#Block me!! Its free it takes no effort its easy!!!

[whimsidollie]

"omfg youre so fucking mean and toxic (navy seals copypasta length rant ab how im essentially satan incarnate bc one one (1) opinion)"

BRO WHO ARE YOU GENUINLY

[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 7

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You’re new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes/Warnings: traumatic past, trust issues, cursing, very likely typos

Words: 3262

The One I Want Masterlist

Jake Seresin is a puzzle whose pieces, as you have come to see, are already slotted together. You learned tonight that a few of those pieces are worn from being picked at, but they don’t impede his ability to be complete. Jake is beautiful and smart with a well-built confidence and a certain quality that, with enough time, makes you want to open yourself up to him. Everything about him goes together. It all works. Those pieces make Jake the man he is, in all of his perfection. So being in his presence, you want to be who he wants you to be. You want to be just as put together. But you’re not sure you’re strong enough for that. 

“You can trust me,” he says, your hands still clasped together. You glance down at those hands, wondering when exactly he wove his fingers with yours. “I’ll share first if that’ll make it any easier.”

Eyes flicking up, you take in the intensity of the pair staring back at you—the depth within them, the swelling pupils that are pushing the green into a thin ring and drawing you in. They’re too honest, and it hits you like a ton of bricks.

Has anyone else ever looked at you this way? You think the closest instance you can recall involves the man you’d naively fallen in love with who lived in the first town you’d moved to on your own. But his look was a hidden lie discovered far too late. 

You suppose there was a fraction of Jake’s honesty in Millie’s eyes when she expressed her thoughts and told her story so openly. She would probably be willing to attempt understanding you if you offered it. 

You know you’re reaching, though. Trying to grasp at something that isn’t all there to prove that the way Jake is looking at you now is nothing unique. That it’s not special. That he doesn’t make your heart pound or your stomach flutter or cause a tingle to creep up your spine.

But when you consider telling him the truth of your history, you already sense the shame you’ve been living with for years preparing to double in force. And how can you allow that? You don’t need anything else weighing you down. You can’t possibly handle more. Certainly not from him. 

You tear your eyes away from his and aren’t shocked to find that that’s exactly what it feels like—a tear. A tearing that holds so much resistance you can practically hear the slow rip that severs the connection. 

“It’s not that easy,” you whisper.

“It can be,” he says, fingers tightening around yours. “You know how much I want to know you.”

The closing of your throat doesn’t allow you to swallow. An invisible hand is wrapped around your neck, blocking your oxygen, fogging your vision with unwanted tears. Your lip quivers all on its own.

Jake reaches out, lightly pressing his thumb to that lip as if he could stop its trembling. 

Then you shake your head and his thumb disappears. 

Standing, you try to step away, but his hand, still tangled with yours, stops you. You think he’s doing it on purpose, refusing to let you leave until he gets what he wants, but when you look at his face, it’s blank. His eyes stare ahead, the corners of his mouth are turned downward, and he doesn’t seem to feel you prying open his fingers to free your hand. 

His arm drops and slides into his lap, and you take that as a sign to retreat to your bedroom. 

You’re not quite through the door when you hear, “I wish you felt like you could trust me.” His voice is as defeated as his facial expression had shown. Low, dark, raspy. “Whatever it is, it's not going to change how I see you.”

You want to believe him so badly. So much so that, without any effort, you could let it consume you. But you can’t bet on his words. So you close your door the rest of the way. 

—

You’ve thought about him for a week straight, and each of those thoughts has scribbled their way into the notebook you’d sort of kind of—would deny it if anyone asked—stolen from the shop. 

But your little notes on Jake you don’t allow to blend with the chaotic notes of your past. He gets his own pages with words written in neater script. There’s not a single smudge of ink from your hand rubbing the paper in a rush to get your memories down before you forget some of their details. Not a single splotch of liquid black from a pen pressed too harshly onto the paper. No holes from that pen tracing the same words over and over in a fit of dampened anger. Like Jake, your notes on him are neat, and beautiful, and perfect in appearance. 

What they contain, however, is something different: bunches of sentences warring with one another as you try to decide what you’re going to do next. You live with him. You see him every day. You’ll have to interact, which means you’ll have to get over this hump. The only problem is that it may not be a hump Jake wants to get over.

In the months you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him the way he was that night last week. So much was crammed into a couple of hours and it provided you with a fresh image of him—not an image that changed, exactly, but simply an image that developed a new layer. And you liked having that layer of his visible, until it became clear that the spotlight was turning to you so you may develop another layer as well. 

Stepping out of that light meant plenty to you—you knew the message you were sending, even though you felt resistance from every part of you screaming to stay put—but it did more to Jake than you imagined, and that realization came in the form of Jake not speaking to over the past weeks worth of mornings, not smiling, not waiting for you so you could share breakfast. He’s gone before your alarm goes off. 

It only took you ten hours to notice the void that formed in your chest from missing him around you. After ten hours—most of which you spent trying to sleep—you felt awful in more ways than one. Not only were you exhausted and absorbing your dislike of his absence that first morning, but Jake, despite his hurt state, continues to take care of you. 

Those breakfasts he doesn’t wait around to share with you are still available, already made up on a plate with saran wrap keeping them safe in the fridge. The post-its he sticks to the coffee pot to inform you of said breakfasts never fail to have a small smiley face drawn in the corner. And to be fair, he does speak to you a little, but unless it seems to be a matter of life or death, which you haven’t been able to manage, his answers are clipped. Even then, it could be that those short answers are the best he can do for himself rather than anything he is doing for your benefit. With how much Jake talks in general, and with how lively you are used to seeing him, maybe he can’t be one-hundred percent silent no matter how much he wants to. 

Regardless of what it really is, the tension has grown thicker by the day.

These days are not ones you want to morph into routine. You can’t watch them settle and solidify when you crave him and what he adds to your new life to this degree. Which means you have to figure yourself out. Not all of you—that will take some time—but enough of you that you can approach Jake and take the chance to be honest with him. His offer to exchange stories shows that it is not just you who needs it, but Jake as well. 

That is what has prompted you to bring your notebook to work over the last seven days. And the more time you spend writing your notes, the more you release from your damaged soul, and the more good things about Jake start piling up. His faults are underwhelming and overshadowed, and all it confirms is that you want him back. So you decide that when he picks you up from work, something you never expected him to continue doing considering your current relationship, you’re going to break the silence by asking for another chance. 

—

When Rooster’s truck pulls up to the store, Millie is leaning halfway out the passenger side window, one hand waving your way, the other arm bracing her precarious position. A moment later, her elbow slips on the sill and she lurches forward with a sharp yelp. Looking past her, you can see Rooster reach over the center console and wrap his arm around her waist to pull her back to safety. 

“Babe, please,” he groans. “You’re stressing me out.”

She glances at him over her shoulder. “Oh, you hush. I’ve never fallen.”

“Yet,” he emphasizes. “I’d like it if my girlfriend stayed alive. I've got plans that involve you.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Darlin’. You know my hips will save me from making it all the way out the window.” 

Rooster only rolls his eyes in response before unwrapping his arm and giving her ass a light smack. 

Millie looks back at you, her grin wide and displaying a row of straight, white teeth. “Hey, honey. Workin’ hard or hardly workin’?”

“You can only work so hard here,” you say with a weak chuckle. “Where’s Jake? Is he okay?”

You want that answer as much as you don’t. You pray he’s fine and safe, but then it means the tension that hasn’t dwindled the slightest has finally become too much for him. Though you’d rather he avoid you than be injured or ill, it hurts no less. Right as you devise a plan to bring the two of you back together, he pulls further away.

“Oh, he’s um…” Millie bites her lip.

“Staying on base tonight,” Rooster says, leaning back to meet your eyes over Millie’s shoulder. “He went in to get some extra work done and thought it would be easier.”

If the lie weren’t so terribly obvious, Rooster’s face would’ve betrayed him. The man is not a master of deception. He can’t pull it off. You suppose that bodes well for Millie, if he would ever dare tell her an untruth. Not that you can imagine a situation where he would. 

Millie’s nerves wipe from her face at her boyfriend’s explanation, and you almost snort from how cute they are. They operate as their own little team, supporting and backing their partner up to keep the other from falling. Whether they succeed in their mission, like trying to convince you Jake is busy, is another thing. 

Your little red-headed friend transforms back into her giddy self. “Right, so he asked us to come get ya,” she says with a wink.

Now that, you do believe. Jake may not want to see you, but he wouldn’t leave you stranded. And as disappointing as it is to see Rooster’s truck instead of the one you perfer, you know it’s not enough to convince you to give up on your end goal. With your plan thwarted, you only gain more time to figure out exactly how you’re going to bring up what you want to tell Jake.

—

You’ve decided Sundays are the best days. Sundays are easy days. They are days set aside for relaxing, where you can spend twenty-four hours in your home with only a robe wrapped around your body and not be judged. Many stores are closed on Sundays, the gift shop included, and most people don’t work, Jake included. And Jake Seresin, though not the type to sit around, does allow himself the mornings of Sundays to be what he would normally consider lazy. 

When you first moved in, you didn’t love this habit of his. Knowing no one but him and knowing no place but the apartment meant you didn’t do anything or see anyone else. He had you locked in with him for at least three hours before he met his team at the gym, and he took those three hours very seriously. Most of their minutes he dedicated to being around ta you,lking to you, asking you questions—anything you did, he was there to do it with you. And while it once bugged you a bit, it eventually grew on you. He grew on you. You stopped caring about how he spent his Sunday mornings because your routine and his melded into a comfortable place, and you've had no intentions of disrupting that—until now. 

After forgoing sleep to spend the entire night thinking about Jake, you’re sure you look like hell when you step out of your room and into the living room where he sits. You didn’t think to check yourself in the mirror, and Jake doesn’t acknowledge you in favor of reading his book to confirm or deny your likely-ragged state. 

You don’t care how you look, though. 

You care about pushing yourself forward. 

“Jake?” 

His hum is dismissive, but you don’t hold it against him. You understand his feelings too well, and you accept them. When he was so vulnerable and raw—when he told you something he’d not told even his closest friends—you denied him the same courtesy, and that decision hurt him. He aches. You still see it on his face and in his movements. The way his fingers gripped the book and his shoulders tensed the moment you entered the room. How he pulled his bottom lip inward and trapped it between his teeth and has yet to let it go. 

He’s trying to hide the discomfort your presence causes, and he is doing so well that, as someone with plenty of experience, you’re almost proud. But the act unravels completely when you say, “I trust you.”

His head slowly rises. Then, closing the book and setting it aside, Jake stands from his spot on the couch, brow pinched as if he had not heard you correctly. “What did you say?”

“I trust you,” you repeat. 

One hand settles on his hip as the other goes through his hair. He squeezes his eyes shut in a two-second long blink as if trying to snap himself awake. Lips part, perhaps to say something, anything, but then they seal again. 

Before you lose your nerve, you inhale, exhale, and with a single nod, mutter to yourself a final, “I trust him.” 

Then you spew out everything you’ve kept inside—everything you’ve kept away from him. 

“My parents left me,” you say aloud for the very first time. You try to hold them back, but tears accompany that statement, gathering in the corners of your eyes. “Dad first, when I was nine. Mom when I was fourteen. They left and I don’t know where they are, and I don’t really care, but they disappeared and it…it messed me up. It left me lost, and I learned to let people hurt me because no one showed me anything else. I let people treat me however they want, which most often means attacking the insecure parts of me. I let them call me names and look at me in ways that strip me of my dignity, and I can’t stop it. I don’t stop them.

“When I can’t take it anymore, I leave wherever I am,” you say before pausing to catch your breath. 

Jake doesn’t take the opportunity to speak. He stands there, staring, listening, waiting for you to offer him more. 

“You weren’t that far off at the diner when you said I was trying to live in every beach town for two months before moving on to the next. They haven’t all been beach towns, but there have been many of them and I never stay for long,” you admit. “The minute I have the means, I go. I graduated high school by myself and left my hometown, fell in love with an asshole in the second town and left, got a job at a bar whose drunks found me an easy target, so I left again, and it’s been the same everywhere I’ve landed, again and again and again. People break me down so I find someplace new. You are—” You cut yourself off to reconsider your words, “This is my eleventh new place.” One of those tears breaks free to slide down your cheek. “And I don’t know how long I’m going to last here, but I already hate the thought of leaving.”

Done with your speech, you release a heavy breath.

When Jake looks away from you, it’s a bucket of ice water dumped over your head. Your heart crushes with the realization that you were right. Jake was wrong. Seeing you differently is not as difficult as you had hoped and he had promised. In fact, he doesn’t see you at all anymore because he won’t even give you a glance. You presented the reality that you are unloved and unwanted and explained exactly why that is, and now he has in his hand all of the reasons why others mistreat you, the ability to evaluate those reasons, and decide for himself if those reasons are valid. 

And in that moment, you know you are fucked. You’re about to be lost again. On your own, in the dark, with nothing to hold on to. Not that you didn’t anticipate this coming along eventually, but you would have liked to stick around a little longer. 

Through the blur of tears, you see Jake nod. That’s all. No words, no shift in facial expression; he nods to the floor rather than give you the respect of nodding to your face. He nods again, and then he looks up to meet your gaze. 

Jake’s hands fall from his hips, and in four strides he closes the space keeping you apart, cups your jaw in the heat of his palms, and plants his lips on yours. 

His kiss lands somewhere between hard and soft, between eager and restrained, between needy and downright desperate. And after adjusting to the shock he plunged you into, your mouth begins to move against his. 

Jake is warm, and cozy; he tastes like the one Splenda packet he puts in the oatmeal he occasionally has for breakfast, and it all makes your brain hum in a comfortable delight. You take from him all that he takes from you, and give to him all that he gives you, and in the process, accept that you truly want this and he wants this and that’s all that matters. You’re not working harder to please him than he is working to please you. You’re not thinking about what he will think when your lips separate. You’re not afraid of being a disappointment because were that the case, surely he would have released you by now. But he hasn’t released you. He holds on and pulls closer and doesn’t let go, not even when the kiss breaks.

Thumbs stroke your cheeks as your eyes slowly drag from his swollen lips to his nose to that mossy-green shade you’ve become attached to. There’s a hint of concern in his stare. But then you smile, so he smiles, and the concern fades. 

“Your turn,” you whisper.

---

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @cehenyne @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @emma8895eb @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @entertainmentgal8 @hookslove1592 @whoeverineedtobe @alwaysclassyeagle @chaytea06 @cherrycolas-things @turtle-in-a-tornado @have-a-nice-day-k @inkandarsenic @kidd3ath

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter Six

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: None.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~3.2k

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The Red Force is closing in on the port of Ingles, a town known for its construction services and lumber milling. The island itself is forested and sports mountains that Benn has described as a wilderness. It’s no wonder that the logging and construction business booms in Ingles, and you look forward to seeing the looming mountains. Kuri Island has hills—the Bonn manor is perched on one—but it holds no mountains nor thick forests. Even your best efforts to act ladylike can’t hold back the excitement running through your veins.

Now you are just standing on the deck, hands clutching the railing as you lean out and feel the wind and salt on your face. The white sleeves of the tunic you wear flutter and flap, dancing to the turbulent wind propelling the large ship across cerulean water. The town means you can pawn off your necklace and earrings for Berry, and then get clothes that fit you better.

You are more than thankful to be wearing Shanks’ spare clothing rather than your wedding dress, but the fabric dwarfs your body and is ill-fitting. The sleeves tend to drag when you help Lucky in the kitchen, and you have to use one of Hongo’s bandages as a belt to keep the trousers around your waist. Add the cut sandals practically taped to your feet… To put it simply, you look ridiculous!

But even in the ridiculous clothes that your mother would faint over if she ever saw you wearing such, you can’t help but bask in the feeling of freedom. You’ve never had the luxury of being in charge of your own clothing, you’ve never even worn trousers before, and there isn’t even a corset in sight! You sigh in happiness once more and beam, wondering what type of clothes you’d want to get for your new life.

Dresses wouldn’t be particularly useful to you, not when you find trousers so freeing and easy to move in, but you wouldn’t mind having one simple nice dress to have on hand. It wouldn’t hurt to treat yourself to a nice dinner at one of the restaurants Lucky has been telling you about. Even you know that certain dress codes are expected in certain places. So one dress will do. But you’ll mostly invest some money in tunics, trousers, two pairs of shoes, and a nice hat to block out the sun.

Then there is the glaring fact that you need to ensure your safety. You are no fool. The Blues are dangerous and filled with both good and bad people. Pirates. You are going to acquire a blade and learn how to use it (yet another task of learning you have to accomplish). Dropping your elbow to the railing, you rest your chin in hand.

“So much to do, I haven’t a clue where to start,” you speak to yourself, eyes watching the whitecaps forming as waves curl and crash.

“Well, for starters, we’re getting you into clothes that actually fit,” Shanks' voice softly floats into your ears over the sound of waves and Yasopp’s off-key singing. Twisting your head, you look at the red-haired captain with a pragmatic smile.

“Oh believe me, the first thing I plan on doing is choosing my own clothing. I’ve never been allowed to pick what I wear,” you reply as he takes a spot next to you. Your eyes look at the cloak he has draped over his arm stump. A cloak, you should get one too; everyone seems to have some sort of overcoat or the like. Shanks’ eyebrow pops up at your word choice but says nothing. He isn’t surprised that you’ve never been allowed to pick your own clothes. You’ve been nothing but a porcelain doll for your mother to play with. Shanks rubs his jaw in contemplation.

“The stores in Ingles focus on practical clothing, the type of clothes that are good and sturdy for traveling. It’ll be nothing like what you’re used to,” Shanks slowly explains, wondering if you’ll be bothered by less-than-luxurious fabrics. He doesn’t think you will be, but he’s yet to see you interact outside of the controlled environment of his ship. A thoughtful look crosses your face before you reply.

“Oh, I look forward to that,” you sigh in pure happiness. “These trousers might not fit, but they are a dream.” You glance down at the threadbare and simplistic trousers. “I’ve never had the luxury of feeling the wind against my feet and ankles.” Shanks wants to tell you that normally pants don’t reveal ankles and your ill-fitting trousers are far from luxury… but the glow of happiness upon your face is something he never dreamed of diminishing, so he keeps his silence on the topic.

“Just wait until you learn all about shorts,” he chooses to say, a grin creeping onto his face at the idea of how you’ll react to your entire legs being unhindered by layers of fabric. Shanks is sure you might even flop into a faint of excitement the moment you realize you could choose to wear something so revealing! He eyes your face a little more closely, drinking in the faint laugh lines and natural curves. The pirate is honestly stunned that you can still smile and appear so full of life after living in such circumstances as you had fled from. Turning his gaze back to the calm sea waters, Shanks looks forward to seeing what other delights are in store for you.

You are greatly embarrassed to say that your first few steps off the Red Force nearly have you face-planting with a far-from-elegant squawk. Benn catches your falling body early, large hands clutching your waist so you comically dangle in his grasp with your arms cartwheeling. You are sure that your face would be beet red if it were anatomically possible when he steadies you and all eyes are on you. Clearing your throat, you sway a little and take a deep gulp of air, trying to steady yourself again.

“Is it always like that?” you question as if you hadn’t nearly just made a scene of yourself. Your eyes are going everywhere in an effort not to look at their faces, for you feel like you might cry in embarrassment. Before any hot tears welling up in your eyes can fall, Bonk Punch speaks.

“Shoulda’ seen Monster the first day he was on the ship, took to sea like a champ, but when we got back on dry land for supplies…?” The man rubs his bald head in squeamish contemplation.

“Monkey vomit, for days,” Hongo rumbles, moving past you. “Tell me if you feel sick before you vomit on me, okay?”

“I’m not going to vomit on anyone!” you huff out indignantly, still dangling in Benn’s hold while the rest of the crew lumbers off the ship with containers to be filled. “That would be rude and unsightly of me!” Monster lets out a screech and swings himself onto a barrel to glare at you accusatorily. You regard the primate with a frank look. “I am a lady, you are a monkey. You have no expectations to meet, Monster. I do.”

Your words seem to make sense in the monkey’s brain because he leaps back onto Bonk Punch’s shoulder as Benn carefully sets you back on your feet. You still feel like you are swaying, but it isn’t nearly as bad as it had been.

“No one expects anything from you, Aria,” Shanks’ voice comes from behind you as he jogs down the gangplank, adjusting his hat. “So if you vomit on Hongo, no one’s going to judge, or care.” The doctor in question begins grumbling while your face burns.

“I will absolutely not be vomiting on anyone, and that is final!” you clearly state, stamping your makeshift sandal on the dock. “Gods, you are all such… such men!” You erupt, flinging your fingers upwards. Shanks only grins at you and holds out his hand to you.

“I’m glad you noticed. Now, why don’t you stick close? We’re going to be splitting up. The men will get supplies while I get you clothes,” Shanks tells you, watching as your face morphs to give him a look. He takes your hand and pulls you along. “And no making passive-aggressive faces at me, Aria. I already said I was paying and that is final.”

As Shanks pulls you along and away from the rest of the men, Benn leans over to Hongo.

“How much you wanna bet she’s gonna argue with him when it comes time to pay?” Hongo snorts and shakes his head.

“I’ll double whatever you’re placing… there is no way that little lady isn’t going to dig her heels in till the last second. Stubborn as a mule, that one…” Yasopp drops his arms over the two men’s shoulders.

“How ‘bout we make bets on how much he’s gonna spend ‘cause we all know she ain’t going to be allowed to part with a single Berry.” Hongo and Benn nod in agreement, fully realizing that no matter what you say or do, Shanks will be paying at the end of the day. “Alright! Who’s betting what?” Berry numbers are called as the crew makes their way towards the market.

You’ve been led back to the alteration room by Annie, the seamstress of Ingles, and stripped down to your lace bridal underwear and bra set. The woman hasn’t said a word about the clearly too formal undergarments but has informed her assistant that you will also be requiring undergarments with your purchase this day. Annie is no-nonsense in whipping your undergarments off to be measured, and within a matter of only a few minutes, you are wearing a set much more comfortable and appropriate for your new daily life.

Shirts are the easiest to pick out for you. You’ve indicated that you want practical clothing, something that will survive the seas but look nice enough milling around a market. Annie packages up nearly ten shirts of varying designs and colors, all to match the simple trousers you’ve picked out. Two pairs you’ve picked: cream and black. Those colors go with everything. You have picked a pair of grey trousers that are too short for your legs, stopping mid-calf, to wear out of the shop. Annie has tried to convince you to try on a pair that fits the length of your legs, but you have stated that you want to feel the wind on your ankles, so Annie has acquiesced. Now you are picking out a shirt to wear out of the shop and having trouble deciding on a color.

“What about this one?” Annie’s assistant offers, holding up a green shirt that reminds you a lot of the tunic that Shanks often wears. You blink at it, squint in observation, and nod.

“I like that color and style. It’s not too tight but also made from sturdy material,” you speak in approval. “I plan on spending a lot of time traveling. Is it easy to clean?” The assistant nods as Annie walks over, carrying fabric draped over her arm.

“That material is resistant to stains and tearing, but don’t go looking for knife fights,” Annie agrees, also approving of the choice. “It’ll be a good one for spending time at sea. The dye used is resistant to sun bleaching, so the green will last longer.”

“I hadn’t thought about sun bleaching,” you softly comment, scolding yourself for not thinking of such a thing. Your clothes won’t be hanging in a closet meticulously cared for by an army of maids. Placing your hands on your bare hips, you nod firmly. “I would like to wear that shirt out, please set it aside with the trousers.”

“Now, dear, you mentioned wanting to have a nice dress to wear?” Annie speaks, tabbing through some fabrics on a shelf. “Something to impress your man out there?” Your eyes dart to the front of the shop where Shanks is presumably reading the town’s paper. Heat fills your cheeks.

“Not mine, not mine,” you utter out frantically, holding your arms against your chest as if they would keep your heart from beating out of your body. Shanks is a very handsome man. Kind and generous too. But he isn’t yours, and it certainly isn’t a good idea to entertain such a thought… never mind that you don’t really know him in the weeks you’ve spent on the Red Force, and for all you know, he is a terrible person having a nice streak!

It would be nice to have a man like him, though…

You clear your throat, quelling the heat within your cheeks.

“Shanks is not mine. He is just being incredibly kind in helping me out of a tough situation I found myself in. Nothing more,” you say that last part more to yourself than to Annie, and the seamstress raises her eyebrow.

“Oh?” she spouts, eyeing you closer. You may think that you hide your emotions well, but the seamstress is no spring chicken. “Well, dear, not just any man spends this much on a single woman unless he’s got a claim.” That makes you sputter.

“But I said I would pay!” you erupt, embarrassment quickly shifting to anger. “I specifically told him that I would be the one to purchase my clothing, and he had already done enough for me!” Annie snorts this time and rolls her eyes. Oh, to be your age again…

“Tell that to the stack of Berry he handed to me when you were changing…” she says dryly, enjoying the way you huff and puff in belligerence. “Face it, dear, he’s paying whether or not you want him to.” You are left stewing in place as the woman begins to build the dress you want from scratch.

Annie has pinned the dress to your body and made adjustments until you are happy with the result, then spent an extra hour fussing over each and every detail of the lavender fabric that matches your hair so well. You don’t understand why she wants to spend so much time on a dress meant to be something that would never see a ball or gala… but she has muttered something about liking details and the beauty of simplicity. So you let her fuss.

Now you are dressing yourself in the grey trousers, green shirt, shoes that actually fit your feet properly, and looking at the selection of hats available. You’ve braided your hair back so it will be out of the way and less of a hassle while sailing the sea. Most of the hats will fit your need just fine, but it is going to be your hat. You don’t want just any old hat. Unconsciously you find yourself leaning towards the straw hats, liking the way they are simple yet will do their job perfectly.

Plucking a straw hat with a wider brim than others, your finger traces the black ribbon wrapped around it until you stroke the neat bow at the back. It is perfect! It is simple, will do the job, and has just enough femininity to it to match your wardrobe. Turning the hat, you place it on your head and adjust it before walking over to the floor-length mirror you’ve spent the morning standing in front of.

Oh my.

You hardly recognize your reflection. Gone is the refined lady of the Bonn family, replaced by a lavender-haired woman who holds herself with regality but looks like she belongs on a ship at sea.

“It’s perfect,” you sigh happily, running your hands along the coarse material of your trousers. There is nothing delicate about your trousers, your tunic, or your boots. They are built for travel, for daily trekking, for use. Fiddling with the strings hanging from your new hat, you turn on your heel and look to Annie and her assistant. “I’ve never picked my own clothes before. Does this look okay?”

“You look like an average traveler,” Annie tells you, walking forwards and nitpicking nonexistent creases in your clothing. “Which I believe is the look you are going for? Of course, nothing you wear will take away from your natural beauty, dear. Can’t hide that.”

“I just don’t want to be found by my family. It was trouble enough leaving them,” you sigh, picking at the end of your short braid. “Maybe I should dye my hair.”

“That’d be a right shame if you did, miss,” the assistant speaks up. “You don’t want to erase yourself trying to find your freedom. You might lose yourself entirely if you do.” She has a point; you can admit that. So you’ll leave your hair alone and hope that your luck will continue.

“Alright then,” you say, turning to address them. “How much do I owe you?”

“A smile, girl, and if you offer me Berry one more time, I’m going to sic your gentleman on you.” Annie tells you with a strict look. Your shoulders slump, and you let out a soft groan, realizing that Shanks has indeed won this battle. Very well. So you give Annie and the assistant one of your best smiles and thank them before venturing to the front of the shop. You can see Shanks standing outside, across the road from the shop, leaning against the railing of the overlook to the port of Ingles. No doubt he has felt cooped up in the shop.

Knowing that Annie will have your dress and clothes delivered to the Red Force when everything is ready and packed up, you depart the shop and quietly walk up to the red-haired man.

“Finally done, eh?” Shanks asks, admiring the view of the ocean and the breeze he can feel on his face. It is a rather nice day, he has to admit, too bad you have spent most of it inside. Perhaps tomorrow he’ll have more of a chance to show you around.

“I am not happy you wouldn’t let me pay,” you announce, stopping beside him and enjoying the view. Shanks chuckles and rolls his eyes. He has practically spent the entire day arguing with you over who got to pay for your clothes. Shanks has ultimately put his foot down and talked with Annie about not letting you pay.

“Consider it a gift, Aria. You’re starting a new life.” Shanks chuckles before giving you a brief glance. Looking back at the horizon, his head snaps back to you in surprise. He knows that you will be leaving the shop wearing new clothes, but he hasn’t realized just how fitting and beautiful you’d look in just pants and a shirt. While he stares at you, drinking in the sight and realizing just how well you’d fit in with the crew now, you blink at him and wonder if you look odd to him. He sure is staring for a long time.

“Do I look weird in these clothes? Annie said I looked fine, but I feel odd wearing them since I’ve never picked my own clothes before.” Shanks reaches up and flicks his finger along the edge of your straw hat, reminded of a certain boy he’d left behind years ago. You have the same passion in your eyes. A frightfully attractive passion he is slowly coming to terms with. Better move on before you catch on to the fact that he is unabashedly checking you out.

“You look like you fit in with a crowd, Aria. The clothes are perfect,” he says before straightening up. “I got word that the men finished with the resupply and found a tavern. We’ll meet up with them there.”

Date Published: 1/11/24

Last Edit: 7/29/24

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[dr-futbol-blog]

The Lost Boys, Pt. 4

Back in the cave, the team seems to be free to roam around as per Ford's promise but there are armed guards all around them. While Sheppard is seated at the table they had been initially brought by (although note that he has not taken a seat at the end of the table, where Ford's men had initially placed him as the leader), all the others are moving around in a more or less agitated manner. McKay seems to be especially full of anxious, nervous energy.

McKay: Seriously, I'm getting, I'm getting chills and hot flashes, chills and hot flashes again and again. None of you are feeling that? Dex: The enzyme's side effects are gonna be the least of his concerns if he keeps this up.

On the surface, we might interpret Ronon as meaning that McKay is beginning to irritate him even more than usually and if Sheppard does not a put a stop to his antics, he is going do something about it and that something is going to be violent. It would be very easy to read the exchange in such a way, given how little we know of Ronon's character. Only, Ronon is not like this with McKay usually. Most of the time, Ronon seems either amused by McKay or just tends to ignore him. When they were on their original mission, both Sheppard and Teyla seemed to be getting increasingly irritated by McKay's griping where Ronon was scarcely paying attention to it, his question revealing that he can barely even understand what McKay is talking about most of the time. McKay is the brain, he is the brawn, and he is fine with that. Ronon may occasionally pretend to be dumber than he is to play with McKay but he harbours no resentment toward him. What is more, we have seen Ronon perform the task that Sheppard had brought him in for, which is protecting McKay's safety when he himself is unable to do it, which neither Ronon nor McKay are aware of. It was explicitly mentioned in Trinity (S02E06) that it was saving McKay's life that made them give Ronon sanctuary.

Of course it could be that it is the enzyme talking here, that Ronon is beginning to feel its effects just as McKay is. That McKay is merely verbalizing what they are all feeling and given that Ronon has to remove his coat for seemingly feeling hot, there is clearly something happening to him. It is possible that the enzyme is making him even more aggressive than he normally is. But the fact that he bends down to whisper this to Sheppard, wants to exchange a private word with him about McKay, suggests something else. Although Ronon may not know why precisely Sheppard had hired him, he does understand that keeping McKay alive is his job. McKay is important to Atlantis and from the sound of what he had been talking about earlier, maybe to this whole galaxy. McKay is the least experienced fighter out of all of them and in spite of what ever field training he may have received, he needs the others to make sure that he is unharmed.

Ronon is not saying to Sheppard that if he does not make McKay shut up, he is going to rough him up. He is letting Sheppard know that he has been keeping an eye on Ford's men all around them and if McKay keeps this up, he might not be able to protect him from them. He had told Sheppard that given a blaster, he would gladly take all of them on and while this was likely at least partially bravado, he is itching to have a go at these men that have captured them. And if McKay keeps running his mouth, they might not have a choice for very much longer. In fact, we see one of the guards that has his weapon pointed at McKay follow him with the weapon, trying to keep him in his sights and by moving around in such a frantic manner, he is agitating the guards.

Sheppard: I know, just be patient. Dex: Historically, that hasn't been a strength for me. Sheppard: I know!

Sheppard himself, seated at a table literally twiddling his thumbs, seems to be trying to keep himself calm with great effort. We see his gaze follow McKay up until he passes behind him, and had Ronon not come to block his view, he probably would have continued following McKay with his eye. Sheppard is not feeling good about this. Even if two thirds of what McKay is expressing here was due to psychosomatic reaction, Sheppard does not know that for certain and he is starting to suspect that this is not McKay's regular run-of-the-mill catastrophizing. McKay had told them earlier that when the side-effects kick in, they are going to be very real and very unpredictable, and let us recall that McKay had watched Ford try to choke the life out of his best friend when he had first gotten on the enzyme. It had horrified him, and he is expecting the same to now be happening to him.

Sheppard himself has seen enough of Ford's condition to know that taking the enzyme is dangerous. But note that the more agitated Sheppard feels, the more relaxed he is trying to seem. In this, he is the polar opposite of McKay. McKay is venting, releasing his anxiety by moving around and talking. Sheppard is still and quiet, moving only his thumbs in a rhythmic fashion. As a fighter pilot, he knows how to calm his nerves. Even if situations like this had not quite made it into the manual. He is clearly edgy and there is nothing he can say or do that would actually make McKay stop that would not give away their closeness.

Ford strolls into the main room of the cave with purpose and Sheppard turns to look at him. He does not turn his body, he only turns his head, looking at Ford from over his shoulder. But note the way McKay folds his arms as he stands behind Sheppard, as though he is standing guard for him. Although he may not be a fighter, McKay is protective of Sheppard and while it is likely entirely subconscious on his part, he is forming a united front with Sheppard here.

Ford: Sheppard, Teyla! Kanayo's running a mission off-world. I want you to go with him. Sheppard: Why? Ford: We're running an op. Thought you might wanna see the men in action. Sheppard: Sure! Whenever you need us. Teyla: Just give us some weapons and... Ford: Nice try. No, you're gonna hang back and watch with Kanayo.

It seems as though Teyla is also feeling hot, and she has been bent over the table, arching her back not unlike a cat in heat. She is not doing it for anyone's benefit and it is actually pretty telling that not one of the men seem to be paying attention to what she is doing. Ford strode into the room with his men, both Kanayo and Jace, in tow, and while we do not know what they have been talking about amongst themselves, it is interesting that Ford decides to break them up so that Sheppard goes with the guy that keeps giving him the eye, even thumbing his lip as he watches Sheppard from behind Ford's back, and McKay goes with the tall blonde that seems to have an interest in him. Whether this was Ford's decision or his lieutenants had convinced him to do this just to get to spend time with the men that interested them, we do not know. What ever the reason, Sheppard seems determined to play ball as long as there is no immediate danger because he does not like taking chances with McKay's safety. He does not love the idea that Ford wants him and Teyla off the planet but at least Ronon will be able to stay back with McKay.

Ford: Don't worry, you won't be in any danger. Sheppard: That's a load off my mind. Ford: Good. McKay: What about us? Ford: Jace will give you the grand tour, show you what we've done with the place.

McKay can hear from Sheppard's very uncharacteristic response that he is feeling threatened by Ford and hence feels like he has to step up for him. He actually places himself physically between Sheppard and Ford, getting right up in Ford's face to demand why he won't be going with Sheppard because what if Sheppard needs him out there? Ford even seems taken back by this because he does not remember McKay having such a set of brass balls before. And note that McKay is asking about going with, he is not asking what they are going to do in the meantime. His "What about us?" means why are we not going, specifically.

Ford's plan seems to have been to use McKay as collateral against Sheppard ever since he devised his current scheme because while he may never have understood what the deal with the two of them was, he had always been jealous of their connection and he could tell that McKay was important to Sheppard. So he comes up with something for McKay to do on the fly, pawning him off on his own scientist. Note Jace lifting his eyebrows, and while he seems to do it as an acknowledgement of Ford's words, communicating that he is ready and prepared to do this, raising the eyebrows is a known sign of attraction. He is letting McKay know that he would like to spend some time in his company. We do not see Sheppard react to this. The camera cuts away from Sheppard for a considerably long time and the next time we see his face is when Ford has just explicitly threatened McKay's life. How Sheppard feels about leaving McKay with a tall blonde is not shown to us because of course not.

Ford: How's that sound? McKay: That sounds delightful. Ford: Good, good. Then if Colonel Sheppard tries anything off-world, you'll be nice and close for me to kill you both. McKay: Can't think of a better way of spending the afternoon!

McKay's tone makes it clear that he is displeased and is being sarcastic here but even so, he is being perfectly polite. He may not like the situation they are in but he is not actively trying to make things worse for them. This is not the first time that McKay's life has been threatened and it is not even the first time that his life has been threatened by Ford, so McKay takes it in a stride because as long as there is no gun pointed at him, the threat to his life is an abstraction. It is in situations such as this that his tendency to dissociate comes in handy, allowing him to stay functional in circumstancess that might paralyze most people. Sheppard himself is affected by the threat much more severely. We see him worry his lip, he is clearly suppressing some powerfully negative emotion here and given that getting McKay killed is, by this time, his worst nightmare, Ford is showing him that he knows his former CO very well. Ford is holding McKay hostage and while it seems as though McKay does not grasp the full implications of this, Sheppard certainly does. His hands are effectively tied.

Kanayo: Move! Ford: Looks like he's itching to go.

Sheppard and Teyla take off without another word. Note that Ronon had been standing opposite to where Sheppard was seated so whether Sheppard had been able to communicate something to him or he just came to his own conclusions, he gives Ford an intense, challenging look as he goes after McKay. Ford may have threatened to kill them both but all of them, all of them bar McKay, know who the princess held up in the dungeon is for Sheppard. Sheppard is not happy to go but he would be a whole hell of a lot less happy if Ronon did not get to stay behind with McKay.

Sheppard: Are those guards Genii? Kanayo: Yes. Teyla: What exactly are we doing here? Kanayo: There are Genii spies all over the galaxy. If for whatever reason one of them can't make it back to the Genii homeworld, their leaders have established safe houses. If they need a place to reload on gear, or a place to hide, they come here.

Ford's second in command jaunts Sheppard and Teyla to another unnamed planet where they take part in a night-time raid even though on the planet that they had just left it was, according to McKay, afternoon. While a considerable part of Sheppard's mind is back on the other planet and is working on some plan to get them out of this, he is rather curious to learn more about the Genii because they have turned out to be a formidable enemy and he would very much like to avoid further altercations with them. Given that it is nighttime and Kanayo and Sheppard are whispering to each other throughout the scene, it is very good that Teyla is there with them, literally placed between the two men, so that the blatant homoeroticism of this set-up is somewhat lifted.

Sheppard: That's useful. Kanayo: Yeah. We've found them to be an excellent source of information and supplies. Teyla: How did you find them in the first place? Kanayo: I was a Genii spy.

Kanayo confesses that he is Genii and this makes Sheppard look at him. This is the first time that he actually pays attention to this man. He does not know what to make of this. He hates the Genii and this man, holding them hostage, has not exactly endeared himself to him. But at the same time, if he had left the Genii, his own people, and was actively working against them then he could not be all bad. Teyla exchanges a look with Sheppard as Kanayo makes his confession because she also has conflicted feelings toward the Genii that she had believed to be a simple and peace-loving people most of her life. Both Sheppard and Teyla had painful memories connected to them.

Sheppard: If you're one of them, why don't you just walk in there? Kanayo: Well, I used to, but eventually they realized that I betrayed them. Sheppard: I can see how they would. Kanayo: We rely on raids now.

Sheppard's interest is piqued in spite of himself and once more we see him asking the "why" questions. Where Sheppard is keeping his attention mostly on the Genii toiling in front of them in their safe house, Kanayo seems to spend more time watching Sheppard than he does watching them or his own men preparing for the raid. Sheppard's response here, "I can see how they would" is similar to what he said to Ronon when he told him that he prefers his blaster to Earth weapons in Duet (S02E04), "I can see why you would." It seems to be Sheppard's way of saying the same thing that McKay had called "Understatement of the year!" earlier, although he is much more subtle about it.

Sheppard: Why? What more do you guys want? Kanayo: We don't have all the pieces we need for the Lieutenant's plan. Sheppard: Right! And which plan would that be again?

Sheppard continues asking the "why" questions because he is genuinely curious but just as soon as he notices that this man is answering his questions and actually seems to want to share intelligence with him, he starts fishing for more pertinent information, tries to start working him over to see if he had find some angle or edge here. Sheppard is obviously trying to get some information out of him about Ford's plan that might help him get them out of this safely, trying to be smooth about it. But in spite of this man clearly having some kind of a soft spot for Sheppard, he is not so easily fooled. It seems as though Ford has inspired loyalty in these men and that both surprises Sheppard and surprises him not at all. He had always seen potential in Ford, that is why he had picked him for his own team originally.

Kanayo: All will be revealed when the time is right. Sheppard: Oh, good! I'd hate for things to be revealed too early.

Sheppard's response here is clearly sarcastic and the use of sarcasm seems to be something shared by Sheppard and McKay. It could be that as a Genii, a people not known for their sense of humour, Kanayo is confused by this, not sure if Sheppard is kidding or not. But it is clear that this man likes Sheppard quite a bit.

But let us note that this is also meant for the audience as meta-commentary. All will be revealed when the time is right and there is no need to worry about the fact that we find McKay talking about his interest in women for three episodes in a row, known as he is to lie about these things, nor is there any reason to panic about the fact that Sheppard is locking lips with three whole women this season. The way the narrative was set up, Sheppard and McKay were so very obviously end-game material and that is why trials and tribulations are required to put obstacles in their way. The princess will be in another castle up until the time comes to spring her free but knowing the destination ahead of time would just spoil the journey. Things will not be revealed too early. In this regard, it is too bad that the right time never came when their airtime was cut short.

Continued in Pt. 5

[rangercorpstherapy]

To the latest fandom take:

I strongly disagree with the take "new posts are cringe and low effort". Brother (gender neutral), trust me, you shaming them is so embarrassing. Let people enjoy what they want to enjoy. You're not held down by chains with your eyes forcefully open to look at those posts. Just scroll past or block accounts you don't like. Instead of being joyful about new people joining in, you chose to be bitter about what they post. We were all at that age. Stop picking on younger teens. Hell, it isn't about age. Every post, as long as it is not harmful, is valid and as long as its author enjoys it and enjoys sharing, don't stomp on it. That way, we'll get less and less posts. So what that people keep posting headcanons or essays that are "obvious" or were here before? Those people weren't here before. Let them DISCOVER the wonderful RA world for themselves and share that excitement. And if those posts don't satisfy? WRITE YOUR OWN. Thank you, cheff.

However, what I want to draw attention to (now speaking to everyone), is the remark about fanartists. I know some that left or stopped actively creating for the reason that they felt not appreciated. It goes deeper than that. In the world built on capitalism and consumerism, amateur artists (who are also human beings who seek assurance and positive encouraging feedback) and who come to fandom to share their free artwork for fun and for interaction that gives them motivation to go on, are not some machines that come automatically giving content. Consuming their art and using it without even interacting, especially in this small fandom, can feel draining and this is not what the fanartists came here to do. If you look at it through their eyes, would you continue to do art if you felt it hasn't found its audience or if the audience felt passive about it? You do not have to like some art work. I get it, we all have our own taste. But if you do not support artists, especially beginning ones, it's really easy to lose the motivation. And you're robbing yourself. Imagine some artist who would have become great and eventually posted the art you like, is not sharing their art because they didn't feel motivated.

In conclusion. OP of the prev fandom take, I definitely do not agree with your opinion on ra tag and posts. I also don't like the tone in which you wrote your whole ask. But, everyone, I do believe there's a tiny thing that's worth giving a thought in the part about fanart.

All I see lately is people complaining there aren't good posts or that fandom is dying. Babes, if you're not gonna interact with things, either posts or art or fics or whatever, of course the activity is gonna die down. But also I do think that on the other hand, people who say stuff like "we don't have content anymore are the ones who purposefully ignore posts of the newer blogs just because it isn't entirely their taste and then say this fandom is desolated wasteland about to be hit by dinosaur killing meteorite. Valid, you don't have to reblog stuff that you don't want to. But then stop complaining about that fact there isn't stuff and either shut up and move on or contribute yourself.

Pessimism and toxicity isn't what this fandom needs and to be real I am tired of these fandom takes that what is actually bringing this fandom down. Complaints and call outs to toxic and harmful behaviour is valid and shouldn't be suppressed and please, everyone don't ever be afraid to do that. But these shaming takes and asks, is like chasing and biting your own tail and then complaining it hurts. I'd really appreciate it if some of you could refrain from shaming people who harmlessly enjoy stuff. Bye.

x

[dayurno]

recently reread ur de-aged kevin fic and in the end notes you said you were thinking of doing a sequel w neilandrew being de-aged and just wanted to throw my hat in the ring to say yes pls! you genuinely have such incredible writing and characterization and would LOVE to see your take on it!

wawawa i plan to write it!!!!! i did start a little bit after finishing de-aged kevin and had to scrap it off because i didn't like it, so it might take a little longer. nonetheless i feel like i have no reason not to share it so i'll attach under the cut the scrapped version of kevin with de-aged andreil for your enjoyment :=) if its a little wonky i ask that you bear with me theres a reason why i didnt keep this version

//

There is a little garden behind Fox Tower where you could fit a dead body without any real effort.

Not that Kevin would know, of course. But he is sure that he has never seen anyone besides himself tend to the ground there — perhaps once in the past there was another athlete who enjoyed gardening, but such a character has not been around for at least a few years. It took Kevin almost an entire week to entirely weed out the square of dirt between Fox Tower’s backdoors and the fence where Palmetto State University property ends and Fox Perimeter starts. 

Despite the loneliness of it, the ground is quite fertile; as patches of earth left alone by humankind often are. No one ever comes with Kevin when he gardens — Andrew finding it too soft a hobby and Neil, too pointless —, so there is no worry about someone else intervening with his flowers. Worlds apart from Evermore, Kevin quite enjoys the alone time tending to this garden provides, so he makes a habit out of it. 

He’s not sure how well he is doing. His first attempt had been to plant daylilies, because the name had amused him and they were considered beginner plants, offending as the thought is. Daylilies, Kevin’s come to find, are low-maintenance, highly resistant and pest-free — three things Kevin cannot relate to, despite them sharing a surname. Those turned out fine, but one cannot go wrong with daylilies; they’re too easy. The only way Kevin could’ve killed them is if he was an absolute moron.

His second attempt — and the one he is currently keeping a close watch on — were tulips. They’re harder to care for than their predecessors, and take up more of Kevin’s time than he had previously imagined, though he doesn’t fault them for it. He’d gotten seeds from a shop a few blocks down to where Andrew usually buys his cigarettes in Columbia, and hadn’t bothered to ask for more information; Kevin’s first mistake, he realizes.

His tulips have… multiplied. Perhaps too much — hopeless, Kevin sits amidst the rows and rows of golden ladies, dainty-looking but quite surely outnumbering him, and wonders how many more of them could cause a natural imbalance in the area. For how they spread over the garden, Kevin is not sure he wants the answer. Their yellow bulbs seem to mock him. 

Deciding this is now above him, Kevin wipes the dirt from his knees and springs up. He breaks the stem of a few tulips that have already bloomed, mindful that they must reserve their energy for a future reblooming, and checks for rotten bulbs before leaving. Surely, with time, his little garden will recover well enough so that it is not fully covered in tulips. Surely he’ll be able to plant something else, then.

If anything, Kevin is at least happy they don’t have thorns. Gathering the handful of flowers he’d cut off, he returns to his dorm, mindlessly wondering to himself if they have a vase wide enough to fit all of these tulips. When their whiny door pushes open under his weight, Kevin announces his arrival by calling out, “Do we still have that big vase from last year?”

No reply. Frowning, Kevin settles his flowers on the kitchen counter and glances over to where Andrew’s wallet and keys sit at their coffee table, even his half-finished pack of cigarettes left untouched. It is highly unlikely for Andrew to leave without at least one of those three items, creature of habit he is. How weird.

Grabbing for his phone, Kevin sees a flash of motion from the corner of his eye, and is just quick enough to sidestep a little body hiding behind the back of their sofa. The idea of something as small as this just hanging around their dorm is so baffling Kevin can hardly compute it, communication between his eyes and his brain coming to a screeching stop as he takes in the sight in front of him.

There’s a child. There’s a — there’s a child. 

He is quite small. His hair, a gentle wheat-like thing, curls softly over his forehead, leading down to big, round brown eyes and a thin mouth. The child’s face is very tender, his cheeks flushed from exertion, but he does not meet Kevin’s stare with any such feeling — instead, his eyes widen slightly, and he stumbles back like he’s been hit.

For a moment, Kevin even worries he hasn’t sidestepped as well as he thought and indeed had hit this child on accident. Taking a few steps back himself, Kevin asks, “Who are you?”

It seems like the kind of question the child should ask him, instead of the opposite. The little boy tilts his head back to look at Kevin — and he does have to tilt it very far —, before steeling himself to answer, “I’m—I think I live here now?”

“That…” Kevin hesitates, “can’t be right.” The child’s eyes water slightly. Growing more and more panicked by the minute, Kevin immediately retracts it. “But I’m sure it is, if you’re saying it.”

The tears don’t fall, but they don’t quite recede either; the little boy's face is so fair it starts to look splotchy soon enough, red dusting his nose and cheeks. “Are you my new brother?” He asks, with all the certainty of someone who’s had many new brothers before. A nagging chill runs up Kevin’s spine.

“I don’t believe I am, since I don’t have any siblings,” Kevin limits himself to replying. He crouches down to meet the child’s stare, eyeing his tulips from above his head. Kevin really needs to get that vase soon; it’s not good for them to be out in the open like this. “Can you tell me your name? Why are you here? Where are your parents?”

The little boy eyes him suspiciously. He answers none of Kevin’s questions, but he informs, “There was another little boy too.”

“Right. Well,” Kevin stumbles a bit, unsure of what to say — and what to believe in, even. Children often see things that aren’t there for adults; he does not want to see any manner of spirit today. Or any other day. “Can you go get him for me? Then I can help you figure out what you’re doing here.”

“What else… can I be doing here?” The child asks, frowning lightly. “This is a new home. They—at the last one, they didn’t want me. And I have to be somewhere.”

Recognition shivers through Kevin. “I see,” he replies past the lump in his throat. “I think I might understand. The—the little boy that you mentioned, did he have blue eyes? And, and red hair?”

Andrew crinkles his little nose. “Was orange, not red.”

Oh. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. “I understand it now.” Kevin’s thighs tremble too much for him to hold his crouch, so he sits back on his heels, kneeling at Andrew’s height. “How old are you? If you don’t mind.”

Andrew blinks at him for a moment too long before showing Kevin his spread palm — it is unbearably small, chubby, and quite pale, too. “I’m five,” he says.

And he is. He is five years old. He is very five years old by the looks of it, which is not the age Andrew Minyard should be, because before Kevin left for his garden, he was pretty sure the Andrew he left behind was twenty-one. 

“You’re five. Okay. That makes sense. Of course,” Kevin babbles, having gone half-stupid from shock. That this could be happening to him — that it could be happening to them again, after Kevin had spent a week of last month being six years old and with no recollection of it. What kind of rotten cosmic joke is this? “I see. Okay, well, let me just—” He rubs a hand across his face. “Hello, I’m Kevin. I am a collegiate athlete. That means I play Exy for a university. Have you heard of it?”

“Exy is on the TV all the time,” Andrew counters, but it seems to be all that he knows. He looks a little hesitant before he nods; tight and anxious. “Hi. I’m Andrew Doe.”

Without a surname makes one a John Doe. Kevin’s heart squeezes. “Hello, Andrew,” he greets, trying to work his face into something gentler. “I understand what you mean now. You called it a new home, correct? It’s not like that. I think what happened here is…”

“Do you work for my father?” A small voice cuts Kevin’s sentence short. He whips his head around to meet a boy a good few inches taller than Andrew leaning against the doorway of their bedroom, his hair a light ginger. When Kevin’s eyes meet his, Neil — Nathaniel? — hunches in on himself in self-reproach, placing little hands in front of his head. “Sorry. I spoke out of turn.”

Kevin blinks. “No,” he answers, softening his voice. This is—this is not the time to doubt whether gentleness is achievable or not; this is the time to force it until it breaks, or until it gives. “I don’t work for your father. I’ve never even met him before.”

 Neil pales. Perhaps the idea that someone does not know his father seems outlandish when Neil has been raised under his dominion — Kevin is sure it feels that way, for Neil to look so stricken.  Often when you are this small and your parents are the overlords of your world, it feels strange to learn that they are not the end-all-be-all of everyone else’s.  

Like a little tour guide, Andrew steps forward to explain, “I think you might be here because your mom and dad went away and children have to live somewhere.” 

…Of course, being five years old, his understanding of the situation is about as good as Kevin had expected. Andrew’s explanation of the foster system is fairly good, all things considered, but too realistic for a child his age. He should, at least, still believe that they mean to find him a family instead of sending him from home to home because there is nowhere else for him to be.

Neil pales even further. “Is that true?”

“Is true. Is what happened to me.”

“Alright, alright,” Kevin intervenes at last, and two pairs of eyes turn to him; both hesitant in their own way. He coughs into his fist, deciding that honesty is the easiest route. “To be frank with both of you, I’m not sure why you’re here, either. But… thank you, Andrew, for trying to explain it.”

The little Andrew’s face does something unguarded and surprised before he looks away, blushing lightly.

Kevin keeps his eyes trained to his tulips. “I don’t know what happened for you to get here, but you’re welcome to stay until we can figure this out.”

He is eyed with suspicion from both sides. “I,” Neil shakily starts, the beginning of a meltdown creeping into his voice, “I want my mama. Where is she?”

“I’m sorry,” Kevin replies, and finds that he means it, “I don’t know. If I knew, I’d take you to her.”

He would do no such thing, but it is important to say it, anyway.

Springing upwards before Neil can bring out the waterworks, Kevin takes a few steps next to where he’d put aside his tulips and returns with one in each hand. “Here,” he says, kneeling to their height again. “Want a flower? I just got them from the garden.”

Andrew’s hand reaches for it, but does not bridge the distance, hesitant. Neil doesn’t even try to get it. “Flowers are for girls,” he tells Kevin. 

“Hm. Do I look like a girl to you?”

“Yes.”

Kevin supposes that was a mistake on his part. It’s always the hair with children. “Well, I’m not,” he argues — argues! — with five-year-old Neil. “It’s very rude to not accept a gift.”

Neil eyes him, squinting quietly. He takes a few steps closer, looking more relaxed now that he’s figured Kevin is not working for his father. Coaxingly, Kevin offers one of the tulips in his direction — the bigger one, standing proud and yellow and delicate. It took a great effort for them to look this healthy. “These are called golden ladies. They’re perennials — that means they grow no matter the season. I plant them myself.”

A little hand curls around the stem of the smallest of Kevin’s tulips, catching it with all the clumsy delicacy of children who have yet to learn a finer touch. Letting Andrew take it, Kevin's mouth twitches. “Don’t worry about thorns, there’s none.”

He doesn’t mention the eco-system smasher Kevin had accidentally become in the process. Hopefully, no one notices the terrifying increase of tulips in Palmetto for the upcoming springs. 

Andrew doesn’t answer him, eyes trained to the tulip. The yellow of the inner petals matches the pale of his hair; makes him look more flower than child. Sweet, sweet boy.

Kevin turns back to Neil. “Won’t you take it even if you don’t like them? I don’t have a vase yet. I’m afraid they’ll just rot if you don’t take them.” This is a lie — but it’s a fair one. Children shouldn’t be so restrained.

The idea of imminent destruction seems to convince Neil to walk the distance between himself and Kevin to take the flower in his little hand. He says nothing. Kevin can’t tell if he likes it at all — he’s so put-upon.

A little hand flutters in the general direction of Kevin’s head. “Why is your hair…” Andrew asks. 

“What? Long?” The child nods. “What’s wrong about it?”

“It shouldn’t be like this.”

Well, that’s rude. Kevin huffs softly under his breath, absent-mindedly combing his fingers through his hair. “When I was a little over your age, I had a friend — a brother — who liked my hair like this. I think I just grew used to it.” 

It’s not the full story, of course. He can’t tell them about Riko, and how much of his preferences Kevin had taken as law out of admiration, at first, then fear, later on. He can’t explain, either, that his hair staying this way is his own way of mourning — a childhood left unfinished, a little boy abused into the insanity of Riko’s final years, brotherhood yet to be tainted by blood and jealousy. Children this young can’t tell Kevin carries all the marks of the grieving. 

“Oh,” Andrew replies. He looks like he wants to ask some more, but he doesn’t. 

“I can teach you how to braid it later, if you want,” Kevin offers. He has not even a sliver of a clue about what children should do in their free time. In his time, his mother took him all around the world during her trips, which didn’t usually leave Kevin much time for playing; then, after she died, Exy consumed most of his time between little league and Tetsuji’s endurance bootcamp. “It’s a useful skill. You can impress your future wife with it.”

He knows well enough that Andrew is never, ever going to get a wife; still, Kevin knows no other way to frame the importance — or, rather, mask the lack thereof — of this to him.  

Andrew nods politely. He, for one, is taking this much better than Neil seems to be — for good reason, Kevin imagines. Already registered in the foster system, Andrew must be used to adapting to new homes, new siblings, new adults with an eccentric knack for gardening and haircare. He’s indulging Kevin. A five-year-old!

“Well,” Kevin clears his throat, suddenly a little embarrassed. “Are you hungry? It should be almost lunchtime.”

No answer. It’s almost like dealing with the adults Andrew and Neil again.

Lunch is bland and unimaginative; Kevin follows the recipe obsessively, unwilling to make children choke down trash. It’s one thing for their adult selves to indulge Kevin in his lack of culinary talent, but children don’t yet have the taste buds for experimental food, nor the desire to put up with their caretakers’ inability to cook. More than once he resists the urge to add more spice — or even more salt. 

While he cooks, Kevin allows Andrew and Neil to get acquainted with each other. They talk quietly, eyeing the other with no less suspicion they eyed Kevin with, and seem happy to do their own thing. Skittish, for sure: but can they be blamed for it? Kevin doesn’t expect them to hit it off immediately, especially with Neil’s under-socialization. In the week or so Kevin should have them, it is likely they’ll progress on that front. 

Polite like a trained dog, Andrew waits by the kitchen doorway to help Kevin with setting the table. He’s far too small for such a task — he’ll drop any glassware Kevin gives him. Still, unwilling to let the child feel useless, Kevin asks him to set some napkins and cutlery out. Yes, that should be enough.

“Thank you, Andrew,” he says when he is done finishing up on their plates. Looking at the portions, Kevin is inclined to think they are far too much for someone of their size, but he doubts either have had access to an unrestricted meal in quite a while. At their age, Kevin knows he hadn’t. “It is very kind of you to help with the table.”

Andrew tilts his head towards his food without comment. He is almost unnervingly polite. It’s not the Andrew Kevin knows, and the contrast feels scathing.

Despite the children’s best efforts, their meal is not quiet. Kevin is not good with children, but he likes to think he is good with Andrew and Neil — as good as one can be, anyway. He prompts them into conversation by asking questions about their interests, their lives, their routines; half of it is trying to figure out how to care for these two, and the other half is emulating a chewed-out memory of how Kayleigh used to talk to him. 

She was never the kind of parent who baby-talked to Kevin. As soon as he was able to, she tried to engage him in conversation — however loose that concept can be for a five-year-old. Kayleigh, from what he remembers of her, had the ability to make anyone feel listened to; Kevin doesn’t remember ever doubting she cared for his childish babbling about toys and daycare, even if nostalgia had colored the memory a soft mouth-pink. He only wishes he would’ve gotten at least half of her social adeptness. From Kayleigh, all Kevin got was green eyes, a gaping hunger for success and an inescapable attraction to troubled men.

“I play Exy and I like books,” Kevin offers in trade for information. It’s — well, he doesn’t have many hobbies. The gardening and the cooking are a late product of much of Dr. Betsy Dobson’s insistence that Kevin must make something out of himself that isn’t Exy-related. “I like cooking but I’m not good at it. And I like gardening but it takes a lot of work so I don’t do it all the time.”

“It’s not that bad,” Andrew tells him, motioning to his food with small movements. He finished his plate in record time, inhaling Kevin’s poor attempt at a caesar salad like it’s a five stars meal. On the other hand, Neil is halfway through with his and looks done already. “Your food.”

“Not that bad?” Kevin tilts his head slightly, amused. He’ll take it, he supposes. “Thank you, Andrew.”

Hesitant, like perhaps he fears Kevin will be angry at him for it, Neil picks up the conversation where he left off to say, “I like… horses. But, um, like toys.”

 “Horses, I see,” Kevin repeats, a bit hopeless. Children’s interests are so loose. “And what else?”

Neil flicks him a suspicious glare. “What else?”

“I gave you four of my interests. A conversation has to be equal.”

Looking as if Kevin had sprouted a second head right in front of him, Neil does not do as he is asked so much as he stares at Kevin, mouth open in a little o. Has no one asked this child what he likes before? It feels out of character for the Butcher of Baltimore, sure, but Neil’s mother had seemed to care for him, at least from what little Kevin had heard about her. 

“No?” Kevin tries after a few moments of silence. “I’m just trying to be friends.” 

“Why would you be my friend?” Neil asks, putting down his fork with surprising care; as if to ensure it makes no noise. Even his voice is small and unobtrusive, despite the words. “Adults and children aren’t friends. Adults want children to be quiet.”

Kevin hides a wince. He hadn’t imagined the Butcher of Baltimore, in all his serial killer glory, would have indulged his child in conversation — and by the way Neil acts, he could’ve guessed for himself that most of Neil’s childhood had been trying to stay out of his father’s way. But no one ever wants to assume the worst out of a loved one’s suffering;  Kevin had held out hope there’d be at least a silver lining in Neil’s horror stories.

It is not unlike how Kevin and Riko were raised in the Nest, anyway. Their private tutors were stern, and despite much of their trying, there was no place for childhood in Evermore: they were told to keep quiet or else. The Master would often say that they were not to act like children — it hadn’t occurred to him up until now how cruel it is to forbid a child from being childish.

“Well, if I’m asking you, don’t you think I want to know?” Kevin argues. “Not all adults think the same thing. Do you think the same thing as every other child?”

A pause. Neil shakes his head, looking somewhat green, as if he had just realized what he said. From Kevin’s other side, Andrew stares anxiously. 

Rubbing a hand through his face, Kevin slowly puts out, trying to enunciate his words as gentle as he can make them, “I am not angry that you spoke your mind. It makes sense, what you said.” He shakes his head a little. Only a few minutes in, and he’s already ruining it — Kevin’s no good for anything that doesn’t involve a racquet. “But I would not have asked if I didn’t want to know. Do you understand?”

A small, careful nod. Kevin will take whatever he can get. 

“Good.” Kevin starts to gather the empty plates — his and Andrew’s —, and motions towards Neil’s half-finished one. “Do you not like it? I can make you something else, if you want.”

The sudden shift in conversation visibly vexes Neil, but, politely, he replies, “...Not hungry.”

From beside Kevin, Andrew flinches. Hurrying to dispel it, Kevin says, “It’ll be in the fridge in case you want it later.” Piling the plates into one of his hands, Kevin offers the other one to Andrew. “Come on, you didn’t get to tell me what you like during lunch.”

The child watches Kevin’s hand — the right one, smooth and unscarred if a little crooked from the years of gripping racquets — warily before accepting it, threading his little fingers through Kevin’s. His hand feels unimaginably small; so fragile it is a wonder it even exists. Kevin is reminded of the first time he saw a baby bird, back in Dublin: he’d told his mom he couldn’t tell if it was super ugly or super cute. She’d laughed for what felt like an eternity after.

Still sitting politely at the table, Neil watches their joined hands, frowning. Kevin can’t tell what he’s thinking — wouldn’t be able to even with an adult Neil —, but the face he makes claws at his heart. “N—” not his name,  “ah, do you want to come with?” 

Thus invited, Neil follows them into the kitchen. Kevin washes the dishes and listens as Andrew tells him, a little shyly, that he likes Sesame Street, street cats (“Really?” Kevin asks. “Aren’t their claws a little scary?” to which Andrew seems to lose some respect for him on the spot), chocolate and amusement parks, when he is allowed to go. It's a fairly common list — Kevin didn’t know what he expected a five-year-old version of Andrew to like. Something a little more unorthodox, perhaps.

But children are the same everywhere, at any point. Andrew soaks up the attention Kevin gives him, happy to answer all questions, if a little insecure on why Kevin would be asking them. Knowing where Andrew was at this age, he doesn’t doubt it’s been a while an adult has actually spoken to him with some level of care for what he has to say: when was the last time Andrew has actually felt companionship? Someone who hears what he says and asks questions about it? 

It feels sacrilegious to stop now. Already out of dishes to clean, Kevin scrubs and re-scrubs their plates until his hands ache as he asks Andrew questions, not unaware of Neil’s watching eyes.

“And how is it? California?” Kevin asks. The next thing he says is a bold-faced lie, because he’s visited Jean before, but he still says it. “I’ve never been. I heard it’s beautiful.” 

He’s heard no such thing. Jean seems to think California is where meaningful art goes to die, but he can’t tell Andrew that.

“Is okay,” Andrew tells him, propped up on a stool next to Kevin. His little legs swing mindlessly. “The traffic — there’s traffic. And Disneyland.”

“You’ve been?” He asks again.

“Oh, um, no.”

It’s expected. “I have not either,” Kevin relates, making it sound like a bigger woe than it really is. His hands are rubbed raw at this point, and the soap pricks at the skin of his palms — soon, he’ll have to stop. Just a little more. “I don’t think I’d like it, either way.”

Andrew watches him curiously. “Why?”

“I don’t like crowds.” It’s not as easy as that, but Kevin leaves it as it is. The prickling sensation of the soap starts to crawl up his wrist, and he decides it is time to stop. Drying his hands off on a nearby cloth, Kevin prompts, “How about some dessert?”

It is the first time he’s ever said those words, and they horrify him, but the quickly-hidden flash of interest in Andrew’s face is worth breaking his streak for. From the stool beside Andrew, Neil frowns lightly. This child is too serious — Kevin tries to remember if he was like this back in little league, but his memory is not the best after so many hits to the head.

He rummages through their freezer. Andrew’s adult self is fond of indulging — there are a few half-eaten ice cream cartons tucked beneath frozen peas and other such vegetables, though most of them are flavored a cherry liqueur Kevin will most certainly not feed to children. Scavenging further he is able to retain a sealed chocolate carton, the frost covering it making his fingertips tingle. 

This has to be too frozen to eat. Helpless, Kevin turns to look at the two five-year-olds as if they have a better idea. It’s weird, now, to be the person Andrew and Neil look to for answers — Kevin is used to it being the other way around. He is caught thinking that he’ll probably struggle in the coming days, without his two little shadows making life easier for him. 

“I think if I microwave it a little bit, nothing’s going to happen,” Kevin mumbles to himself, aware that he is not inspiring much respect as an authority figure. He’s no Andrew, after all: Kevin’s still himself, despite all his best efforts to be someone else. 

The ice cream loses some of its original texture in the microwave, but, if anything, Andrew seems to enjoy it as Kevin passes him a bowl. Neil does not accept one himself, politely saying he doesn't like sweets, and the lack of attitude from him is disturbing. Kevin is used to Neil being a force of nature — seeing him this quiet, this contained, is not easy. It makes him think of the iron-shaped scar on his adult self’s chest. All that dead skin. 

Unwilling to let him be left out, Kevin cuts some slices of apple for him, which Neil takes with some degree of gratefulness. The little boys settle in front of the TV while Kevin manages to find a children’s channel, looking small on their ratty dorm carpet. Kevin isn’t sure children should be this small in the first place — he’s not sure if they are little because of genetics, or neglect. How much can you hurt a child until they disappear?

Kevin sits himself with them, cross-legged. He is too old to see the appeal of children’s television, so most of it is watching them from the corner of his eye and finding out what to say to Aaron to get him to come and help. 

You 14:36

Hello. I think whatever happened to me last month just happened to Andrew and Neil. 

As in, they have turned into five-year-olds. If you’ve forgotten. 

When there is no immediate response, Kevin huffs to himself and snatches a picture of their two little heads pending towards each other, deep in conversation about the show they are watching. Kevin is, at least, relieved to see them interacting at all: Andrew might have been to kindergarten already, but Neil has always been undersocialized, all tutors and nannies. If Kevin can’t be his friend, then at least Andrew can. 

The picture gets him a quicker answer.

Aaron 14:45

what the fuck what the fuck what the ufck

why doe sthis keep fucking happening to you 

Like it’s his fault!

You 14:45

This is not the kind of thing I can control. 

They are good children. Polite. Easier to deal with than I was, I wager. But  I need you to come and help. 

Aaron 14:47

why should i

what makes you think i could help you

You 14:49

Because he is your brother. 

Before Kevin can read Aaron’s answer, something hooks on his hair. Looking down, he finds Andrew’s hand hanging a few inches away from it, alarmed and wide-eyed at being caught. Behind him, Neil looks just as queasy, as if this had been their joint effort. 

“Can I help you?” Kevin asks, raising his eyebrow a little. When he gets no response, he concedes, "You can touch. Don’t tug or pull. And keep it away from your mouth.”

No response. Kevin doubles down, “It’s really fine. Here.” He pulls his hair out of its low ponytail, letting it curtain down his shoulders and back. It’s not often he lets his hair down like this — it can be too much of a hassle. Kevin ought to cut it one day, but the thought still makes him a little sick to think of. “As long as you’re careful.”

An hesitant little hand inches closer and closer, still warily watching out for Kevin’s reaction. When Andrew finds no resistance, he combs little fingers down the length of Kevin’s hair, faint and amazed. He’s not very gentle — children are too clumsy for it, still, and there is some tugging. It doesn’t hurt, though. Kevin allows it.

Resigning himself to being played with, Kevin gives them his back, leaning his elbow against the couch. Another pair of little hands clutches at a chunk of hair, and he knows Andrew has convinced Neil to get in on their impromptu hairdresser salon. At least they’re playing, Kevin consoles himself as he feels a pull on his scalp. At least they’re getting along. 

“I have hair ribbons on my desk,” he offers, knowing what he is setting himself up to and still going through with it. “Colorful ones. Satin. Would you like to see them?”

A pause on the tugging. “Really?” That was Neil.

“Yes. But I’ll have to get up to get them.”

“I can do it,” Andrew tells him, the ever-helpful little waiter. He’s so polite — Kevin wonders if they taught him there is a higher chance of getting adopted if you treat the foster parents with subservience. Probably. “Where is it?”

“Andrew, it’s fine—”

“I’ll do it. He’s still playing, so I’ll do it.”

So kind, giving Neil time to play by himself. Kevin, helplessly charmed, would allow him anything. “Okay. Thank you.” Motioning vaguely in the direction of their desks, he says, “It’s the one with the shelves on top of it. Yes, that one, with the books. Be careful not to hit your head!” Watching Andrew narrowly duck under a shelf gives Kevin half an aneurysm, but the child seems no less interested in his quest. “First drawer. There. Did you find it?”

“Yes,” Andrew replies, shoving a chubby fist into the drawer and pulling out a handful of hair ribbons, all different colors and sizes. There was an organization system to it, and his careless pulling has clearly ruined it. A little disheartened, Kevin doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “This?”

“Yes. Please keep the drawer closed.” 

The drawer snaps shut, and Andrew makes his way back to them, freshly acquired ribbons falling over his fingers and wrist in colorful flops. Kevin doesn’t see him sit back down, but he feels Andrew’s hand on his hair again. “Why do you have shelves?” Neil asks after a few moments of silence, their hands working ribbons in his hair via extremely clumsy braiding. “Um, just you, I mean. The others are empty.”

That he’s asking anything seems like a blessing, when the child is so quiet. “My—” Kevin hesitates. How to even describe it? “My… friend built them for me. The shelves. He got annoyed at me for leaving my books everywhere.”

 It’s true. Just as Kevin loathes Andrew’s habit of leaving his cigarettes anywhere, so does Andrew loathe Kevin’s astray book piles across the living room, left half-read or unfinished in his haste to get to class or practice. The shelves had been less of a compromise and more of a surprise: one day, they were simply sitting above his desk like they’ve always been there. Kevin never asked Andrew if he built them, but he figured the wood splinters on his fingers were reason enough. It took a lot of arguing for Andrew to take them out the right way, instead of just letting the splinters break on their own.

“Oh,” Andrew says, entirely unaware of the story being about his older self and focused on tying a bow on Kevin’s hair. “Where is he?”

“There’s two of them, actually. They’re away for work.” Kevin leans his head closer when the tugging starts to get a little painful. “What are you doing back there, anyway?”

“It’s pretty,” Neil murmurs, defending his work. Kevin doubts it is, but he’s happy to even have the little Neil’s attention at all. 

“You know how to braid?” He asks, trying to steal a look and getting his head gently moved back by Andrew. “By the way, what’s your name? You haven’t said.”

Neil hesitates, hands freezing. Kevin keeps talking, “Whatever you want to be called.”

 “Um,” Neil thinks on it for a moment. He seems to be rolling Kevin’s hair nervously around his fingers now; a nervous fidget. “My—my dad calls me Junior, but my mom calls me Nat—Nathaniel.”

 He doesn’t say it like he enjoys being called either.

“Hello, Nathaniel,” Kevin tilts his head in acknowledgement, because he wasn’t raised in a barn. “I’m Kevin. It’s nice to meet you.”

Shy little thing he is, Nathaniel doesn’t answer. 

The children play with Kevin’s hair for a few more minutes before losing interest, leaving him a mess of ribbons and tangles he decides not to deal with for now. He imagines they should be put to sleep soon — children this small sleep in the afternoon, do they not? At their age, Kevin is sure he had to be made to nap one way or another, what with his mother’s hectic schedule. It’s a bit of a parenting cop-out, he is aware, but… Kevin could use a nap himself. Sure the children do, too.

He makes a show out of yawning behind his palm. Two pairs of eyes turn to him, neither particularly moved by his display. Tough crowd. 

“Maybe we can all take a nap,” Kevin suggests. Nothing.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

Their eyes are wild, round as saucers and glimmering with unshed tears. Strapped down to the floor by their wrists and ankles, a band of metal across their throat, and their clothes plastered wet to their shivering body, Quinn looks small.

A rough hand weighs heavy on their chest as if to keep them from floating away. A curtain of bleach-fried hair hangs around a mean face twisted in the shape of concern for once. “Calm the fuck down,” Major rumbles, pushing down on their sternum.

That pressure is the only thing keeping them sane. Quinn’s hyperventilating has them so dizzy that they can’t feel their fingers or toes. Their eyes rocket around the room but they find no escape, no guard to manipulate or trick. Just an empty room and a friend who can’t save them.

“Calm down,” Major snaps, and those teary brown eyes finally settle on him. His hand wanders up to grab them by the jaw. “It’s coming again. You know that?”

They nearly panic again at the reminder. The chains keeping them down rattle with the shudders of mortified anticipation.

“Hey, stay focused. On me. Say yes Major.”

It’s hard to keep hyperventilating against the hand pressing down on their ribcage. Exhausting. They gasp weakly. “Ye-. Yes, Major.”

“Cool.” He didn’t make them say it to get obedience out of them or anything, and uncharacteristically, he doesn’t smirk. “It’ll hurt. You need a stupid mission or something? Instructions, to think?”

A jerky nod. Their eyes flit to the clock on the wall that counts each second, ticking upward. When it hits the next minute, the shock will course through them again.

“Eyes on me, bitch,” Comes his reminder, and they look up at him again, a tear slipping free to carve its way down their cheek. “It’s just pain. Just lasts ten seconds. Make it to five without a sound. That’s the rule.”

“Five?” They bite out, teeth nearly chattering from adrenaline. “Why, why’s it matter if I… I can’t…” Their question dies out as the click of the clock warns that there’s only five seconds left.

“Because I said so. Just do it. No screaming, five seconds. You ready? Breathe.” Speaking in a machine-gun rapid fire now, Major grips onto their hair and forces them to look straight into his eyes, at nothing else. “Breathe.”

The restrained spy sucks in a tremulous breath, focus finding its way into their expression. And then they jolt, their body straining with all its might to fling Major away, to tear their hair out in his grip, to break their own body in the metal restraints. Major swings a leg over their stomach and straddles them, knees digging into their sides hard. And he shoves their head down so it won’t bounce off the floor like it did a minute ago.

Their mouth stretches wide, but Major growls, “Five seconds,” and watches them go red with the effort of keeping the scream in.

Ten whole seconds pass. The electricity stops, and they flop, panting.

“Didn’t scream at all,” Major comments as he disentangles his fingers from their hair. “Look at me.”

Jittery, drowning eyes find him again, lost with pain. They focus enough to see Major give a grim nod. “You did good,” He says, and their bottom lip wobbles. “Gonna happen again in a minute.”

“F-forty-five seconds,” They correct on a hoarse gasp.

“Whatever. Can you handle it?”

“Nnh nnh-… n-, I-I don’t…”

“Not do you wanna. Can you? Will you fucking survive it?”

They swallow a whimper and nod slightly. “Doesn’t f-feel like it. But… yes?”

“Yeah. You will. Don’t piss me off, now. You didn’t scream. This time don’t even open your mouth.”

Their eyes flash with doubt. “But I… I, I don’t…”

“You’re a tough bitch,” Major snaps, lowering to be all but nose-to-nose with them. “You won’t die. This is fucking easy. Say you’ve got this.”

There isn’t time. They have no time. They try to look at the clock again, but he leans to block it from their sight. “Say it,” He orders again.

Quinn takes a ragged breath and grunts with the effort of speaking on command. “I’ve got this?”

“Again.” He’s petting their cheek. They don’t even recognize it directly, they just lean into it and swallow a sob.

“I’ve got this.”

Stormy eyes harden. He doesn’t say anything else, just watches. The clock ticks, and the shock comes.

After ten seconds, Quinn sucks in air, and when it escapes them it comes out as a squeaky sob. They screamed, they think. Hard to be sure. Major moves and they flinch, eyes squeezed shut, breaths tiny and rapid.

“Okay,” Major says, and he sounds softer than before. “It’s whatever. ‘s actually fine if you gotta be noisy. Uh. Keep your eyes closed.”

They flinch again when he touches their face, but it doesn’t hurt. His hand brushes back and forth, stiff with scars and clumsy. The side of his thumb scratches over their nose, his cracked palm slides over their forehead. There is no pattern to it, no tender cupping of their cheek. No kiss to the forehead or finger under their chin to lift it. It’s like being a kitten curled up at the foot of a trucker who is reaching down to pet it with the same nonchalance of scraping mud off his boot.

As rough as it may be, it drags a broken sob out of them, and he doesn’t stop. Maybe he can see how badly it hurt that time. Maybe his arbitrary rule about keeping quiet was only for their benefit, and if it didn’t help then he won’t make them try again.

“I’m sorry,” Quinn keens, tipping their head cooperatively as he swipes his palm to rub the tears off each cheek for them.

“What for?” Comes the gruff answer.

“For. For… I don’t know. I just am.” Their voice is high and painful in their throat.

“…’s okay.” The click comes. Quinn nearly screams from pure terror and surprise at how quickly a minute passed. “You’re fine. Hey, breathe.”

They do. The pain comes again. His hands, his weight, all of it disappears.

Some time later, and it might be minutes or hours later, they hear him picking a fight. Growling, yelling. Quinn tips their head slowly to see that Major is pinned by a boot on his chest, screaming in rage about… Quinn. About how the shocks haven’t stopped, and it’s too much. How this is pointless and stupid and it won’t work because they never talk, they never break.

The click of the clock comes, but Quinn is too busy to turn their head and watch the seconds tick by in terror. They are watching Major with awe, teary eyes lit up with curiosity and pride. They must be doing a very good job holding up, if Major is so mad for them. They can handle the next shock. Major might not think so, if he’s arguing for them, but they finally believe they can. They must be very very strong to have lasted this long, to make Major actually care.

[kozykricket]

so recently i tried calamity mod out, and... ive gotta say, i respect it for existing, but it definitely hones in on mostly the bosses and. well, i appreciate terraria for more than just the bosses. if you asked me when i first played terraria, i'd have said yeah the boss fights are the best part definitely, and i want more of that but... as ive grown, and as the game has grown -- and as i have thought more about what makes me like games, and as terraria has felt more complete than ever with 1.4 and such ...well, ill just say i know that what makes me love terraria is Everything that it is, and... i think calamity doesn't really go into expanding on everything. it feels like it kinda wants me to rush past a lot of vanilla things, but... taking my time earlygame is something i kinda appreciate. i know a lot of people shit on terraria for it being Grindy and RNG as hell for certain things, but am i crazy for believing that thats part of the charm? the exploration feels like... the same sense of doing a run in a roguelike. you arent always gonna find what you want, but its still... exciting! to find things! i know i have a few posts worth of "what i disagree with in terms of how calamity mod designs itself" but im just going to focus on how it ... tiktokifies terraria? in this post like, okay. from least egregious to most egregious, calamity:

Reduces the respawn time

Increases base mining speed

Increases base movement speed and capabilities

Gives a starter bag with tons of really nice early game goodies (why? thats just skipping like. 10 minutes of fun for no reason?)

Puts a giant structure above spawn with free planter boxes and all the herb seeds in a chest (also, you can just farm blood moons for making any potion. with blood orbs. oh no its post skeletron that certainly makes a huge difference) (I really don't get why people use alchemistnpc when calamity makes it insanely easy to get potions on its own)

Lets you craft a lot of accessories, from radars to blizzards in bottles.

Makes boss summons repeatably useable* (and notably, their FIRST boss has a bag within a bag, that gives you tons of fishing related items, without having to engage with the angler, so i guess forget the fishing gameplay loop. idc if you think its boring, because i do too. its still just completely moving the gameplay over to fighting a boss which is weird)

so overall i can tell calamity like, wants you to get moving to the later stuff. i get that; it has a LONG progression, and ... they rightfully want to get you moved towards the stuff that they've put the most effort into: the bosses. which i will admit are really fun and really cool, and *i actually do understand why they make boss summons re-usable in calamity, because of the increased difficulty of bosses.* plus theres still the fact you're gonna end up having to make new potions for every new attempt... at least, every retry when you're at the stage where you cant just sweep the floor with the boss. but uhm, that goes to my point on potions being pisseasy. its fine that theres free herb seeds, im fine with that really, because its not like they're that hard to get. you can get all the herb seeds in herb bags in the first 10 minutes. or just by exploring. it just really feels like ... it ADDS to the list of small but subtle little things where calamity hands me things that id normally go adventuring for. like what even is there left for me to adventure for wtf... i was thinking oh i'd really like a blizzard in a bottle and ice boomerang, but instead of needing to explore and spelunk for chests (which is EASY anyways in calamity with the increased mining speed and free spelunker potions) they just ... let me craft both of those?? using just some BLOCKS from the snow biome?? why. do you want me to engage with *anything* that isnt killing stuff, game?? and yknow the increased mining speed is cool, hell even FTW in vanilla does that, but it feels like even less reason to use mining potions and ... less incentive to go on a fun journey for the ancient chisel through the unique challenge of the underground desert. again, yes, its something that can be quite fast in vanilla. you can get hermes boots really easily if you're lucky, and so i understand..?? why people would want to just be able to craft hermes boots; to be able to have a consistent way to get them, instead of going on that gold-chest-gamble. but like... i like that part of the game! i like the early game finding of stuff. and hell sometimes later in the game ill decide hm i wanna go get this early game thing i never got because its for a crafting tree for this big accessory im making. but in calamity its just "ah dw you have all the materials for it now anyways" heck even FISHING is like. yknow, as i said, easier in calamity due to the desert scourge dropping potions for it and such, and its an alternative way to get stuff like a cloud in a bottle or an aglet, or even something like feral claws. so its something easier by calamity, but its also meaningless because you can craft so many things you'd normally either adventure or fish for so all in all, i understand that some people just wanna play terraria for the boss fights, and they dont really care too much for the interludes of roguelike-vibes-exploration between the bosses where you go on RNG hunts and take some time preparing via fishing, but. well i appreciate them darnit oh also its really funny calamity just, makes the magic mirror faster. like. is that even necessary. the base movement speed increase i think is weird when food buffs and stuff like magiluminesence exists. or yknow, boots. especially considering you can just craft the boots. if they want to make sure the player just inherently has more to work off of, then. i dunno, buff the swiftness potion? make a new potion? or make a new accessory? and ive heard they nerf a lot of vanilla things despite the fact that they dont even compete that hard with the calamity stuff. so... yeah, calamity makes some weird decisions. but also, i don't hate the mod for existing; in fact, im glad it exists. its an entirely different experience and yknow what? its valid for it to exist, and it... helps keep the people who want a game like calamity ... content, yknow? keeps them happy.

[theworldibuilt4you]

It's… Kinda weird, yeah.

[Addie laughed lightly, envisioning an exaggerated scene of rows upon rows of these freakishly huge snakes in fancy display cages, and humans lining up around the block just for the chance to get one.]

But, also endearing… Your people sound very kind, to care so deeply about other creatures…

[They were losing themselves to thought, when Casey's comment pulled them out.]

Huh-?

[They tried to pinpoint what Casey was talking about, but they didn't see anything out of the ordinary. If they had to guess, it kind of looked like Sonny was looking right at them, but maybe he had a terminal up?]

[A terminal… Centered right on them… That he was smiling at…]

[Slowly, experimentally, they began to gesture toward themselves. As far as they knew, what they were thinking of wasn't exactly possible before, but he was admin now…]

Ahah… Um... Are… You looking at me, sunshine…?

[It felt a bit presumptuous to assume like that, but they couldn't help the hopeful look in their eyes, their free hand shyly teasing the hem of their shirt.]

-Addie

"Oh yes... It's a common saying that humans will try to pet anything! Lots of humans take in some... more dangerous pets just because they cant help their love... gets them hurt. But many snakes are non venemous, and trust their humans back, so theres no issues with keeping docile ones... some are more suited to be left alone however."

[His eyes definitely seemed to move when Addie made the gesture, the pupils following their hand for a moment. It was only then did he realize how intently he was staring, and his cheeks seemed to flair up with heat.]

"I-I...- Uhm..-"

[He averts his gaze. Was it too much? Was it too much eyecontact? Too little? He hasn't talked to another person face to face in such a long time. Was he being off putting in any way?]

"I...I was.. y-yes. I... couldn't make you out before this.. It was... it took a lot of effort to see beyond the- through the..-"

[He averts his gaze, picking at his cuticles]

"But now its... so easy... I couldn't help just..-"

[He shakes his head]

"Never mind, never- I.. I can stop. I apologize, I.. I should have said something, should have told you that I could..-"

"...Heh. you guys are so gushy. It almost makes me sick."

[dayseternal-blog]

Fic Author Self Rec! When you get this reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, or some snippets from upcoming WIPS. Let’s spread the self-love! Love ya and thank you for all you do!! 💖

:D my 5 favorite fics that I've written?? okay.

"It's No Secret" - Hinata returns to Konoha after 5 years studying abroad in the Moon Kingdom. She just wants to enjoy her last year of high school as a normal girl, but blossoming love forces her to confront her future. (Rated M). - My baby fish. A high school AU for which I was really trying all different kinds of things and making all kinds of mistakes, finding my writing style. As a fanfic writer newbie, I felt so free to do whatever I wanted! Every scene for me was gripping, and I was so immersed in the world I was trying to create. It has an original, lengthy plot that I still hope to finish one day!!! I love this fic just because it was so instrumental to helping me improve. It's definitely NOT my best work, but from the first chapter to the most recently published chapter, my growth in writing is so apparent. All of the comments I got on it, even the ones that criticized, were encouraging for me and I cherish those readers who've followed my fics since then 💞

"Nightdreams" - Naruto and Hinata find comfort in each other after the war. (Rated E). - The easiest multi-chapter fic to write. Ever. Since then, I've never had quite as much fun writing a fic (I think Catskin came close). Certainly never as easy a time. "Nightdreams" had its moments of growth for me for sure, though, like the mission chapter, the argument chapter, all of the smut! It had its challenges, but the story flowed so easily, from beginning to end. I think there were only a couple of small writer's blocks. Overall, "Nightdreams" easily takes fave #2 just because it was so fun, and I think readers can tell that I really enjoyed writing it.

"Awkward Jocks" - She knows that if he were to ever ask her out, she would accept in a heartbeat. After all, he's the star quarterback and basketball player. Plus, she's liked him since...forever. But when her home phone rings, and he's on the other line, she hangs up. (Rated G). - The sweet and funny love story based off of my ex-coworker's life...bittersweet now, don't remember if I shared on Tumblr why. But I wrote this fic full of my love for her, so it takes the spot for fave #3.

"About You" - A summer job at the Dole pineapple cannery, graveyard shift 10 PM to 6 AM. A long bus ride into and out of town. Two teens, shy beside each other. (Rated G). - One of my most personal fanfics, though many of them are super personal. This is possibly the MOST personal because it's slightly based off of my parents' stories, I set it on my home island, and I experimented with writing the dialogue in pidgin. The only reason it's not higher on my list is because I somehow feel like I didn't do as good a job on it as I would have liked. It's like, the cultural/historical details are not accurate enough for me. But this is definitely a fic I wrote for myself, and it's been a joy to see other people love it, too.

"Matcha" from "Shared Vows" - Naruto calls Hiashi "father" for the first time. (Rated T). - ooooh it was a toss-up between this one or "Finally Home" from "Shared Vows," but I decided on "Matcha" as my fave #5. I love how I framed this fic, its ending reversing the beginning, and I somehow managed to communicate exactly what I wanted to say about Naruto's new family. This fic gives me such feel-good vibes, and I'm so glad it captured the feelings I felt.

I know that my personal faves do not align with readers' personal faves. Except for maybe "Nightdreams" haha. That one is easy to love. I know people loved "White Lilies," "Friend of Mine," "Tell Me of Forevers," and "Undercover," ...those exhibit some of my best technical writing, so I'm glad readers recognized that effort! My personal faves have more sentimental value, I guess, so that's what makes them special to me.

[dynmghts]

TRANSMISSION FROM @ofluminance : [ PIN ]:     sender pins the receiver to the ground and straddles them while training together. / hehehe 😇 from ochako! TRANSMISSION ENDED / SPARRING / FIGHTING , ACCEPTING .

it's become a common occurrence for both katsuki and ochako to take time from the rest so they might train on their own / most days, it was sparring with quirks. some days, it was without them, both wearing gloves to make a point of avoiding quirk use. today was one such day.

thanks to ochako's time spent with gunhead, she had a competitive edge when it came to hand-to-hand combat with the blond ; she had technique, specially taught moves by a hero who excels in close combat. and while katsuki does his best to accommodate it, he finds his score against her evens out the more they tire. even now, he glances over with a stern stare - 4 to 4. this was their tiebreaker.

he starts defensively. when ochako approaches, katsuki's goal is to duck and weave around any attacks that look like they're meant to restrain / he blocks the others, takes his chances on his own hits. some hit, but more miss.

but unfortunately for the young bakugou, he missed a chance to guard himself from being grabbed in the next punch he throws, giving ochako her chance - and she seizes it the moment the opening is there, pulling the blond around, knocking him to the ground before he can react. his chance to scramble away is lost the moment she seizes his wrists and holds him down in place / her weight settles on top of him, his legs pinned with her own, and crimson could only stare into hazel as he recognised his fate.

he was beat. she won.

out of breath and out of stamina, he drops his head back down on the ground with a huff, though a slight grin makes its way onto his face. as much as he hates losing ... [ which is why he's never gone easy on her in their spars, treating it like a competition. ] ... he often enjoys the sight of her triumph more. he savours the moment that wide smile brims across her face, blinding and ephemeral, her eyes shining with pride and excitement. even if he lost, at least he could say he didn't truly lose. ❛ well aren't you fucking thrilled ? ❜

but all that effort, and she hadn't kissed him yet ? what a fucking tragedy. he would do it himself, but ochako's got him pinned right down, and his hands aren't free to cup her face, and ... leaning up's not an option, either.

he does make a point of shifting his hands, though, trying to get her to let go.

❛ you go through all this effort and you're not gonna kiss me ? tch. c'mon cheeks, stop holding out on me. ❜ or maybe it was on purpose. [ ha. as if he was patient enough to wait it out. ] ❛ or am i just gonna have to tell ya best of 6 and kick your ass to get the damn kiss myself ? ❜

[kiaaraagarwal]

Ways to Transition Your Cotton Jumpsuit from Day to Night

Several maternity outfits compare to a cotton jumpsuit in easy, chic pregnancy women love wearing some of which are reviewed below. Eating out whether in the morning for brunch or at night for dinner, the right dressing can easily adapt any look from day to night. The same can be said for essentials which include a simple cotton midi dress, the piece can be elevated with accessories and layering pieces. At Jisora, they make products that have these wardrobe essentials classic slender pieces that are perfect for busy women. Now, let me tell you, how and in what ways you can wear your cotton jumpsuit and transform it from daywear to nightwear.

1. Begin with the Right Cotton Jumpsuit for Women

Cotton jumpsuit Women are loved by everyone because of their simplicity and versatility is one of the most important qualities of any dress. The plus side of Jisora’s collection is numerous beautiful jumpsuits as accessories that do not limit the possibilities of styling.

Daytime Appeal: For day wear it is advised to go for lighter colors such as beige, lavender, or sky blue. These shades seem somewhat new and are best for informal occasions.

Nighttime Edge: Therefore, if you are to wear the jumpsuit on an evening occasion you should consider getting one with a darker color like black or navy blue. If you begin your day with a more casual look, you can level it up later, by adding accessories or using layers.

2. Daytime Styling: Keep It Cool and Casual

But when it comes to wearing during the day, comfort is what counts. The women opt for the cotton jumpsuit for daytime wear so that it facilitates free movement even as it provides comfort and comfort won’t cramp their style.

Footwear: Again, when dressing in a jumpsuit, avoid wearing high heels or any other long-shaped shoes – instead opt for flats, white sneakers, or strappy sandals. These keep the look light and suitable for a casual day out or even any chore running.

Accessories: Minimalism rules the day. Apart from that, you have to include a straw hat, a tote bag, and delicate accessories like studs or bangles only.

Layer It Light: If there is wind, better to put on a denim jacket or an oversized shrug made of cotton fabric for the added sour.

For a similar laid-back feel, you can also try a casual cotton midi dress. It is highly recommended that it should be worn with flat sandals or slip-ons, which makes it ideal for picnicking, dating in the daytime,e or carrying out casual business on a Friday.

3. Transitioning to Night: Add Glam and Drama

Taking your cotton jumpsuit women love and converting it into an elegant evening wear all rests in the accessories.

Footwear: Trade your flat sneakers for heels, from the thick block heel variety to stunning wedges or stylish stilettos. The added height adds an immediate sophistication to your outfit and transforms its appearance into a more formal one.

Accessories: Include wears like thick bangles, big rings, necklaces or even big earrings, a huge clutch bag, etc. These small changes make you ready for the night.

Outerwear: Swap your denim jacket for a well-tailored blazer, leather jacket or any br rew embellished shrug will do the trick. Satin or matte types of coloration, or metallic are also ideal with regards to the evening functions.

Makeup and Hair: If one is uncertain about how to get a sexy look, going for a red lip, black eyeliner, and well-shaped eyebrows will do the trick when going from day to night. Sow your hair in a neat ponytail or let your hair flow in soft curls for that added beauty.

In the same way that a simple knit dress paired with flats can be dressed down during the day, some black opaque tights, a statement necklace, and a pair of stacked heels will give it evening appropriate appeal. Simply wear something more formal such as a structured blazer or a sparkly shawl for that awesome look that is not effortful at all.

4. Perfect for Every Occasion

Flexibility is the charm of Jisora’s cotton jumpsuits and casual cotton midi dress. All these outfits can suit both a daytime coffee meeting and an evening dancing soiree.

Office to Evening Dinner: With your cotton jumpsuit and ballet flats plus a tote bag you can go to work and then skip to dinner in stilettoes and clutch.

Travel Day to Date Night: A cotton jumpsuit is comfortable when on the move but still fashion-forward. For the evening look, one can also add a handbag and scar and ankle boots.

Why Choose Jisora?

As a company, we at Jisora, have always considered the kind of clothes we produce as stylish, comfortable as well as multipurpose. Every women's cotton jumpsuit bought at our store is made from fabrics that are soft and allow free air circulation thus the durability of the material. No element of femininity is out of place in our designs: their allure is an ode to today’s woman and the cotton midi dress, for instance, is the epitome of timeless allure for the practical woman.

From shopping errands to a party call in the dead of the night, Jisora’s collection of cotton jumpsuits and midi dresses relieves the stress of matching an outfit.

[healthlife4ever]

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LavaSlim apart from the rest? Let's delve into its potent ingredients:

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Ginger Root: With its focus on internal temperature regulation, ginger root also aids in blood sugar management and reduces blood pressure.

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[terra-kha]

12th Day - overdose (Scene 2)

―――I can't do that. I recall the pain from last night. The indescribable agony and the certainty of impending doom frighten me to the core. But more than that… I'm scared of what I'll do when I free this arm.

"…No. I can't take this off. Once I do, it can't be undone." Forcing down the fear, I make my decision. Then.

"Good. It's troubling if you take that cloth off so easily." Tohsaka is pleased, even though I refused.

"……? Tohsaka, I said I can't do it." "I know. I'm sorry, but that was just a test. I thought I'd warn you ahead of time since you have a dangerous side to you. I would've tied you down if you agreed."

"…Test? …You tested me, Tohsaka?" "Oh… Yeah, I wanted to know what you thought. Look, I've already said this, but I won't let you use Archer's arm. That means never taking the Shroud off."

"I'm not one to talk after testing your determination like that, but don't ever say you'll take the Shroud off. If you do, there'll be no turning back."

It sounds more like a plea than a warning.

"――――――――" I grasp my left arm that's covered by the red cloth. I don't want to take this off either. But――――

"…Then what about imitating Archer's magic? I won't be able to draw out his magic unless I take this off, right?"

"Right. So I'm going to have you loosen the Shroud a bit. That won't break the seal, and the reaction from the arm should be small, right?" "……..Yeah. Then what you meant earlier by taking off the cloth is…"

"Yes. I just meant loosening the cloth slightly. But that's still a big deal, so I tested your determination."

"You would have to do this eventually, anyway. You don't want to keep that on forever, right? You won't be able to manage it in the future unless you can at least put it back on. Like taking a bath or if it comes undone somehow." "Oh―――you're right."

"Right? So you should at least get used to what happens when you loosen it. The crest from yesterday seems to have familiarized itself with your body, and your magical resistance has increased. Ilya will protect your consciousness, so I think you'll be able to keep it unbound for about five minutes."

"Ilya…? So you want us to suppress Archer's arm together?" I look at Ilya, who has been quiet all this time.

"No. I'm only going to protect your mind, so it's your role to endure the flowback from Archer. You have to retrieve his experience, so you need to bear with it, not block it off."

…Oh. If Ilya cuts off the flow of magical energy from Archer, I won't be able to learn his techniques. Even if it's poison for me, I have to taste it to understand its content.

"…All right. So I'm to loosen the cloth and bear the flowback from the arm, right?"

"Yes. Make sure to close your eyes and concentrate within yourself. It's just like opening the Magic Circuit, so it should be easy, right? Your body just needs to experience Archer's projection technique. Don't worry about trying to understand it."

"――――I'm sorry, but I'm gonna leave for a bit. I'll leave the rest to you, Ilya. Please train Shirou while I'm gone." Tohsaka suddenly gets up and leaves without hurry.

"……? What's up with her?" "I don't know. I think she forgot something. But you have things to do yourself, Shirou. I'm against something stupid like loosening the Shroud, but I'll help since you promised her. Let's finish this before she gets back."

Ilya comes behind me and lays her cold hand on my back.

"Ilya…?" "Just close your eyes and meditate. I'll protect your mind and loosen the Shroud once the Magic Circuit opens up. I'll time it, so you just have to bear the flowback of magical energy. Be sure to make desperate efforts, or the reaction will definitely swallow you."

Ilya talks without emotion. I nod back and close my eyes.

…I quietly gather my senses and create another nerve inside me. This step has gotten much easier over the past few days. Once I complete the line of light running through my back…

"I'm going to give you a needless warning. Rin only knows the pain of having a heroic spirit's arm transplanted onto you. She doesn't know what this is going to cause. She has no idea what this is going to do to you. But it can't be helped. I'm the only one in the world who knows about the relationship between you and Archer."

Ilya is saying something strange in a voice too vague to hear clearly.

Whoa. I don't know when Tohsaka got back, but she's in front of me.

"――――Huh? What are you doing, Tohsaka?" " " " " " state right?" " rather lunch Rin and Sakura Sakura more "

"……." …That's strange. Why are they talking secretly in front of me?

"Tohsaka, Ilya." ……? Maybe my throat is bad, as I can't talk in a big voice. "Hmm… All right…

Hey, what are you two talking about!?"

Their conference abruptly ends. "Ah, ah, ah." Oh, it's back now. It seems the loud voice did the trick.

"What? You said my seasoning is new to you. So you don't like spicy food, Shirou?"

"Your food makes my tongue numb instead of just being spicy. We already decided to have Sakura cook lunch, so let it go already. Shirou said he wants Sakura's stew too."

It seems they're talking about lunch. "Hey, now's not the time to――――" I stop halfway into my sentence. I see the clock and find out it's almost noon.

"――――――――" …Something's nagging at the back of my mind. Nothing's strange. The dojo's the same as always, but I'm getting chills. It…

Tohsaka left at nine o'clock.

Information I don't know in my head. Groceries

I responded to their conversation something

in my head are details of every weapon

Ilya said something concerning

the pain of the white arm

skipping 40, and 26 times

the memory disappeared and returned.

"――――――――" I hit my forehead with my fingers. It's fine. The dizziness is gone now.

"Shirou? What's wrong? You're going to the shopping district with Ilya, right?" I look through my memory. I did indeed say we'll go shopping together.

"Yeah. Let's go, Ilya." I shake my head and start walking. "…Hey. You're acting strange. You were fine when we put the Shroud back on. Did the fatigue just catch up to you?"

"Hm? Oh…… Yeah, I'm a bit confused, but it's all right."

This is nothing compared to the pain from yesterday, and my body feels fine. I was just a bit dizzy, so there's no problem at all.

I go outside with Ilya. We can't spare the time to go shopping often, so we'll have to push ourselves and buy about three days' worth of groceries.

"Then let's buy a lot. What do you want, Ilya? Well, we have to start with today's lunch."

"Aren't we having stew for lunch? You said so earlier." "O―――Oh yeah. It's good if it's decided. Sakura makes white stew, so let's go look at the chicken meat."

We head to the familiar butcher. We're buying three days worth of groceries after all. We can't waste money, so we have to walk around to find cheap, high-quality goods.

―――And after thirty minutes of fast-paced store-hopping…

"Aha, we bought a lot, Shirou!" Ilya looked bored while we shopped, but she's laughing now with the groceries in hand.

"―――I'm sorry, I bought too much. Are those too heavy, Ilya? This bag is lighter, so let's swap." I hold out the lightest of the seven bags I'm holding.

"No, it's not heavy, so I'm fine. Should I carry one more bag? You're carrying lots of bags and you look like grapes."

"Well, I'm fine too, but grapes? That's a weird comparison." "Yeah. You're more like a clown with balloons, but grapes are cuter, right?"

Ilya chatters happily, then starts running. "Hey, wait, Ilya. It's not heavy, but it's hard to run with these."

It's not heavy, but I'm scared of the tofus and eggs breaking. I'm scared, so I sigh and follow after Ilya with quick steps. That's the biggest compromise I can make, since I was put in charge of buying groceries.

…So I follow after Ilya while being careful with what I'm carrying. Ilya must like it, because she looks really happy.

Ilya stops running and starts to walk beside me once we get to the intersection.

"♪Die Luft ist k[uuml]hl und es dunkelt, 　　 　Und ruhig flie[szlig]t der Rhein. 　　 　Der Gipfel des Berges funkelt 　　 　Im Abendsonnenschein♪"

Ilya's singing. It's a familiar melody. I think I heard this song in school when I was a kid.

"♪Die sch[ouml]nste Jungfran sitzet 　　 　Dort oben wunderbar. 　　 Ihr goldnes Geschmeide blitzet, 　　　 Sie k[auml]mmt ihr goldenes Haar♪"

I can't see her expression since we're walking side by side. There's no way for me to check… what kind of a face she's making as she sings, or how she's feeling as she walks back home.

"♪Den Schiffer im kleinen Schiffe 　 　　Ergreift es mit wildem Weh. 　 　　Er schaut nicht die Felsenriffe 　 　　Er schaut nur hinauf in H[ouml]h♪"

A familiar melody. The simple song is easy and kind, but because of that, it sounds lonely. ――――Ilya's probably happy. That's why she's singing as we walk home.

But I think of another reason at the same time. It's natural for Ilya to sing. She could only sing by herself on her way home, as she had neither friends to talk to nor a father to wait for her.

"♪lch glaube die Wellen verschlingen 　　 　Am Ende Schiffer und Kahn 　 　　Und das hat mit ihrem Singen 　　　Die Lorelei getan♪"

On the side of the road. I look at the tall concave mirror. In the mirror is me, holding many groceries, and a girl, singing with her eyes closed.

"――――――――" It's nothing. It looks like normal siblings going home after shopping. It looks so natural that it makes me imagine. …What if Kiritsugu were between the boy holding the bags and the singing girl? How happy would that be?

"Ilya." I call out to her. "Hm? What is it, Shirou?"

She turns back innocently. …That's because she's suppressing her true feelings.

Ilya's killing her own emotions. Ilya's kept something bottled up within ever since Archer disappeared. That's why we can hang out like this. Because Ilya can't smile like this unless she keeps her true self hidden.

"――――――――" I'm the same way. I'm postponing something I already know. I'm running away from what I have to say. I just went along with Ilya's lie.

"…Shirou?" …Ilya probably gave up. She stopped pressing the problem on us, and going along with our end. That's fine. If Ilya likes this relationship and wants to keep ignoring that, I won't lose anyone. But still…

"Ilya. If you have no place to go back to after the war―――"

There's something wrong with me. I'm about to say something I don't have to. But I have to say it while I still can. …I'm going to go crazy. I'm going to go crazy, so…

"Ilya. Do you want to live at my place?" I have to ask her before I go crazy.

…She stops. Ilya answers in an emotionless voice…

"You mean that as Kiritsugu's son?" …Looking quietly at my face.

"――――――――" Kiritsugu's son. What Kiritsugu couldn't do, what Kiritsugu abandoned. I'm Kiritsugu's son, even if I'm not blood-related, so I must assume his duties. I have to face this girl not as Emiya Shirou, but as Emiya Kiritsugu's son.

That's what Ilya is asking me. And of course――――

"Yeah. I'm my father's son, and I like you. That's the only reason I want to live with you." "―――Are you serious? Are you going to take Kiritsugu's place?" "No. I can't be Kiritsugu, and I can't take his place. Kiritsugu and I are two different people. There's nothing I can give you as Kiritsugu."

"But I like my father. I want to do what he couldn't. So despite how much you hate him, if you could bring yourself to forgive him, even a little――――"

"――――――――" "I want to live with you, Ilya. Can we make up for what we couldn't do until now? I'm fine with the way things are right now, so can't we live together?"

…There's no reply. Ilya looks down, and after shaking her head…

"That's not possible. I can't live long, and you can't live long either. So it's not possible to live together." She refuses me with a bright smile.

"―――Can't… live long?"

"You know that already, right? …Yes, one of us might be able to live a bit longer if the other is sacrificed. But I think having both of us is impossible. If I'm alive after the war, that means you're dead."

"See, it's impossible. There's no place for me in your house if you're not there."

"――――――――" Ilya's voice contains conviction. The silver-haired girl describes an ominous fate like a prophet.

"…Heehee. But it's a bit vexing. I wish you'd said it a bit sooner. If you had… fate might've taken a different turn."

"――――――――" I don't get what Ilya's saying. I don't get why one of us has to die, or why she has given up and can say such things with a smile.

"―――Don't be stupid. That'll never happen. Even if Zouken's after you, we'll beat him before he can do anything. That's why you're helping Tohsaka, right?"

"…Yes, but that's the problem. Don't tell this to Rin, okay? The projection of the gem sword. You can't reproduce the Tohsaka heirloom using Rin's method."

"Because your projection isn't projection magic. Normal projection magic would let us layer a projection onto something that's close to the original and strengthen it. But your projection is different. You can't give something form unless you create it from scratch based on your image. Because your magic is not projection, but putting shape to your mind."

"What――――how do you know that?" How does she know the nature of Archer's magic?

"…That's why it's impossible. You have to use Archer's arm to make what Rin needs. But you already know what that means. …It won't just be partial loss of memory like earlier. If you use it even once, you won't be yourself anymore."

"You're just a bit confused because of everything that's happened with you, Sakura, and me. So I'll forget about your offer. You know it too, right? You can't choose all, and you can only save one."

Ilya turns her back to me and goes up the hill. I can't hear the familiar song anymore, and her words linger in my ears.

"Oh." A crashing sound comes from the kitchen. This is the fourth time this afternoon.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm okay…!" Sakura's voice comes from the kitchen. …Tohsaka must be tired of scolding her, because she just sits there quietly.

It's before six. Sakura is making dinner, as she requested. Tohsaka and I were kicked out of the kitchen, so we're waiting for dinner without doing anything.

"Oh…!" …The sound of a dropped plate. In just half a day, I've grown used to hearing the sound of Sakura's mistakes.

…It all started earlier today. Sakura couldn't make her stew after we returned from shopping. When we came home, she was clearly not feeling well.

"I'm fine. I might have a fever, but I can still make lunch."

I'm sure Sakura could've made lunch. But I can't push her when she has a fever. At around two o'clock, Tohsaka and I managed to persuade her to take a nap.

And at the time, we promised her… "Then I can cook if my fever goes down?" …That.

And later in the afternoon… Sakura was starting to cook in the kitchen after more training that ended before I knew it.

"Oh, welcome back, Senpai. Please hold on, dinner will be ready soon." Sakura goes back to work, full of spirit. But I can instantly tell she's just bluffing.

'You must be tired, so go ahead and rest.' Sakura doesn't back down, even when I tell her Tohsaka and I will do the cooking instead.

"Geez. Please don't be so overprotective. I'm a Master too. This is nothing compared to fighting."

Maybe she's being obstinate, as Sakura does not back down. On top of that, she wouldn't even accept any help from Tohsaka or me.

Tohsaka's surprise is so unexpected that I'm stunned.

"B-But Nee-san is training Senpai, so I can't be the only one doing nothing. I want to be of use, like Nee-san. …And this is a role I've had for a long time. I want to keep doing it."

…This must be one thing Sakura can't give up. It'll only make you uneasy if you can't do something that's been part of your routine for a long time.

'All right. I'll leave you in charge of dinner.'

Tohsaka started to criticize me. But… "――――Okay! I'll do my best, Senpai!" It was nothing compared to Sakura's joy.

"All right, thanks for waiting!" A cheerful voice echoes through the room. Sakura starts putting the dishes onto the table.

"Oh, seasoned rice. That's a complicated meal you made, Sakura." "Yes. You bought some good clams and shrimps, so I went with seafood tonight. The rice is cooked along with clams, the shrimps are steamed with minced meat, the squids are ethnic-styled, and I made some hamburger steak for Ilya-chan."

She's filled with confidence. Everything looks delicious, like she put all her heart into it. I'm pretty sure the secret ingredient is her high spirits.

"Wow." Clap Clap Clap The three of us at the table clap.

"I didn't know how it'd turn out, but it seems this'll be worth the wait. Thanks for the meal." "I'm not going to hold back either. Can you pass me a fork, Shirou?" "Here you go. Then I'm going to have some as well." "Okay. There's more, so please eat up."

I bow and reach out for the steamed shrimp wrap. It's bite-sized, looking more like steamed dumplings. It looks pretty, with the topping of green onion, ginger, and radish sprout. I was worried about letting Sakura cook for all four of us, but this is more than――――

"――――――――" …I freeze. All three of us make a sour face for an instant.

We continue eating as if nothing happened. …No, we can only continue eating. None of the food on the table is good. It's not that they're terrible. But everything seems to lack something, and the taste is out of balance.

"――――――――" An awkward silence. We don't make eye contact, but wordlessly continue eating.

…But it should be impossible to keep deceiving Sakura. She's the one who made it. She'll notice right away once she starts eating. Our silence is only delaying the problem.

"――――――――" I look at Sakura. …She must have realized it by now. Sakura should be shocked, but… She hasn't even taken a bite yet.

"…?" I keep looking at her. …What's going on? Sakura is looking down at her bowl and chopsticks with a troubled face.

…After a moment's hesitation, she reaches out. The chopsticks fall. She quickly grabs them, and reaches out for the bowl.

"――――――――" I can't keep watching this. …Sakura keeps repeating the same action. She reaches out for the food with clumsy hands. But she drops her chopsticks every time, and picks them up in a hurry. …It doesn't seem like her fingers are merely numb. It looks so clumsy that it seems like she's forgetting how to use the chopsticks every time she picks them up.

"U-Um… oh…" …She doesn't see it. Sakura should know how obvious it is to us, but she doesn't notice. As if telling us she's all right, she keeps going through the same motions.

…She awkwardly picks up the food, quickly brings it to her mouth, puts it in with some difficulty, and then tries to remember how to use the chopsticks again. She's trying so hard that there's no way I can ask if she's all right.

Tohsaka doesn't notice. Or rather, she keeps eating as if she doesn't notice.

"――――――――" I do the same. We pretend not to notice Sakura's abnormality and finish dinner silently.

I decide to clean up afterward. Sakura wanted to, but I stopped her. It doesn't seem like she can handle it, and I don't want her to find out that she can't do something she's so accustomed to.

"Just go back to your room, warm yourself up, and go to sleep. A little rest took care of your fever from before, right? Then―――" Your fingers will work again if you sleep and rest. "――――――――" I unnaturally stop myself.

"………" "………" Sakura bites her lip and looks down.

"Sakura. It's not like you'll be like that forever. It'll just take longer to get better if you push yourself when you're sick. None of this is your fault, so you should rely on us a bit."

"T――――That's not true…! I'm not sick at all! My fever's gone, I can remember what happened yesterday, and I know who you are…! There's nothing for you to be worried about. So please don't worry――――"

"…You'll be fine, even if we don't worry about you? Don't be stupid. I'll be direct if you're going to push yourself."

"You took two hours to make dinner. You dropped a plate seven times, and you seasoned the food all wrong. You screwed up the salt and used too much pepper. It didn't even seem like your cooking. Enthusiasm is fine, but it's counterproductive if you can't get results."

"――――――――" "Do you get it? You think you're well, but you're still sick. That's the only thing that'd make you mess up. …I'm angry, okay? Starting tomorrow, you're barred from the kitchen. I'm not going to let you push yourself until your fever breaks."

Without waiting for her reply, I pull her to the guest room. Her steps are heavy, but I ignore them and take her to her room.

Tohsaka is waiting at the door. It's ten o'clock. I know it's useless, but it's time to go patrol the town.

"…That was fast. How's Sakura?" "I made her go to sleep. I'm sure she was tired. She fell asleep soon after she laid down."

"I see. Then we'll leave the rest to Ilya and Rider. We can't see Rider, but I'm sure she's guarding Sakura from somewhere in this house."

"………" Rider is protecting Sakura, just like she says. I'm sure she's remaining in spirit form to ease the burden on Sakura.

'She probably will not last a few more days.'

…I recall the priest's words. The crest worm in her body will take her magical energy as long as the Holy Grail War continues. It's dangerous to put form to her Servant in her condition, and she should save her energy for emergencies. That's why Rider is in spirit form.

"You look gloomy. Do you want to say something?" "Huh――――?" Something I want to say…? How stupid. Of course I want to say something.

"Tohsaka. Can we beat Zouken tonight?" We have no time to waste. Sakura is weakening day by day. If I'm to believe the priest's words, she might die tomorrow――――

"That's impossible. We can't match him right now. …I understand your rush, but you have to be patient if you want to save Sakura. We can't help her if we die." "―――We won't fight yet. …Okay, I understand that. Then…"

"You want to say there's no point in patrolling? Shirou. Is beating Zouken all we want to do? No, right? You don't want any innocent people getting involved and dying, right?"

"――――――――" …That's right. I know. I know. The patrol has a meaning. Even if we just run away if we find them, we have to do everything we can so that there won't be victims like yesterday. …But… What did I swear to protect more than that oath――――?

"…Shirou…? Are you all right, Emiya-kun…?" "―――Oh, I just felt a bit dizzy. I'm sorry, Tohsaka. I wasn't thinking."

"You don't have to apologize. Sakura's in danger, but you must be tired as well. I was actually going to have you acquire projection in three days, but you worked hard and succeeded it today. I understand that you want to fight now."

"――――――――What?" I'm able to use projection after just today's training…?

"What? Did I say something weird?" "―――No. Um, the training was so hard that it took everything I had to get through it, so it doesn't seem real."

"Yeah, you were absorbed in it. But you were able to project a dagger on your last try, thanks to that. Well, your success rate is below ten percent, so you need to keep practicing."

"――――" …Well, I guess that's how it was if I was that into it. That's probably why it was late afternoon when I noticed.

―――When we get to town, I realize something's wrong.

Tohsaka must notice as well, because she shuts her mouth and concentrates on the surroundings. The scene's the same as always. It's past ten o'clock, and the town is dark and quiet. There's no one out on the streets, and there is no sound. …It's become familiar since the Holy Grail War started. A quiet, nighttime atmosphere. But…

"――――――――It's quiet." Tohsaka murmurs beside me. …Yes. It's quiet here. The town has been quiet at night these past few days. It's the deepest silence, the deepest sleep.

But still… The silence tonight is quieter even than that.

"…Hey. Was it like that over there yesterday? It's not unusual for the houses to be dark, but even the streetlamps are off."

Tohsaka is looking down the road that leads to the Ryudou Temple. The opposite direction from Shinto, right into the suburbs. There's no light there, and it looks like a black wall.

"――――――Let's go." I step into the dark town. Tohsaka is silent. …This is something we don't even need to think about. We both know what happened. It's contradictory. We know we'll have to admit the truth if we go, but we start walking, hoping that we'll be proven wrong.

"――――――――!" What did I feel when I first saw it? A black wall, completely obscuring the other side… The instant I pass it, I understand what happened in this area.

The town is too quiet. It's not that the town is asleep. This is nothingness, devoid of any human presence. It's total stillness, brought on by the death of everything in the area.

I get dizzy. There's no change in the town. The area――――about fifty households are standing in the darkness with no change.

There's no sign of broken doors. There's no sign of broken windows. And of course, there are no cranes to remove the roof and take everything out of these houses. And at the same time… The presence of the hundreds of people who should live in this area is gone.

"――――Emiya-kun. Let's go in that house." She puts on gloves and goes into a nearby house. She goes by the gate. She opens the front door. She walks through the hallway. She goes up the stairs, looks through the second floor, confirms that it's empty, and goes back outside.

"――――The people in the blacked-out houses are…" Tohsaka says they're gone. The town is like always. The buildings haven't even been scratched, and there are no corpses. It's so clean that nobody would notice the abnormality even in the morning. But still… This area looks more barren than that time.

We look through a few more houses, but it yields the same results. The buildings have no damage, but the people in them are gone. All that's there are traces of magical energy. Every building, road, and ground. The black afterimage is stuck everywhere. I know that thing caused this disaster.

"――――――――" I feel dizzy. I feel like vomiting. Corpses without corpses. Blood without blood. The desolate town, engulfed by the shadow. I'm walking in such a place…

So why does an unrelated image pop up in my head?

…But it's not unrelated. It can't be unrelated if it comes to mind. '――――Stop.'

Remember. Remember. You know this. You know this presence, this smell.

It happened back then too. What did you imagine when you saw it for the first time? '――――Don't realize it.'

It's the same. No, something heavier engulfed this area.

'――――No.'

That time too. Why did you…

…Imagine such a thing?

'――――That's…'

I have no positive proof. I have no reason. I have no motive. I have no evidence.

'――――Who is this similar to?'

That can't be. It's impossible. I can't admit it. But the more I think…

'――――If I become a bad person…'

I have no proof, so I'm made to believe that my intuition is right. Yes. Because the sensation is…

'――――Stop. Don't think about stupid things.'

…Too similar to the heavy nightmare that comes after making love to ▊▊▊▊▊▊―――

"Shirou? Why did you stop? Is something wrong?" "――――――" I shake my head to dispel the dizziness. …It seems the traces of the shadow are getting to me.

"No, I just feel nauseous. Don't worry about me and go on." "Really? …That's bad. So its lingering presence affects you, even with your increased magical resistance. …Well, I guess that's to be expected with the amount of magical energy. You can't engulf a town unless that's the case."

"Oh―――it's not like I'm out of energy. I just felt sick, so it didn't take anything from me." Tohsaka understands. More importantly, we have to find out what happened here.

"……So. What happened there?" "Well… It's eating, just like all the other incidents. It's just that the scale is much greater. Guessing from the traces, it didn't go to each house individually. It probably engulfed the area like a tidal wave and melted into the ground. It must've been hungry. It wanted to finish the food in one mouthful."

"But it seems it doesn't like inorganic stuff. It went past anything that wasn't alive, only digesting what was. …If there's any comfort, it's that they disappeared right away. There was no time to feel any fear or pain."

A boundary field of dissolution. Tohsaka explains that it's like the boundary field Rider set up at school, but much stronger and instantaneous.

"The problem is that I couldn't detect the magic, even though it's so powerful. …If that shadow did this, it means this is not its magic, but just an ordinary action. In short, the dissolution in this area is like tossing around in its sleep for that shadow."

…I see. But it's over. The shadow is satisfied with the food and disappeared. There's no way or reason for us to follow it.

"――――――――" There's no reason to keep patrolling. The damage has already been done, and we can't do anything without a way to sense the shadow. We thought we could save people if we rushed to the scene when the shadow or Zouken was attacking them. But it's meaningless now.

Because we have no way to find that shadow, and most of all… "―――I suspected it, but that thing is growing every day. It'll be an unstoppable monster the next time it appears." …We have no chance of victory right now.

Interlude 12-2

A complete silence. But they are not the only ones enjoying the spectacle. No, that expression is incorrect. The girl and the boy. They are both still willing to fight, so they are not enjoying the spectacle. Only inhuman minds are able to enjoy this spectacle.

"―――My, it is troubling if it does not know moderation. I let it alone for my good, but I may have to eliminate it soon."

The old man laughs. The man and the white skull roam around the desolate town. They are watching the girl and the boy. The old man watches his enemies with pleasure. There is no hostility in him. How can he detest people who are not his enemies anymore? For him, they are no different from rocks by the roadside.

"――――――――" But it's different for the white skull. For him, an enemy is an enemy, no matter how weak they may be. He will eliminate them if they stand opposed, and he will assassinate them if they are too strong to match. That's his code, a rule he must obey.

"―――We can kill them here." He tells his master. The boy and the girl are full of openings. In this land of death, they stand defenseless. It only looks like sick people asking for death. So he believes that he should be compassionate and kill them here.

But. "No, that is too wasteful. We let them live until now, so it will be uninteresting to kill them here." The old man has no compassion. This thing that wears human form is rotten to the core.

"―――Hm. How about this scenario, Assassin? There is a sacrifice. A piece of meat that is ignored, cursed, and hated by the human world. This meat does not try to hate the world. It tries to not hate the world as long as it has at least one ally on its side."

"My, it seems love is precious and strong. The meat cannot hate the world no matter what happens to it. It's intently trying to suppress its mud, believing that hating equals denying its ally. So anything you do to the meat is ineffective. It accepts everything because it believes in the one and the only hope. It does not hate the world because it contains hope, and it does not let out the curse within it."

"But―――what would happen if it were rejected by its only ally? From the start, it has been denied by the world. If it is betrayed by its only hope, there will be no morality to stop it."

"…Then you would like the boy to give the final push?" "Exactly. He should be the one to draw the curtains. It was an unexpected growth, but he made it last so long. Then I should give him the pleasure of killing it."

The old man laughs. Sadism and joy are contained in the laughter. The chattering of the teeth is like a white skull shaking in the wind.

End of Interlude

We return home before midnight. It's because there's nothing we can do, and we can't afford to waste energy patrolling to no end.

――――My feet are heavy. It seems the fatigue of the training is finally hitting my body. My body is like lead, and my eyelids droop if I let my guard down.

…I'm sleepy. My mind must be more tired than my body. Every part of me craves sleep, and I want to pass out right here in the hallway.

"Welcome back. How was the town, Rin?" Ilya is waiting in the living room. …I don't see Sakura. That's natural. Because Sakura is… "――――!" No. Sakura should be sleeping in her room.

"It was already over. How's Sakura?" "Nothing happened. She's sleeping in her bed, and it doesn't seem like she woke up. I think she's doing well since she has spare magical energy from Rider not taking form."

"I see. But please be careful. It's over if she goes out of control again." Tohsaka's tone is the same as ever. Even after seeing those empty houses, she's acting normally.

"I'm going to sleep since I'm tired. What are you going to do, Ilya?" "I'll rest as well. Tomorrow is iron making. We might fail if I don't get some good rest." Ilya leaves with a "good night".

"Then I guess this is it for tonight. You should rest too, Shirou. I don't know if you can tell, but you're really pale."

…My body feels heavy. I can still lay out the futon in my current state, probably because it's a habit.

"――――――――" I fall onto the futon. Looking up at the ceiling gives me enough composure to make me think.

"――――――――" I think with my weary mind.

I think about my left arm. The loosened Shroud. I was in so much fear and pain last night, but today was like nothing. I have no memory of anything being painful or scary, and the day ended in a flash. The answer's right there if I seriously think about it.

I think about Ilya. She said she can't live with me. She said she wants to, but can't. She said she can't live long. She said it as if it were common knowledge.

About that black shadow

I think about Sakura. She is losing her freedom with each passing day. It's because the crest worm is sucking the magical energy from her. It's not Sakura's fault. It's not her fault that her body's like that. All I can do is to give my magical energy to her. She should be able to maintain herself if I have sex with her and if I keep giving her magical energy.

I close my eyes. Ilya said saving everyone is impossible. I can choose only one. I've already made my choice.

"…Senpai? Are you back…?" I hear a voice from the hallway.

"I'm awake. Come in, Sakura." I raise my body. I want to see Sakura even though my head's not working.

"Excuse me. I'm sorry, but I came since I heard sounds. …Um, I never told you good night."

Sakura is like always. She's reserved, considerate, doesn't say what she wants, is at a loss, and still smiles at me. She became surprisingly beautiful in the past year, and she's so cute that I want to embrace her when we're alone. And she's someone I promised to keep protecting.

"Um, that's all. I feel well, thanks to you. I can sleep well tonight, so I wanted to tell you that there's nothing to worry about."

Sakura is like always. But that's just a matter of course. She can't be different. There's no need to push myself and make love to Sakura tonight. It's not as though Sakura's asking for it like that night.

"…Senpai? Um, am I disturbing you…? You look really tired and sleepy…" "Sakura. Were you sleeping like I told you?" "…?" I just ask what's bothering me. My tired head can't think at all.

"Yes, I was sound asleep. I saw another scary dream, but I was able to bear it since you were there until I fell asleep."

A scary dream. I have to ask her what kind of dream it was, but… "――――――――" I can't say anything, reaching out for her long hair instead.

"U-Um, Senpai…?" "―――――Come here, Sakura." I lower my hand to her shoulder and pull her to me.

"U-Um, Senpai, I-I-I…!" "I want to have sex with you tonight. You want to?" I murmur, still embracing Sakura.

Sakura doesn't fight back, but buries her face in my chest.

"――――Yes. I'm very happy." She relaxes and leans on me.

――――. ――――――――. ――――――――――――. ――――――――――――――――.

I have sex with her. I can't hold it back. I've done it with her twice, but her body is limitless and new, like I'm having sex with her for the first time.

There's no end to my lust. There's no end to my urge. From the start, my reason has been obliterated. I don't want Sakura, but…

"……! Nha, ha――――!" I just want to violate her. I want to mercilessly thrust into her. And I actually do. Sakura's voice does not reach my brain. I can only hear my violent breathing.

"I-It's good―――Senpai, you're―――" The sex was normal only at the start. After that, I thrust my hips as if to break Sakura, and I kept ejaculating as if to make her explode.

If it's not enough, I just have to fill it up. If it's not possible with one try, I just have to try more. I'll keep it up until morning if that's what it takes.

"Fua――――ah, ah――――!" "▊▊▊▊▊▊▊▊▊▊▊▊▊▊▊▊▊" I hear a beast's howl. My brain only hears myself. Then this wild, hungry voice must be mine. It's Sakura that needs to be satisfied, but I want it more than her.

"Good―――it's good, Senpai…! Please give it to me deeper, ahh, ah――――!"

There's no sense of time. The morning is too far away. I ejaculate again, and the power in my body disappears. I tried to keep watching this dream until morning, but the power in my body goes off after two hours.

I fall asleep holding Sakura's hand. "Yes――――Senpai, I――――" I feel Sakura's weight on my chest. We feel each other's warmth as we fall asleep.

…The haze of lust clears from my mind.

―――What good did this do? Maybe I merely confirmed my uneasiness by having sex with her――――

Interlude 12-3

――――I'm seeing the scary dream again.

"Something" is walking. Something scary that kills people whenever it walks. …I'm watching it from behind. I don't want to watch, but I can't look away.

This is a nightmare. A nightmare I'm seeing over and over.

But to be honest, I feel a sense of intimacy with it. It was scary at first, but I'm getting used to it after a while. Most importantly, that thing does not have an evil mind. That thing is something similar to me that merely eats in a different way.

" " " " " !"

…It's the same tonight. Why do they all come? Does it release some scent that attracts men? No matter how many it kills, no matter how many days it continues to kill, the food comes to it.

It eats. It smashed up the food when it first started, but it must be getting the hang of it recently. There's no need to smash up the food. It just needs to pull it in and swallow it. It can eat the body and the soul like that.

Sing and go. It's in a good mood tonight. It has never shown any emotion, but it seems to be happy tonight.

I feel an affinity with it. I'm very happy tonight too. Because this is the first time. Senpai asked for my body for the first time. …Yes. There's nothing to be afraid of now. I keep seeing this nightmare, but it's all right. The world looks so beautiful and kind now that Senpai's looking at me.

So I feel like continuing this bad dream, and going to look for another meal. But… "―――You are certainly working hard. Double the amount tonight?" I meet someone that's scarier than the nightmare.

It runs. The thing that never felt fear ran away from the person. Golden hair and red eyes. The person that has the same smell as me. The golden Servant that… "You should die now, girl. You will not be able to die if you become familiar with it." …Warned me before to kill myself.

; " " Run away. From what? Run away. Who? Run away. Why?

My dream doesn't end. The thing panics and flees into the back alley. But that's the end. "I was hoping for a poorly-made Holy Grail, but I never expected to reach the actual thing. It is a waste, but…"

"I will do the selection myself. Curse yourself for being too compatible." In an instant, the thing is showered with weapons.

…Huh? That's strange. It hurts. That thing is the one that was stabbed, so why am I in pain? That thing is the one that's dead, so why am I on the ground? I'm dreaming, so why――――

Why is my body cut up?

"Huh――――?" It hurts. It hurts even though this is a dream, Senpai. Pink, squishy stuff is hanging obscenely from my stomach.

"It――――hurts." I try moving my hands to put my intestines back in, but my hands are only connected by flaps of skin. Legs―――there are legs, but I'm torn off from my waist down.

"――――No." When I cry out, it hurts as if lightning hit my back. But I can't jump up because I don't have my limbs. Why am I…

"You're still alive? You're clinging to your life too miserably, girl."

――――He shows no mercy. The golden man snaps his fingers, summons a blade that's bigger than my body, and comes to cut my neck.

"Ah――――" A bad dream. This is a bad dream. This is like the bad dreams I've had. This isn't happening, and I'll be in Senpai's house when I wake up.

…So I have to wake up soon. Because it hurts. It hurts so much that I could die, so if I don't wake up, I'll really――――

"Ah――――Ah, ah………!!!!" But I don't wake up. I don't wake up from the dream. Help. Help, it hurts, help, help. Quick, wake up, or I'll really――――

But I don't wake up. I don't wake up from the dream. The dream. I can't escape from my dream, Senpai――――

――――And the woman falls. The woman, pierced with numerous Noble Phantasms, crawls on the ground like a bug.

"Huh――――?"

She is still conscious. Her life cannot be saved by any means, but she still frantically tries to move her limbs.

"You're still alive? You're clinging to your life too miserably, girl." A scornful death sentence. The golden man―――a heroic spirit called Gilgamesh mercilessly readies the final attack.

"…I don't want to die… Senpai finally accepted me… I want him to feel more of me―――"

She must not see anything now. The woman babbles about her mundane wish. Reaching out with an arm that's missing from the elbow down. As if to cling to the small happiness she finally obtained.

"No… I don't want to die, I don't want to die…! Because―――Because if I die now, Nee-san will…"

"That is unsightly. Do not trouble me." The guillotine descends. The dream ends. Still covered in blood, the woman's consciousness disappears in the dirty back alley.

"Hm――――?" By the time he turns around, it's too late.

"――――You have alrea-gah――――!!!???" He is swallowed, beginning with his feet. There's no way to run. Because…

It takes longer than usual.

"…It hurts. It doesn't heal because it's not enough."

She starts to walk. Her stomach is growling. The only driving force in her brain is hunger. Is she still not satisfied after consuming a heroic spirit with energy worth a few hundred thousand souls?

"…It's not enough. This isn't enough at all."

It's as if she's driven by a fever. For the first time, she starts walking to the breeding area out of her own will.

End of Interlude

13th Day - LAST TALK

It all happened ten years ago. I kept pursuing the responsibility for being the only survivor in the fire.

'――――Are you going to ?'

I never forgot about it. I survived, so I…

'――――Are you going to betray?'

…I swore never to let such a thing happen again. I made an oath with myself to become a superhero like Kiritsugu. Emiya Shirou's days were turned to that sole purpose. I let others use me so that I could hold my head up high before those who were not saved, and I made it this far because of that.

I know. I know fully well. But you…

'――――Are you going to betray your previous self?'

You know the cause. You already know who you must defeat. The black sun. If the shadow in the sky is the cause, you must kill it before it happens again.

"Ah――――――――" Remember. What have you lived for until now? You have approved of yourself because you save innocent people, because you save people who ask for help. But if you are going to deny it just for one girl…

'――――If you are going to betray it…'

Emiya Shirou will be judged by himself――――

"――――――It's morning." I wake up. It's bright outside, and it's past seven already.

"――――――――" My body feels heavy. My limbs feel numb. My dull head can't remember who I am.

"―――――Oh. What do you want for breakfast, Sakura?" I pat Sakura, sleeping beside me. For a strange reason, I remember why she's there next to me. The fact that the girl I love is sleeping next to me is probably more important than my identity.

"It's morning, Sakura. We have to get up, or breakfast and Tohsaka――――" I tap her shoulder. …Sakura's cold. Not her attitude, but her sensation is cold, and she's also hard.

"……Sakura?" I raise my body and look around the room.

"――――――――" She's not here. We slept together and I held on to her hand, but Sakura is nowhere in the room.

"――――Sakura!" She is nowhere to be seen. The guest room is silent.

I feel no presence in the living room. "Haa――――, ――――!" My body doesn't move well. I hit my foot on the table. I fall, pull myself up using the wall, and head to the hallway.

"――――. ――――, ――――" I must be in a hurry. There's nothing wrong with my body, but my mind isn't calm at all. Why am I rushing, and why am I feeling so uneasy? I'm trying to think, but whenever I do, it's like my thoughts are ten seconds in the future.

I can't think? Or does my brain not recognize what I'm thinking? Blood won't flow to my head, so I can't even tell.

"――――, ――――, ――――" I can't remember what I want to do. But I'm relieved when I see Sakura's shoes at the front door. Tohsaka's shoes aren't there, but Ilya's shoes are. …Which means…

"……Um, her shoes are not there, so…"

.

"Yeah. Tohsaka's the only one outside, so it means Sakura's in the house." ―――Oh, so that's why I feel relieved. Sakura hasn't gone anywhere. All right, I'm getting sharper. So yeah, Sakura just woke up before me, so she's probably doing something like washing her face, preparing breakfast, training in the dojo, or doing the laundry in the yard.

"Man, I got worked up over nothing." I sigh and head back to the living room. "Eh, Shirou――――!?" Tohsaka comes running inside.

"What, Tohsaka? Are you taking a walk?" "I'm not that easygoing――――no, we can talk later! Sakura's collapsed outside, so carry her in! I'll prepare the treatment!"

The clock ticks. It's past nine o'clock. It's been two hours since I carried Sakura in from where she'd collapsed by the entrance. Function is finally returning to my numbed mind.

"Have you calmed down, Shirou?" "――――Yeah, I'm fine now. I'm sorry for worrying you, Ilya. I don't remember what happened the last two hours, so I don't remember what kind of stupid things I may have done."

"Hmm, you didn't do anything. You carried Sakura inside, then held her hand while Rin treated her. She didn't have any external wounds, and you just sat down once you found out it was only a high fever."

"I see. Where's Tohsaka? I think she took Sakura to her room." "Rin was checking out the closet earlier. Oh, she must've been looking for Sakura's clothes. She was dirty and sweaty, so you have to change her clothes before you can put her to bed."

"――――――――" I see. It makes sense, now that she says it. …Then I must still be in the living room because…

"Hey. Why are you following us when I'm about to change her clothes?" Tohsaka probably said something like that to me.

"…Hm." Sakura and I are in a relationship, so I should be able to change her clothes. I can, but I think it's different to get naked out of your will and having someone take your clothes off when you're unconscious. I'd be embarrassed if somebody changed my clothes while I was sleeping, so Tohsaka's completely right.

"――――So I've been waiting for two hours, huh? I might've been in a panic, but…" I feel very stupid. What's going on? There are many things I have to think about. Sakura's well-being. The big meal the enemy had last night.

…No, that can come later. I should be thinking about why Sakura was collapsed outside when we went to sleep together――――

"――――" I feel sick. My mind refuses to think. The blank two hours. My body remembers that I've been pondering that problem for all that time.

"Shirou. Don't try to remember something you can't. You didn't forget it, but it went away. There's only pain even if you try to find what's not there." "Eh――――Ilya?" "…It's nothing. I was just talking to myself, so forget it." Ilya looks away and shuts her mouth.

A few minutes after that. When the clock is about to strike ten… "Thanks for waiting. Sakura's awake now." Tohsaka enters, acting like nothing's happened.

"…Tohsaka. Is Sakura all right?" "I don't know. You should go ask her yourself. There's nothing for me to say." "…All right. I'm going." I get up. I leave Ilya and Tohsaka in the living room and head to Sakura's room.

"Good. You're here, Senpai." Sakura is breathing hard. But she speaks the instant she sees me.

"Of course I'll come, you idiot. I'll go anywhere for you if you collapse. Tohsaka got the job this time, but it's me that should be treating you."

I get the chair and sit down. I try to sit level with Sakura, who's lying on the bed.

"So, how are you doing? Tohsaka didn't tell me anything." "Oh, I see. So Nee-san is keeping quiet."

"No. She said I should ask you. She's being considerate, huh?" "Oh, you seem happy, Senpai. I thought so for a while, but you like the strict part of Nee-san, right?"

"――――Y-Y-Y-Y-You idiot, that's not true! Tohsaka's a steady girl, but I don't want to deal with that all the time. First of all, we can't manage unless she's considerate at times like these."

Sakura nods, smiling. Her satisfied expression dispels my uneasiness somewhat.

"…Good. I guess you're all right. What was Tohsaka saying, Sakura?" "Um, I'm just exhausted and malnourished, with a light fever. There's nothing to worry about if I'm resting, so she told me I have to stay in bed all day."

"――――――――" She's still breathing hard. …Just lying there must be painful. She's probably trying to breathe normally so she doesn't worry me.

"I see. Then keep resting. Um, you have enough magical energy, right?" "Oh… y-yes! U-Um, you were amazing last night, so I have enough."

"――――――――" Even though I'm the one that asked, I still blush. …But this is something I have to know.

"Then you'll get well right away if you eat something good and nutritious. I'll put in my best efforts for today's lunch." I roll up my sleeve in a show of confidence. But…

"…I'm sorry. I should be cooking for you. …If I could just stand up, I could help you. I hate that I can't even do that." …It seems my words hurt her.

"――――――――" …That's right. Sakura is concerned about her role. She knows she can't do anything, so she just tries to be the normal Matou Sakura. But she can't even manage something as simple as that.

"Well, just bear it for now. A sick person has to rest like one. After all, I'm going to leave you in charge of breakfast, lunch, and dinner once you get well. You'll regret not resting more then."

I jokingly say what I plan to do. …Yeah. I can leave her in charge of cooking for about half a year if that'll please her.

"――――Really? You can't take it back later, okay?" "I'm serious. I won't do anything for at least half a year. Well, I'd like to at least keep watch on the food on the gas burner when you need help." I've been standing in the kitchen for eight years. I don't feel at ease unless I'm holding a pan or something.

"Okay, then it's a promise. Please eat my meals once I get well." "Yeah. I'll promise you all you want."

I get up. I can't keep talking to her and tire her. We were able to talk, and I know Sakura's doing fine. I should let her rest now.

"Then I'll see you later. I'll come here again during lunch, so sleep until then." I step away from the bed. Sakura nods silently.

"Oh yeah, Sakura." I stop at the door and call out to her without turning around.

"Yes? What is it, Senpai?" "Oh, I was wondering why you were collapsed in front of the house. You were sleeping in my room, right?" I try to ask as naturally as I can. After a faint gasp…

"I was taking a morning walk. I woke up early, so I went outside, but then I collapsed. Nee-san's right. I shouldn't be going outside right now." …She replies as naturally as I asked her.

Tohsaka and Ilya aren't there when I return. "…They must've gone to their rooms."

Oh, yeah. They're busy trying to reproduce the gem sword. I can only help after they make a replica similar to the original. My job for now is to draw out as much of Archer's experience as I can.

"I am the bone of my sword, huh?" …Archer's original spell, which flowed into me along with the pain. If I use this strangely familiar incantation to look within myself, my rate of success greatly increases. Projection now succeeds half the time. I'm copying Archer to make a copy of something.

"――――But I can only create a fake." …Projection is reproducing something identical to the original. Emiya Shirou can only create an inferior imagination. The only way to create a phantasm is with the arm's help.

"――――!" Suicide. It's not that poison will come into me once I use it. A bomb will be switched on once I use it. A sure end will come once I use it.

An image of a firing hammer. There's a gun in my brain. The muzzle is pointed outward, but the trigger is still there. This image must be the time bomb Kotomine spoke of.

"But if I can take the gun out of my head, the switch won't go off even if I use it." No, the switch itself will be outside my body.

"――――――――" That's the best solution. But of course, I have no idea how to do that.

"――――Oh yeah, the news." I turn the TV on. I have to know what happened yesterday, so I watch the news.

It's easy to find the right channel. They're all talking about that incident.

―――The unexplained disappearances. ―――There are over forty houses with missing residents. ―――None of the survivors noticed their neighbors' disappearance. ―――And almost sixty people will never return.

"――――――――" I memorize each missing person's name as it appears. "――――――――" One by one. I engrave the strangers' names in my mind. "――――――――" And I replace the names with people I know.

"――――――――!" Will you be able to forgive it? Will you still be able to forgive it when the time comes? Will you be able to forgive the thing that's causing it? Will you be able to forgive yourself for overlooking it?

"――――――………" The crime. If I cannot protect it from the crime… It will be painless salvation to stop it before it commits any more crime――――

The TV switches off. The news that has been informing me of the incident is…

"Don't be stupid. We're not decent enough people to mourn over what's already done." …Mercilessly cut off by Tohsaka.

"――――Tohsaka." "Here, I brewed some tea, so drink up. I have nothing to do because Ilya wants to be alone."

Tohsaka places the teacup on the table. Her reasoning doesn't sound right. So I don't have to do what she tells me to, but…

"――――I'll drink the tea." "Yeah. But it's so hot that it'll burn your tongue." "I see. That's even better. Thanks, Tohsaka."

"…Heh. I just wanted to get myself together. You just happened to be here, okay?" If this is how she wants to show her concern for me, I'll just have to accept it.

Time passes. We just drink the tea silently.

"――――――――" I don't feel nervous for some reason. I rather feel relaxed. …This is purely speculation, but… Could Tohsaka be one of those girls that soothes the atmosphere?

"Hah." "W-Why are you smiling all of a sudden? Tell me if you want to say something."

"Oh, I was thinking to myself. We've never sat around doing nothing like this, right? Whenever we're together, we talk about the Holy Grail War. So I thought we had a pretty savage relationship."

"I-I can't help it. That's how it all started! Or what? Do you want me to talk about what might come up on the finals or what stores I like to go to?" "Huh? I guess it's fine as is. I think this dangerous relationship is suited for us." But we were so relaxed that it felt weird and funny.

"Well, you're right. That's how it all started. We started talking with each other after we became Masters, and I wouldn't have gotten to know you unless I became a Master."

Well, that's one good result I got from becoming a Master. I can fight alongside the girl I've admired.

"That's not entirely true. I don't know about you, but I've known you for quite a while." "――――Huh?" Tohsaka blushes, saying something I can't ignore.

"Y-You knew me?" Tohsaka nods with embarrassment.

"N-No way…! Did we talk when we were in the first year!?" "N-No. I knew about you, but you didn't know about me. You're one of my traumas."

"W-Why!?" I don't like that. I know it can't be helped to hurt someone when you don't know about it. But it's not good for my mental health to know that I've hurt Tohsaka, who likes to strike back three or four times as hard!

"I'm the one who wants to ask that. …Fine, this is a good opportunity, so let me grumble a bit. It happened around this time four years ago. I don't know why, but you were there after school, doing running high jumps until the sun set, right?"

"――――Huh?" I'm taken aback by the unexpected question. It's not the question itself. What surprised me is that Sakura was talking about the exact same thing.

"――――Yeah. So what?" "I was watching that. I was right by the school entrance. I was an idiot watching another idiot who kept trying to jump a height he couldn't clear."

"――――――――" Hold on. That can't be. Sakura was the one watching me, and first of all…

"I-It was just a coincidence, okay? I went to your school because of a matter related to the Student Council. I was in a different school, let alone class." "Yeah. I heard that you went to the same school as Issei."

"Yeah, we've known each other since then. I was the vice-president and he was the president. After four years spent fighting, we found out that we can't get along."

"…I see. So it was a long relationship." I finally understand now. I knew Issei's attitude towards Tohsaka was not normal. Well, the mystery is unraveled… actually, it seems even more tangled now.

"Anyway, I just happened to see you keep trying to jump over a height you couldn't. That's all. That's when I first saw you, and I found out later that Sakura came to this house. I didn't know your name until then, and I forgot about your face."

…Well, now I know how she knew me. "Um, is that something traumatic?"

"Humph. It's revenge after four years. Sakura joined the archery club a year ago, right? So I went and watched when I got the chance. And I happened to see someone who wasn't a club member shooting arrows. I knew right away that you were the idiot from that time." "――――――――" I want to say something about what she thought about me, but I stay quiet.

"…And I was shocked at that time. There was this stranger who went to a different school that I'd considered stupid all this time, but I remembered him even after three years. And I finally realized that you've been giving me damage all this time. I found out I was jealous of this guy that kept on running like an idiot."

"―――Why? He was stupid, right? That's not someone you should be jealous of."

"Yeah. I probably wasn't jealous of him, but I felt Iike I'd lost. …It would've been fine if he'd had hope of clearing that bar. I would've just gone home if that were the case."

"…But even he knew it was impossible. He knew nothing would change that, but he kept trying. It's as if he believed the effort was what mattered."

"…To be honest, I can't do such a thing. I've always been like that. I determine whether or not something is possible. If I know it's impossible for me, I quickly give up. I don't try what I can't do, and I never regret it or think I'm powerless because of it. I'm cold like that. I'm a terrible person. Kirei called it machine-like instead of cruel."

But Tohsaka isn't belittling herself. She's proud of how she is.

"But I do sometimes think how pure it'd be to just keep trying without a thought for whether it's possible."

"…Well, as a child, it's shocking to see someone that's completely the opposite of you, right? That's why it was traumatic. That guy who foolishly kept running was…"

Someone I was happy to know existed. Tohsaka murmurs with a dreamy expression.

"―――Oh, that was boring talk. Maybe I'm being nervous because things aren't going well." Tohsaka gets up, as if saying the break's over.

"I'm going back to my room. I'll be creating the framework with Ilya in the afternoon, so you go watch Sakura." She puts her cup in the sink and heads to the hallway.

…But. "――――Hey. How was Sakura?" She stops and asks, as if she's just remembered.

"She seemed well. She still has a fever, but it's better than the last time she collapsed. Sakura is calm as well. She pushed herself to do things around the house, but she's being obedient and resting today. That being the case, I'm sure she'll be better in no time."

"Of course she's staying still. ―――She can't get up by herself now."

"――――――――――――What?" She can't get up by herself now…? "Why? She should have enough magical energy. Then shouldn't she have enough physical energy as well?"

"Yes, she has more than enough magical and physical energy. But it's terrible inside. …I don't know what happened last night, but she definitely died once. That's the only sound explanation for why the muscles in her limbs are so badly damaged."

"…No way. She didn't have any external wounds." "…It's just that it's cleanly connected on the outside. I don't know if the crest worm ripped her apart, or if someone else tore her limbs. …If something really did tear her body apart, the pain would have destroyed her sanity. …Let me ask. Did she recognize you?"

"――――――――" I swallow my affirmation. …Tohsaka's expression is agonized. Then that means…

"…Sakura didn't recognize you?" "She did. She knew me, and she called me Nee-san. But she wasn't looking at me, but was looking at the Tohsaka Rin she imagined. …Yeah, I really wanted to kill her when she said things like 'nice to meet you' and 'I wanted to meet you sooner.'" Tohsaka looks away as her words turn cold.

…Wanted to kill? …Tohsaka felt murderous intent against Sakura?

"In short, I can't do it. I can't protect Sakura until the very end like you, and I don't intend to either." "――――Tohsaka."

"I told you, right? I don't do impossible things. As long as I'm Tohsaka Rin, I'll kill Sakura the moment I determine that it's not possible to let her go on. Well, I don't need to say it again because that was our deal all along, but I thought I'd remind you."

"You don't need to say anything. I know how you feel, and even if you say something, it won't accomplish anything. We're allies while we fight against Zouken, but we're enemies when it comes to Sakura. If you don't like it, we have to defeat Zouken as quickly as possible. ……But Shirou. What will you do if Zouken and the shadow are two separate enemies?"

"――――――――" I shut my mouth. Tohsaka's question is so sharp that it makes me dizzy.

"Shirou. I'll kill her when the time comes. That's the best choice for both of us. ―――You think about it too." Tohsaka leaves. She goes back to her room, leaving me alone in the living room.

Interlude 13-1

…She hears voices. Her body is broken and her head feels light, but she hears voices she doesn't want to hear.

"I don't know about you, but I've known you for quite a while."

She doesn't think about why she can hear the conversation. But she doesn't want to hear them. She wants to cover her ears if her arms would move, and she wants to go stop them if her legs would move.

"I was watching that. I was right by the school entrance. I was an idiot watching another idiot who kept trying to jump a height he couldn't clear."

"――――――――!" She bites her lip. She scratches the sheets with her fingers. A past event, spoken of lightly. The event that happened four years ago. Her older sister speaks of it as if it's only her memory. Like she's the only one who knows about it. She's immersed in her beautiful memory, never even realizing that another girl was there.

"――――Stop. Stop. Please don't…" "Don't take away my memory." She strains her voice and makes a plea that none can hear.

The older sister's monologue continues. It goes on without her, just as she feared. The only thing. The only thing she had an edge on over her older sister is brought down to mere recollections.

"No――――No, no, no…!" Using magical energy to bridge the gaps in her ripped nerves, she covers her ears with her hands. This is torture. How can she know what's going on in the living room? Has her shadow stretched that far? No, she doesn't want to hear anything right now. No more. She will go crazy if she hears any more.

Knowing this instinctively, she covers her ears, but the voices do not get any quieter. Her sister's voice resounds directly into her brain. She cannot get away, even if she covers her ears or eyes. And…

"Shirou. I'll kill her when the time comes. That's the best choice for both of us. ―――You think about it too."

Her sister coldly says the words she does not want to hear to the last person she wants to hear them.

And the voices stop. She cannot tell what's going on in the living room anymore. …It's only natural. Her only world is this dark room. There's no way for her to step into the world of light.

"――――――――" …Her eyes are hot. She realizes that she's crying. Heartbroken and frustrated.

Her older sister is a coward. Why is she pushing that onto the girl's Senpai now? It's her responsibility as Tohsaka's magus, but she's now trying to involve someone else. Her sister is trying to turn her only ally against her.

"――――――Nee-san…" …She hates her. She knows it's selfish, but she still hates her. She's making him abandon Matou Sakura. She hates Tohsaka Rin for trying to induce him.

"――――――Nee-san." …But it's strange. This is what she wants, so why does she hate her so much? Her sister is saying she should disappear. The girl also knows she should disappear. …She doesn't know how it's come to this, but she does know that Emiya Shirou will be saved if she disappears.

"……No, I don't want that." She can't. She doesn't want to lose anything. She doesn't want to be alone anymore. She learned of warmth, so going back to the cold is frightening. She learned of warmth, so warm people are detestable. …She will not disappear. She will not be killed. Because, because…

"―――Because nothing is my fault."

Right, everyone else is at fault. She did not wish for such a thing. It turned out this way because nobody helped her. Nobody helped her, so that must mean they affirm her. They didn't object. That's the same as agreeing with her. …So. No one can punish her.

"――――I won't die. It won't end up as Nee-san plans." …No. In reality, she will not die. Nobody can kill her. Even if someone still wants to try, that's fine. If she is to be killed, she will rather ▊▊▊▊.

Not only her older sister. She will be merciless, even to her Senpai. …Yes. If he will turn away from her in disgust, then she would rather… She would rather ▊▊▊▊ ▊▊▊▊▊▊ like she does in her nightmare―――

"Ah―――haa, ugh――――!" She coughs violently. The pain turns her wild imagination to blood, and she coughs it out.

"……No. I can't, Senpai." They do not connect. She cannot tell the difference between good and evil. She cannot tell what's good. She's about to lose her mind, not knowing who she is or how long she can stay sane.

"Hello. Are you still conscious of yourself, Sakura?" ―――Then. Before she notices, the silver-haired girl is before her. The same girl as her. The white girl who is to become the container, who was not treated as a human being.

"Saber, Lancer, Caster, Berserker. It would've been fine with just these four. Where did you consume such a soul, Sakura? I'm surprised it's already sufficient when Assassin and Rider are still left." …She doesn't understand. She has heard from her grandfather that the girl is just like her, a container that collects the souls of the defeated Servants. But she has not heard about any Servants being defeated other than the ones just mentioned…

"It's fine. I won't ask, since it means I don't have to worry about the Archer in me being taken away. But, Sakura. Do you know what's going to happen to you?" "――――――――" …Her head cools down. Her mind, delirious with fever, regains "Matou Sakura" with those words.

"――――I don't know. What will happen to me?" The white girl shuts her mouth. Einzbern's Master. She was meant to be a vessel from the beginning, unlike the fake, Matou Sakura. "――――You'll die. You can't be saved, no matter what." And the girl tells her about the destiny that awaits them both.

End of Intelude

"――――――――Haa." My body's still heavy. I have to make lunch for Sakura, but I want to rest a bit and clear my head.

"――――――――" I fall onto my futon, letting my face sink into the pillow.

…I know. There wasn't any postponement since that day. I can't postpone the problem anymore. About Sakura. I have to decide everything right now――――

"――――Emiya Shirou."

"Who is it――――!?" I jump up. A voice. I heard a voice. I heard it from within this room.

"――――――――" A chill runs up my spine. …The scary thing is that I still can't tell where in the room it's coming from.

"Do not be alarmed. I did not come to take your life." A whisper by my ear. The voice. This fluent, yet alien, tone is of the Servant with the white skull.

"Assassin――――" …How was it possible? His specialty may be killing people, but he made it here without being noticed or setting off the boundary field around the house!?

"……You didn't come to kill me? Then you just want to talk?"

I search for the presence behind me while I measure the distance to the hallway. It'll take two full steps, three full seconds to dash out to the hallway into the yard. Assassin can kill me four times over in that time. …Then my only way to live is to go along with him.

"Not I. It is the magus who wishes to speak with you." "…? Magus? You mean Zouken?" "Yes. He is waiting for you at the Matou household. He has no desire to fight. He will welcome you if you go there alone."

"――――――――" …Assassin's words can be trusted to some degree. If he wanted to kill me, he could've done it the instant he snuck into the room.

He didn't kill me because Zouken wants to talk to me. That's not to say it isn't actually a trap, but――――

[genkais-arcade]

Yooooo you ever thought about putting a lil water mark or something on your gifs so people don't try to steal them? I know it's none of my business so feel free to ignore

Yeah, I've thought about it. The thing is if people are gonna steal gifs they're gonna do it regardless. The only way I'd put the effort into a watermark is if its on the edge of the gif and that can be easily cropped out. I'm not willing to put something really intrusive on my gifs.

It would seriously interrupt my workflow to add one and I wouldn't be able to maintain the 400+ post queues on all of my blogs.

I have a specific editing approach that's easy for me to spot if someone takes one of my gifs. I just block people that I catch doing it (and I've caught other gif makers with my gifs before) and move on.

[pinkrelish]

𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

bestfriend!eddie x fem!reader

✶You left him. You really left him.✶

NSFW — heavy angst, drug/alcohol mention/use, eventual smut, slow burn

chapter: 3/15 [wc: 2.6k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11

AO3

Chapter 3: Tearful Reunion

Gareth, trying to be quiet, held his skateboard over his mouth and asked Jeff, who knew Eddie the longest, “Who’s that?”

Jeff swallowed the candy in his mouth, and picked another from the bag, not taking the chance to blink in case he had to intervene on this reunion. “The girl he told you to never ask about.”

He exhaled an understanding “ah,” and leaned against his car with his friends.

——1982——

The next morning, Eddie woke with a start. A large vehicle drove past his window, hitting every pot hole along the way. The maroon bed sheet he pinned up blocked the sun alright enough, but there was no stopping annoying sounds of everyday life from coming through.

“Jesus,” was his first word he said that day. 

Judging by the brightness in his room, it was well past noon, and he figured it was as good a time as any to get out of bed. His sleep was fitful, tossing and turning thinking about your strange mood. But, oh well, at least you’d be going to band practice with him soon. There wasn’t much opportunity to talk while he was playing, but he preferred having you there. It was funner when you sat at the opening of the garage, cheering him and Jeff on as if they were the world’s greatest musicians.

He followed his routine as normal; taking a shower where he washed his hair, shaved, winced at the sting of the aftershave, and ate a small breakfast of whatever he could find while standing across from your birthday cake.

Getting dressed in his usual black jeans and sleeveless shirt, he looked outside and saw your mom’s car was missing. “Nice,” he whispered. If she was gone, he could go over early and hang out before leaving. However, stepping out of his trailer, he was greeted by a dingy brown couch with a ‘FREE’ sign taped to it. Weird. You didn’t mention buying a new one. Though, he supposed he didn’t need to be told every last detail of your life.

Walking the few feet to your home, he sidestepped the ugly couch and knocked by tapping his knuckles thrice, leaning forward in wait, expecting you to open the door any second, or shout for him to come in.

He put his face closer. “Hey, it’s me,” he announced, knocking a bit harder.

No answer.

“Are you not home?” At this point his voice was hardly below the decibel of a yell, using the side of his clenched fist to pound the aluminum obstacle keeping him from seeing if you were okay after breaking down in front of him last night.

No answer came.

Then, the lock gave. The door creaked ajar. A slice of inside revealed to him. Bright, far sunnier than it should be. He called your name. It reverberated back at him, ringing from the studs in the walls. Crisp and hollow. Unnerving. So, he pushed the door wider. An easy effort. There was no pile of shoes wedged behind it anymore.

Devastation was not a single emotion. It was a cluster of confusion; of checking behind him that he didn’t get lost on his way over, of staring at his trailer in a desperate plea to not be real, and retracing his path here, and still denying he walked into your living room. Hopelessness was not a quick heartbreak; it went deeper. Insidious cruelty. Twisting his stomach in knots. More. More. More stabs. A pain unlike any other, and no visible wound. Neverending. An onslaught of information he rejected on instinct.

Sunbeams glared through the curtainless windows, illuminating the stained carpet and its layers of filth no longer hidden under furniture. Catching dust motes swirling in the gust of his labored breath.

In a slow circle, Eddie absorbed the blank walls. The sudden absence of life. The irritating sound of nothing, and the suffocating pressure of loneliness making him question his sanity. But no. His brain was not tricking him. There was no mistake. And by the burn of bile in his throat, he knew he wasn’t dreaming.

Stumbling in a fugue state, errant newspapers littering the floor clung to his shoes on his way to your bedroom. He dodged where the trashcan used to be at the edge of the kitchen as if it were still there. Tripping over his own feet. Gripping the walls to keep upright as he rushed to your smiling face. Your smiling face. This was all a prank, and you were waiting for him–

His heart raced. His vision darkened at the edges.

Difficult to breathe. He couldn’t. Didn’t.

Skin prickling in cold sweat. Shivering. Heaving watery cereal where your bed should be until he crumpled on the spot where he once almost had his first kiss, if he hadn’t been a coward.

On his hands and knees, Eddie raised his head to an infuriating image clinging to your wall like a savior looking down upon him, and he charged. Your Mary Lou Retton poster tore in his hands. Shredded. Piece after piece. And when he ran out of patience, he punched the wall where it once was. Over. And over. One for every opportunity you had to tell him. One for every sign he didn’t grasp. Giving him his clothes back. Crying. Asking for a normal night. Promising him you’d be there for practice tomorrow.

He must have left at some point, because when he next came to, he was grabbing your birthday cake and flying out his door with his arm wound back, hurling his hard work at your trailer.

Pink and white frosting splattered the rocks separating your homes. He didn’t even reach his intended target. It fell pathetically in the middle.

Worse, the plate didn’t even shatter. It mocked him by rolling away.

~~~

The last word Eddie remembered hearing was, “Jesus,” when his uncle rushed into his room to roll him on his side, keeping him from choking on his own vomit, surrounded by empty baggies and bottles.

——1985——

Eddie mumbled something. Distance was irrelevant; you’d recognize the way his mouth formed your name even in a pitch-black abyss. You waited for him to do something.. anything, and for a while, he just stared, taking the time to smoke his cigarette down to the filter, hoarding the nicotine to subdue his initial reaction. Or to give himself the chance to size you up, narrowing his eyes at your gall to stand before him after what you did.

He uncrossed his legs.

You put all your attention into Eddie’s approach, learning much in his short walk to meet you. The unconscious authority he commanded in his stride, earned through charisma alone. New maturity in his jaw line, working the muscles as he ground his teeth, catching the sheen of a pink scar on his chin under the streetlight. The grown out curls framing his face resting on his throat as he fixed his gaze on anything else in the parking lot except for you. How weak you were for the groan his leather jacket made when he rolled his shoulders and flicked the cigarette stub.

He filled his lungs with a deep breath, mulled something over, and shook his head to dismiss whatever it was. “What’re you doing here?” There was a quiet exasperation in his voice. An undercurrent of seething in his otherwise tempered tone. A warble at first, like he wanted the question to come out casually, and gave up pretending he could keep years of pain from influencing how haunted he was by the ghost in front of him.

You wrung the strap of your purse. “I.. I wanted to talk.”

His lower eyelid ticced. Slowly, he drew his eyebrows in a harsh glare at the mall, and for a moment, the corner of his lips lifted in a hateful grin. “Talk?” he scoffed at the audacity. He lit another cigarette. “Now  you want to talk?”

Stuffing the carton and lighter in his pocket, he willed himself to acknowledge your presence–still avoiding your face–by dropping his gaze to the golden embroidery on your white and blue tracksuit jacket, pinging the Adidas logo on the opposite side. Your clean Nikes. He read the embroidery again, and his chest fell with a defeated sigh.

Waving the cigarette, he maintained, “Why bother coming back here?”

“Just..” This was seeming like a lost cause. Especially so when you had an audience eavesdropping on your conversation. “Could we talk in the car? I’ll give you a ride home, or wherever.”

Much to your surprise, he went for it. Eddie glanced at your red Ford Pinto, stamped out his cigarette, and walked backwards to the passenger side with his hands in his pockets, addressing his friends, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“See ya,” Jeff said flatly.

Recovering from your stunned expression, you waved at Jeff and didn’t take it personally when he didn’t return the gesture with the same enthusiasm, raising his pinky off his soda can at you in a sort of goodbye.

At the lingering frowns directed at you, you hopped in and started the car, fully aware of the man in a foul mood sitting next to you. “Your place?”

Slouched in his seat, body angled away from you, Eddie stared out the window. “Yeah.”

And that was the end of your conversation for the rest of the ride. At one point you turned on the radio to cut the tension, but when it played Christian gospel, you immediately smacked the button off. In the past he would’ve laughed, made fun of it with you. Not anymore.

Frustration clogged your throat as much as the panic did. Your thoughts were everywhere; an unsortable stack of papers of everything you wanted–and needed–to tell him. So many things to explain. To at the bare minimum fill him in on. But, then again, who could tell if he cared to hear them.

He had his arms crossed, one propped on the other, running his fingernails lightly over his cheek. In a daze watching the shadowed pines tick by. The same woods you would get lost in on purpose as shitty kids with nothing better to do.

You were nearing the trailer park and running out of time. “I don’t know if you remember the meet I had in Ohio before I left–”

“I remember,” he cut you off.

“R-Right,” you stammered. “I.. Well.. Jesus.” Inhaling deep, you got your words out point blank. “There was a woman who approached me. A recruiter for Penn State. I told her I couldn’t afford a place like that, but she winked at me and took my information. A few days later the head coach called me with a plan to move me to Pittsburgh–on the help of his dime–so he could oversee my training during high school, and again, I told him I couldn’t afford college anyway, but he told me to keep an eye out. And, a month later, the NCAA announced they were introducing scholarships for women’s gymnastics, and–”

Eddie groaned. Pinched the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut. “You knew you were moving for months and didn’t tell me.”

Shit. He didn’t know that before you ran your mouth, and now no amount of backtracking or apologies could change you forgetting to forge a white lie about the exact timeline things went down.

Turning off the main road, the car rocked on the uneven surface, taking a liking to finding each pot hole. Or maybe you had trouble seeing them as water swelled in your vision. Blood leaked from where you chewed on your inner lip.

You stopped in front of his trailer.

“How long was the drive?”

Not expecting him to speak first, or at all, you studied the side of his face for a moment, appreciating how his features had changed over the years while you processed what he was asking. “It took me about eight hours,” you answered softly.

“Mm,” he grunted. “Sorry you wasted your time.” He pushed the door open and had half his body out by the time you could shout.

“Wait!”

He thought about it. Oh, he thought about it for a long time; paused in his hunched over position about to leave you and never look back. Running his fingers over his palm. Back rising with shallow breaths.

Eddie had his weaknesses as well.

Dragging his foot inside, he sat down, ready to flee with how rigid his posture was and pale his knuckles were gripping the handle.

On the verge of tears, your voice trembled, “You have to understand, I was going nowhere by staying here.” He stared straight ahead, disengaged. “There was no future for me. No education. No money. No Olympics, or whatever the fuck. We sacrificed losing everything to get me to Regionals on the hope someone would see my potential. And it worked. For the first time, someone saw how good I was, and invested in me. They promised me everything I wanted and I took it. I took the chance for a better life and left Hawkins–” You flinched.

Eddie raised his hand. Not to intimidate you, but to silence you. The lights from your dashboard flashed off his rings. He was shaking. And what a tragic point for him to choose now to look at you, when his warm eyes were fearfully cold, and two tears streamed down his already wet cheeks.

“Let’s get one thing straight. You didn’t leave Hawkins.. You left me.” He didn’t wait for you to register the depth of those departing words before he was shoving open the door and slamming it behind him, muffling something he intended no one else to hear, “I said I wouldn’t cry about this bullshit anymore.”

“Eddie!” You fought off your seatbelt and scrambled out the car, hitting the roof with your palm to keep his attention. “Wait! I didn’t mean it like that.”

Almost to his stairs, he slowed. Laced his hands behind his neck. Debated something as he wrung them, making his steps clumsy as he turned around.

Each sentence hurt more than the last.

“Are you glad you visited? Got to see I’m still a failure. A loser going nowhere. Can’t even pass high school or get a real job. Stuck in a trailer park.” He laughed without mirth, shaking free the tears clinging to his jaw. He took the stairs backwards, gaze set on you. “You can go back to your fancy college, now. Your luxuries. Your nice clothes. Your friends. Your boyfriend. Leave this place, and me, behind. Have a good life.” In the midnight hour, you listened to him slam several more doors, and the sudden start of loud music from his bedroom.

On autopilot, you drove away. Shut down and drove away without crying. A trauma response you learned early on. Emotions could be suppressed. Smothered in the lungs until you were far away, swerving over the lines in the road as your body was struck with a sob. And another. Crying so hard you couldn’t tell which parking lot you turned into. Hugging yourself, pulling the collar of your jacket to your mouth, shrinking away from the window in shame and releasing all the guilt you pent up.

You deserved this. It was your comeuppance, witnessing the ramifications of your actions storming away from you. You hurt him. He hurt you. And, rightfully so, he never wanted to see you again.

But you were stuck in Hawkins for another day.

Taglist: @xxhospital-for-soulsxx @myfavoritesareproblematic @henhouse-horrors @tlclick73 @sidthedollface2