend you go read this post: this is a jar full of major characters. Yes, that post is talking about black characters vs white, but it goes for any marginalized group, including lgbtqia.

Bottom line: no story demands anything. You’re the goddamn writer; you control the story. If you write shit, you’re a shitty writer. 

Think harder. Dig deeper. Do better.