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mesetacadre · 15 days ago

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I think it's fair to say there is interest in an explanation of trotskyism from a marxist-leninist perspective. Information on what exactly Trotsky did and what trotskyism is nowadays is complicated to come by unless you know a trotskyist willing to be straightforward or someone involved in organizing with these types of communists. So instead of answering these asks without much prior research or preparation, I decided to wait until I was freer, without too many academic and political responsibilities. Full disclosure, the portion of this post on Trotsky himself is essentially (though not completely) a summary of Moissaye J. Olgin's Trotskysim: Counter-revolution in Disguise, which gets into the basics of trotskyism as well as Trotsky's actual position on his contemporary issues, such as the Chinese revolution, or the CPUSA which I don't get into here but I highly recommend reading. The second portion, about modern trotskyism and how it got to be present in the countries that it is, is shorter and more based on my own experiences organizing with trotskyists as well as reading what they have to say, and conversations with much more knowledgeable comrades of mine.

What is trotskyism?

Succinctly, it is the form of left opposition to marxism-leninism that has enjoyed the most spread, spearheaded by Leon Trotsky and his criticisms of the USSR.

Trotsky himself, despite what his self-aggrandizing History of the Russian Revolution leads one to believe, was never a bolshevik, much less a leninist. The second Congress of the Russian Social-Democratic Labor Party¹ (RSDLP) of 1903, which sought to establish the bases of what would become the bolshevik party and the CPSU, saw the start of the menshevik-bolshevik split, on the issue of what the party should become and how it should be organized.

The bolsheviks, already lead by Lenin, defended the principles of organization that were later systematized into democratic-centralism. These principles were the freedom of discussion until the party decided by a majority vote during a Congress, Conference or other organ for discussion, a position on any issue. After this, unity of action should follow, and the comrades who held the minority opinion, even if they still disagree, should submit to the collectively agreed-upon position, and act on that line an all party matters. This is to ensure that the party of the proletariat, representing the interests of one class, is not divided, and is able to express that single will. Otherwise, its action is crippled by unending debates kept alive by a minority. Consequently, these principles also lead to the intolerance towards fractions within the party.

Trotsky, who aligned himself with the mensheviks, opposed these principles, instead advocating for a complete liberty of individual action of comrades in the party. He called Lenin "the great disorganizer of the party" over this. This is the first great pillar of trotskyism, a rejection of democratic-centralism in favor of the creation of endless cliques and fractions within the party, which he did multiple times within the CPSU until his expulsion.

The second great pillar of the trotskyist opposition that arose before the October Revolution was of defeatism regarding the peasantry. Especially after the defeat of the 1905 revolution, Trotsky was convinced that a successful revolution in a country such as the Russian Empire, where the peasantry was a majority and usually held reactionary positions due to various economic determinations², was impossible because these reactionary elements would inevitably overthrow a worker's dictatorship. While already an excessively defeatist position among other communists, and certainly not a bolshevik position, this belief did not change whether it was 1905, 1915, or 1935. Up to the end, even once the USSR had beaten the armed intervention of 14 armies and had transformed the peasantry by eliminating the class of kulaks and collectivizing agriculture, Trotsky's opposition to socialism in one country relied on the perception of an insurmountable reactionary class constantly on the edge of an overthrow. This is what the "permanent revolution", a term that when used by trotsky has nothing to do with the same term used by Marx and Engels, actually means. A defeatism so deep, that only the practically simultaneous and global victory of the proletariat is possible, all without party unity!

This also negates other leninist positions such as the weakest chain theory, crucial to understanding imperialism, or the necessity of a communist party altogether. Since socialism in one country will inevitably fail, Trotsky told workers that an armed insurrection once the conditions was right was pointless, and that they should instead work for a "worldwide revolution", something that's in practice impossible because it would necessitate a synchronization of the conditions necessary for a revolution in every single imperialist country at once. Unequal development is an unbreakable rule of the imperialist stage of capitalism, and the notion of a worldwide revolution or even a revolution among a significant portion of imperialist countries was already refuted by Lenin in 1915.

So how did Trotsky reconcile his defeatist dogmatism with a living and thriving proof against it in the form of the USSR? As the third great pillar of trotskyism, he insisted by every possible avenue that the USSR wasn't actually socialist, the reasons for which changed constantly. Some issues were already recognized by the CPSU and worked against, and Trotsky exaggerated them. He expressed concern about the Central Committee replacing the party itself, he expressed concern about bureaucratization, the NEP and its lack of collectivization, the excessive speed of collectivization in the 30s, and other criticisms which, when taken together, show only contradiction and a single consistent position: that any attack against the USSR was legitimate.

And it's not like he was being ignored in the USSR, he simply always chose the most incendiary and anti-leninist methods for criticism. In the 13th Congress of the RCP(b) of 1924, among other things, the resolution that was approved recognized many flaws in the party coming out of the NEP, but that these issues weren't actively dangerous and could be solved: bureaucratization in some areas, excessive departmentalization, some influence of bourgeois elements. This resolution was passed unanimously, which included Trotsky. Immediately after the Congress, he published a pamphlet called The New Course, in which he lambasts this Congress and the entire party as having degenerated. In this pamphlet he also places students as the "barometer of the revolution", instead of workers themselves. His only proposal to that Congress was one to allow "freedom of groupings", meaning the freedom to form fractions. Once again he pulled the same stunt in the 15th Congress of 1926; he publicly subscribed to a resolution that explicitly banned such fractions, and directly afterwards published more pamphlets that directly opposed the resolution that he subscribed to! This is not a man who levied fair criticisms and was shut down, he was someone who held minority positions, anti-leninist ones, and refused to admit it, to the point of plotting against the USSR.

But how come Trotsky, during his better known times in exile, claimed he was the true Leninist and that he opposed the Stalinist degeneration? This is the greatest example of a tactic he used constantly. To always seem like the rational critic, and to pass his opposition as one coming from another bolshevik, he always shifted the perspective of his criticisms. In the times of Lenin, Lenin was the "great disorganizer", and the "leader of the reactionary wing of the party"³. But once Lenin died, he became the most loyal foot-soldier of Leninism, crusading against the Stalinist corruption. Then it was Stalin who became Trotsky's devil, effortlessly transposing his criticisms of Lenin to Stalin, and shifting his perspective from that of a menshevik, to that of a true "bolshevik-leninist".

This tactic was used constantly. For instance. when he was still within the ranks of the party, he completely opposed the principles of democratic-centralism, but once he was in exile and had to criticize the Communist International, his issue suddenly became only that the bolshevik form of organization was being hastily applied to different contexts. Then, he really had no issue with democratic-centralism. When he talked of the possibility of a revolution in the US, then all his worries of an insurmountable reaction dissolved, instead becoming an optimist who believed that, actually, there would be no real significant class who would oppose a revolution in the US, and that therefore the USamerican workers should carry out a revolution "without compulsion". The very same person who over the course of decades insisted on the dangers of a counter-revolution apparently believed the workers of the USA had no opposition to fear. This was, rather, simply an opposition to the Communist International's analysis of imperialism, as Trotsky placed the most revolutionary potential in the countries where capitalism was most developed, the imperial core, the very same mistake Marx and Engels committed, except only 70 years prior and with no good framework with which to analyze imperialism. If Trotsky was truly a leninist, then he utterly failed at even beginning to understand anything about the theory regarding imperialism.

I think this is a good enough place to leave Trotsky be, and talk now about trotskyism beyond Trotsky.

Trotskyism, especially in its analysis of imperialism, is very attractive to the imperial core communist. It appeals to multiple sensibilities like individualism, an aversion to revolutionary discipline and work, and impatience. By putting the emphasis away from the party of our class and onto the group of individual ideologues, each with their own cliques and mini-parties, by completely disregarding the possibility of a revolution outside the top of the imperialist pyramid, and by also disregarding the possibility of a revolution until the instance of a total global victory, it is no wonder most trotskyists nowadays are found in the imperial core. This is, with the exception of a portion of Latin-American countries, which I think deserves its own explanation.

Latin America in the 20s and 30s was a continent⁴ of very differing levels of development of capitalism and the proletariat. When many European trotskyists left to Latin America for various reasons, it's no coincidence that they ended up mostly in the urban centers of the most developed countries, such as Argentina and México, where Trotsky himself ended his emigrations after exile. It was exported to places that had a significantly developed proletariat, places which up to that point lacked a culture of multiple communist parties, like Europe had, and places with a strong unionist movement. Other countries like Colombia, Ecuador or Perú, whose worker movements were more significantly indigenist and/or decolonial, along with not meeting the other conditions like Argentina and México, were less ripe for trotskyism.

The condition for a lack of a multi-party environment was important because the trotskyist opposition to the USSR collected all the "orphaned" communists who opposed the sections of the Communist International in each of their countries, especially after the Moscow trials of the late 30s which expanded the opposition to marxism-leninism internationally, as well as with other events like the Hungarian intervention after WW2. But besides this very specific phenomenon, product of a set of very specific conditions which, outside of the imperial core, were only met in these specific countries, the basis of trotskyism as an imperial core opposition to marxism-leninism remains.

So nowadays, trotskyists are mostly located in the imperial core, with those exceptions I've explained. And this leads me to the last part of this post, which is about organizing with trotskyists as a marxist-leninist. In short, it's not impossible but also not an extraordinary situation. Organizing in the imperial core varies from country to country, that much is clear, but the fragmentation into countless groups and sects, as well as the competition with social-democrats, is broadly consistent. These conditions, again generally, mean marxist-leninist parties in the imperial core have to collaborate with a myriad of communist offshoots, anarchists, and ill-defined "leftists" to achieve a broader reach. This includes trotskyists. What makes them in particular uniquely annoying to organize with is that they continue to pretend to be leninists despite all the discrepancies, so they tend to constitute competitors in agitation and rhetoric, while their internal organization usually resembles that of an anarchist group more than anything else. From this, other symptoms like a reliance on assemblyism (especially in the students' movement) and extreme levels of voluntarism naturally follow.

The IMT (International Marxist Tendency), or whichever acronym it is that they're using now, has a relevant presence in just the US and UK with a nominal one in most other imperial core countries. In all cases they're not much more than newspaper vendors who sometimes gives talks at best, and mere reading clubs or financially-extorting sects at worst. There is another international grouping of trotskyist parties that I've come across led by the PTA (Partido del Trabajo Argentino, Argentinian Labor Party), mostly linked via their news broadcast Izquierda Diario, although from what I've heard, the PTA finances their international "children" parties too. Of course, these groups all have different names in each country which in turn tend to change every few years.

Before the split of the Second International during WWI, communists called themselves social-democrats

The mode of production of the peasantry was very individualized, since each peasant or group of peasants lived partly from the fruits of their own labor, they didn't sell it in its entirety. This stands in contrast with the proletariat's completely socialized mode of production; every worker sells the entirety of their labor-power and sustains themself by purchasing commodities with their salary. The pre-existing socialization of production in capitalism was identified by Marx and Engels already in the Manifesto as one of the reasons for the proletariat being the revolutionary class by excellence. The reactionary tendencies of the peasantry wasn't wholly determined by this, it also depended on various historical and contextual reasons, but this should be better expanded on a dedicated post to social alliances.

These are all real insults thrown at Lenin by Trotsky when he disagreed about party discipline. The "true leninist", ladies and gentlemen

Using "continent" in a very loose way here. It's not like the common definitions of continent are very determined either. But you get what I mean

#seriousposting

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sharkikive · 7 months ago

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match made in heaven (ken sato x fem!reader)

Summary: You were Professor Sato’s research assistant and your apartment just got destroyed by Ultraman.

Somehow, this led to a matchmaking project between you and the infamous baseball player, Ken Sato.

Word count: 6,887

A/N: I yap a lot when it comes to writing. Just writing this because the Ken Sato brainrot is too damn strong. Just a bunch of gibberish. Not my best but currently too hung up on Kenji. Includes mention of Professor Sato, Mina and Emi (definitely having baby fever because of her).

Ken Sato.

His name was a staple in your daily life, yet you had never met the man face to face.

The moment you thought you had escaped from hearing the broken recording of his name, it was brought up once again as the news of him returning to Japan plastered the news.

You rolled your eyes at the screen, but were careful enough not to let the old man hunched over the table, poring over some papers on Kaiju, see you.

Well, you could not exactly tell the father that you were tired of hearing his son’s name everywhere, could you?

“Professor Sato,” you started. “I shall take my leave for today.”

“Ah yes, sure. Please have a safe journey back home. I’m sorry this old man can’t send you back safely,” he replied, to which you quickly dismissed.

“Professor, I’ll be fine.” You chuckled lightly, “In case you have forgotten, I’m already 26. I’m already an adult. No longer the wide-eyed, 17-year-old you first took under your wing.”

He gave out a breathy laugh, sniffling as you knew what’s going to come out of his mouth next. You resisted the urge to stop him, purely out of respect.

“Kenji is the same age as you. I wish you could meet him, but that child is very stubborn. He wouldn’t even answer my calls, let alone meet me.” He paused, as if thinking of the next sentence, but went against it.

You only smiled weakly, the only response you’d always given when he mentioned his son’s name. You took this as a sign to leave before bowing and setting off to your apartment.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you were tired of listening to that man’s name every single time. Yes, you knew that it was Professor Sato’s guilt that kept him talking about his son, but the more you heard about him, the more you found him less likeable.

He came back to Japan, yet he did not even contact his father even once? Yet Professor Sato would talk about him every day.

You knew nothing about baseball, and did not care to find out, but the appearance of Ken Sato forced you to learn that he’s apparently about to be the saviour for the Giants.

You sighed, stopping under the night sky as you watched people milling about the streets.

You were an ambitious girl who had a deep interest in Kaiju and without shame, Ultraman. Ultraman was the first hero you knew and grew up with, so imagine the elation you felt when you found out that Professor Sato was affiliated with both. He agreed to take you under his wing with the condition that you finished your degree, so the moment you had gotten your scroll you showed up in front of him, eager to start.

He probably couldn’t turn you away considering how you seemed… pitiful. Yup, that’s probably the word.

You enjoyed working as his research assistant, but found out soon enough that he was a lonely man who missed his wife and son dearly. He was a father figure to you, considering that you were orphaned at a young age.

It was a peaceful night.

Well, if you consider the scene of Neronga choking Ultraman as a peaceful night.

Correction: It was supposed to be a peaceful night.

You stepped back as the gigantic hero got slammed into another building, destroying yet another public property. You winced as it was obvious that the hero was not upholding the principles and seemed more like he was trying to destroy as much as he could.

The thing that irritated you the most? You knew exactly who it was under that suit.

You shook your head, not even bothering to see how the fight would go. You were 100% sure the KDF would be gunning down the Kaiju in no time.

You set off again, mildly hoping that your apartment did not get obliterated in the chaos, or you would definitely hunt that baseball player down.

It was hard to ignore the fight when two giants were stomping around the city, and you dropped dramatically on your knees when you saw Ultraman being launched in the direction of your building.

“No-” you weakly said, knowing that your voice was merely a speck of hopelessness among the gasps of the crowd, Ultraman’s groan and Neronga’s roar. From behind your glasses, a tear rolled down your face as you saw your apartment building crumbling, all thanks to that stupid, cocky, asshole of a baseball player.

Now thanks to Professor Sato’s beloved son, you were homeless.

***

Maybe it was your lack of sleep from worrying about how the progress of rebuilding your house went, because you were dragged by Professor Sato at 2 in the morning to the secret base, facing a scene that you promptly found ridiculous.

Right, seeing the giant hero hunched over in front of you was no surprise because you knew exactly who it was. A little bit weird how he’s here considering his relationship with his father, but that wouldn’t be an issue.

But what was an issue was that the said giant was cradling an equally gigantic pink baby Kaiju and was- you took a step back.

Something must had happened because Ken Sato was crying in front of you. Not the scene you’d expect in the morning while being sleep-deprived.

Your mind was only registering the words ‘injured’, ‘need help’ and the rest was a blur as Professor Sato helped in correcting the fracture in the Kaiju’s arm. The Kaiju was calmed down, brought to sleep and you could not help but smile at the sleeping baby.

Part of the reason you were still there was because you found the baby Kaiju so adorable with her chubby cheeks and twitterings.

Another part was because you were curious to see (discreetly, of course, under the pretext of looking over the Kaiju) the dynamic between Ultradad and well, the son. You were facing the Kaiju but you were straining your ears to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“Doing this-“ you picked up a sentence, -“doesn’t suddenly make you Ultradad.”

You felt slightly perturbed. Kenji came in here pleading while crying, Professor Sato helped him without any questions yet the son was barely grateful for it.

But you knew you’re no one to be meddling in their family affairs.

So you kept quiet, straining your ears with Mina - the robot - hovering nearby.

Your mind wandered to whether it would be plausible for you to chip in a request for Ken Sato’s autograph and sell it high to make up for the costs of your destroyed apartment.

That’s the least he could do after reducing your safe space into rubble.

You snapped back to the present as you heard your name being called, and was greeted with the sight of a smiling father and a son looking like he’d love to be anywhere but here.

Ken Sato was not smiling, but he didn’t look like he hated you either.

The next thing you knew was that you were left alone with Ken, and you couldn’t help but think Professor Sato had a hidden agenda because he left with a chuckle. Even Mina was nowhere in sight.

What could I possibly say to this man I’ve never met before?

The young man in front of you looked starkly different from the confident, boastful man you had seen in interviews. Instead, he seemed more like a sad excuse who looked so distraught you swore you could see him shrinking.

“So uh-” he started, scratching his head with an awkward smile. “Y/N… right?”

Your eyebrows lifted at the mention of your name.

“Dad told me about your apartment.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

You clicked your tongue. “Other than the fact that I became homeless, it’s no issue.”

You did not intend it to be a joke, but it seemed that the only immediate response he could give was to laugh awkwardly, before he buried his face in his hands. “God- I’m so- sorry.” He pried his fingers slightly to look at you, before continuing. “I came back to Japan because dad wanted me to continue this- I don’t know what you call this. Legacy?”

Your eyes trailed his movements; you got slightly startled as he suddenly sprang up and you pushed back your glasses.

“High hopes from everyone ever since I started playing for the Giants, dad wanting me to become Ultraman and-“ he sighed exasperatedly, “it was too much.”

You rubbed the tip of your nose before shrugging. “Well, you did seem confident while you were on TV. If you ask me, you gave them that confidence.”

He left his mouth slightly hanging open as he didn’t expect you to give it to him straight.

You continued, “Ultraman is a hero for some, if not all. Some of them may not care. But all,” your eyes collided with his as he plopped back down onto the sofa, “don’t know who is under that suit. All they know is Ultraman is supposed to be the hero protecting the city with-“ you pressed your lips into a thin line, “-minimal damage.”

He blinked. Did he look like he wanted to cry again?

The corner of your lips lifted up slightly, but you quickly switched it off as he looked at you imploringly.

You raised your hands shoulder-level, hiding a yawn before managing. “Don’t expect me to become your counsellor, but what I’m saying is, when you’re Ken Sato, the baseball player, of course they’d expect you to play well. When you’re Ultraman, people expect you to be the hero.” You interlinked your fingers. “They don’t see you becoming both at the same time. And now, you added another point to your resume. You became a single dad.”

He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. He sucked in his lower lip and for the first time ever you thought that maybe Professor Sato’s son wasn’t that bad at all, both personality and lookwise.

“I can’t comment much about what you feel about your father. I won’t deny that my opinion on you was formed only based on what I saw, but I now know that you must have had a reason why you acted that way to your father.” You shrugged. “I saw a lonely father and a distant son. Because I spent almost all of my time with Professor Sato, please trust me, he talks about you every single day.” You spread your arms, “Your father talked about you, the TV was blaring news about you 24/7 and I was exhausted hearing your name all the time.”

He didn’t seem offended, but was merely focusing on the one sentence. “My father talks about me every day?”

”Every day,” you breathed. “You and your mother.” You smiled, “He never stopped thinking about both of you.”

”Huh.” It seemed like he didn’t know how to react.

This time, you couldn’t help but yawn so you got up quickly, intending to leave the base. If the conversation wasn’t finishing, you were sure you were about to finish it. Your eyelids couldn’t hold much longer.

It was nice having a talk with this infamous baseball player and it sure did change your perspective of him.

He looked on, confused, as you gave a slight nod before heading towards the exit.

”Hey-“ he started, doing a slight jog to catch up to you, who was almost asleep standing up. He gently grabbed the strap of your sling bag, and you snapped your eyes open. He retracted his hand, citing, “Sorry. But where do you think you’re going?”

It was your turn to look confused. “Home?” You said it as a question rather than a statement. “Wait,” you tracked back, “not home. My temporary home at the inn down the road because,” you giggled, clearly drunk from the lack of sleep, “Ultraman destroyed my home.”

”And because Ultraman destroyed your home, you’re staying with me,” he said smoothly, slightly nudging your back with his shoulder. Clearly he struggled as you were much shorter than him.

”With you?” You had no idea where the idea was going yet so you shook your head. “Why would I want to stay with you?”

He took a step back and tugged at the strap of your sling back, essentially dragging you with him. “Don’t misunderstand. Dad’s staying with me as well, we have Mina and you’re joining me because we need to train her.”

”Wait, wait, wait.” You slapped a hand on his shoulder, but he was still holding on strong to the strap. “We? Her? What are we even talking about?”

You were clearly guided by him as you found yourself standing underneath his gaze in front of the Kaiju’s enclosure.

”We as in you, me, dad and Mina.” He nodded, looking satisfied. “Her as in this baby.” He did a show of hands towards the sleeping Kaiju.

You grimaced. “Sir, I did say that my perspective on you has changed, but that doesn’t mean you’re dragging me with you.”

”You’re my dad’s research assistant, right?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Yes…” You didn’t like where this is going.

”You don’t have a house… yet.”

”Yes…”

You took a step back, and what you could describe him now was as a puppy as he imitated your actions. There was a twinkle in his eyes as he leaned down to level his eyes with yours before saying, “Your boss is here, and you currently have no home to go back to. So why not? Take it as me being sorry for destroying your house as well. Deal?” He put out his hand to give you a shake.

You laughed nervously. “And what is it in for me…?”

”You… get to live in the same house as Ken Sato?”

”Nice, yay,” you said flatly. You rolled your eyes. “No.”

“Oh come on,” he groaned. “I feel bad.”

”There’s no need for you to feel bad, okay. I put that behind me, whatever.” You threw your hands in the air. “I’m going, bye.” You turned around, ready to leave.

”I’ll give you my autograph, as many as you’d like,” he quickly chipped in. “Signed possession, whatever you want.” He grinned in satisfaction as he saw you stop in your tracks and you quickly turned around. “It sells. A lot.”

”Hmm…” You seemed to consider it before you shook your head. “Your reputation lately isn’t the best so to sell them might be a bit hard…” You trailed off, clearly more of an effort to swat him away since you did think about it.

You couldn’t deny, it was a nice offer. But you were more worried about how you would cope, considering that you may have found him slightly attractive…

“I’m sure dad would be happy for you to stay here as well?”

You gritted your teeth. First time meeting him in real life and he already knew your weakness. He knew that using his father’s name would cause you to waver.

Still, you held on to your decision.

“No-”

He blinked slowly, and you heard the baby Kaiju stir in her sleep.

You ran your eyes towards the Kaiju before sighing. There was one thing you were interested in.

No, not the man in front of you.

You walked over to the enclosure. “How is she with strangers?”

Kenji popped up beside you before winking. “If I say the stranger is a friend, you’ll be glad to have her around.”

You took a moment to think, weighing the pros and cons. “Full privacy? Separate bathrooms?”

He scratched the nape of his neck. “Well, there is one separate bathroom for the guests but the shower’s faulty.” Something dawned on his face as he just realised this. “The only working shower is in, uh, my room.”

You stared back at him. “So there is a chance I might run into you naked?”

“I’ll preserve my dignity.” He paused. “You know what, take my room. I can use the guest room.”

You chuckled, taking his hand in a forced handshake. “Fine, deal.”

He looked surprised, but trailed after you as both of you took the ride up. “Wait, what was the dealbreaker? Because of the Kaiju? The room? The-” he looked at you almost accusingly. “-chance of seeing the Ken Sato naked-”

“Shh-” you clamped a hand over his mouth in an attempt to silence him just as the entrance pried open, revealing a smiling Professor Sato.

“Dad,” Ken said in a muffled voice, and you pulled back from covering his mouth. “Dad,” he tried again. “She agreed to staying here.”

You looked at the professor from the corner of your eyes. So it was his doing. You wondered what the father had held over his son’s head to make him obey.

“Can I retire for the night?” You did an exaggerated show of stretching. “I’m becoming delirious from the lack of sleep.”

“Room’s to your right,” Ken offered.

“Make sure to lock the door,” Mina reminded you.

“Mina,” Ken groaned. “What are you implying?”

“Just general safety measures. Ken-” she hovered near the baseball player, “-are you okay? Your heartbeat is increasing-”

He groaned. “I’m fine, Mina. I’ll be using the guest room.”

Both of you went separate ways, leaving Professor Sato and Mina in the living room.

Professor Sato whispered, “Mina, status report on the project.”

Mina obediently replied, “Matchmaking project is showing positive progress. We can expect to see rapid progress in the next few weeks.”

***

Training and taking care of the baby Kaiju - which the professor had named Emi - was no easy feat. Contributed by your almost non-existent stamina, you were left cheering from the sides as mostly Ken and Emi did all kinds of simulation to train her. Dealing with a 20-feet monster was not on your bucket list, but you had proudly ticked it off mentally.

You heard whooping from the two and you held onto your bottle as the ground shook when Emi jumped up and down. Subconsciously, you smiled as you saw Ken cheering for the baby, and he almost got crushed when Emi gave his human form a high-five.

You quietly went up the lift as Ken was fussing over Emi to make her go to sleep. You plopped down on the sofa, switched on the TV and to no surprise, his name decorated the evening news.

Ken Sato showing good progress…

Ken Sato showing a more mature side…

Ken Sato helping the Giants to pick themselves back up…

“I definitely look better in person,” Ken’s voice came from behind and you could feel his presence near you. “May I?” He asked for permission to sit beside you but both of you knew the answer as he plopped down right next to you.

You see, these are the small things that could make you wonder whether he’s doing it on purpose or he really had no idea how they affected you.

You gulped when you could feel his knee bumping against yours, or when he casually put his arm on the back of the sofa across your shoulders. There was no contact but there might as well be something because you felt like your heart would jump right out.

Your romantic encounter with a guy was only as far as a guy who called you a creep because you were following him. That day, you were navigating the world half-blind because you broke your glasses and it seemed that he was going to your destination. Sure, you admitted that it was your fault and you apologised profusely, but that made you avoid taking the train for at least two weeks.

You got startled when Ken pressed a cold can on your cheek. The corner of your eyes caught the words ‘COCONUT WATER’. Remembering how Mina had essentially pestered Ken to drink coconut water as a ‘healthy option’, you smiled. Mina had also reminded Ken multiple times that because you didn’t drink, never, ever offer you a can of beer.

”Nah,” you refuted. “You look better on screen.” You imitated taking a camera shot of his face before chiding. “Up near you’re just…” You trailed off.

”Just what?” He asked, prying open his can of coconut water. Without asking, he took yours before helping to open it up for you.

This. These small gestures were what convinced you that you were turning crazy.

”Ugly,” you supplemented.

”Hey, play nice,” he tapped the opened can on your cheek before shoving it into your hand.

You chuckled, taking a gulp of the drink before both of you basked in silence. To him, it was a comfortable silence but to you, you were currently hoping that your heartbeat would just… stop.

You thought that maybe spending time and living together with Ken Sato would further confirm that you hated his guts, but so far, you were only getting the opposite effect. You were sure there was some character development somewhere… from that first moment he destroyed your house to that moment you met him again as he was cradling Emi.

You hated this growing feeling you had towards him and it’s so painfully obvious what Professor Sato (and Mina) were planning on doing to both of you.

The worst part was it seemed like it’s either: 1. Ken was too oblivious, or 2. He knew, but didn’t want to entertain the thought.

Was it a better idea to just leave? They did say your house would be finished being rebuilt in a few days.

”So…” you croaked. “My house will be done in a few days so I think it’s better for me to start packing.” You stole a glance at him. Now… Why am I hoping that he would stop me?

A flicker of disappointment behind his eyes but he was quick to switch it off. “Sure,” he rubbed his nose. “If… that’s what you want.”

You pursed your lips. This stupid erratic heartbeat wouldn’t stop and you hated that you didn’t know what to do with it. “I’ll… start packing then.” You took another peek at him. He wasn’t looking at you.

You stood up, but he stopped you. Your heart was making its way out of your ribcage for beating too loud, but it slowed down when he uttered, “Hey, don’t forget your coconut water."

You looked at him with an ‘Are you serious?’ look before taking it, not once unlocking your stare from his and standing up, finished the drink in one gulp. You crushed the can, and threw it in one shot towards the dustbin.

”Oh, okay.” He looked surprised by your reaction.

You stalked your way to the bedroom and closed the door. Sighing exasperatedly, you pressed your back against the door and slid down. You buried your face in your hands before lightly hitting your head with a fist. You felt bad for reacting that way but you found it harder to deny the feeling when you were so confident that you would manage to resist.

Outside in the living area, Ken looked troubled, his forehead wrinkling when he tried backtracking what he did. He turned to look over his shoulder as the spherical robot hovered near him, and he threw his head back.

”What is it, Mina? Are you here to chide me again?”

”In these kinds of situations, the woman is usually hoping the man would stop her from leaving,” Mina said.

”Mina,” he pleaded.

”I believe a misunderstanding had happened,” she offered again, to which he appeared confused. “Please, do look at the screen.”

Ken’s eyes travelled to the projection Mina made. He looked even more confused as one of his solo interviews was displayed. He looked inquiringly at Mina, before the latter sweeped her robotic hands to ask him to focus on the interview.

It was an interview he did some time last week. His face changed when he started catching on what Mina was trying to show.

“So your name has become the talk of the town again for a good reason now.” The interviewer paused for effect. “This is a question that I’m sure everyone has thought of at least once when we’re talking about Ken Sato.” The interviewer looked at him. “Do you have anyone you’re interested in or at least, someone you have set your eyes on?”

Ken’s response was immediate as he laughed and shook his head. “No, no. Not right now.” He leaned back, a relaxed stance as he waved his hand in front of his face. “Right now I’m only focusing on my baseball career. Still got a long way to go. I don’t want to waste my time on something so unimportant.”

The interviewer turned back to the screen. “You’ve heard it directly from the man, folks. He’s-“

Mina switched off the replay while Ken looked regretful.

Exasperated, he said, “Mina, you know I don’t mean it that way.”

“I believe you should be clarifying that with Y/N herself and not me. She is the subject of your affection.”

“Affection-” he mulled over the word. “Do you really think so, Mina? Is this what this…” He put a hand over his chest. “Foreign feeling is?”

“From my observation,” Mina replied as she stayed close to Ken’s shoulder. “Your expression becomes livelier, your smile becomes wider and your eyes twinkle more whenever she is around. Now,” she paused, “you do have that same reaction whenever you’re with Emi. However, I do sense your heartbeat increasing every time you’re with Y/N. I believe this is what they would call a romantic attraction.”

“So in short,” he sighed, “I like her but I’m saying the opposite thing? But-” he almost grabbed Mina to ask her more, “how would I know if she feels the same way? I- I don’t think I can handle rejection from her. Do you sense anything from her?”

There was a silence as Mina backed up, making way towards her room. “I believe that is not a question for me to answer, Ken. Why don’t you sort it out with her?”

Ken looked at the door of the room you’re in, gathering the courage to make his way. He stopped in front of the door, he shook his hands, breathing in and out as his mind reeled with all sorts of apologies and words to offer to you.

He raised his hand to knock on the door, and at the same time you swung open the door, causing him to knock a fist on your forehead.

So much for Ultraman reflexes.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Ken shouted, automatically cupping your face to see the damage he’d done. “Are you- are you okay?”

You blinked, everything happening at once too much for you. He knocked on your door, you happened to open it at the same time and now he’s-

“I’m… fine. Can you…” you tapped your palm on his hand. ��...let go?”

“Oh, right. Sorry,” he let go as he laughed nervously. “Reflexes fail you at times like these, right?” His face fell as he saw you avoiding his gaze. “Hey. Can we talk?”

You looked up, finally looking at him. “Yeah?”

He exhaled. “Like, properly.”

“Have we not been communicating properly?”

Mina suddenly appeared beside both of you. “I apologise for having to interrupt but yes, I do observe some miscommunication going on. So if both of you may sort it out.”

Mina’s hands pushed both of you into the room and shut the door.

There were protests from both but they quickly died down before silence stretched. Both of you exchanged glances but not words, and neither had any idea what the other was thinking of.

All the apologies and words Ken was thinking of offering to you went up in a cloud of smoke. Instead, he asked the one thing he wished he could take back. “So when are you planning to leave?” Dang it, Ken.

Your face contorted, obviously offended. “As soon as I can. Don’t worry,” you walked over to the bed, shoved your clothes into your duffel bag and zipped it up. “I wanted to tell you that I finished packing.”

”You’re leaving tonight?” This time around, he didn’t hide his disappointment. Why, why is it so hard for him to ask you to stay? To tell you what he really feels?

Sure, he couldn’t deny that his attitude came from growing up mostly without his father around. He had grown up with this wall built around him as a defensive mechanism. He found it hard to communicate with others, to explain what he really was feeling.

He pressed his lips into a thin line. He figured it was best to let the feeling die down. You’d be better off with someone else anyway.

”Just tell me when you want to leave,” he finally uttered. “I’ll open the door for you.”

You gritted your teeth and only nodded.

He turned around and shut the door. Mina and his father were outside, the latter having a worried look on his face.

”Kenji,” Professor Sato uttered.

”I want to be alone, dad,” he mentioned. “Mina,” he turned to the supercomputer, “just make sure she gets to where she wants to go safely.”

As Ken shut the door, Professor Sato turned to Mina, to which he uttered, “I trust this is not the time to ask about the progress.”

Mina answered. “Yes, Professor. I believe we may have hit a wall.”

***

You decided to leave early in the morning and with only a note, saying that you’d like to have some time off. Mina was kind enough to open the door for you, but when she asked whether you’d like to have Ken and Professor Sato see you off, you shook your head vigorously.

”Mina, tell them I’m going somewhere nice for a vacation.” You winked, but it was obvious that you were trying to hide something from breaking. “They better not look for me.”

Mina paused, as if she’s using her electronic brain to figure a way to stop you. “Kenji has a reason for acting that way.” A pause. “Though I am merely a robot with little to no experience in romantic relationships.”

You chuckled. “Thank you, Mina. Really, all of you were so kind to me. It’s just that,” you sighed, “I understand why he’d act that way. He has a whole career to look forward to. Adoring fans. He can’t be wasting-“ you gulped, the words bitter on your mouth, “-time on something so insignificant. I shall take my leave.”

”Y/N,” she uttered. “If I may ask one last question before you leave?”

You tilted your head. “Sure, Mina. What is it?”

“Were my calculations wrong about what you’re feeling?”

”And that is?”

”You hated him at first, but that hate has turned into something more… lovely."

You couldn’t help but smile. “It’s so obvious isn’t it?” You crinkled your nose. “I better take my leave before the three of them wake up.”

That was the last you saw all four of them - Professor Sato, Ken, Mina and Emi. That was what… a week ago?

Now you’re sitting, slumped in your bean bag as you groaned, bored out of your mind. Nice vacation, my ass. If that means reading the same books over and over again, surfing the web and watching the same TV shows while being cooped up in your house, you’re definitely having a nice vacation.

Even then, you found it hard to avoid that person. He was literally everywhere.

You switched off the TV, stretched, before something gigantic shook the whole city. Your eyes went wide as you realised that there was a possibility of another attack. Without much thought, you pushed up your glasses and took a glance through your apartment window.

There they are.

You saw both Ultraman and Emi traversing the landscape. You turned around to leave your apartment, but stopped as you heard sharp chirpings.

Emi was hovering near your window and you laughed, amazed at the sight in front of you. “Emi, you grew wings! You can fly now!”

The baby Kaiju smiled at you, seemingly proud that she could finally set off from the ground.

”Emi, come on.” You heard the one voice that could shatter your resolve then and there.

You tried to close the window, had enough, but the hero stopped you from shutting the window.

“Ow,” he complained, flapping his hand. Ken quickly stopped you from leaving as he said, “Look, I’ve been a jerk and-“ a loud boom resonated through the whole city, “-I want to start over.”

You sucked in your lower lip, mulling over his sentence. You lifted up your eyebrows as if to say, ‘Really, right now?’

He nodded. “I’m sorry. I like you, okay? But I didn’t know how to say it. Or maybe I was just afraid of rejection.”

You tried to keep a straight face but failed; you didn’t expect to hear a confession from Ultraman. You cleared your throat as you looked away. “Become a hero, save the day and then say all of that again,” your voice dropped to a whisper, as if anyone could hear you, “as Ken Sato.”

You’re not sure whether it was possible, but his eyes lit up brighter as he nodded. He started a light jog to launch himself before shouting, “Wait for me!” He disappeared in a twinkle in the night sky.

With your best guess, you assumed the fight must be going on between them and the KDF. Knowing that you’d be anxious waiting to see the results of the fight, you grabbed your jacket, set off into the night and tried searching a vantage point where you’d be able to at least get a view of what’s happening.

You found a spot and narrowed your eyes as you tried to get an idea of where the two of them stood. Emi… Ultraman… Is that Gigantron?

You became confused as you remembered clearly Professor Sato claiming that the most magnificent creature on Earth had died. What the hell is going on?

You gripped the railing of the bridge you were on, the fight getting further and further away from you. You watched the fight unfold… breath battered as you were silently cheering them on. You gasped as another figure launched himself into the fight.

”Professor,” you muttered to yourself. “Please, please be safe.”

The fight was a distant chaos, you could barely see what was going on. You gritted your teeth as you waited for the final call, but dropped to your knees as you realised what was going on.

”No, no, no. Ken…"

You saw the shield. Ken underneath the shield, the explosion that should have been loud, but was muffled inside the enclosure Ken had made before blinding light filled the atmosphere.

Tears filled up your vision as you saw the giant hero collapse into the sea.

***

You stared blankly at the unmoving body in front of you, while another person was strategically standing near the exit. You looked over your shoulder as you felt a light, reassuring tap.

Professor Sato wanted to offer some words of reassurance, but you merely shook your head. He let out a heavy breath, saying, “I’ll leave the two of you alone. I'll continue working on restoring Mina.”

”Thanks,” you sniffled. “Professor.”

Apparently on the day the fight happened, Mina was caught in the frenzy and was almost shut down, while the secret base was partially destroyed. Now the Professor was working on recovering Mina, while Ken…

You sighed, looking at the patient in front of you.

Nothing to worry about, actually. Despite the quick thinking of Ultraman in front of you throwing himself over the bomb, he actually managed to escape with just a broken arm. He’s not dead, Ken Sato was still here, recovering.

But what annoyed you was that it seemed every time you came to visit, he would pretend to be asleep. Not even stirring, obviously faking sleep to avoid talking to you.

So what, all that confession was for naught? Just an adrenaline rush from becoming the hero?

This time around though, it did seem like he was fast asleep. His chest was rising and falling steadily. His hair was messy, and you resisted the urge to tidy it up.

”You jerk,” you grumbled. “I was so worried for you, but… you’re really planning on leaving me hanging like this?”

”Y/N…”

You stopped grumbling to yourself as you heard the man in front of you mumbling your name. You leaned forward, curious to hear what he got to say.

”You look so…” he continued, eyes still shut.

You strained your ears to catch more.

”I like you…”

You pressed your lips together before punching his unhurt shoulder, almost too hard.

He gasped, sat up straighter, taking in big gulps of air as his irises move frantically to search for the source of the punch.

”Who-“ he blinked. “Y/N?”

”In the flesh,” you deadpanned.

”What are you-“

”I told you,” you interjected. “Tell it to my face as Ken Sato.”

He looked guilty for a moment, and you leaned back in your chair.

”You’re going to say it was a mistake, aren’t you?” You asked, clearly exasperated.

”No, it wasn’t a mistake!” He quickly said, searching for your eyes. “After the fight that day I felt like being a hero means that there was a possibility I would just-” he imitated an explosion, “disappear.”

You grabbed his collar. “If you know that even any single day you have a possibility of disappearing, that your life is short, then-” the grip around his collar became tighter, “-it means that you have to grab every opportunity as soon as you can. That includes confessing to someone you like.” You threw your hands up in frustration and stood up, pacing back and forth. “God! Why are relationships so complicated? And why am I so, so, so stupid?”

You buried your face in your hands.

“I don’t know,” you said, tears pooling in your eyes. “When you said you didn’t have any interest in anyone, and that you didn’t want to waste your time on something so insignificant. Hearing that, I just-” you sighed. “-thought that the answer was so obvious. You have your priorities straight.”

“Y/N-” he stopped you by touching your arm lightly, pulling you over to sit beside him. “That was-” He winced as he felt pain shooting up his arm. He tried again, “That was what I’d usually say in interviews before this, because baseball was the only thing that put a smile on my face. But now…” He took your hand, caressing it. “You came and it was just one, big confusion for me. You are the only person who has managed to,” he chuckled, “cause the Ken Sato to waver. It was a foreign feeling for me."

“Idiot…” you mumbled.

He pulled you closer with his good arm, and obviously inexperienced, you shut your eyes tight as you felt him softly breathing against your cheek. Of course, you thought he’d go for a kiss on your lips, but you heard him chuckle before he pressed a light one on your cheek. You opened your eyes and he was grinning.

He thought you looked adorable.

“What was that?” you asked flatly.

“A kiss?” he said, unsure of what exactly you were implying.

“Uh-uh.”

You grabbed his face, and he looked surprised as you leaned in to kiss him on the lips. Your glasses were in the way so you took them off, and you felt his arm snaking around your waist to hold you firmly in place.

In the heat of the moment and flurry of emotions, you found yourself pinned under him, his good arm caging you. He kissed you again, but this time around you felt your heart beating so loud you had to place your palms against his chest to slightly push him away.

“Ken,” you warned him. “We’re in the hospital.”

He blinked, feigning innocence. “Really? I had no idea.” He traced a finger on your cheek, wiping away the traces of your tears. He pinched your cheek as he said, “The doctor told me that I’m good to be discharged tomorrow.”

Suddenly conscious of how you’re pinned under him, you looked away. “That’s good. You can go back home in no time.”

He tapped a finger on your chin, causing you to look back at him. “My house is still under repair, remember? I’m essentially homeless.”

“You can live with your dad-“

“Take the hint, sweetheart.” He kissed your forehead before collapsing beside you, both of you cramped on the small hospital bed.

You thought about how you had never, ever brought a guy home. And now Ken wanted to…?

“I’ll think about it,” you said.

He smiled, squeezing your shoulders as you buried your face in his chest. “Can I ask just one… question?”

“Sure, shoot.”

“What was the dealbreaker, really? The one that made you agree to stay at the secret base?”

“You really want to know?”

“Of course.”

This time, you didn’t even hesitate. “The chance to see the Ken Sato naked of course.”

“Damn it. I knew that was the reason.”

#ken sato #kenji sato #ultraman #ultraman rising #ken sato x reader #kenji sato x reader #ken sato x you #x reader #kenji sato x you #ken sato x y/n #wr: mine

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queer-geordie-dyke · 7 months ago

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This has been said ad nauseum, I know, but the thing I just *cannot* get over is how very quickly and easily the left as a movement abandoned its most basic principles:

“Rape is an abhorrent, violating crime and we must believe and uplift survivors” - until it is done to Jewish women and girls in the name of ‘resistance’ then it’s just fine and dandy, or we might not even believe you at all.

“An armed force invading and mass murdering civilians is a war crime” - until the victims are Jews and you’ve decided it’s ‘resistance’ and ‘you don’t get to criticise how they fight back.’ No, mate, the word you’re looking for is ‘pogrom.’

“Slavery is bad” - until it is Jews being held hostage in Palestinian homes and forced to work then it’s ‘they were treated well and fed, what more do you want?’

“Indigenous peoples regaining their ancestral homelands is a key part of decolonisation and is a worthy endeavour” - until it is Jews regaining the land of Israel after centuries of disenfranchisement then it’s ‘white supremacy’ and ‘colonialism’ and the most evil thing in the world.

“Collective punishment is bad, citizens aren’t responsible for the actions of their government” - until we can treat every single Israeli like evil incarnate and deserving of the worst abuse and treatment simply for existing.

“Oppressed people know their own oppression better than you do. Listen to them and don’t presume to know better about the issues they face” - until it’s Jews talking about antisemitism and then it’s ignoring them, talking over them and accusing them of weaponising their oppression to silence criticism.

“Abuse and violence against an oppressed group must be condemned wholeheartedly and we must stand with the persecuted” - until it is Jews facing a 400% increase in antisemitism - being spat at, beaten, raped, ostracised from public spaces, having their schools and synagogues targeted, and then it’s shut our eyes and ears and pretend none of it is happening.

“Queer rights for all” - until Israel dares to be a beacon of queer rights in the Middle East and then it’s ‘pinkwashing.’

Do you even hear yourselves? Do you even care that you are being breathtaking hypocrites? How do you expect anyone to ever take you seriously ever again?

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sttm99 · 1 year ago

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Bakugo understands that he spends a lot of money on you for just being his personal assistant. But he can't help it.

You honestly deserve it. You're smart, responsible, diligent. You're a hard worker with principles, and your work ethic is something he respects.

It didn't matter how many people were against him promoting you from secretary to PA so soon in your career. Your work was top notch, and you kept him organised.

Sure, you were pretty as well, a sight for sore eyes, really. But that wasn't his fault, was it? It wasn't your fault either.

It's not like you came into work every day with full glam, diamond earrings, or elaborate hairstyles.

It had pissed him off at first, when people demeaned you or underestimated your work because of your looks, especially when he knew you worked so hard so you wouldn't be considered some dumb corporate bimbo.

But now? Now he loved it. He loved when he had clients over, and they'd do a double take when he sent for you to take notes or deliver documents to his table.

He'd noticed the modesty with which you'd dressed when you first started working for him, how you tried to dim yourself with drab colours that obviously washed you out, or plain hairstyles.

Not like it stopped anybody from being able to tell how pretty you were.

But after, when you'd started garnering his attention and racking up more bonuses from your diligence, he began noticing you wearing nicer things.

Of course, you had to up your wardrobe once you were promoted to the role of Personal Assistant to one of the biggest heroes in Japan. But that wasn't it.

Bakugo loved seeing you walk in with a new shirt or new shoes or new earrings after he'd rewarded you a bonus or a pay increase. There was a sort of high he got, knowing that you took care of yourself with the money he gave you.

Oh, he spoilt you rotten.

Month end rewards became the norm for you. He just closed a hefty advertising deal? Best believe you were getting a cut out of that. He was given a bottle of champagne as a gift? You're drinking it with him in his office.

Sure, it may have seemed a bit inappropriate to some people; him locking the doors and closing the windows, and having you sit on his lap prettily whilst he poured it out into a flute for you.

Sure, it was inappropriate for him to have his hands up your skirt as you recounted the month end figures for him, but you were comfortable that way. He was, too. Oh, so comfortable with your hands inside his trousers and his teasing at the lining of your panties.

He was just taking care of his best employee.

And maybe he did spend a lot of money on you, but you had to keep up appearances. He needed you looking your best when you were next to him.

It wasn't his fault you were so beautiful that brands reached out to him to get you to model for then after seeing you appear in some pictures by his side.

It wasn't his fault that he couldn't get anyone else to come with him to the Hero Gala. Besides, you're meant to be with him during these things to take notes for him. So having you as his date was basically killing two birds with one stone.

"Your assistant's fucking sexy," Kaminari whispered into Bakugo's ear, both of them watching you go to order a drink for your boss.

Bakugo smirked to himself, his eyes raking over your body, clad in the tight fitting dress he'd bought for you to wear. He'd also bought the earrings you had on, and the shoes and the necklace. Sure, it cost him quite a lot, but he just couldn't help it when you looked so good.

"She's single, isn't she?"

Now, that had him snapping his head in Kaminari's direction. "Don't even fucking think about."

Kaminari whined, "But why? She's your assistant, not your sister or your girlfriend."

"She's my assistant," Bakugo seethed, standing up from his seat. "She's my employee, and I won't have you lowering her efficiency." He murmured as he made his way to where you were.

You smiled brightly as you turned around to see him, handing him the second glass of champagne in your hands. "You look like you'd rather be somewhere else." You laughed softly.

He grinned down at you before downing the drink quickly. "I would," he said before dropping his glass back on the bar. "Come on."

He spoilt you rotten, but he couldn't help it. You looked so beautiful in your tight dress and pretty hair and beautiful face.

Sure, being seated on the sink and having your legs spread before his lips in the bathroom at the Hero Gala may have been a tad inappropriate, but how could he stop himself?

You were quivering for him, thighs pressing down and shaking on either side of his head, and your fingers gripping harshly at his hair, pulling him even closer as you rutted your heat against his lips.

He let out a desperate groan, burying his face deeper into your cunt, eating you out shamelessly, hungrily.

"Fuuck..." He growled into you.

You'd been so shy the first time he had his way with you, refusing to touch him, grind on him, behaving so meek and cute.

Now look at you, so selfish and desperate, almost suffocating him as he feasted. He spoilt you rotten, sure, but you deserved every morsel of it.

"Katsuki..." You whined desperately, your back arching off the mirror, the hand not pulling at his hair tightly gripping the edge of the counter. "Katsuki, I'm so close... I'm so fucking close, baby-"

His hands dug into the flesh of your ass, pulling your harsher into him, your clit pressing against his nose as his tongue made a meal of you. He was always so desperate for it, digging the wet muscle so far into your pussy you saw stars.

And he was messy too, his saliva and your arousal staying your thighs, dripping from the marble counter unto the ground as he ate from you.

Anyone who came in after would probably be able to tell from the smell of the bathroom alone. The cum leaking unto the floor would only solidify it.

But the thought of someone finding out that your boss had his face buried deep in your pussy wasn't exactly what you were thinking about when you came for him, hard and rough, your hips shaking and raising off the counter as you rode out your high.

"We shouldn't be doing such during events, sir." You whispered to him as you both walked down the corridors back into the hall where the gala was being held.

He had his large palm over your ass, groping you just in the dark of the hallway, letting go just as you stepped into the crowded hall.

"Just be a good girl and wait for me to fuck you on the way home, hm?" He smirked at you, a small sheen still visible on his lips.

He never cleaned his mouth properly after eating you out during such events. It was inappropriate, sure, but he just couldn't help himself.

#bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katuski x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #mha bakugou #bakugo smut

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thydungeongal · 1 month ago

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That encounter joke Anon is wrong. Every 5e GM I've ever met went the route of "one fight per day oh my boss is already dead accutally he has 50 more hitpoints and now here's 2 more minions now the fight is properly exciting and dramatic" and the lack of a poker face meant we all knew.

How do you feel about that kind of rewriting, anyway?

For context, none of the GMs ever admitted to this on the LFG posts, or the pitches, etc.

I'm not opposed to it on principle. Ultimately I do think it's a bit like "oh so you're shifting the goalposts when it seems like the party is winning the encounter more easily than you think they should have," but ultimately that's just a maladaptive response to a different issue. Which is, once again, people trying to run D&D as a game it very much is not.

D&D isn't a game of epic bossfights where characters snatch victory from the jaws of defeat after an extended combat encounter. It can produce such encounters but they will usually emerge incidentally, not naturally. D&D is ultimately a game of attrition, of managing character resources through the course of an extended period, and even though D&D 5e's actual expectations of what an adventuring day is supposed to look like are whack D&D 5e does support a type of gameplay that relies on managing resources over an adventuring day much better than it does "a single epic setpiece encounter per day."

Because ultimately D&D is at its best when it's about weaponized player agency and system mastery, and in modern D&D this sometimes manifests as "the party knew they were going up against a lich so utilizing everything they know about liches they kicked that guy's ass in two turns." Now that would be really anticlimactic if the GM had set that encounter up as narrative culmination of a campaign that had been leading up to this moment for two years. But if you take it as "just one more encounter in the story of a bunch of assholes trying to grow stronger and more epic" then it's just a moment of those characters getting to flex for a moment.

Now of course adjusting the stats of a monster on the fly is sort of a problem in that it goes against the game and thus undermines player expression within the game. When the group pulls off a cool trick that immediately deals a million points of damage to the dragon's dick and you say "oh actually the dragon had two million hit points" then you're ultimately undermining player expression. I don't think this makes someone a bad GM because the motivation behind it is usually to provide a more entertaining experience for the group, but it is a sign of a GM fighting against the system and not knowing what it does, and they and their group would probably be better served by another game. And given that players won't necessarily know that happened it maintains the illusion that the game does produce that type of encounter.

My advice? As a GM, be honest: "hey, I didn't think you all would one-shot that boss. Are you okay if we add a bit more HP to that thang?" And if this is a consistent issue of the game not producing the type of experience the group wants they should ultimately look for a different game.

#thydungeongal answers #dungeons and dragons

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codeonedigest · 2 years ago

Video

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Single Responsibility Principle Explained with Real World Example

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black-cat-luck · 1 month ago

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Jason groans as a gun points between his eyes, he’s a civilian right now, standing beside Bruce as the mugger yells unnecessarily at them. What Jason should’ve done, is pull his wallet out of his back pocket and hand it over. It’s been ingrained in all of them to just give them whatever they’re asking for. A wallet is meaningless, don’t act stupid over something as small as money. But Jason is angry. He and Bruce are trying to mend their relationship, and they were having a really good night, Jason was actually happy to be with Bruce tonight, and this asshole just had to ruin it all.

“Y’know what asshole? I would’ve just handed it over no problem but you’re being a real prick and I should just beat the hell outta you for it.” Jason sneers, he takes a step forward and Bruce suddenly yanks him back, it’s a surprising force, and Jason’s view is suddenly blocked, he feels his wallet get yanked out of his pocket, and he can only see the back of Bruce’s head, hearing the sound of the wallets being shoved into the muggers hand. Bruce hasn’t said a word, and the mugger runs off without one as well. Jason is angry now, because yeah wallets are meaningless, and they all carry two so they can hand off one without anything but some cash and an expired gift card, but it’s the principle. Red Hood just got mugged?? Batman handed over their wallets without just disarming the man?

Jason Todd has disarmed men in seconds before, has turned their own guns on them before they can blink, one little gun means nothing in his face, and he learned it from Bruce, he learned it from the man who can break a wrist and pour out the bullets before the assailant can even get a single threat out, so why is Jason now standing here mugged?

“What the hell was that about Bruce? We easily could’ve just-“ Jason stops mid sentence, he’d been angry, his words had a bite to them, and he was ready to just go off, but as he walks around Bruce, he sees him standing completely still, staring where the mugger had been, hands clenched in fists in front of him. He doesn’t blink, he doesn’t even react to Jason’s voice.

“Oh.” Jason whispers, looking around to see they’re in an alley now, having been shoved into it with a gun in their face, threatened by a strange man to give him what they had of value. Jason looks back to Bruce and sees that the man’s face is paler than he’s ever seen it. “Okay, okay B I’ve got you, we’re okay.” He says gently, he wraps his arms around Bruce, and feels the man violently flinch at the touch. “We’re okay, it’s over, we’re safe. Let’s go home yeah?” Jason’s voice is soft as he gets Bruce to start moving, feet dragging against the floor as Jason keeps his arms wrapped around him, they make it to where their car was, just barely a block away, and Jason helps him in, sighing as he starts driving.

Alfred is already ready for them when they get back to the manor. Jason helps Bruce up to his bedroom, and wraps a blanket around his shoulders. “Hey old man we’re safe and home okay? See-“ Jason steps back and waves his hands over himself. “I’m good, you’re good.” He pats Bruce down, trying to get it across in whatever way he can. “We’re okay.” He promises, Bruce still has a distant look in his eyes, fingers clutching tightly at the blanket over him. “Get some rest, I’ll be here.” Jason promises, turning and walking out of the room as Alfred brings Bruce tea.

He’s angry at a lot of things, and he’s angry that Bruce was sent into this trauma response, he’s angry that they were mugged. He wants to go put a bullet between the muggers eyes, but he promised Bruce he would be here, and if Bruce calls for Jason and he’s not here, if Bruce somehow finds out where Jason is, that might send him spiraling further. So Jason sits down, trying to squash his anger away as he flips dramatically through a magazine sitting on the coffee table.

“Little wing!” Dick says excitedly as he comes inside, and Jason sighs, annoyed, but thankful for a new distraction as he skims through some celebrity story. “Dickhead.” Jason responds, not even looking up as Dick plops himself onto the couch across from him. “Thought tonight was yours and Bruce’s daddy son date?” Dick teases as Jason rolls his eyes. “Got mugged.” He says, not missing the way the silence hits them thickly. “What?” Dick ask, worry clear in his voice, Jason’s sighs and sets the magazine down. “We were down by crime alley too, I wanted to fight the asshole but Bruce like…Shut down. He threw our stuff at him and couldn’t even move. He’s been catatonic for a while now, Alf is upstairs with him.” He says, rubbing his temple as Dick’s expression stays full of worry, but also very sad. “That must’ve been so scary.” Dick says softly, and Jason huffs. “The guy was an amateur! I could’ve easily disarmed him and just-“ “for Bruce.” Dick says, and Jason sighs. “Yeah, I’m sure it was, but I was there, I wouldn’t haveve let anything happen to him.” Jason reminds Dick, who sighs in exasperation. “Jay he was scared for you. We all know Bruce has little to no care for his own life, but think about how traumatic it must feel for him to be in that situation again, with you.” Dick explains, and Jason grinds his teeth, not looking at him.

“He’s not always Batman, and you’re not always Red Hood. He was Bruce, and you were Jason, and he was terrified he was going to lose you like he lost them.” Dick’s voice is so gentle it makes Jason angry. “I can protect myself.” He feels like he has to prove himself. “We both know that, but trauma doesn’t care for logic. Bruce probably felt defenseless and scared, and he had you with him, he was scared he wouldn’t be able to save you.” Jason sighs, having no argument. “I know you feel like you have to prove yourself, but you don’t always have to be son of Batman, you can be the son of Bruce.” Dick reminds him, getting up and walking away when Jason doesn’t respond. Dick goes to Bruce’s room, and Jason sits and stares at the bedroom door, and he now has to face his anger as it really is, not how he hides behind it. He’s angry because Bruce was hurt, and he didn’t get to make the bastard sorry for doing this to his dad.

Bruce is okay after a couple hours. Jason is hanging off the edge of the couch, watching upside down as Dick and Bruce descend the stairs, both even laughing and joking about something Jason didn’t hear. Jason gets dizzy as he rights himself, and barely has enough time to blink out the duplicates of Bruce as the man hugs him. He sits on the couch beside him as Jason grumbles, but hugs him back. “Welcome back old man.” He mumbles, unconsciously burying his face in Bruce’s shoulder as the elder man laughs softly. “Sorry Jay, you alright?” He asks, he pulls away from the hug, but stays close enough to still have one arm wrapped around him, the other busy carding his fingers through his son’s hair. “Just fine.” Jason responds, and Bruce sits back, knowing his time of accepted physical touch was up.

“I’m glad you’re okay, I was just waiting here until you were, I’m gonna go find that bastard and shove that gun up his-“ “already done.” Both Jason and Bruce blink at Dick, who’s smiling slyly. “What.” Jason says, eyes narrowing. “Oh he was from metropolis, ran back there right after, I might have let a small not well known forum in on the fact that someone had the nerve to rob Bruce Wayne and put a gun to his sons head, so he was handled before Superman had the time to find him hanging from a light pole by his underwear.” Dick rocks on his feet as both Bruce and Jason stare at him. “Gotham thugs are pretty protective over pretty boy here, some work in Metropolis and had some time on their hands waiting for the train home.” Dick is too casual about it, and it’s also kind of frightening that he can just…Send a hit on a random person; and thugs from Gotham will just, do it?

Neither Bruce nor Jason say anything, and Dick smiles wider. “Didn’t want to worry about you going after him little wing! I’m gonna make hot chocolate.” He says, turning and walking away, leaving the room in the confused and part worried silence Jason and Bruce stare at each other with. “Well, saves me time.” Jason finally settles on, sitting back and kicking his feet up in Bruce’s lap. Bruce is torn between being grateful his son isn’t out there putting himself in danger over this, but also worried that it’s only been four hours, and Dick already has it all handled. “Alright I’m too tired to think this hard.” Bruce decides, sitting back and turning the tv on, his free hand rests on Jason’s legs, thumb rubbing shapes into the boys ankle, and they’re both comforted having one another like this, and even more so when Dick joins them, kicking his feet on top of Jason’s, and Bruce has his eldest two sitting beside him, comfortable and safe.

#batman #red hood #bruce wayne #jason todd #good dad bruce wayne #nightwing #dick grayson #batman and red hood #bruce and jason #batfam #batman and robin #dc batman #dc robin #dc universe #blackcatluck

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zeyris-daydreams · 1 month ago

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Sanctimony - yandere!sunday x reader

Note: in celebration of our glorious halovian, cult leader Sunday has been written! Be mindful of topics of implied cult grooming, abused becomes the abuser, implied dubcon. Kinda manipulation

» Sanctimony - Pretend or hypocritical religious devotion or righteousness. Someone who is sanctimonious will preach about the evils of drug use whilst drinking a beer, for example. Associated with a holier-than-thou attitude.«

All members of The Family were taught appropriate conduct and manners of speech. How to act and how to speak, what is good and what is bad for the mind. It was all thanks to benevolent Sunday that you knew the right way. Perhaps it was partially due to how long you've known him that you enjoyed perks that other family members didn't enjoy, such as getting off the hook for minor misdeeds.

Like any normal day, you had things to do. It was your duty to clean one of the rooms this time around, and you wiped the counters down and cleaned the inside of each cabinet with precision like always. To do so meant to be useful, and usefulness was highly sought after within The Family. Only when all members put in the work can The Family be a real family. Only then can everyone live peacefully. The kitchen was adorned in shades of brown, giving it an utterly homely feel. A perfect setting to get lost in thought.

As you wiped down the table you pondered over the rest of your tasks for the day. You couldn't be called a caretaker or even a higher ranking member, yet some of your responsibilities were akin to one. Sometimes it was requested of you to accompany the head of the family with executing his smallest tasks, be it destroying paperwork or arranging members into groups for some activities.

Today was no different, although for some time now you've doubted Sunday's need for you. You've known him for a while now, being taken into the family as an orphan, but it still came off as a surprise. It wasn’t clear as to why he'd choose to pay special attention to you. You tried not to ponder over it, even though you knew he had responsibilities. Instead you chalked it up to you being an orphan - something Sunday could relate to. He has known you for a good while before officially being called the head, and in those few weeks, he was very keen on showing you the ways of the family. He explained to you the principles, why such a life was great for you. It was almost.. serene, in that sense.

Sunday, despite his calm demeanor, had a way of speaking that penetrated your very being. He was convincing, and could truly win your mind with a few big words. Maybe it was your own willingness to believe it.

As such, the halovian was your primary source of knowledge since you've been taken in. And ever since you had not a single reason to doubt him. It was strange, how you both came such a long way since. You, still a normal, boring member. Him, the head of The Family.

In moments as such, where you mindlessly used cleaning products on surfaces like the fridge, you truly felt common. There was nothing making you stand out from the ordinary, and in these times of weakness, you doubted the necessity of your existence. You gave your head a light shake as though to cleanse it from such foolish thoughts, and then washed your hands from the substances you've used for cleaning. Repeating tasks daily gave you a sense of routine, and said routine easily caused the time to pass by faster. You assumed it was merely from doing things on an autopilot.

Still, once your duty was done you walked to your room, situated on the far north end of the mansion. It was time to assist Sunday with his tasks, and while you knew he could've had a better assistant, a part of you felt happy for such an arrangement. It would crush your spirits to have it otherwise.

Ever since you remembered, you wished to impress him.

Perhaps it was a recent development, but for the days that you were to be an assistant you tried to make yourself look better. You brushed your hair out right before the visit, washed your face to give it a fresh look. You changed your clothes into one's freshly washed and dried to enjoy their flowery scent. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you were the image of what family members should be. Long dress and free hair, properly covered shoulders and no vulgar cleavage.

You looked proper, appropriate. The dress was a creamy beige, with puffed out sleeves which ended with light, short, and skin tight lace. It was usual for women of the family to look like this, and for a moment you’d go as far as to think of yourself as a proper representative.

With a smile on your face you headed up, deciding to arrive early today. Maybe if luck was on your side, you could spend a few minutes chatting. There was hardly time for it now after all, with Sunday's large responsibilities, you felt like a speck.

You climbed your way up the stairs once out of your room, feeling the wooden handrail beneath your fingertips as you did. The stairs were a dusty yet a deep blue color, and you watched your feet as you walked, before finally getting to where Sunday usually worked.

Unsurprisingly so this floor was only available to higher members, but perhaps due to the favor, you were allowed in. As you approached the grand, engraved wooden doors, they opened, and out of it stepped a woman.

You remained still, blinking as you observed. She had gorgeous purple hair, spilling from beneath her hat onto her shoulders, and she was adorned in a suit similar to ones that male members wore. She had heels on her feet, a gorgeous shade of red that too stained her lips. With a smile she passed by you, and headed out.

From that alone you were aware she was not from The Family. The suit showed her cleavage, and generally such an outfit wasn't appropriate for women either. It wasn't correct to wear pants like this, and so you frowned to yourself - you initially ignored it, walking into the office. You knew this place already. Perhaps it was one of the collaborators that just walked out.

There he was, sat behind the desk with a folder in his hand, the curtains pulled half closed behind him. His office was muted in color - for focus he once said - even though there were plenty of other decorations. The desk in front was a rich brown color, the wood imported from somewhere far away. Belobog, you recalled. It was strengthened due to the biting cold it grew in.

Gripping sides of your dress you bowed as per usual, until he gave you a sign to straighten again. It was trained, routined. It always earned approval.

“You're earlier this time, aren't you?” And yet a smile pushed at his lips. Perhaps it was a recent development, but you've been growing more and more fond of such an expression. “That's good. I have some papers that I would like you to shred”

The work you did was never hard or important. You knew that, but you chose to remain oblivious. As long as you were useful, as long as Sunday was proud.. you'd do anything.

Gracefully so you took the mentioned papers, before heading to the other room. It was joined to the office, and as you walked by your eyes lingered on many pictures on the wall. They portrayed many precious heads of The Family, including Gopher, one you've known to be the head when you've initially joined. The shredder was placed in a corner of the darkened room, and mindlessly you've put the papers into it, clicking the button. And as per always the machine ate the paper, cruel teeth cutting through each singular sheet to create something akin to pasta. Pasta was something you've seen often, given your duties. Such comparison was to be expected.

and as always you glanced round when it was shredding; the room full of documents and alike, antiques or other items of importance. It was a mess, as always.

Once you were sure everything was shredded you returned to the main office.

To say the work was easy was an understatement, for the most part you sat on one chair and mindlessly gave Sunday the items he asked for. Whether it was some water or a pen that was right in front of him anyway, and yet this sort of work was much better than other duties you could've done.

It was with Sunday, after all. In your life you've learned already that the only space that's safe is space with Sunday.

He was all the good that you had.

That day you went to sleep thinking of the beautiful outsider you saw.

—

“It's like.. baking” Sunday said, his gloveless then hands opening the paper that held the flour within the package. “You can try to guess the right course of action, but it would take too long.”

The weather was warm that day, as the two of you spent time in the kitchen. It wasn't very long after you were initiated into The Family, and so Sunday took special care to help you adjust.

You observed carefully, intently, how he measured out the right amount with a cup.

“Father taught me that.”

His words made sense. Back then you were still an ordinary member. And Sunday? He was on his way to ascension - an achievement only a select few could brag about. He was chosen specifically, as you assumed for intelligence. Sunday had talent like no other.

After all, the logic in his words was consistent. Sunday never once said something to disprove that, and everything he said or did was upheld by his beliefs. In this sense, it was beautiful. It made you yearn to know more.

“To bake?” Perhaps the question was foolish. But Sunday didn't expect you to look further through it, after all. You were his last task; produce a devout believer, and only then could he take on a greater role.

The corners of his lips were pulled up, and he smirked, eyes closing for a moment. The sun hit him just right then, it was a spring afternoon. Warm, so full of life. So was Sunday. “By extension, yes. It is all thanks to him that I understand things. Once you understand the core rules of life, you can make your own conclusions.”

It made sense, you thought. Maybe it was your inability to read that decided you had a hard time catching onto his words. That's what he liked about you, too. You were good, perhaps too good to truly comprehend how deep certain things went. Such as the need to reign, to establish order.

Your hands touched the dark counter as you watched him crack two eggs into the bowl. “Generally there are rules to be followed. Be it the order of ingredients and what ingredients can go into a cake, right?” you nodded.

Sunday took it as a sign to continue. “the same goes for life. You can't do certain things sometimes, and some things call for a specific order of action. You can notice it within.. marriage, for example.”

The eggs slid off the flour in the bowl. You focused on them for a moment, and then looked at Sunday once more. His golden eyes met yours. “Marriage?”

“Yes, marriage for instance. Or other ceremonies, or celebrations. Two people don't have children before they marry, nor do they do other things before that. It's like baking a cake, you need a certain course of action.”

It made sense when he explained it like that. If people did things correctly, maybe you wouldn't have been an orphan. Not that you've ever known your parents. What you were sure of is that they must've done something to not deserve to live anymore. That's why they weren't here.

“After the cake is mixed together, you bake it. You don't bake the ingredients by themselves." It was this that made everything simple: what humans needed in life was a specific order. Rules to be followed.

You accepted that.

—

Perhaps it was for forementioned encounter that you wished to know more. And that's precisely why you asked Sunday for a book; which you were given with some reluctance. Being the favorite, he could.. avert his gaze when necessary.

It was a standard catalogue of animals, nothing out of the ordinary. In his assumption, you merely needed something to look through. He couldn't have known, then, that you didn't intend to do just that; perhaps it was the smart outsider that caught your interest. It wasn't the only time you've seen her since then, but it wasn't a mere fascination.

You lacked the understanding to know what truly intrigued you about her; but it stood for yearning. It seemed that she wasn't Sunday's favorite guest, given the nature of their discussions.

He'd be disappointed to learn you were eavesdropping.

The only words that you could recall from their discussions were words such as ‘centralisation’, ‘oligarchy’ or ‘logistics’. It was strange to admit that the woman was the one using such complicated words, ones that meanings you couldn't comprehend. It was strange to be exposed to such a level of knowledge from someone from the outside. Usually, you only took Sunday's words as a source of wisdom. Perhaps it was people that he knew that were simply so smart. Or maybe you were just less intelligent. There was one thing you were good at, though.

You could understand the tone of discussion well. One thing you always were brilliant at was to decipher someone's mood by their words or mannerism alone.

Maybe it was the heightened sense of anxiety, but Sunday never made it sound like a bad thing, and so you took it for a gift of sorts. Reading people like this allowed you to make your words pleasant, even if it meant bending backwards to appease them. Sunday always said it's the quality of a good person.

From that alone you could tell that perhaps the woman's propositions were perceived as a threat to the head of the family; Jade, as he called her, seemed to be unsavory. Why did he have to keep welcoming her in discussion, then?

You supposed you'd never understand. Maybe because you couldn't see into the future as well as Sunday did, and that's why you wished to learn. Maybe then you could offer him comfort on the same level as he himself was; it was a foolish thought.

Once you retreated to your room you made sure to lay the catalogue down on the carpet, before stepping towards your bed. Slowly you crouched, mindful of the creaky floor, before you stretched your arms out underneath the furniture, grabbing the papers you were working on.

For a few days now you have begun to try and decipher the alphabet. It would've been easier, were you guided in your study; but such things weren't exactly allowed. You looked at your hands, and then the yellowed paper sheets.

Sitting on the floor like that now, you felt hopeless. It was your heightened determination to learn that stopped you from handing yourself to Sunday and confessing what you've done. Internal turmoil one could call it. Rules were necessary, yet you broke them.

But it was for a good cause, surely. That's why you finally stood up, walking back to your carpet to then lay on your stomach, putting the papers near the book to lay them down. You began with the poetry days ago, one that you knew by heart now. It was something Sunday recited often, you recalled. And so it was ingrained in your mind, making it easier for you to analyze it. It would've taken you long to find the correct piece of poetry, was it not on a bookshelf you remembered. Sunday often reached for said book, and so you recalled where to find it. The page was bookmarked, his favorite writing. One written by a head of the family of the past. Created far before Gopher, far before Sunday. It was a source of pride for each person who held the control there.

The world, a beast with reckless stride,

A roaring tide, untamed, untried.

Chaos feeds on whim’s delight,

But darkened paths must meet the light.

A chain of laws, a sculptor’s chisel,

To shape the wild, to cool the sizzle.

Freedom's song, though sweet, distorts,

Breeding discord in courts and ports.

Let towers rise, austere, severe,

A voice of reason, sharp and clear.

The errant heart must yield, must bow,

For order's crown must reign, and now.

Beneath the yoke, the world may chafe,

But in its grip, we shall be safe.

No flickering spark, no fleeting dream—

The iron hand redeems supreme.

You began with reciting the words, each word separate. It was an easier task than if you had to go off with nothing, and soon enough the sheet for the alphabet was finalized.

The greater task was to actually use it, and so you tried, writing down small sentences. To honor Him, you started with Him too. “Sunday has golden eyes.”

Perhaps if you knew it when you were younger, it wouldn't give you such a headache, your vision beginning to swim after too long. It was time to take a break, and so you pushed the papers into the book, closing it. And soon it joined the other ones, right beneath your bed.

—

Punishment should fit the crime, and reward should be limited to cases of conditioning. Sunday was aware that's how it should go, as he was told before by ones who knew this before him. That's why unsavory questions or doubts were met with a singular glance only, one very displeased.

Maybe he wasn't in the mood for bantering over it. It was a good day after all, and despite the garden being enclosed, you still enjoyed your time in the shade of an apple tree. The grass felt soft beneath you, and the bark was large. You didn't need anything else.

“Shouldn't the bird still try to fly, then?” You asked. Sunday told you a story of a bird he and his sister encountered once. It was a tragic tale, but one full of lessons. One of which was to not doubt that what is weak should be guarded. “The bird can't know that it's in danger if it doesn't try, right?”

Initially he welcomed such curiosity. “Would you let a child touch hot coal so it may learn it burns?”

It was a food for thought. You frowned thoughtfully, nose scrunching up. “No..?” Certainly, you'd rather be stopped than to touch the coal and have a scar for the rest of your life.

“Exactly. A small being like a bird can't comprehend the dangers, all it can comprehend is the needs it has. It can't plan forward, and merely acts on instinct. We can't say then, that such creatures have true freedom of decision”

Sunday was dressed in a plain shirt with flowy sleeves. It fit him and it fit the weather.

“I understand.”

It was only a few months since you were here, three or so. And yet you started to grasp these concepts as it was expected of you, perhaps far quicker than he himself did back then.

“Good. You are smart, you're catching on quick.”

Reward should be only applied in cases of conditioning. He didn't know why he said it - but you smiled brightly. Was it his approval that earned such a reaction? He wished to see it more often, by means of which he could get his hands on. You should smile only for him. You should be happy about his approval only.

—

In some such cases though, punishment was necessary. But it was never called that, no. He was taught to call it the consequence. That way, if someone hears it, they know that the actions are merely a consequence of what they did. He himself was subjected to it often; before he finally learned.

He just wished he didn't have to bring it forth this early on, you were doing so well. Too well maybe, he'd be foolish to expect you to be perfect. Only he was perfect.

You arrived at the office after a caretaker called you in, but you weren't given a reason. Usually Sunday told you what he needed you for, but not this time. And like all other times this happened, you felt sick in anticipation.

You knocked, and before you could even knock another time the doors opened. It was quick, your fist still in the air before it lowered. “Come in.”

And walk in you did. The office always looked the same, same portraits on the wall. Same plant, same arrangement on the desk, same books on the shelves. Aside from one you stole to learn the alphabet.

The doors shut behind you with a click, and he stood aside. “Come sit, but before the desk now” before you could question you felt his gloved hands on your shoulders, guiding you forward. Only an exhale left you when you were sat on the spinning chair, his hands pressing you into it with some firmness.

You read his mood well. That was all you needed to know he was displeased about something, and your mind began to spiral. What could you do to cause such a reaction? Your thoughts wandered to your worst misdeed.

As soon as you were sat you saw him pull out a ruler from his pocket, and on instinct your hands slid underneath the desk, to your lap.

“Do you know why I've called you here?”

It was a simple enough question, but you could tell the undertone. If he wanted your mere company he wouldn't have asked.

You cleared your throat, eyes glancing at him before frantically focusing on the desk, and your head hanging low. “Uhm, not.. not exactly.”

Sunday sighed.

He shook his head, as though he couldn't believe your words. As though he expected more from you. Did you disappoint him? “And here I thought I taught you better than that. I'm not most pleased with you, (name).”

It felt.. strange in a sense. Whenever he approved of your work or your improvement in the family you felt like you were the happiest person alive. And just as when he was disappointed in you, you felt like you were the worst thing in existence.

The idea of not being seen as fit had your cheeks burn up already. You looked to that same old Belobogian desk to avoid his gaze. Yet you felt its intensity, and that was enough to have tears form in your eyes, pooling behind your trembling eyelids.

“Hands back on the desk” was all he said. But you couldn't stop the tears running down your cheeks, you couldn't stop to think.

He didn't even start yet, and you were a mess already. Perhaps being told that you displeased him earned such a reaction. Especially after being called into his office, not knowing what for. “I'll ask you something clearer, and you better say the truth. Why have you missed the confessional?”

Sunday was aware by now. But it wasn't the point; only by admitting your sin could you begin to repent. And if you stayed in rejection, a punishment wouldn't make you understand your fault. He was close to ascension, he couldn't let your misbehavior delay it.

You recognised the ruler in his hand, it was thin and see through. That didn't mean that it didn't hurt, you tasted it once or twice before.

Sat in his office chair, you couldn't help but shift. Your hands felt weak, and your heart was knocking against your ribcage furiously from anxiety. Surely the feeling of sickness in your stomach around Sunday was from how much you loved him and appreciated him?

He held the ruler in his single hand, snapping it against the palm of his other, gloved one. He walked in front of the desk slowly, back and forth. “I rescheduled my tasks specifically to be on confessional duty this week, so I could see you, but you didn't come. What were you so busy with?”

He merely wished to surprise you. His tasks were more and more with his future promotion. He thought that would make you happy. But you didn't show up.

Each time you heard the ruler hit Sunday's palm you felt your hair stand, goosebumps so profuse you felt cold. “I didn't finish my work-”

Smack, the ruler hit your knuckles, and it took all your might to stay upright. Sunday felt angry, at himself in a sense. Did he not teach you correctly? He wondered how many things you've missed during his absences. After all, some of his workload now began to be his public image. He couldn't be here as much as he would've liked, and the fact that his absence was all it took for you to disobey- Sunday didn't know true anger until that day.

“I know it's not true. In fact I've been informed you tend to your tasks with suspicious haste. Were you busy to be this quick on your feet?”

Each time he asked, you gained conviction. Conviction that he knew everything, that he was merely stalling. To you, it felt as though Sunday was giving you an opportunity to admit your wrongs. Maybe he would've been nicer if you did it, he always was. You bit your bottom lip. “I was- I wished to read.”

The words had a difficulty passing through your throat. Only then did you meet his gaze to gauge for a reaction, but you quickly looked down once more. To say he was displeased was an understatement. Surely he was so disappointed to a degree that it brought him surprise?

Silence followed for a few seconds. You only felt his hands go to your shoulders. “I see the guilt about it eating at you for a while. Are you sorry?”

He knew what you were doing. He knew, because he knew his book was missing. He knew, because someone told him, too. Sunday was just surprised you broke down that fast. In a sense, he was pleased. He wanted to be the only one you relied on so much. You should look at him.

“Y-yes-”

It was scary. But you knew it would be fine now. All you had to do after confessing was to repent.

—

Sunday quickly learned how to convince people of his ideas. He believed them, yes, but as the future guiding light, he knew more than that.

If he was to truly be there, then he had to uphold ideas aside from ones for others. And while they made sense, they weren't for him. In that, he was there only to make sure such rules and order were applied.

They didn't apply to him.

Sunday knew how to make people believe, a thing that he took from his caretaker, Gopher Wood. To produce a believer for his Ascension, he needed conviction.

But perhaps manipulation of feelings and situations wasn't above him either. That's why, shortly after meeting you, he had to root things into your mind.

Such as feeling shame for doing things wrong. Naturally, that's how all people should be. And yet, specifically with you, there was a pleasure in that.

You were too good for this world.

Vaguely he recalls how you asked him once about something. It wasn't important, as you both were discussing things that hopefully let you understand the ideas of the family better. You were new after all, fresh. Hardly a month in.

“I just don't see why we would need that, when we were given our intellect to make decisions.”

Such words were too smart, and you weren't supposed to question. Sunday never had the right to ask things like this, and it formed him into who he was today. You didn't have this right either.

It wasn't that Sunday needed you to be his successor, as he was successor to Gopher Wood. But that's precisely why he also taught you differently. Rules didn't apply to him, they applied to you.

He tipped his head, and you felt like you asked something wrong. “Does a worm know whether the rain is snow or water?” He began. “Does a mortal know what way is better for them, when they aren't omniscient?”

You shrank in your seat. It was supposed to be a casual conversation over tea, outside. Why did you expect to be on equal footing? “Do you believe you know better than me?”

The words struck you when he spoke them. Did you believe that? No, you could never. Sunday was the wisdom and he was the light and to him you owed nearly everything. You didn't believe that.

But you believed now that questioning the authority was wrong. The family gave you everything. You could never believe to be above them. To be above Sunday. He himself learned such a manner of speech all these years ago. To question someone is to believe them to be lesser. That's what he was told, and so he never questioned.

Immediately your eyes watered and you shook your head. You didn't want your only friend to be angry at you, or to have any dislike for you. “No, no, I didn't want it to look like that-” you started off immediately, apologetic beyond belief. He was stopping himself from smiling. You were pathetic, pliable.

You were too good.

—

Sunday scolded you for reading that time. But you knew this wasn't the full extent of your activity that he'd disprove of. After all, it was only a matter of practice before you read more. And so you did, writing and reading, only this time with more secrecy.

You were smart enough to take time on your duties so it wasn't apparent that you were looking forward to something, but not too long as to stay in a room where male members would be. For instance, there were places with an hourly schedule, during which women were allowed at specific times, and then men at specific times. Not all spaces were shared this way.

Still, with not much reading, you couldn't be aware yet of such absurdity. That's why as per usual you tried to show less vigor, trying to distract yourself from being overly joyous. It was only the thought of reading that got you through the day now. Sunday hardly ever discussed concepts larger than the family with you. And through your own study you found said concepts. Are there really so many planets?

You wondered if they followed Order too. If this path of life is perfect, surely other people should know it too? You knew you couldn't ask. If you did, then perhaps he would have known that you do something you shouldn't.

As much as the guilt from sinning was decreased, you still didn't want to cause him further disappointment. Maybe you didn't care about dooming yourself, as long as he wasn't displeased. As long as you still had his approval.

The clock gave you a way to free yourself of your duties, and you hurried off upstairs again. The mansion was large, but living there so long, you knew the pathways by now. And although it was still just evening, something felt amiss. Despite walking through the already similar corridors and up the same old stairs, you felt like something was out of place. Perhaps that thing made you too aware of your surroundings. A crow watched you through a window.

You didn't enjoy reading this time.

—

The curiosity finally got the better of you. Because as soon as you could, you hid behind one of the dark blue walls. And so you waited there, and you anticipated until the pink haired lady left the familiar office. Jade. From what you heard from eavesdropping, Sunday was becoming infuriated with her. That was enough to convince you this lady was a threat, no matter how many times she came here. More complicated words were uttered, ones you could recognise this time. Ones you remembered from reading.

‘quid pro quo’, for something akin to an exchange. ‘aberration’, something out of place. Out of ordinary.

‘anachronism’, something not right depending on the time. You couldn't make out what they discussed yet, as the walls weren't that easy to listen through. They were old and aged, and you assumed they'd be older than Sunday himself.

Still, once she left, you sneaked around. Perhaps to figure out more. Surely she troubled Sunday. And to help him, you needed to understand- you needed to learn. Yes, you needed the knowledge. You waited for her to take a step towards the stairs with a bated breath.

Initially you wished to follow her, but before you could even start, she turned her head to you. She smiled. And then she began to walk towards the stairs, descending with an unseen grace. She wore jewels again, and you swallowed. Without thinking, you rushed after her.

—

Sunday pulled the teacup towards his lips. It was another day of bliss in summer warmth. You were adjusted now, you understood. Which is why he could enjoy your presence more casually. A reprieve from his usual tasks of learning and duties, a moment for him to just be Sunday. Not a twin of order, not an heir.

With your hair tied you sat in front of him, your lemonade in both your hands as you watched the horizon outside, through the kitchen window. He was sitting in such a way that his back was turned to the glass. At least he was in the way of the sun that surely would burn your eyes otherwise.

“Well.. doesn't that imply everyone can twist things?”

You both discussed matters of knowledge being a tool and power. It was only natural to have such discussions, what else would you speak about?

“That's right. Which is why not everyone should have access to knowledge, and not everyone should listen to random words by strangers.” He started. “All it takes for people to listen to words is to speak with wisdom, falsified or true. You can recognise a liar by their words, if they aren't pleasant to human nature, they may be false.”

What Sunday said was right. His words were pleasant to your human mind, so they must've been true. But his words were always pleasant to you, even when he didn't speak of knowledge. Even when he only praised you.

“You're right. It's easy to get the wrong idea if we hear things and we don't have anyone to clarify it for us” that was correct too. It was easy to get caught up in doubt if you didn't have enough knowledge to defend yourself. You knew you'd never have such knowledge, you relied on Sunday.

—

Jade seemingly led you further and further, until you caught up to her on the first floor. Each time you took her eyes off her, she seemed to be further away. Still, finally she walked into a corridor. It felt silly, you thought. Wasn't she intending to leave? Despite your better judgment you followed, and soon had her standing near the end of a hallway, the window exposed the darkening horizon.

“You seem to need me for something?”

Her voice was silky, full of confidence. She smelled of jasmine and expensive alcohol. You only smelled said drink once, when it wasn't meant for you.

You stood in place as you watched her, blinking. “I want to know.” What did you want to know? You weren't sure. You simply wanted to know. The woman smirked. “What are you willing to give up for it?” Was all she asked.

You stepped forward, with more confidence. She didn't seem to be troubled by it, head tipped to the side. “Give up for it? I'm not.. sure.” It was hard to say what she meant, and given your confusion, she clicked her tongue. “Knowledge is a hefty gift, is it not?”

“I want to know about you. Who are you?”

Jade hummed. As she stepped close to you she leaned to your ear. “I am the truth, and a diplomat.” She hummed, her long nails tucking your hair behind your ear. Why were her nails so decorated?

“Free or charge this time; you are made for more, child. Seek and you shall find.” With that, she walked by you, and you couldn't get yourself to turn around.

The words echoed in your mind briefly. Seek and you shall find.

Look and you'll see. Look where?

The feeling of guilt was overrun with a feeling of determination. You read even more that night.

—

A thing you learned from books was that humans made choices. And such books were a product of them! It was precisely that the choice existed that you learned so much of the world. So many animal facts, so many words you couldn't comprehend. Biopsy for instance. It sounded interesting, whatever that was - all you knew it was related to the body, and to doctors.

And precisely because of the choice you wished to learn. And that's why you read. And you learned to read. With all that combined, you could think your own thoughts. With so many new words you didn't know, you could draw conclusions.

Within the books you weren't supposed to take and see, you found a strange sense of wisdom. Because no one paid you any mind, no one cared if you spent time in Sunday's office. And that's precisely where you found books you didn't understand; so many of them. Because she has told you to seek.

A girl who has nothing to do is a girl who has nothing to lose, and precisely through words you understood that. Because people within books were whoever they wished to be, such as a fairytale you found within the bookshelf of Sunday's office.

A fairytale of a girl locked in a tower by her mother, and a brave young man saving her. And then the books of more complicated themes, like tyranny, one you only understood recently. With Sunday delegated so often, it felt too easy.

It felt as though someone wanted you there, and you had assumed it's fate. Fate which allowed you to draw your own conclusion. By any means, the family wasn't evil.

You'd never assume that. But it wasn't for you. Your yearning for knowledge wasn't unnatural, and after gathering your courage so long, you finally decided. You'd leave, and you'd learn. But maybe without anyone knowing, so as to not break his heart.

You opened the doors to the office with a book in your hand, slowly walking in. It was a tale of society governed by a tyrant, you assumed. A strange date for the title, 1984. Still, you moved slowly and with grace to the bookshelf, gently pushing the book into its former spot. In doing so you looked at other books, wondering which one of these you haven't read yet.

For the head of the family, Sunday was surely gone more often than not. You reached for a book, before looking out a window. A crow sat there, and it watched. Maybe you assumed it yearned for knowledge too, so you grabbed one of the books, and left.

—

The breeze was getting colder now, and you closed your eyes to feel the setting sun on your skin. You and Sunday were sat atop a green hill, the grass ticklish against your body, the only barrier being the dress you wore.

Your head turned to Sunday, and you saw he was deep in contemplation. His eyes had a vacant look, the orange sun reflecting in his golden eyes. The conversation however continued.

“What about if someone doesn't want that?” Sunday faced you soon after.

“Who wouldn't want this? It's a peaceful life. With a preordained order of things, everyone will be happy.”

You weren't so sure. Nearing Sunday's ascension, he explained to you the course of life each member of the family has. They'll live and grow, and take care of their shared space. And they'll pray and sing odes, and then they'll marry, and have children.

People were paired by caretakers usually, in accordance to what they deemed fit. Such life was foreseen for every member with no exception, even though the idea confused you.

“Well- I understand.. but can we be sure that's what everyone wants?” You weren't trying to stir trouble. Perhaps you were hoping that by asking you’d understand. Sunday brushed a stray hair from your face as he smiled. He was like the sun on a warm day. Perhaps better than the sunrise then.

”Humans can be..” Halovian looked to the side, before his eyes met yours once more. They had the prettiest yet most conflicting colours. “To put it simply.. They do believe what they want is what’s actually good for them. That can't be further from the truth. Humans need some sort of guidance at the end of the day, sometimes the best solutions don't feel appropriate.”

You didn’t have the mind to deny it then. It made sense. Higher power decided things based on objective principle, not the subjective one. The breeze made your hair tickle your skin, and you wrapped your arms around your knees. “That’s true. Like the example of the bird you gave me. Just because it wants to fly doesn’t mean it can if it's unsafe.”

Sunday felt happy. You were getting it.

—

The memory of seeing Sunday for the first time was blurry. You vaguely recall your home destroyed, and wandering your old village aimlessly. It was due to an unspecified explosion, you never recalled the details, perhaps from how traumatic they were. A group of missionaries descended upon the land, bringing news of a new day. And as everyone was gathering and helping others, one man's eyes were specifically on you. His hair was dark and long as night, and he approached your curled up form.

An unknowing thing you were, he knew. And so he personally took care of you, wiping your tears. “This is a new chance,” he said. “This soil long lost its aeration. Only from fresh earth can life spring.”

You did not know what that meant. Regardless you were happy for the help, and went with the man to a new land. And that land was far grander than what you imagined, as on this land, you saw the sun for the first time in months.

And on that land you met Sunday,

The air was warm, and he was dressed in a white shirt, donned by a sleeveless suit of sorts. The outfit was comforting and pleasant to look at, not flashy, and not taking your attention away from his halo. From his wings. He looked like the saints you’ve seen on the walls of your old house. Saints you didn’t remember anymore. Your mouth was slightly agape, and you only regained your composure when you heard Gopher Wood speak.

”I have hefty responsibilities, child. I trust I can leave this lamb for your guidance?”

His hand was on your shoulder as he made you take a step towards Sunday. The other nodded, and smiled pleasantly. Gopher gave a nod as well, and was on his way soon after.

Like that you two were alone. “My name is Sunday.” He said.

You nodded slowly, and then looked around. Everything seemed fuller. Not like your old home, no, here nature had vibrant shades. You were pleased with the grass as you looked down, it was so rich. Your admiration of life was interrupted by the sound of Sunday clearing his throat. “And yours..?”

In the moment you looked back at him. “Mine..? What?”

”Name, your name.”

Despite the moment of embarrassment you answered, and he didn’t seem to be annoyed, or even bothered. He took your hand, and walked with you, tugging you along. “Well, then let's go somewhere we can sit, this is new to you, and I think we should talk about things.” Things like where you were from, and why. And what it meant to be in the family. He moved with you until you noticed a table near a comfy looking house. The details evaded you. It was merely a table with chairs, yet no significance. No. The true significance laid in the topics. In Sunday.

—

The plan was perfect. Well, not really, but you had no choice. You never dared to say that the family was wrong; you were grateful. But it wasn’t for you. To tell that to Him meant to break His heart, so you chose silence. iIt was better than direct confrontation at least.

Being there this long you had an idea of patrol routes and exits. So it wasn’t really difficult for you to navigate properly, avoiding watchful eyes. You picked nighttime, as it was easier to hide. Easier to ignore your guilt.

You didn’t blame yourself though, you just didn’t see the life of the family fit your needs anymore. Once upon the time maybe, but now? You yearned the outside and you yearned knowledge. You didn’t want to be married and have to fulfill the same tasks every time. Sunday did warn you that wisdom shouldn’t be taken from everyone, you just weren’t listening. You chose to believe there must’ve been more to this life.

Sneaking out of your room wasn’t hard when you knew the usual route the caretakers took while supervising. That, and perhaps the encouragement of the crow outside your window. Was it encouragement? Maybe you just chose to believe that.

You were one of the trustworthy members, and so you avoided being checked on by anyone. After that it was smooth sailing, heading into the north wing of the place to hopefully wait there. The plan was simple; get to the exit. And run.

Well, that's the simplified version. In reality it took nearly an hour to be halfway there, having to hide and wait for minutes sometimes until the hallway wasn’t patrolled anymore. But it was paying off, a strange fulfilment filled your senses. It was dark, which was to be expected. You navigated by holding your gloved hand to the wall, the texture of the wallpaper on it already similar. Despite not seeing it well, you remembered the muted shade of blue that the wall had. You memorised the outlay of the windows by then as well, watching the moonlight seep into the hallways and the corridors. It was saddening in a sense, this place was like home. Even now as you walked, your shoes clinking softly and almost inaudibly against the stone tiles, it felt familiar.

The thought made you stop. Were you truly to abandon this place? Did you not feel shame? Perhaps if your righteousness would’ve been greater, these second thoughts would’ve stopped you. Clearly you weren’t raised well. And so you moved on, vaguely aware of your breathing, before hearing footsteps. You were quite far already but that didn’t mean you weren’t at risk. More so with how little space you had to hide as of current, leaving you to slowly back away into the hallway. You didn’t watch where you went, only to get away from the sound. As such you ended up hiding around the corner, pressing closer to the barely visible wall. Your face was pressed against the wall, back flat to it. You slowly moved, until you felt something sharp at your hip. And then a shove, and the sound of shattering. You snapped your head to the noise.

You just knocked off a vase. A stupid vase, one whose corpse you saw thanks to the light from outside. The footsteps halted.

Realising that there was no time you took off in a run, your feet trying their best to carry you silently. It wasn’t enough, whoever went up to that vase wasn’t alone. You only heard the voice, not the actual conversation. And you went for it, the fear of being caught spiking you to abandon your former carefulness.

If someone knew that anyone was sneaking around, they’d go after them. And so running was your only choice. That didn’t help in the grand scheme of things. You’ve miscalculated. You didn’t pay attention.

Running and the panic earned you nothing, and you went with haste, doing your best to not be seen. Despite the initial threat gone, your own hysteria made sure you knew it was over. You ran to the end of the corridor, just to see a patroller turn into your direction.

”wh- get back here!”

You didn’t freeze thankfully, you turned around to break into the sprint - feeling weak regardless.

In reality you felt sickened. You didn’t plan to cut your plan short. And yet the persistent feeling of guilt clawed at your chest and stomach. How wrong was this to run like a coward? You didn’t stop.

One last turn and you could get out of a window safely. One last turn and-

Your head hit the floor before you knew what was happening, everything around you blurring and spinning from the impact you just withstood. You watched yourself on the floor, head tipping to see the person you just bumped into.

A guard. One not pleased at all, yet shocked nonetheless. It was unthinkable that you, of all people, would be causing ruckus. You shouldn’t be wandering the halls this late, and the guard knew. No defence left your tightened lips as you were grabbed roughly by the arm, and then yanked upwards.

It didn’t help that your head hurt from the impact with the tiled floor, and you were vaguely aware of your footing as you were dragged along. Whatever they were talking about to themselves fell on deaf ears as they approached the caretakers that found you moments ago. “What were you doing wandering the halls?”

“Wandering? Clearly this was an escape attempt.”

”It’s.. it’s not possible. There must be a reason”

Ashamed, you gave no answer. No answer would be appropriate for this crime. And you knew what happened to ones refusing Order. You knew that-

Everything silenced, spare for the sound of particular footsteps. Slow. Unrushed and measured. The two gathered caretakers and the guard seemed to stop their banter, and the air felt heavy. Your gaze followed theirs, and there you saw him.

Illuminated by moonlight like a saint was Sunday.

Wasn’t he supposed to be out for business? He shouldn’t be here. Why was he-

His hand was behind his back, and all he offered was a polite smile. “Thank you for your hard work today. I shall take it from here”

The guard looked at the other two, mouth opening to say something. Maybe protest, or maybe sing Sunday praises. You’ve seen both these cases already. “I said, I’ll take it from here” Yet he only loosened your grip on your arm, before pushing you to Sunday by your shoulder. All of the sudden your mouth felt dry and your throat tight, and then you saw the others bow and leave. They looked back on occasion before they were gone from the horizon.

Only then did you face the halovian again, the pleasant smile replaced by an utterly displeased and bone chilling expression of sternness. It fit the moonlight. It was cold.

Your wrist was grabbed within an instant, and he pulled you towards himself, leaning over to face you well. “You’re going with me.”

Sunday knew better than to make a fuss about this here. No, walls had ears. And certain birds knew how to speak. Before you could think to say anything you were pulled along by Sunday, further and further away from the exit. As the distance grew your feeling of sickness heightened, anxiety so big you felt you’d throw up.

You could tell he was pissed off. Well, that was certainly an understatement. Sunday was fuming, his hand tight on your wrist to the point you winced, and the walk through the darkness was silent, spare for the sound of footsteps. Occasionally you’d walk by patrolling caretakers, who looked to you and then away, sometimes lowering their heads. Was this from respect to Sunday, or the disappointment?

Maybe your mind needed to think about anything but the current situation. Maybe that’s why you chose to escape mentally even when the office doors were closer and closer. And each step you took heightened your sense of impending doom.

The doors opened with a click, and he pushed you by the small of your back inside, stepping after you. And then the doors shut. Time stopped for a moment. Nothing but the sound of the clock was audible, until he finally spoke up. You realised only then your wrist was released.

”Sit”

No words came out of you again as his hand found your shoulder. The desk held no significance, neither did the chair you were shoved onto. Through this short contact you felt his fingers shake. But only momentarily. Well, the only significance was within the situation.

Sunday didn’t sit. Whenever he had a lot on his mind he would pace about, and he opted for walking near the window. He inhaled deeply. How to even begin this conversation?

”A bird told me of your heinous acts.” He started. “But it would seem that even my rush to come here wasn’t enough”

Sunday planned to come in today to surprise you. Despite all he cared about you, really. If not, he wouldn’t have put in all this effort to keep you here, safe and sheltered. He would come in today and spend time with you. It was all to learn from the dreammaster that a certain person was doing things that shouldn’t be done.

Sunday ignored the warnings before. And look where it brought him, the situation worsened without his supervision.

You shifted in your seat, unable to face him. Your gloved hands curled in your lap as you gripped at your dress, knuckles turning white from the tension in your fingers. The halovian kept his gaze far. It didn’t escape him that you remained silent. Your anxiety usually would have you spilling out by now, tearing yourself apart for any positive look from him. For any reassurance.

Sunday closed his eyes with a sigh, hands behind his back. The curtains of his office were pulled open, allowing him to really see the outside.

“Nothing? You’ve got nothing to say to me?”

At being addressed directly you could do nothing but try to optically shrink yourself, curling in your seat. How would you even begin to explain yourself? Every single part of you, every single cell in your body emanated guilt. As though your own body was ashamed you’d think to leave.

One thing Sunday didn’t like was being ignored. His head turned to you, and he stepped over - directly in front of you - before snapping his fingers. “Zero? I would’ve expected admittance at least” it would seem to get you to talk, he’d need to bring out the heavy guns.

The halovian sighed heavily, a signification of how heavy his heart must’ve felt due to this situation. “You’ve disappointed me. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong for this to happen.” His gaze was everted to the wall, looking at the portraits on the wall.

“I’ve had grand plans for you.”

Perhaps the reaction was trained and habitual, but it didn’t feel any less natural. Your shoulders tensed, and your eyes began to burn. Sunday didn’t need any power of harmony on you, he needed to say the right things.

It never failed him, not this time either.

“I wasn’t- I wasn’t trying to-“ Sunday clicked his tongue. He wasn’t about to sit and listen to excuses. “But you were. Deliberately so.”

You refused his gaze once you felt it again, his hand under your chin. “Look at me when I am speaking to you.” Look at him. Always.

Your chest felt constricted when you met his golden eyes, his wings neatly folded, not spread out. “You planned it and then attempted to execute it. There’s no denying that.” Still, it was too much. You ended up moving your face away, looking to the exit longingly. You couldn’t face the guilt.

Halovian considered the situation at hand. Deliberately you were forgetting your place, but he needed to change his approach. So he crossed his arms, voice softer, temporarily losing its edge. “Let’s just.. talk about this, yes?”

Sunday leaned against the belobogian desk, head tipping. You looked pitiful and weak. Most importantly, naive. “I understand you must’ve had a reason to make this decision. One.. you deemed a good one. Tell me then, what was it?”

By then you should’ve known you were still in trouble. Regardless you were slightly comforted by his softened manner of speech. You still didn’t face him. But where to begin?

”I.. it was lingering on my mind for.. for a while- I believe that this is the decision that’s right for me.”

Sunday said nothing. He allowed you to continue, looking at the clock, and then pushing himself off the desk to approach a bookshelf.

Staring at your lap, you scratched at the skin underneath your glove. You were grateful, had Sunday not come, more people would know of your transgression. Or attempted transgression, a term more fitting. If they knew, they’d demand justice.

”I’ve.. I’ve noticed that the things I want don’t align with the.. uhm, ideas that the family strives for anymore.” You looked back to Sunday. His back was to you, and he was looking through the already familiar book. As you spoke you found a new confidence in your words. He was listening. He must’ve been. “I’m grateful. I am, but I can’t- live like this. It’s not for me, I can’t stay here.”

Sunday held the book open as he approached the desk once more, but he hummed, allowing you to continue. He wasn’t interrupting, that would be impolite. “I believe there are things I want in life that I won’t find here. I don’t hate you, I just..”

Of course there was no grand need to clarify. But you were anxious yourself. You didn’t wish to leave others in anxiety of unspoken things.

”You just?”

“I just don’t want to follow the codex of the family anymore. There’s more ahead for me.”

Sunday looked at your face. And so you looked away. You were sure he was hearing you out. He was listening, maybe he would understand. Maybe- “Is it a claim that order is unfit for individuals better than the rest of man?”

Your mouth went dry. Before you thought to defend your point he held his hand up, signifying his turn to speak. The open book was laid on the desk. Sunday took a step to you, unrushed. He had time, after all.

”What would give you such dystopian ideas? The books that you were reading when you thought no one was watching?” He asked. “Your selfishness asking you to stand out? Admirable. Do you believe yourself to know better? To be better than me?”

The verbal attack didn’t cut it. Your lips trembled as you tried to find a way to defend your point. You never thought yourself to be better, to know better. Yet that’s what Sunday seemed to think. If you explained your point enough he’d understand. He was your friend. He was-

His hand was at the arm of the chair, a tight and unrelenting grip. “You’re foolish. Absolutely and utterly naive. Order is for everyone, it’s not to appease you.” He wouldn’t let you speak. You couldn’t find any gap to think and word your ideas, no. “Rules are set by higher power. Do you not remember?”

Suddenly the chair let out a pleading screech as Sunday shoved it closer to the desk, forcing you to face the opened book. The poem. The ‘iron hand’. Your gloves felt tight on your hands.

”Read it out for me.” You knew how to read now. With your hands shaking you gripped the desk, leaning over. Your hair moved down when you stared at the page, and you looked at where he was pointing.

”A- a chain of law, a sculptor's chisel- to shape the wild, to cool the sizzle-“

”go on. Next lines.”

”Freedom’s song, though sweet, distorts-“ You were trying not to cry. Each letter read had your voice trembling from your throat tightening. “Breeding discord in courts and ports”

The book was shut in front of you right when you were done, and you were left staring down at the empty spot on the desk. “Did you learn anything from it?” The question was strange. Why would he ask that?

“It’s a poem, some- some poems just exist to let.. to let an author's voice out it’s not- it‘s not a rule of reality.”

Such big words for a lowly lamb. Sunday raised his brow, his voice carrying a tune of mockery. “Really? Why then believe all the other things you’ve read? You do not understand the true meaning behind the things you see. As a human you take things at face value, yet this poem is symbolic?” He scoffed.

He was expecting an apology. Or a statement of how wrong you were. Maybe then he’d let you off the hook. When he was young he too had moments of defiance, but thankfully there was always someone to get him back on track.

”That’s not- this is not what I meant.”

”Then, pray tell, whatever did you mean?”

Maybe this was your chance. He would understand, he would-

“I don’t want to live like this, Sunday!” Then again your infuriation reached its limit. You gripped the arms of the chair. Your tone did have Sunday vaguely surprised, an unreadable expression on his face as his mouth was agape. “I don’t want to have to marry, and then have kids. And then continue in monotony, and then do it all over again-“ you began. “This isn’t for me. There’s more to life than doing things on constant repeat like a music box whenever it’s opened.” your heart knocked against your chest in anticipation. Was this anxiety or excitement?

You should shut up. He frowned, only slightly, you did not relent yet. “There’s more to be seen and explored. There’s more to be learned and experienced. Like- like this desk. Humans need experiences to know life, they need to be shaped by their struggles, they need-“

You took a deep breath in. “They don’t need monotony. They need decisions.”

Maybe you should’ve silenced yourself before. His gaze was averted in mockery of contemplation, and then he looked at you directly. He was pissed. “No, humans don’t see things. We already talked about this, humans need someone to rule them and set their lives. They only see by the prism of their desire, they-“

The world was spinning. You weren’t sure if it was from anxiety or adrenaline. “Humans aren’t made to live like this! We- we aren’t cattle.”

Sunday regarded you for a moment. As though he took your words to be spoken lightly. As though he didn’t value your opinion as much as he should’ve.

Who would blame him though? You were just one person.

”Humans aren’t made.” Before anything else was said, his hand gripped your cheeks. Sheer strength of it had you wincing, and your lips puffed out due to the way he held your face. Sunday leaned in, eyes narrowed, and voice laced with poison.

“They are born. Born to be ruled, to be guided. They are born to obey.” The emphasis didn’t slip you.

Sunday didn’t like defiance. He didn’t like disobedience. Especially not when it was from you. “And like a human you are, that’s what you’ll be doing. You don’t know what’s good for you with me here. If my life relied on your freedom, I would never. let. you. go.”

He let go of your face, the harshness of the movement making your vision move sideways, face turned. ”Is one blind same as one that sees?” The question didn’t need answering. You were doomed.

“Is a dog aware of the poison that’s being hand fed to it?” He moved, stepping somewhere behind the chair. You didn’t dare to turn around, however, the tears pooling in your eyes were blurring whatever was in front of you. “Does a child know that a stranger may be a kidnapper, then?”

Your voice shook, and you felt his hand on your head, giving you the smallest strokes. “N-No-“

Halovian’s fingers tangled between the loose strands. “No. Is the sinner the same as the saint?” He asked again, hand running down before his fingers brushed out your hair again. “No, then why-“ his hand was tight in your hair, giving it a harsh tug back, forcing you to look at the ceiling. Not exactly. Sunday was leaned over you, his face unreadable. “-do you believe you have any clearance? You’re naive at best. To leave you to your own devices has been a foolish mistake” his voice carried an edge to it. A silent warning, a boundary that’s been crossed. “One I’m not gonna make again.”

Your cheeks burned. You really did it this time. You never saw Sunday this angered - his fingers left your hair, a dull feeling left over in your scalp. “Get up” he’d teach you your lesson, then figure out how to appease the masses.

Maybe he’d simply claim insanity. Maybe. Or perhaps he could work this into his plan, tell them your fear of marriage and greater tasks made you behave with no thinking. A fear of marriage to Sunday - which would be an actually believable reason.

Halovian was fine keeping his distance, even if you consumed his daily thoughts. He was willing to stay away if that meant you’d be safe, even if he couldn’t have you.

Well, that changes today.

He vaguely saw your struggle to keep calm, so he tugged you on your feet by your shoulder, pushing you in front of him. “You want a reason to leave this place? Let’s give you one.”

There was no time to speak, as he guided you out of the office, right into the hallway. It was still dark out there, and you stood cowardly as he fished his pockets for keys. Soon after you felt his hand wrap around your arm, and you were dragged along regardless of compliance or defiance. It seemed Sunday already knew where to go, and you too knew where he was going, judging by the direction. “Usually you’d try and gravel out of the situation” He commented, albeit unkindly. “It seems there are things that you’ve forgotten, such as your place in the hierarchy”

Through the darkened hallways you could still hear the jingling of his keys as he looked for the appropriate one, the sound of it sliding into the lock nothing but smooth. That’s right, you were going to his room. But why? The lock gave way with a click, and he made you walk in first.

As expected the room was darkened, Sunday stepping in shortly after you. He turned the light on absentmindedly, the room as dull as always. The halovian has told you once that vibrancy of colour takes clarity of the mind away.

You looked back to Sunday for a moment. He watched you too, his hand turning the lock beneath the doorknob with no issue. And so here you were with him, alone.

“And you.” He began, the keys left discarded on a cabinet near the wall. “How are you better than any other human?” The emphasis on your inferiority was not something you missed. Yet your throat felt too tight to form anything coherent. He always said it this way, whenever he asked you things you couldn’t hope to comprehend. Whenever he compared you in ways you did not fathom. It was always a sheet to cover the inferiority of yours he was conveying. You are just one human, after all.

Your eyes lingered as his form seemed to become bigger the closer he got, and the space around you felt as though it was tighter and tighter. It was only natural to mend for the lost personal space by taking steps back, your breathing got uneven, almost manual.

“If you don’t understand, do not be afraid” Sunday’s hand touched your cheek, the action far too tender as his not gloved fingers moved down across your skin. Your face, chin, then your neck. And his hand moved slowly, placing itself onto your chest soon enough, flat, near your covered cleavage. Maybe you didn’t want to admit it was there in the first place. A breath was stuck in your throat as you held it.

“I don’t expect anything from you anyway”

The push was light, yet you stumbled back nonetheless, the cushions and feathery covers not breaking your fall. It brought no relief.

The family’s heir stood great above you, looking at you with compassion, akin to seeing a wounded animal. Eyes half lidded, he looked at you with interest you did not understand before. Regardless, the puzzle piece was found, filling in the details you have once missed. You now understood everything.

“You- you can’t.”

His expression didn’t change, spare for the almost unnoticeable tipping of his head. “I can. You are my wife.” Sunday spoke as though this was a proven fact, an objective truth. He spoke with the conviction he always spoke with.

“There is- there’s no ceremony, h-how-“ your voice trembled. The anxiety never left you. “How can we marry?”

“I do not need to lower myself to these human concepts like your flock does” Sunday lowered himself to his knees, and from your sitting, you saw his hand take yours, it firmly secured in his grip.

He stroked the gloves of your hands, moving to the pinky, and then your thumb. The halovian pulled at the tips of the fingers until the glove slipped off, the material of his own against your now naked hand felt disgusting. Sacrilegious.

His gaze met yours, golden eyes making direct contact. It felt like his gaze became more intense, your naked hand pulled to his face. And then he kissed it, the softness of his lips akin to feeling an unknown before exotic soft food.

“I.. I cannot be your wife. It- it’s not right for me to be next to you.” Was this spoken from conviction, or from the discomfort of the situation? This didn’t make you forget your principles. This didn’t change your mind.

”Everything I do is right. Have you forgotten?” His lips felt like they reached far beneath your skin, right to the centre of your being. It was like an invasion, not that it was real. It was merely your perception.

”I don’t… mean to say you are wrong-“

”You cannot tell what is right or wrong, I will not hold it against you.” His voice felt that of reason, and it only served to make you feel idiotic for even daring to talk back. “Let me lead you back again to the path you had strived on.”

—

Jade smirked. The glass she held was almost untouched, her hair free under her hat. She sat like a proper lady, watching Sunday pace about. “I proved my point, didn’t I, mr. Oak?”

It was gripping at low hanging fruit, but snakes were known for lying in wait. She didn’t need to reach high to make sure she was heard. And the low hanging fruit was you. Because all it took for you to ‘rot’, as Sunday would say, was a single worm. And the worm was her vicious tongue giving you strange ideas. She was a devil incarnate.

Halovian spared her but a glance, his jaw tight. To think she messed in the affairs of his, right underneath his nose. It was unthinkable, what sort of a leader was he if he was oblivious to it? Did he deserve his royalties?

”Unjust game is your favourite, it would seem.”

”I did prove my point, no?” She chuckled. “You can’t have everything under control. Not her, not penacony. Precisely why I suggest going with the fore mentioned truce”

Sunday was aware that the IPC would not be able to keep its claws off penacony. And danger to penacony was danger to ’the family’, even if no one knew what happened behind said name. This was but a direct threat, if that wasn’t clear before.

He finally stopped walking, abruptly so. Jade continued on.

”If a catastrophe befalls, would you hope they choose safety, or their home?”

But she didn’t wait. She set the glass down, and headed for the doors. She gave Sunday a single glance back, and left.

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