#So I gave up there. I still think he's enigmatic however even if I dislike his voice

[morrizarek]

I need new music to listen to. What the hell is doorsdoors on loop for days on end.

[yodawgiherd]

Scars that time can't heal, pt.3

Rating: M

>>Read On AO3<<<

The third and final part of my somewhat disliked short series. As I said before I did not want to turn this into a longer thing, and I believe that three parts are just enough. If you liked the previous chapters, then I hope that you will like the finale too, if you didn't, well, I'm sure there are other stories that you will enjoy more :)

Oh yes, before I forget, this chapter has some past Mikasa/Jean and Eren/Hitch. There, you've been warned.

So, If you have been waiting for this then... Enjoy!

Mikasa Ackerman was a lot of things in her life. She was a soldier, a fighter, an insufferable teenage goth, a gym rat and a nightmare to most of her opponents. With all these titles, there was another one she could add under her belt after today.

A stalker. Mikasa Ackerman was a stalker.

As it turned out, Eren’s working place was a private clinic, small but modern looking building in the quiet part of the town. Leaning on the bike, Mikasa popped a cigarette into her mouth, lighting it with a practiced flick of the wrist. It was a dumb idea, even in concept, to do what she was doing. Why would anyone sane just go into the place where her….something worked. Her what?

Good question that, but what is the answer?

Truthfully, she just missed Eren, and it felt like shit to admit that to herself. He was like a fucking breath of fresh air, stirring everything stale in her life and disappearing before she could realize what truly happened. Then he came back, bearing a heap of bad news and a calling card, the same one that she had in her pocket right now, the same one that led her here. Cigarette dangling between her lips, Mikasa sighed, running her hand through her short hair. This was fucking pathetic. But since she was here anyway, she could just, you know, stay a while. And watch.

The clinic had a glass door, a gesture probably seen as welcoming, and if you had a good seat, which Mikasa did, one could see right into the reception. A woman was sitting at the desk, a petite blonde working on a computer right now, eyes focused. Was that her? Was that Eren’s wife? Or was is the freckled woman in doctor coat who came to lean on the blonde’s desk, saying something that made the receptionist blush. And then…. Oh.

As Mikasa was watching freckles kiss the small girl passionately, it was safe to assume that neither of the two was the cheated upon spouse. And then, out of nowhere, the man himself appeared. Coming from somewhere inside the clinic, he stopped at the reception, interrupting the intimate moment the two women were having. While the blonde blushed, even more, the taller girl didn’t seem to mind, responding to Eren’s teasing with a calm face. She even made that shooing gesture, willing to be left alone with her girlfriend again. For once, Eren obeyed, retrieving a file and disappearing back inside the building, leaving the blonde at the mercy of the other girl. All right. Throwing the cigarette on the ground and stomping it out, Mikasa put the helmet back over her head, mounting her bike properly. She had seen enough.

Just as she kicked the machine awake, another person appeared. Leaving the clinic with a phone at her ear, this woman was dressed in a very professional looking shirt and skirt combo, walking expertly in black high heels. She had wavy light brown hair, going down to her chin, cat-like amber eyes, and light complexion. Pretty girl, Mikasa had to say. But it wasn’t her appearance that caught her eye, it was the flash of gold that sat on the woman’s finger, visible because she was holding that phone at her ear. The ring, a twin to the one Mikasa saw at the bar confirmed her suspicion. This was the wife. This was the woman Eren was cheating on. Motionless, Mikasa watched as the woman walked to the lot, getting into a car and driving past her bike. And then she was gone, giving her nothing but another bunch of questions. Revving up the engine, the raven drove away, unsure of what this whole visit achieved. Nothing, most likely.

No good comes from snooping around. Mikasa had been told that fact numerous times, but she never gave those words much weight. But as she stood at the doors to the bar, staring at the figure in a live conversation with Jean, it all started to make sense. Why?

Because she knew that woman. Or rather, she saw her once, right in front of the clinic. Mikasa had no idea how the woman spotted her back then, or how she found out where she was living, but there she was sitting, obviously waiting for her. Jean had no idea, understandably, for him it was just another pretty girl at his bar, meaning that he was going all out. Mikasa could say from the way he talked, the over the top laughter and quick hands that refilled the woman’s glass, she saw him do this dance hundreds of times. And she was the target of this affection back when the two of them were dating too.

Oh well, there was no way that Mikasa will run away from this. If the woman found her once, she would find her again, and there was no gain in prolonging the inevitable. Striding down to her usual table she sat down, making sure that her chair scraped the floor just enough for the pair at the bar to take notice. Lighting up a cigarette to calm her nerves, Mikasa waited for a second, then two, then three. Just as she was about to start hoping that the woman won’t recognize her, that perhaps she is here only on mere chance, the chair in front of her moved and the dreaded figure joined her at the table.  Taking a deep breath, she looked up, meeting the woman’s interested eyes that were studying her face.

“What?”, the raven blurted, when the other wouldn’t say a thing.

An enigmatic smile spread across the face in front of her, but still, no words came from her mouth. Hell, Mikasa had no time for this.

“Listen, I don’t feel like sitting here and letting you grin at me like a fucking cat.”, she blew the smoke from her cigarette right at the other woman’s face, “Either start talking or fuck off.”

She coughed, waving the smoke away from herself.

“Feisty, are we?”, she finally spoke, her voice rich and somehow soothing to the ears, “Can’t say I’m surprised, Eren always preferred the lively ones.”

That took the wind from Mikasa’s sails. So there was no mistake, this was the wife, and she came here to get her revenge or something, and the raven was not looking forward to that. Calming herself, the woman put her hands back on the table, meeting Mikasa’s gaze with her own.

“I think I don’t have to tell you why I’m here.”

“No I…”, Mikasa sighed, her eyes dropping, “I know who you are.”

“Good, then this whole thing will be that much easier. Oh, my name is Hitch by the way. Hitch Yeager.”

Yea, Mikasa needed to hear that last name.

“I would say nice to meet you if we met under different circumstances, but now…”, Hitch went on, “I’m not that positive about this meeting being nice.”

“Hitch, can you stop beating around the bush?”, forcing herself to look up, Mikasa met her somehow still completely calm eyes, “We both know what you want.”

She arched an eyebrow at her.

“Which is?”

“To tell me to fuck off? To leave your husband alone? Despite what you might think, I’m not stupid.”

“Hmmm, I supposed it is logical that you expect such a reaction from me.”, leaning forward, Hitch held Mikasa by her eyes alone, “However, I’m not here to do that.”

The raven blinked in surprise.

“You’re not?”

“Not entirely. I came here to do two things.”

“Which is?”

“First, I wanted to see you for myself, see how you look, who you are. And second, I wanted to tell you a bit about our history that Eren probably didn’t share. It should shed a bit of light on his… hmm… exploits.”

“You mean cheating?”

Hitch smiled at that.

“Yes, that is the other word for it.”

“I don’t understand.”, Mikasa admitted, “You aren’t angry at me? Mad? Pissed off by what he’s done?”

“Yes, that is the expected reaction from being cheated on, but our case is marginally different. I’m a psychiatrist, Mikasa, I can suppress my emotions in favor of logic.”

“Wait, how do you know my name?”

“Eren had it written down in his notes.”, she tapped the side of her nose, “I had a suspicion, so I snooped around a bit. Don’t tell him that.”

So he had her marked down in writing. How romantic.

“Anyway,”, Hitch continued, “Make yourself comfortable because I want to tell you everything in one sitting. You might not understand, but it does not feel very nice to share all of this with you, some of the stuff is… well, kind of unpleasant.”

Mikasa had her cigarette going and that was all she cared about at the moment.

“Go on.”, she prompted the woman.

And Hitch told her everything, the whole story. She and Eren met in high school, and while he didn’t seem that interested in anyone really, Hitch slowly but steadily developed a crush. It took her months, almost years of persuading and hounding the man but in the end, he went to prom with her. One risky kiss later they were dating, and Hitch was on the top of the world. College was one big dream for her. She had it all: the school she wanted, an amazing boyfriend, a rosy future in front of herself. But that dream came crashing down on Eren’s words when one day he simply told her that he intends to join the army. She cried. She pleaded. She begged him not to go. But Eren wouldn’t listen. Once he set his mind onto something, he would not budge. In a last terrible act of defiance Hitch shamelessly teamed up with Eren’s mother and convinced the poor man to do something before leaving. To marry.

The wedding was quick and easy, done more to appease Eren’s mother than anything else. The groom didn’t mind, but he wasn’t taken with the idea either. Speeding through the rest of his education, Eren left to become an army doctor, leaving Hitch behind. And when she watched her husband walk away from the easy life with her that he could have, Hitch realized something, for the first time in her life. Eren never loved her. He liked her, sure, would have no problems with being her friend, but that was it. Their intimate life never had that burning passion she saw in the movies and soap operas. Hitch tied Eren to herself, seduced him, brought him along on the ride and the only reason he followed was that he didn’t know better. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

Years passed. Eren came back from the tours, spent a few weeks with his wife and left again. It wouldn’t be fair to say that Hitch was just a heartbroken mess. Following up on her education, she had a respectable career as a psychiatrist, even managed to open her clinic with a few of her friends. It was good, it was great, save for the marriage she was living in that was one giant lie.

When Hitch heard about that sudden attack on the base Eren was stationed in, her heart stopped. Sure, maybe he didn’t love her, but he was still a great guy, and losing him would be terrible. Despite all the horror, he came back, and to her incredible relief stayed, taking up the position of a surgeon at her clinic. And Hitch found herself liking it. She liked working with him, she liked coming back home to her husband. He was a great friend, and an amazing cook, and overall the perfect person to share a house with. Sure, he was not very passionate as a husband, and Hitch always had to be the one to initiate anything intimate between the two of them, but Eren managed to play his part to deliver a satisfying performance. It wasn’t ideal, but it was good, and Hitch could live with that. That was, until a few weeks ago.

If there was one thing Eren was bad at, it was lying to her. He didn’t say anything, of course, didn’t mention what happened or who he met, but Hitch was very far from stupid. There were periods when she would catch Eren staring into nothing, clearly daydreaming, times where he would stare on his car as if contemplating of going somewhere. The breaking point was one night when she finally convinced Eren to make love to her again, as he was unnaturally cold about that lately, even flat out refusing her couple of times. What did tip her over was that when he was on top of her, inside her, when he was making her eyes roll back there was a moan from him, a sound of a name. And that name wasn’t hers. Hitch couldn’t catch it in its entirety understandably quite occupied at that moment, the only thing she knew was that it started with an M. Put one and one together and Hitch knew exactly what happened. Eren met someone, this M woman, and unlike his wife, he seemed to feel something for this stranger. So, she began her search. And it didn’t take her long to find out the name of the girl in his notes, and with a little bit of background checking Hitch found out that there is a certain Mikasa Ackerman who works as a trainer to Louise, a daughter of one of her clients. And that’s how she was here right now.

Voilà.

Out of all these things, what surprised Mikasa the most was the Eren was too in the army, the same as her and Jean. It is a small world when you think about it.

“I still don’t understand shit.”, Mikasa said when Hitch finished her long ass story, “What am I supposed to do with all this information?”

“Oh? But that is up to you to decide.”

Seemingly done, Hitch finished her drink and stood up, putting some cash down as payment.

“This story will end by your and Eren’s decision, I believe my part to be done.”

“B-But you can’t just leave after dumping all this info on me!”

Hitch shook her head.

“Honey, I’m doing just that.”

And when Mikasa wanted to reply, Hitch cut her off.

“Shush now. I know that this is hardly what you expected but listen to me. I like Eren, I do, and if he found someone to love in you then I have no problems standing aside. He is a friend, a very good friend, but not the husband I dreamt of.” when she smiled this time, there was a tinge of sadness in it, “The only thing that sucks is that the two of you didn’t meet sooner.”

“Hitch I…”, still, Mikasa felt this need to justify herself, especially after hearing the story and realizing that Hitch is a very nice person in real life, “I never meant to kill your marriage, you have to believe me, I didn’t know.”

“You can’t kill something that was dead from the start, Mikasa.”, this time, the smile was warm, “You know what, I take back what I said before. It was nice meeting you.”

And just like that, Hitch was gone, out of the door. The only proof of her ever being here and rocking Mikasa’s world was the empty glass in front of her. Oh, and Jean’s dreamy gaze that followed her all the way out of the door.

Luckily, she wasn’t left alone for a long time. The chair scraped and there was a new person in front of her, a person she knew.

“What did she want?”, asked Jean, gaze still half-turned towards the door where the woman disappeared. Not that Mikasa blamed him, Hitch was a very pretty piece of ass.

“She told me about her and Eren.”, Mikasa admitted, watching the wheels behind Jean’s eyes slowly absorb the information before a light of understanding shone through.

“You mean…?”

“Yes. That was the wife. That was the woman Eren is cheating on.”

“Oh damn. I never imagined... I mean…”, he shot a look at Mikasa, “Don’t take this bad but..”

“You didn’t imagine she would be hot?”, Mikasa guessed, correctly.

“I’m just saying that if I was in Eren’s place, I wouldn’t risk marriage to her over a short one-night stand.”

“That’s understandable. I probably wouldn’t either.”

“Let’s move on.”, Jean offered, “You want to tell me what she said?”

So, Mikasa told him everything, the whole story, not leaving out any detail. He was her best friend and probably the only confidant, and she needed a second opinion. But when she finished, Jean reacted in a way that Mikasa surely didn’t expect. He laughed. He laughed out loud.

“Mind sharing what’s so funny about all this?”, she queried, watching him with an arched eyebrow.

“It’s just… This, what you just said to me, this is how I would describe our relationship too before it went to shit.”

“Now hold on…”, Mikasa wanted to protest, but Jean raised his hand to silence her.

“Please, let me explain.”

Seeing her nod, he continued.

“I dogged you too at first before you agreed to the date, I wouldn’t let you go. And even when we were dating, would you describe it as some hot passion filled adventure? Now I’m not saying that we didn’t have a good time, but there’s a difference between just enjoying each other’s company and being in love.”

“Jean, don’t say that.”, Mikasa whispered, “You are dear to me, you know that.”

“Yes, I do.”, he smiled at her over the table, warm and understanding, “I get that. Hell, you even followed me to the army just because you were worried I might die on you, isn’t that right?”

“I couldn’t bear losing you.”

She hated how much that sounded just like what Hitch said.

“Overall this feels like looking into a twisted mirror, with me as Hitch and you as Eren.”, Jean closed his speech, looking about as melancholic as Mikasa ever saw him, “I can’t tell you what to do, but I just want you to know that despite what you keep thinking about yourself…”

Reaching out, Jean put his hand on Mikasa’s.

“You deserve to be happy.”

Intertwining their fingers, Mikasa sighed, looking down at the table. No, she still had no idea how to clean this whole mess.

The following weeks felt like bated breath. Somehow she knew that he would come back, somehow she knew that their talk wasn’t the last one. It was as Hitch said, Eren just saw something in Mikasa that his wife couldn’t give him. But what was that thing, she just couldn’t say.

It was about three weeks later when she spotted him, once again sitting at the same table, his back to her. Abandoning all need to pretend, she headed straight for him, taking a seat. Putting a cigarette between her lips with just slightly shaking hands, she managed to light it on the first try, taking a long drag before finally meeting his eyes. God damn those emeralds.

“Hello, Mikasa,” the gruff voice that she missed so much it hurt to hear it now, calm and collected as Eren always was, “Long time no see.”

She put the smoke down for a second.

“I didn’t realize we were meeting on a regular basis.”

“You’ll have to trust me that I tried to stay away but…”, he clicked his tongue, “I’m not strong enough.”

“Yet you are strong enough to keep being a two-timing shit?”

He took the insult without a flinch.

“It would appear so.”

She sighed, rubbing her forehead.

“Do you know that I met your wife?”

That finally cracked his composure a bit, making Eren’s eyes widen.

“What? But… No, she didn’t.”, closing his eyes, he muttered to himself, “Fuck.”

“Seems to me that you aren’t as secretive as you wanted to be.”, taking a satisfying drag from the cigarette, Mikasa took the moment to be smug herself.

“Well, if you talked with her,”, Eren began, piecing the sentence slowly together, “Then you know that things aren’t exactly going well between us.”

“And that gives you the right to cheat on her?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

But Mikasa was in her element now, finally spewing out the dirt that was in her system, so taking another aggressive drag from her cigarette, she went on.

“Eren, I spoke with her, Hitch is a great woman and I do not understand how you could ever be such a fucking bastard and do this to her.”

“You don’t understand because you have no fucking idea how I feel.”

Oh, his composure was positively cracked. The nice green eyes were full of passion now, his mouth pressed into a thin line and Mikasa could see the way his muscles flexed beneath his shirt.

“Do you think I ever wanted to marry her? Do you think I ever loved her?”, the fires in his eyes were an inferno now, “The only reason why I joined the fucking army was that it made me feel alive! Being close to danger made my blood flow after being suffocated into nothing by that relationship.”

“Don’t try to pin this on Hitch.”

“I’m not… Uh…”, this time, it was Eren who was rubbing his forehead, “I made a huge mistake ever agreeing to date her. I was young, but it is my fault. I was too much of a pussy to say no to her, and again to say no to my mom when she kept pressuring us to get married before I leave for the army.”

When he continued, his voice had deep sorrow in it.

“Hitch is a very good friend to me, and fuck, I’ll say it, when a girl looking like that drags you to bed I won’t fight her off, but I never loved her.”, his eyes fixed Mikasa on the spot, “I never felt these… things that you make me feel. That’s why I keep coming back here.”

This was getting too intimate, way too soon, Mikasa wasn’t ready to talk about all these things. Part of her wanted him to leave, the part that felt for Hitch and her struggle. Part of her wanted to kiss him right here and there because his passionate confession made the butterflies in her stomach flutter again. She had to keep speaking to prevent that from happening, but then again, did she want to stop what was coming? Maybe it was time that he decided for a change.

“What do you want Eren,”, she asked, ”to talk again?”

“Why not?”, despite his previous outburst, Eren seemed calm now, pushing back those unpleasant emotions she stirred, “Don’t you enjoy our conversations?”

“I despise them.”

“Oh well.”, he took a casual sip of his drink, “We can always skip the foreplay then.”

Such a smug bastard. Putting her cigarette out with a practiced motion of her hand, Mikasa stood up.

“Let’s head upstairs then.”

“So this is how you do things? Insult me for being a cheating bastard and then invite me to your bed to continue being one?”

“Did you suddenly grow a conscience?”

He stared at her for a moment, but then shook his head.

“No.”

“Good.”

In fact, Mikasa had a plan in her head, finalizing as they walked up the stairs to her tiny room. She had one last ace up her sleeve that was sure to scare him away for good, to show him that this little tryst is completely not worth it. The fumble with the keys took her a little longer than usual, as she could still feel Eren’s presence at her back, the warmth he radiated spreading over her skin. Finally cracking the enigma that was her lock, Mikasa fell in, heading straight towards the bed. She would say bedroom, but her bedroom was also her living room and everything else. Yes, her place was quite small.

“Let’s not waste time.”, she said, undoing her jacket and throwing it somewhere. Judging from the rustle of clothing behind her, Eren was following suit, most likely unable to wait to be with her again.  Well, he was in for a surprise. Holding her breath, she pulled the shirt over her head, leaving her torso clad in nothing but a sports bra, exposing everything. The scars made a nice map over her skin, clearly visible in the light that came from the window Mikasa strategically positioned herself at. Waiting for a reaction, she heard a gasp behind herself, her lips curving upwards. Bingo.

To give him the prime view, Mikasa turned around, facing the topless Eren, taking in his expression. That wasn’t…. well, it wasn’t exactly that she expected. He didn’t look disgusted, or angry that she kept It from him, no, Eren looked surprised, to be sure, but there was certain tenderness in his eyes. Reaching out, he ran his hand over the web that was on her stomach, tracing the thick lines with his fingers.

“W-What are you doing?”, she blurted, feeling more exposed than ever before, “Why are you touching it? It’s hideous.”

“Hideous? That’s the worst insult you threw at me this whole evening.”

“What?”

“I’m the one who gave you these. Not the wounds, of course, but the stitches.”, looking up from her stomach, he eyed her face, “I’m the one who put you back together.”

Yet Mikasa was already shaking her head.

“No, I don’t believe that there is no way.”

“It was years ago,”, Eren began, “When our camp got attacked by the bombs. The medics, me included, were up all night treating people that were brought in various states of damage. I just finished a long-ass surgery and was outside smoking because my hands were shaking too much. And that’s when they brought you in. A female marine, hit by a grenade.”

A single finger traced the longest cut on her body, that one that curled all the way around her breast.

“The shrapnel cut you up bad, and there was no one who could treat you, everyone was busy already. So I took care of you, pulled out all those metal fuckers that wanted to kill you and did my best in stitching you up.”

“That was you?”

“You know, in all these years, the details of the night flew out of my head. I was so tired, and there were so many people I treated.”, a little sigh, “But I’m starting to remember. I should have matched the two of you together soon, it’s not like Mikasa is a common name.”

He was distracting her from her original purpose, but it would seem that her last ace in the hole had failed. Eren wasn’t turned off by her scars, he didn’t slam the door behind himself on the way out. No, he looked at her as if she was, as if she was….

Beautiful?

Unable to hold the pressure of his presence anymore, Mikasa leaned forward and captured his lips with her own. The kiss grew feverish, and before he realized what was happening his back was on the bed with Mikasa eagerly undoing his belt and removing his jeans. Eren’s length sprung readily into action when Mikasa pulled down his underwear and reacted nicely to her slow strokes. She never got the chance to inspect this aspect of Eren’s body from up close, as she only took it from behind on their first night, but just from having it inside her Mikasa had a suspicion that Eren was rather well endowed. Which was correct, as she could see, he really did have quite a big dick. Curious to see if she can take all of it inside her mouth, Mikasa gave it a try but was forced to pull back when he hit the back of her throat. She was out of practice. Even her unprofessional mouth made Eren’s head fall back against the sheets, fists bunching it. Going slower this time, she didn’t try to take it all at once, but sucked on the tip instead, bobbing her head up and down, sliding alongside the length. Mindful of her teeth, she used her tongue to tease him instead, forcing another groan from his broad chest. Looking down at her, Eren couldn’t believe what she was seeing. This beautiful enigmatic creature between his legs, with her pretty pink lips wrapped around his cock, face flushed but focused on her actions. Diving deeper again, this time Mikasa succeeded, pulling him into her relaxed throat until her nose bumped into his pubic hair.  If the view was out of this world then the way her neck muscles flexed around him was downright heavenly. And he couldn’t hold back anymore. His words of warning fell on deaf ears as Mikasa didn’t do anything to stop that wave that rose in him, going all the way until his cock spasmed in her mouth. Pulling back to give herself room, Mikasa took everything Eren gave her, listened to him curse and groan on the bed, actions which she found rather enjoyable. Yet his eyes remained open all the way, glued to her face. And when the last remnants of his orgasm went by and she let go of his softened length, releasing him from her reddened lips, Eren pulled her up.

Switching their position, it was now his turn to give. Eren’s weight pressing her into the mattress, Mikasa gave herself up. Moving down her body, Eren pressed a kiss onto her breasts, his tongue playing with quickly hardening nipples still hidden from view by the bra. And then, he did something Mikasa never thought will happen to her. Putting his lips even lower, he kissed her scars, one by one, dragged his mouth over the ruined skin. Soft, so soft against her, she felt him drag his fingers under her belt to rub them against the damp spot on her panties. But Mikasa didn’t want that. She didn’t want his tongue pleasuring her. She didn’t want soft, she didn’t want calm. She wanted to feel him inside her. She wanted to be taken by a rough storm that takes away any ability to think.

“Can you be rough?”, she asked, doing her best to appear unaffected by his clever fingers, “Or do I have to fuck someone else?”

“Rough?”, the fire in his eyes flared, “I’ll show you rough.”

Her pants were gone in a flash and so were panties and bra. With a grunt and a flex of muscle, Mikasa was picked up from the bed and all but slammed against the wall with Eren aggressively attacking her neck. With her legs wrapped around his hips, Eren held her up with one hand while using the other to properly line his length up with her inviting folds. One single snap of his hips and he was inside, making her moan at that delicious stretch. She wanted rough and he delivered just that. He fucked her hard against the wall, her body sliding alongside it. It was even a bit uncomfortable at first, as the lack of foreplay made the penetration a bit difficult, but Eren wasn’t stopping and Mikasa was quickly growing wet. Her moans were growing in intensity with each snap, her fingers drawing blood from how much she dug her nails into his back. Eren didn’t seem to mind, his only reaction was a grunt from where he was marking her skin. Desperate for more, Mikasa grabbed a fistful of his hair and pushed him down to her exposed erect nipples. Not needing further guidance, Eren sucked on one, making her moans even louder. She was clamping tighter and tighter around him, her walls collapsing and Eren knew that she is close. Mikasa came with a loud groan, right into Eren’s ear, hunched over his sweaty muscles and clinging to him for dear life. And still, he wouldn’t stop.

“We are not done.”, he said, voice as rough as the fucking.

All but throwing her on the bed, Mikasa was torn from the high of her climax by the contact. Guessing that he wants to take from behind, as he did the first time, she tried to shift her position on all fours but was stopped in her tracks by his iron hold.

“You’ll look into my eyes when I fuck you.”, he ordered, “You’ll stare at my face and know that it's me who’s doing this to you.”

“O-Okay… I… Oh!”

Whatever she wanted to say was lost as Eren pushed inside her again, trapping her wrists in one of his hands and pinning them high above her head. She was so helpless in his hands, putty and pliant to his touch. All her strength just ebbed away from her, same as the proof of her orgasm that was now running down her inner thighs. Eren wouldn’t let her rest, he kept driving into her, groaning filth into her ears, so different than from before. Eyes rolling back, Mikasa let him ravage her as much as he wanted because there was no downside to it now that it felt so good. She never wanted this to end. Never wanted for this build-up to snap, never wanted that coil inside her to break. This just felt amazing, and it made her forget everything, every single problem that was floating in her life and god knows that she had more than enough.

“Come for me, Mikasa”, Eren’s voice was still in that dark tone, just a fracture above a growl, “Come for me soldier.”

It was years since the raven was in the army, but maybe it was those deep-rooted instincts planted into her during her training years that made her body contract, to writhe wildly beneath him as she hit her second peak of the night. But as she was coming back from her high, her teary greys met Eren’s emeralds which were still burning, no end in sight.

“I said,”, moving closer, Eren whispered right into her ear, “We. Are. Not. Done.”

It was an amazing night. Mikasa was never left this exhausted before by nothing but pure pleasure. To top it off, Eren didn’t even leave after, letting her snuggle on his chest and breathe in that mixture of his scent and sex that made her toes curl. Yet when the morning came, she found herself alone in her bed.

Mikasa couldn’t say that she was surprised by this turn of events. Maybe they fucked a lot last night, but that did nothing to solve his situation. He still had a wife at home, a wife he might not love, but that he was legally bound to. Popping a cigarette, Mikasa walked over to the window and stared out, not bothering with any clothes. For the first time in her life, she felt comfortable wearing nothing, letting her scars out. If Eren could find them beautiful, there was no reason why she couldn’t get used to having them. They were here to stay. She chuckled at that, casting an inspecting eye over her apartment. It was still a mess, the only difference from last night was that Eren’s clothes were gone, he understandably took them with him when he sneaked out in the early hours of the morning, leaving behind the warm bed and the hug of the woman he completely fell for. Upon the inspection, Mikasa noticed something new. There was a note on her nightstand, a small folded paper he left behind, most likely an explanation of his actions, maybe an apology, a reason why he can never see her again. Taking it between her slender fingers, Mikasa’s lips turned upwards. She didn’t need this. The only thing that mattered was the phrase Eren kept whispering to her during their heated lovemaking.

We are not done yet.

Putting the slip of paper to her cigarette, she let it catch fire before throwing it out of the window, watching it spiral down and hit the ground. There was no reason for her to read that thing. Eren explained himself well enough last night, not by words but by actions, by how roughly yet lovingly he touched her, how long he kept her up with his passionate intensity. However, it was his mess to clean up, his decision to make, Mikasa made herself clear enough when she accepted his touches, when she spread her legs for him, when she took his length eagerly into her mouth. There was no need for words, written or other. Exhaling some smoke and watching it curl in the morning light, Mikasa felt at peace with the world for the first time since the shrapnel tore into her flesh. Life was good.

And it went on.

A month passed.

Then the second.

Then the third.

It was a fine day. Mikasa had a nice training with Louise, despite all the initial doubts she had for that rich brat the young girl was putting in work. A few more years and she might be a decent fighter herself. Tired from her own workout she had after, Mikasa didn’t have many things on her mind, just maybe that fight she had coming up, apparently she was going to take on some Russian. That was going to be fun. Walking into the bar, Mikasa took off her helmet, nodding at Jean behind the bar. He threw her a weirdly important look, pointing at a certain table. Following his finger with her eyes, Mikasa noticed that there is a man sitting there, his back to her, long brown hair pulled into a ponytail.

Mikasa instantly knew who it was.

As if in a dream, she crossed the distance to his table, sitting down in front of the long-haired fellow with those startlingly green eyes. Looking over him, she couldn’t help but notice that his fingers were free of any rings, wedding or other ones. Meeting the dreamy emeralds with her greys, she matched Eren’s smile with her own.

“Hey there, pretty boy, wanna buy me a drink?”

[the-fresh-air-of-tyria]

What Are You...?

I find myself alone, often.  Even among the Pact and its numerous bodies of flesh, fur, muscle and foliage, those with half a mind to do so will avoid me.  I could not say this upsets me; after all, with so many decades of solitude under my skin, it can be difficult to desire anything else.  Perhaps they find me frightening...  I certainly couldn’t blame them; they unearthed me from this place, after all.  That would frighten anyone.

There are times I am approached, however.  Times where a member of the Pact, be they initiate or a master of the battlefield, becomes curious of my presence here.  Really, though, can anyone find fault in that?  I don’t dress like these people, nor do I speak as they speak.  I was found in an odd place, and now, I follow their orders.  Curiosity must burn within the ranks of them, yet fear holds their tongues in as tight a grasp as their desire to approach.

However, there are times the apprehension simply cannot win.  The fascination and determination undermines it.  And sometimes, I get a visitor.

This young man looks much too youthful to be in a war against dragons.  Small and thin, with hair wavy like seaweed, skin dark, dusted with some of the pale, salt-infused soil of Orr.  His eyes hide behind glasses with rims too thick to be accidentally broken, dark like pools of oil.  His armor appears to have been cobbled together with a misguided prayer, a bit of metal plating here, some chainmail under some leather there.  His weapon, a longsword borrowed from the Vigil.

Here, atop the overlook of Malchor’s Leap, where the ill-fated sculptor met Grenth by his own hand, this outmatched little human approaches me.  He isn’t aware I know this, at first; his approach is from behind as I peer over the edge. I hear him, however.  I hear the way his feet faintly scrape their leather soles against the loose earth, marred and mixed with dead coral.  The way it grinds under his weight, and his breath, exhaling in a tremulous wheeze as he approaches.  When, at last, he comes to a halt at my side, I note his distance from me.  Two full arm’s lengths.

For a while, I say nothing.  Normally they speak first.  The Asura are especially forward, even if they’re just as wary in their approach.  The human, on the other hand, says nothing, and keeps glancing toward me as I stand to the left of him.  I certainly thought I was an eerie one, but the incessant staring does eventually get to me.

“Can I help you?”  It’s a rasp, perhaps.  My voice has been ravaged entirely, from sea salt.  Yet it remains strong, deep and forceful.  It sends a visually impressive shudder through the young man, whose hair is like seaweed, and whose eyes are like pools of oil.  He turns, however, instead of excusing himself, and finally trains his gaze upon my own.

“Where do you come from?”

That pitiful little voice.  It’s small.  It’s weak and gentle.  It breathes out like a soft summer breeze’s sigh.  Like the feather of a hummingbird slipping past one’s ear, certain that it’s been felt, yet leaving no trace.  It speaks with little conviction, uncertainty and fear embedded to the roots like a poison.

However, I’m caught off guard, somewhat.  The question makes me turn toward the young man, who seems to steel himself as though I intend to attack.

“Where do I... come from?”  The young man nods his head, gently forcing his body to relax a bit.  Still, I can see in the way his legs place themselves that he’s ready to bolt at any given moment.  The question, on the other hand, still rings odd to me, as enigmatic as a sun-bleached series of puzzle pieces.  “That’s a bold question for someone like you.”

“The rest just... speculate.  Wild rumors keep flying about with no reason to them.  I need to know.  I need to know.”

“You don’t need to know.  Nobody would believe such storied tales.”

“I’m sure we would.  You’re not like the Sylvari.  The... other Sylvari, at least.  You smell like ocean water and wood rot.  We found you in Arah, in a place none of us had explored yet... you were buried under rubble and didn’t know any of us.  Dressed oddly.”

I can feel the pull of a smile on my lips, the most rare motion my face could make, indeed.  This must have frightened the human, who looked more wary and leaned backward.  “Alright.  I knew someone would ask eventually.  No---I do not come from these Sylvari’s tree.  I come from another, deep within the jungle.  I found myself wandering, exploring, a very long time ago.”

“There... is another tree?”

“Was.  It died long ago.  It could not survive where it was seeded, and the jungle is a ravenous beast.  One only survives if they are strong... and it was not as strong as it could have been.  It bore few fruit.”

“So there... there’s more of you?”

“I’m not sure.  I saw one, not long after I set out.  A purple one.  His name escapes me.”

“Why did you leave the jungle?”

I study the young man’s gaze, now boring intensely into my own.  The fear seems to have gone, replaced by a hungry fascination.  He’d make a good Priory scholar, I think.

“It had nothing for me there.  I disliked having to struggle daily to survive.  While the jungle provides what one needs, it isn’t willing to give it freely, nor easily.  And I became... lonely, I suppose.  I found myself among strange beings I learned quickly to be human.”

“They didn’t find you odd?”

Another smile, and this time I feel a strange... sensation in my throat.  I realize it’s a chuckle.  Rough, sandy.  “Quite the contrary, in fact.  They... considered me a deity of their nature god.  An aspect.  I was given offerings often, food and clothing, small shiny trinkets.  I felt that trying to explain what I truly was might... dampen their spirits.”

I turn away from the young man, who exhaled softly.  “You stole from them.”

“They gave me everything I took.  I did not lead them astray---they assumed, and I was grateful to accept their beliefs.”

“You---that doesn’t mean you didn’t steal from those people.  They thought they were honoring Melandru, and you took those offerings!”  A soft shrillness accompanied the man’s voice, and I turned my head quickly to look at him.  His sudden burst of confidence quelled as swiftly as a small campfire in a torrential rain.

“I did not ask to be their aspect.  I did not know their god.  I still know nothing of their Melandru.  The statues here to their gods are nothing to me but laughing shadows, memories that were never washed away.  Their gods did not save them from the Charr, did they?  Quite the contrary---they left Arah.  They left their worshipers behind.  Are you saying I fully contributed to that?  Or was it simply the selfishness of these apparently all-kind, all-seeing deities?  Does my taking small material things insult these gods so very much?”

“They didn’t leave... forever.  They watch from beyond the veil.  They watch us, hear our prayers and our... voices.  Our requests.”

“Then request to your gods that I be further punished.”

The young man blanches, and he turns toward Malchor’s Leap.  Such a befitting name for this outcropping of stone.  Then he looks back at me, pushing his dark hair back, exhaling once more.  “What did you do to... survive so long since then?  How did you make it through the years of Orr... below the waves?”

This time, my smile becomes more of a distant, disgusted smirk.  I feel my nose wrinkle with the motion, and I can smell a breath of my own stench---that of a ship’s waterlogged, rotting wood and cold seasalt.  “I came to Orr.  I heard that its lands were saturated with magic, with belief, with... their gods’ presence.  I thought I might live well there.”

“You were wrong.”  The young man is half accusatory.  The rest seems... morbidly curious.

“I was, yes.  They... knew I wasn’t an aspect of their Melandru.  Something---someone---told them.  Their god, I assume, before they departed.  I was caught, as they came for me, trying to steal from a noble family.  I was put on trial.”

“You were... convicted?  What crimes?”

“Quite a few.  Most of them I forget.  But the one that bound me here, I remember very well.  Passing myself off as an aspect of their deity was the worst of the offenses.  Such a despicable act that they felt I would be an eternal lesson.  Forbidden magic was secretly used upon me, binding my spirit to my vessel.  Forcing me to live for eternity, but never free.”

The young man’s brows have furrowed.  “We... found you in a collapsed building with bars rotted away.  There were some bones here and there, white as paper---”

“I wasn’t alone in that prison.  Other prisoners... of course they didn’t survive the sinking.  But I did.”

“You...?”  His mouth opens softly, a gentle gape.  “You survived going down so far---?”

“I survived the sinking of Orr.  The feeling that the world was being ripped from under my feet, the way the interior walls and bars... crushed like twigs and wood.  The total blackness, being so far beneath the waves, trapped in a prison with so many bodies pressed against the ceiling and unable to escape.”

“But you lived...”

Unfortunately.  That was a stipulation of my curse.  I live through everything done to me.  I lived for countless years beneath the waves, in frigid water, breathing it in and expelling it, smelling and hearing but never seeing.  Feeling the viscera of rotting bodies surround me, then sweep away in the currents that reminded me that there are exits... many exits.  But the stone was too heavy for me to move.  The holes were too small to get even a hand out of them.”

“Was it... painful to come back up?”  Awe is written upon the young man’s face.  Like a child hearing his mother tell him a bedtime story.  It’s almost endearing.  It might have been, were the memories not clutching at my chest.  Reminding me that my every breath now feels like inhaling sand and pushing it back out.

“It felt... strange.  The crushing pressure was lifted so quickly that my body struggled to accept it.  I felt myself reform, yet I have no idea what I might have begun to look like so far below the waves.  My sight returned, but the pinpricks of sunlight felt like hammers.  The water faded, and the heat of dry air seemed to ravage my skin like the heart of Mount Maelstrom itself.  I can still... feel the claws of dry air rend into me.  The bones within me creak like the deck of an old ship.  My eyes find it difficult to adjust to the moonlight, despite its gentle touch.  Tracks of memory.  This entire wretched existence... because the Orrians...”

He shakes his head.  I glance at him, raising a brow.  “They... punished you for what they felt was the highest crime.”

“I have been punished beyond reason.”  I feel my voice darken.  The rasp from the saltwater worsens.  “I have seen my death come and go so many times I no longer have a grasp on the count.  Creatures tore at me in the depths!  Yet my skin reformed with each bite until they were satisfied, and left me be.  My lungs exploded in my chest, coming back together with every few breaths.  My body atrophied, writhed and shrank, and when I came back up within this world, I was torn asunder, forced back.  Is that a fitting punishment for one who took mortal trinkets from your supposedly benevolent deities?”

“Crimes... must be paid for, Eir---”

“I would rather you did not speak my name.”  My voice is cold now.  It makes the human shiver.  “My crime would have been paid for in full had they taken the trinkets back.  Had they forced me to work in Melandru’s temples.  Had I simply been imprisoned.  But they wished to torture me.  Beyond any reasonable measure, they wished to know I would never know peace.”

The young man lowers his head, swallowing gently.  “I... I’m sorry.  You’re right.  I’m sure Melandru would not have wanted to see you suffer so much.”

“Had she shown mercy, rather than abandoning this world, perhaps I would agree with you.”

He nods faintly.  “Ah... I’m sorry---”

“At least, now, you know where I come from.”

“I do.”

He clasps his hands, shakily pacing back toward the temple we are meant to be guarding.  Silence, once more.  I exhale, and I feel my lungs crack and creak as though a salt shell breaks and contracts with each motion.

Perhaps, if I were Malchor, I might jump from this ledge as well.  I know true insanity, the likes of which drove him to his final descent... I just hide it well.

What a pity the swim back to shore wouldn’t be worth this deadly leap.

[katastroficwriter]

AAAA !!! I came across ur blog and read ur kiibouma dialogue fic thing and decided ur amazing lol. If you're still doing this thing, can i suggest a prompt? (Kokichi: "I'm perfectly fine, you dork! Better than ever-" (thump) Kiibo: "Kokichi?! Hey, Kokichi, are you okay?") The situation here being that kokichi has been in mega investigation mode and therefore due to lack of sleep became so tired that he fainted and kiibo takes it upon himself to take care of him. Again, thank u so much ilyyy !!!

I’m sorry for filling this prompt really late! But here it is! It’s slightly canon divergent btw, I hope you won’t mind ;v;)

Somehow, when dividing into pairs for exploring the new areas, it has become an unspoken rule that Kiibo and Ouma are paired off together. Every single time, without fail.

Kiibo didn’t want to think too badly of his peers, so he chalked it up to everyone trusting that only he could put up with the supreme leader’s unpredictable behavior without possibly harming the other. However, he couldn’t seem to forget Ouma’s words regarding this matter.

   “Nishishi! That’s because we’re both outcasts! It’s only fitting to pair us off since nobody wants to be around us.”

‘Outcasts, huh…’ The android directed his attention to the supreme leader’s small back. The latter was humming an unknown tune while he led the way. They’ve been paired off for so long, that observing the enigmatic Ultimate became a past time of his. And knowing Ouma, he’s probably been doing the same thing to him, just that he was a lot better at being discreet.

It wasn’t that he disliked being paired off with someone as chaotic as Ouma. When it all comes down to it, he was highly skilled and efficient when it comes to investigating. He would search every nook and cranny the android wouldn’t have thought to inspect. Kiibo admired this side of him. When he displays his intellectual and far more thoughtful side–unfortunately, the supreme leader would use that very same intellect to find ways to tease him.

“Mmm! A dead end, huh,” Kiibo paused in his steps upon the supreme leader’s sudden declaration. As if to prove his point, Ouma made a show of knocking on the wall that’s very much blocking their pathway.

“We better go back and explore the other rooms then,” the albino offered, watching the shorter Ultimate knock on the wall as he pressed an ear against it. “Umm…Ouma-kun?”

“Shh. I’m busy.”

Kiibo behind the raven-haired teen awkwardly, unsure with what to do. He wasn’t exactly equipped with tools and functions meant for exploration like an x-ray vision of some sort. However, Ouma did praise him for his zooming function, which still left him flustered whenever he remembered the memory. He still couldn’t understand why being praised by the leader gave him a sense of accomplishment, but–now’s not the time to think about these kinds of things.

Ouma pulled away from the wall with a sigh, “Nothing. Just a boringly solid wall. Let’s go check out the other rooms.”

“Alright. The hallway got darker since the sun started setting. I’ll be using my flashlight function, so please walk ahead of me.”

“Sunset already? What time is it?” the supreme leader started walking ahead of the android, prompting the latter to activate his function just as promised.

“Half past five,” the android dutifully responded.

“Hmmm. We’re checking out one last room then head back for dinner,” Ouma made a swift turn to the right, losing his footing as he did so. “Ah–”

“Ouma-kun–!” the android grabbed the leader by his arm.

“I’m perfectly fine you dork! Better than ever!” Ouma huffed, shrugging off the albino’s arm. “Now stop looking at me, your eyes are too bright.”

“Ah, sorry…” Kiibo averted his eyes from the leader, luckily there was still enough light for the latter to be able to see where he’s going even though the light wasn’t focused on him.

THUD!

“O-Ouma-kun?” the android rushed to the unconscious teen’s side, cradling the latter in his arms. “Ouma-kun? Hey, are you okay?”

No response.

Kiibo hovered two fingers above the unconscious supreme leader’s mouth, relieved to feel the latter’s warm breath waft against his appendages. “Good, he’s breathing…” He adjusted his hold on Ouma, wrapping one of his arms over his shoulder and used his free arm to support the leader’s back. Once everything was secure, he began walking towards the exit. It was like participating in a three-legged race with an unconscious partner. Luckily, Ouma wasn’t awfully heavy, so he still managed to walk their weight outside of the school building and into the dormitory.

‘The courtyard and the dormitory seem rather desolate…perhaps the others had more fruitful discoveries compared to Ouma-kun and I…?’ Kiibo readjusted his grip on the leader once it was time to climb the staircase. This was one of the downsides of having their rooms on the second floor. To his disappointment, Ouma’s room was left unlocked, but it was something he already expected from the leader.

He carefully balanced his and the other boy’s weight before reaching out to twist the knob of his door. Thankfully his room was located right next to his unconscious companion’s, so he didn’t have to go through the trouble of climbing down the staircase again. Gravity would have made things difficult for them both.

He gently laid the raven-haired Ultimate on his seldomly used bed before tugging the latter’s scarf off to prevent any possibility of asphyxiation. He folded the checker-patterned scarf into a neat square and placed it by the pillow before making quick work of Ouma’s shoes, placing the footwear on the floor neatly as soon as he was finished.

“I’m surprised he still managed to sleep through the entire trip, I wasn’t even that graceful either,” Kiibo rested his hands on his hips. “In any case, I should make sure he isn’t coming down with something.” He headed for his bathroom in quick strides to wash his hands before grabbing a towel from the rack. He let it soak under running water before wringing the excess water out of the cloth.

‘The area was rather dusty…the least I could do is clean him up. I just hope he won’t mind me touching his face without permission…’ thought the android before dabbing the sleeping Ultimate’s face with the wet towel. He washed the towel as soon as he was finished with his ministrations and dragged a chair next to his bed.

“It doesn’t seem like he’s sick…so that only leaves exhaustion…” he narrowed his eyes at Ouma’s unusually vulnerable form. “…He did run around a lot this morning…but I doubt that alone is the cause. He never passed out like this before…”

Bing! Bong!

Kiibo’s ahoge perked up in shock, “Ah, just a moment!” He called out softly, so as not to wake his companion. He shuffled out of his seat as silently as possible before answering the door. “…Saihara-kun?”

“Kiibo-kun…! So you were here…” the detective heaved out a relieved sigh, shoulders slumping a little as the tension washed off of his body. “We were supposed to meet up in the dining hall to discuss our findings over dinner, remember? I was looking for you and Ouma-kun in your designated area but couldn’t find you anywhere. I wasn’t too sure where Ouma-kun would be either, so I thought that your room would be my best bet.”

He did remember their arrangement–but the thought of leaving Ouma behind without supervision didn’t sit well with him at all. “About Ouma-kun…”

“…Did he do something during your investigation?” Saihara looked at him with concern. The leader really was quite a handful, so Kiibo couldn’t fault his peers for being uneasy around the trickster.

“Ah, no, he didn’t–!” Kiibo dismissively wave a hand. “…Actually, he’s laying down in my bed at the moment. He passed out during our investigation, so I had to rush him to my room since his room was locked.”

“He...fainted? Is he okay?” golden eyes widened in astonishment.

Kiibo responded with a nod. “That’s why I wasn’t able to head to the dining hall. I didn’t want to leave him all alone. Have you started exchanging information already?”

Saihara shook his head, his ahoge bobbing with his every movement. “Not yet. We were waiting for everyone to arrive, but since you and Ouma-kun didn’t…I decided to come look for you.”

“I see…” Kiibo took a glance of the sleeping boy before redirecting his attention to the detective. “I’m sorry, but it is against my morals to leave Ouma-kun sleeping in my room alone with no one to watch over him. I can, however,  tell you our findings as of today, just so we won’t breach our agreement in its entirety. I would also like to request you to relay everyone’s findings to me tomorrow, just so Ouma-kun and I wouldn’t be left in the dark.”

“Ah, right… I understand.”

It didn’t take long for the android to give the detective a quick rundown of the findings considering their investigation was incomplete and that they weren’t able to find anything as of yet. Saihara nodded along during his explanation before excusing himself. Kiibo didn’t think too much of it, since it was only natural that he’d be in a rush to return to the dining hall with everyone else. He returned to his seat by the bedside, heaving out a sigh as he sank in the chair.

“I didn’t make the wrong decision,” he murmured to himself, glancing at the raven-haired Ultimate from his peripherals. “…We’re both outcasts. The least we could do was look out for each other right?” He closed his eyes.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Aquamarine lenses snapped open at the sound. “…Ah, I slipped into sleep mode without realizing…”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Yes? Ah, Toujou-san?” Kiibo eyed the tray in the maid’s hands.

“Pardon for the intrusion,” she bowed. “Saihara-kun requested me to bring some dinner for Ouma-kun after informing us of his condition. The dinner I prepared for him is rich with nutrients that would aid him in his recovery.”

“I see!” Kiibo accepted the tray with awe. “Thank you for the trouble. I’ll make sure he eats this.”

Toujou did a little curtsy, “It is my duty as a maid to fulfill the requests I’ve accepted. You may leave the tray outside of your room after he eats it. I’ll pick it up in the morning.”

“Ah, you don’t have to. I can wash it myself,” Kiibo shook his head a little. “You’ve done so much for everyone for the past few days. Let me do at least this much.”

“I see…if you insist, then I shall leave it to you, Kiibo-kun,” the maid flashed him an elegant smile before taking her leave.

Kiibo carefully shut his door with his foot before placing the tray on his desk. “Dinner is best eaten while hot…I’ll feel bad about it, but I have to wake him up…” he sighed.

He placed both of his hands on Ouma’s shoulders and gave him a gentle shake. “Ouma-kun, Toujou-san brought you dinner just now. Ouma-kun, Ouma-kun, hey…”

Ouma shifted to his side, groaning from the disturbance.

“Ouma-kun…”

“Ugh…” Ouma rubbed his eyes with a grimace. “What happened?…Where is this…? I feel gross…” he slapped a hand to his collar bone after feeling an unusual chill in his neck area. “And where’s my scarf? Were you checking me out while I was unconscious? How much of my body have you seen, you perverted robot?!”

“You fainted during our investigation, so I brought you to my room,” Kiibo sighed as he took a few steps back to give his companion space to sit up. “I placed your scarf right next to the pillow. I only took it off because you might suffocate if it stayed on while you were unconscious, so I would highly appreciate it that you cease your baseless accusations, Ouma-kun.”

Ouma regarded the robot with a half-hearted glare before giving his arms a stretch while yawning. “…Anyway, you said something about Toujou-chan. What was it again?”

“Dinner. She went through the trouble of bringing you dinner, so please eat it,” Kiibo stepped to the side to reveal the tray resting on his desk.

The raven-haired ultimate narrowed his eyes at the meal in question, but eventually nodded. “I am feeling hungrier than usual, so I guess I will.”

Kiibo beamed at the leader, pleased that the latter was being so unusually cooperative. “I do apologize for waking you up from your sleep, but a meal is best enjoyed while it’s hot.”

“…Speaking of which, how long was I out?” Ouma bowed slightly in silent gratitude once his companion passed him the tray.

“About three hours.”

Ouma frowned a little as he took a sip of the miso soup. “Please tell me you went to the meetup in the dining hall at least.”

Kiibo shifted awkwardly in his stance, “…I’m sorry, I didn’t.”

The leader slammed his spoon against the tray roughly before grabbing the chopsticks, but his voice still remained calm. “…Oh? Why didn’t you? Don’t tell me that on top of your less than remarkable ‘strength,’ you have an even less than remarkable memory?” He punctuated his jabs by shoving a mouthful of rice in his mouth, followed by slivers of mackerel.

Kiibo frowned, “It’s not that I forgot.”

Ouma took another sip of miso. “Oh? Is that so?”

The android crossed his arms, “Saihara-kun was looking for us since we didn’t arrive at the meeting point at the designated time. In fact, he dropped by my room earlier.” He paused to take a less than graceful seat on his chair, intensifying his glare at the rude boy. “I told him I couldn’t go and even requested him to relay the results of the meeting to us tomorrow after I informed him of the results of our own search. I only stayed behind because I didn’t want to leave my partner behind.”

Ouma paused in his meal, back straightening before he finally turned to look at the android. “Heeeh. Partner, huh. You’re such a riot, Kiiboy.” He munched on a pickle. “I guess your research on stand-up comedy is finally paying off.”

“It’s not a joke, Ouma-kun,” Kiibo lost the anger in his tone, this time it was something rather…melancholic. “…You were the one who said that we were only paired off because we’re both outcasts.” He began pressing his fingers together. “…I’ve been trying to ignore it, the sense of alienation whenever I’m around the others. I still don’t think too badly of them, but the words you told me that day never left my mind. It actually made me realize that I wasn’t imagining the distance–that I wasn’t just being overly sensitive around them.”

Ouma carefully placed his chopsticks on the chopstick rest as he listened.

“Ever since you told me that I…actually felt relieved,” Kiibo folded his hands as though in prayer. “I was a little happy too…that we at least have each other. That’s why I thought, the least I could do was to be there for you when you’re feeling unwell. Waking up in an empty room…wouldn’t it be lonely?”

“…You. Are you an idiot? Me? The Ultimate Supreme Leader, lonely? Don’t make me laugh,” Ouma scoffed.

Kiibo lifted his head. “Ouma-kun…if you continue to grab on my sheets that tightly, it would tear.”

“Shut up, Kiibo.”

“I refuse to,” the android tightened his grip on his own hands. “Because if I do…I won’t get the chance to have this talk with you once either one of us leave my room.”

Ouma clicked his tongue before snatching the chopsticks from its rest to finish the rest of his dinner.

“You don’t have to respond truthfully to me, Ouma-kun. I only wanted to say what’s been on my mind for a long time now,” Kiibo’s gaze softened. “…You and I…are quite similar. We…we simply have no place within this Cage. That’s why…even if you push me away with your robophobia, I just want you to know that I’m always willing to lend you a hand whenever you need it. That’s all I have to say.”

“Kiiboy…” Ouma pushed the tray towards the android, flashing him a small smile. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

It wasn’t like his usual mischievous smiles, but it wasn’t a sincere smile either. It was simply…an empty smile.

Even Kiibo could tell that this was the best time to end the conversation. “…I’ll go wash the dishes. Your shoes are right beside the bed. You can stay the night in my room if you want, but I won’t stop you if you choose to leave.”

“‘Kaaaaaay~”

Kiibo shut the door behind him with a sigh. “…I didn’t intend to tell him that as soon as he woke up. I really should study more about reading the mood…”

By the time he got back, Ouma was already gone–something he had expected the moment he left his room.

“The least he could do was fix the bed…” he gave the sheets a strong flap to get rid of the wrinkles, surprised to catch a sheet of paper slipping out after he did so. He dropped to his knees and reached for the slip of paper hiding beneath his bed. His eyes widened upon reading the message lazily scrawled on its surface.

                              ——————————–

                                         Thanks.

                             ——————————-

Kiibo found himself smiling. It was only one word, but the feelings behind that word meant so much to him. He decided to preserve the message in a small box and kept it inside his drawer.

——————————————————————–

“Kiibo, what are you–”

“Harukawa-san, please lay down your weapon.”

“Get out of my way, Kiibo. Ouma is a Remnant of Despair, remember?!” Harukawa kept her crossbow raised, her resolve never wavered despite the astronaut’s protests.

“We have no way to confirm that yet. Besides, Ouma-kun and Momota-kun weren’t around when we used the flashback light. Interrogating him about that would be nothing but a fruitless endeavor,” Kiibo took a step back and stretched an arm out to further obscure the assassin’s view of the fallen leader. “If Momota-kun and Saihara-kun, if everyone could give you a second chance, then it’s only fair that we give Ouma-kun a right to be heard as well.”

“Kiiboy…” Ouma gritted his teeth, the poison was slowly but surely coursing through his veins. But even so, he couldn’t help but feel relieved. Relieved that Kiibo kept his promise to him that fateful night.

“Kiibo is right, Harumaki. Just stop this. This isn’t the right way,” Momota grabbed the assassin by the wrist and made her lower the crossbow.

“Momota…you idiot!” she hissed.

“You’re the one who’s acting like an idiot, Harumaki. You’re going to restart the Killing Game if I let you go through with this,” the astronaut tightened his grip on her.

“But…he’s…” the assassin sank to her feet, realization finally hitting her.

Kiibo relaxed in his stance before turning to face the leader and offered him a hand. “There’s an antidote in Saihara-kun’s lab, let me take you there.”

Ouma nodded in response as he accepted the hand. “…Thank you.”

Kiibo beamed at him. “You’re welcome, Ouma-kun.”

[littleandroidwrites]

Send me “Mine” to see my character acting possessive about yours... just as a refresher.. MINE for Trane

Tristan had an open kind of face. One that people trusted. That might have been what Jane first noticed about him.

‘Might’, because she wasn’t sure what it had been about Tristan. Most people were digestible feature by feature. You might see their nose first, then their eyes, and then their personality might come into play. Tristan, however, had always been a veritable mystery of moving parts that Jane seemed incapable of pinning down. So maybe it was his open face. How everything from his mouth to his eyes to his cheekbones seemed to be working harmoniously to project a sense of wholesomeness, of completeness, despite the static inside of him. Maybe that had first piqued Jane’s interest. 

Regardless. Jane liked his face. Usually, she was more partial to the neglected, the hard to love. But she seemed to be of popular opinion in this instance. That was… different. That was difficult. 

Whoever the girl was, she was pretty, in that objective apple pie kind of way. That Rhea kind of way. Only she was blonde and cheerful and actually looked interested in Tristan. Jane watched them from the kitchen, a crow in wilderness minding her prey. She perched on the counter top with her legs crossed like a defence. If anyone wasn’t getting ice from her posture, they weren’t paying attention.

Or, they were Beau. 

He was closer to Jane than she would’ve liked, but she maintained a level of tolerance for Beau that she didn’t have for many others.  He reminded her of Chris, if Chris had been castrated at a young age and wasn’t aware you could hurt people if you tried. She liked and disliked him in equal measures because of it. 

“You gotta let him spread his wings, Mama Bird.” Beau breathed. Jane turned her gaze from Tristan and his new friend in the living area to stare at Beau, who had a fist either side of her hips. The funny thing about it was, she could have felt trapped, but the curve of Beau’s spine was soft and boyish. His solar plexus practically begged to be punctured if he so much as moved a hand unexpectedly. Beau couldn’t be threatening if he tried. She tilted her head to the side, tilting her chin up to observe the gentle wave of his platinum blonde hair. But her eyes didn’t miss his toothy smile. “Really. You should be proud of him. Baby’s first crack house hook up. Damn, I’m proud. But… space, mama. Space.” 

That was ironic. Jane made a point of raising her knee just slightly, making contact with his stomach, and pushing forward. Beau chuckled a little, lifting his hands in surrender and stumbling half a step backward.

“Space.” Jane repeated. “Maybe there is something to that.” 

“That’s my bad. I’m like a niffler. Always gotta be close to pretty things.” He winked at her, crossing arms casually behind his head in a surrender of a stretch. She knew Beau didn’t mean anything he said half the time. It was hard to mistake him for a man with any kind of direct intent. That was probably how he’d managed to live this long. That was probably why Chris hadn’t taken even a single swing at him yet. 

Bored of the situation, Jane’s eyes wandered back to their default target. Tristan was smiling now. From where she sat, Jane could see one of his dimples. She blinked a couple of times, suppressing the urge to smile herself. Ridiculous. But the feeling was fleeting, squashed the moment Tristan’s companion shifted from the ottoman across from him to the sofa cushion beside him. It looked like she was showing him something on her phone. Or maybe asking for his number. 

“Put the death glare away, baby!” 

Beau again, in her ear. She clenched her jaw, rolling her neck on her way back to looking at him. “Well,  which is it?” 

Beau smiled. “Which is it, what?” 

“Am I your baby, or am I your mama?” She asked, not in a friendly way. Now, he grimaced. 

“Ah, shit. I’m being an asshole again, aren’t I?” When Jane didn’t respond, he gave her a sheepish smile. “You’re neither. To me, anyway. Chris’s baby. Tristan’s –” 

“Nothing.” 

Beau seemed to consider. “Okay… Well, okay. But he’s still your something.” His smile was coming back. “Your baby bird.” 

“We’re not a nature documentary, Beau.” 

“No, but. If you were.” He turned around, lifted himself up to sit beside her. “Now, if I was being cynical, I’d say you were a lioness and he was a sweet little giselle.” Beau’s head lolled to the side, resting on his shoulder as he looked up at her. “But I’m not being cynical. I don’t think you’re hunting him, you know? Just caring about him. Nothing wrong with that.” 

Nothing wrong with that. 

“Only thing is, though, if you never let your little babies fend for themselves…” Beau shrugged enigmatically.

The truth was, Tristan had fended for himself plenty. And Jane wasn’t looking out for him. She wondered at external perceptions, not for the first time. It seemed she had a penchant for being misunderstood, first in isolation, and now in relation to Tristan. 

Very few people understood what she wanted. Very few people understood her in general. 

“Beau.” He tilted his head back to his other shoulder, smiled with all his teeth. “You’re the only baby here.” 

“Aw.” Touched.                 

“Why don’t you go and find a relationship to ruin?” 

“Aw.” Not touched. 

She watched him pout for a moment, contemplated pressing further on the soft spot. Why do what you do if you can’t face it without hurting? But she pushed off the edge of the counter. Heard the clack of her heavy boots on the linoleum. She was tired of being around Beau, who so deceptively appeared to bare his soul to anyone who asked, but who couldn’t face himself. 

Be honest. 

She turned on her heel, ignored Beau’s call after her – “He’s gotta spread his wings!” – and moved toward the sofa. Tristan’s back was half turned toward her, but as she circled around him to sit on the ottoman, his head swivelled to follow her. 

“Hey.” He smiled at her, his full smile, with the dimples, and she blinked slowly back. After a moment, he held out the beer in his hand. “Drink?” 

She took it, though she wasn’t thirsty. Their fingers brushed as he handed the bottle over, and now she did smile back at him. Not intentionally. Jane turned her head to look at their company, and waited. 

“This is…” 

“Cammie.” Cammie supplied, smiling warmly at Tristan out the corner of her eye. Which meant that they hadn’t exchanged names. Jane wondered what they’d been talking about. It was odd not to introduce yourself. Wasn’t it? “And you are…?” 

After a long moment of silence, Tristan answered, “Jane.” 

Jane let out a breath in response. Raised the beer bottle to her lips. Continued to look at Cammie. 

Seeming to gather that Jane wasn’t here for conversation, Cammie redirected her attention to Tristan, and the two continued to chat amongst themselves. A flush was picking up in her cheeks, but Jane thought it had less to do with talking to Tristan than it had to do with being subjected to her scrutiny; Cammie kept throwing glances her way, nervous laughter escaping the corner of her mouth every time she met Jane’s gaze. 

If she was being fair, Jane would’ve looked away. Given the girl a break.  But that wasn’t really in her spirit. 

She watched Cammie build up confidence again, speaking to Tristan more fluidly than before, and liked her a little more. 

“But… when this wraps up, there’s a little something going down at my friend’s house, so if you wanted to come –”

Well. Jane didn’t like her that much. “No.” 

Now, Tristan and Cammie both looked at her. She took a sip of the beer. It was warm. Surprise was written across both of their faces, maybe because Cammie hadn’t been talking to Jane.

“Oh?” Cammie squeaked. 

Jane shouldn’t have stared her down for so long. “We’re busy.” 

Cammie raised her eyebrows, pointed at Tristan, as if asking we as in you and him, and when neither disagreed, she nodded gamely. “Cool. Okay. So are you two, like, a thing, then?” 

Jane smiled. Big of her to ask. She sounded a little annoyed, too, like her time had been wasted, which was funny. 

“What do you think?” Jane handed the bottle back to Tristan, who looked as uncomfortable as he did confused. 

After a moment of deliberation, Cammie seemed to make up her mind. She gave Tristan a quick, tight lipped smile, Jane a nod, and left like a champ. Jane tucked a hand under her chin, elbow rested on her knee. Tracked her eyes back over to Tristan. “That was mean, wasn’t it?” 

Tristan tilted his head this way and that noncommittally, either because he didn’t know or didn’t want to admit that he did. At his lukewarm response, she shrugged her own shoulders, looking around the room as if she’d never seen it before. She could feel Tristan’s eyes on her, but finding Beau watching her from the kitchen was a surprise; he raised his eyebrows at her disapprovingly, mouthing, baby bird. She rolled her eyes when he started to flap his arms. 

“What?” Tristan asked, and Jane pulled her gaze back to his own slowly. She didn’t answer right away. His hair was starting to fall into his eyelashes. She extended a hand, brushed his hair off of his forehead gently. She could trim it, she thought. But Jane liked Tristan’s hair long. She liked that it curled around his face like a lowered halo. But she would ask him later what he wanted. For now, she leaned back on her palms, maintaining eye contact as she did so. 

“Beau. He’s under the impression that I think I own you.” 

“Oh.” Tristan seemed to process this for a while, not looking at her. “Uh… do you?” 

She tilted her head, trying to catch his eye; he let her, and she smiled. “Think I own you? Or own you?” He laughed a little, and she wished she hadn’t said it when he looked away again. Missing the connection of meeting eyes, she let her ankle meet his calf in substitute. “I do. Just a little bit. Not enough to share.” Tristan looked up at her again. She didn’t allow herself time to process his expression before she admitted, “You own a lot more of me.”

[braincoins]

30 Day OC Challenge - Day 4

art by @explodingcrenelation who is awesome

Seiko Deinn was an RP character I made for a (medieval fantasy) forum RP site. (I’m not sure if it’s still active; if I find out it is, I’ll link it for y’all.) And, because I found her character sheet, get ready for some copy-pasta (below the cut):

Name: Seiko Dienn (dee-ENN)

Aliases: none

Age: 180. yes, years.

Race: Elven

Language: Elven (obviously), relatively fluent in everyday Common though technical terms/slang sometimes throw her; can curse in both Common and Dreaden as well as her native Elven.

Gender: Female

Occupation: Book/scroll merchant; has her own little shop in Sakaide Port.

Orientation: Bisexual

Physical Description: 5'7", 150 lbs., marathoner's build (so not curvy). Chin length dark brown hair, usually left loose but tucked behind her only slightly pointed ears; gray eyes; [url=http://sockschan.info/cafeole.jpg]cafe ole skin[/url]. She has scars that are usually not visible, but the ones seen most often are a couple of thin white lines on the upper palm/fingers of her left hand. She typically wears bright, pastel tunics with long sleeves and black or gray loose cloth slacks. Under her slacks are black leather boots - scuffed up, worn in, but still in excellent condition, with good soles. They're a tad incongruous with her otherwise loose and not-entirely-pragmatic clothing. She has a silver fur-lined black leather hooded cloak - another oddity for the otherwise simple bookseller - but she has a cheerfully rainbow-dyed soft wool scarf.

Personality Description: Typically smiling and upbeat, sunny & optimistic (even if she has to work at it sometimes). She comes off as an idealistic woman approaching her middle years; she speaks in a soft tone and uses gentle, tactful words...most of the time. Sometimes, when she gets riled, her tone completely changes, as if you're dealing with a totally different person: her words become short, her tone clipped and brusque, and her face hardens. When this happens, she usually clears her throat, takes a moment to compose herself and then apologizes for her behavior.

Likes:

Sunny days

Rainy nights (nice to fall asleep to)

Rainbows

Fresh-baked bread

Reading (especially history & folklore)

Writing

Traveling (though she doesn't do much of it anymore)

Learning

Children

Small animals

Butterflies

Dislikes:

Rainy days (keeps business away)

Old coffee

Death of innocent life

History: Seiko was born in Rakuen, Seijou, to a poor architect and a teacher. Education was important and money was tight (there's not much point in being an architect in what's already a beautifully-designed and well-built city). When her mother got design jobs, times were good, presents were many and food was rich & flavorful. When they were subsisting on her father's teaching salary, times were dark, presents were non-existent and food barely so.

Seiko signed up with a mercenary group as soon as she was old enough, much to her parents' dismay. She was a bright girl, and they'd hoped she'd go on to bigger and better things, but Seiko knew as well as they did that they didn't have the money to send her into apprenticeship or private tutoring. Her initial plan was to earn money with the mercenary group and then use it to fulfill her parents' dream of a brighter future for her.

But weeks became months became years and Seiko grew inured to mercenary life. She became quite good with her sword, and was a valued member of the team. She traveled the world with them, seeing a few sights she'd always wanted to see and a great many she'd rather not have. The world seemed a harsh and cruel place, and the only bulwark she had against it was the camaraderie of her group, the Blacktalon Blades. They stood beside you, had your back, never left one of their own behind. In this way, they were noble; in a great many other ways, they were not. Make your money however you can, and use it to enjoy life while you can, because it's over all too soon, and usually when you least suspect it.

This all changed when she got separated from her group during a pitched fight. It had started as a bar brawl between the Blacktalon and another group - maybe they were mercs, maybe just a group of hooligans - and had spilled out into the street. When the other guys fled, the Blacktalon went into pursuit. Their prey split up and they followed suit, but she must've taken a wrong turn... she could've sworn Djerin was right in front of her, chasing down that no-account son of a- but here she was, alone in an alley. An old man huddled in his filthy blanket next to some decomposing trash.

She asked him where her friend was, where her prey was. He turned his head to look at her. She barked questions, demanded answers. He just looked at her and then asked her, "Why?" "Why what?" "Why are you doing this?" She explained about the fight, the insult to honor, the... "No. Why are you doing this?" he asked, in the same inflection, the same emphasis. No matter what she said, how she said it, the old man asked the same question. She gave up and headed back to the hotel, that question flittering around in her head.

At first, she mocked the old man and his question; then she grew to hate him for asking it, this question that wouldn't leave her alone. Eventually, she decided to turn and stand and face the question rather than run from it: Why Am I Doing This?

She told the Blacktalon she needed a few days; she'd catch up to them. They left her there, in the small Tytosian town they were in at the time, and she thought about the life she'd left behind for her mercenary life. She thought about the life she was supposedly saving for. She hadn't spent all her money - some of it she'd sent home, and some of it she [i]had[/i] saved. She spent days thinking about her life and what she truly [i]wanted[/i]. She'd gotten caught up in an odd sort of inertia, and it was time for that to change.

She wrote ahead to the Blacktalon's next stop, to let them know she was quitting. She wrote her parents to let them know she was coming home. She took the next ship home, to Seijou. When she got to Sakaide Port, a letter was waiting for her, from her mom's best friend; her mother had died some years ago, from illness, and her father had died not long after. It'd been years since she'd actually [i]written[/i] home; she'd just sent money along. The letter came with several years' worth of accumulated coin - everything she'd sent since her father had died.

She mourned a few days; she had nothing better to do, as most of the guides were out at the moment or on their way back. She couldn't cross to Rakuen just now anyway, and she was filled with regret and loss and despair.

In the end, she decided to stay in Sakaide Port. It had a great influx of strange and interesting people, and Rakuen just had too many memories for her. She used her money to buy a storefront and stock it with books and writing supplies; she sleeps in the back of the store.

She sold off her armor to help further fund the business in the lean 'Just Opened' times, but she still has her sword. She took a vow never to draw it except in defense of another's life (not her own), and she's taken up morning and evening meditations. After 10 years of being just a bookseller, she's happier now... most of the time.

Alignment: Currently? Lawful Good. Apparently back in her merc days she was Neutral Evil, according to this test (which is where I got the Lawful Good result from as well, though, frankly, I could've pinned her as that regardless.

Weapons: A katana-style sword, nothing fancy, but well-maintained and in good shape. The plain, black leather scabbard has been enchanted so that the sword can only be drawn a couple of inches; to fully draw the sword, the blade must "taste blood" - that is, she has to cut herself on it to draw it out. This was initially put on to help her keep her self-made vow and to underscore the point (to herself) that she must be willing to shed her own blood to help others or else she shouldn't be drawing the sword in the first place.

Armor: None

Magick: None, unless you count the scabbard, but that was an enchantment she paid to have someone else put on. She has no other magickal trinkets/artifacts/enchantments.

Powers: None

Strengths:

Arm strength, certainly - she can still swing that sword about

Finding the bright side in a situation (that was a hard skill to learn though)

Well-read and educated; very knowledgeable especially about history & folklore - her two favorite things to read

Forgiving of minor crimes (like pickpocketing)

Not terribly materialistic (any longer)

Harder to anger than she used to be

Protective/of a heroic bent - wiling to charge into danger to protect people (not that it's been necessary lately)

Weaknesses:

Protective/of a heroic bent - willing to charge into danger to protect people

IF you can get her angry, she tends to lash out (with words more than with actions, but she can be very scary), which is something she’s still trying to improve upon.

Easily distracted by books/scrolls/anything she doesn’t yet know

Forgiving of minor crimes (like pickpocketing)

Stubborn

Still cries when she thinks of her parents (so she doesn’t think of them often)

Other: She's fond of the neighborhood children, and they of her. She encourages them to keep up with their schooling and helps tutor those who need help. None of them suspect she used to be a relatively heartless merc, which is just fine by her. And while she's willing to let thieves pick her pocket, anyone stealing from her bookstore is going to get a thump on the head before being tossed out in the street (she can't [i]draw her sword[/i] to protect herself or her belongings, but she can certainly still throw a punch).

She tries to give advice in the enigmatic manner of Wise Old Sages; sometimes this works and sometimes not... often to comedic effect.

[junker-town]

The first week of Wimbledon has sucked

Just awful.

You can count on certain types of emotions bubbling to the surface over the first week of a tennis slam. There’s the optimism for an up-and-comer advancing a bit further than anybody thought. There’s the shock of the big, early-round upset, even if some are bigger than others. There’s excitement for aging champions aiming for one more big title, and the young stars looking for a big breakthrough.

To be sure, the 2017 Wimbledon Championships have had all of that. Upsets to two big favorites have cracked the women's bracket wide open, and the ongoing presence of Roger Federer, Rafael Nadal, and Venus Williams fills the Grand Old Champion quota.

The first week of Wimbledon, however, has been defined by other emotions.

1. Anguish

During the run-up to the tournament, it was revealed that Venus Williams was facing a lawsuit after she was found at fault for a fatal car accident in Florida. There are few things in the world as emotionally demanding as that, and it almost went without saying that, when Williams was asked about the accident after her first-round win, she broke down.

Obviously the victim and his family are the primary victims in this ordeal, but there’s plenty of empathy to go around after something tragic has occurred.

2. Pity

Bernard Tomic, a 24-year-old Aussie with unique talent whose commitment to the sport has been questioned throughout his enigmatic career, gave a revealing interview after his straight-set, first-round loss to Mischa Zverev.

"Some weeks I play well and beat a bunch of players and do super well in tournaments. ... But now it's a roller coaster, and I just can't seem to find, like, the commitment to work hard, to enjoy [playing] and to lift trophies. [...]

I couldn't care less if I make a fourth-round U.S. Open or I lose [in the] first round. To me, everything is the same. I'm going to play another 10 years, and I know after my career I won't have to work again."

There is an old school brain in all of us, one that responds to quotes like this with righteous, "Can't he see how lucky he has it?" anger. It's hard to feel too sorry for him when finding out he was fined $20,000 and lost his Head endorsement because of the interview.

Still, there's another side of the brain that responds with simple pity. Tomic's size and skill were a lottery ticket of sorts, and he has slowly found out through the years that fulfilling his potential has felt more like an obligation than a passion. It's a lot easier to go through life when you're also making great money, of course, but Tomic's identity is tied to a sport he has apparently grown to dislike.

3. Scorn

Petra Kvitova’s comeback was not the only one involving a former major winner. With Victoria Azarenka returning to the tour after having a child in late 2016, and with Serena Williams stepping away to do the same, pregnancy has become a topic on the women's tour.

It's not the first time, of course. There are pretty good mile markers for such conversations. Margaret Court had a child in the early 1970s and returned to win the Australian Open, the French Open, and the US Open. In the late 1970s, Evonne Goolagong won the Australian Open not even a year after having a child, then won Wimbledon a couple of years later. More recently, Kim Clijsters had a child in 2008, then won the 2009 US Open (the third tournament of her comeback), the 2010 US Open, and the 2011 Australian Open.

Naturally, then, the person Azarenka was most notably asked about this week when it comes to motivation, precedent, etc., was ... Roger Federer.

“Probably the most special example for parenthood and playing tennis is Roger, four kids, touring around for so many years. He’s a man, you’re a woman. Did he kind of inspire you when you had to switch to become a mother?”

Vika’s 9th ace: "Roger definitely has not inspired me. No disrespect to him, & I think it's amazing, but it's a little different for him."

— Courtney Nguyen (@FortyDeuceTwits) July 5, 2017

1 male tv commentator during Mallorca : "the good thing is she isn't coming back from injury, so there's no rehab she has to do" ‍♂️

— marc lucero (@marclucero) July 6, 2017

Granted, Federer did lose his pregnancy weight in record time, but ... guys, we don't always have to insert ourselves into the story.

4. Pure, unadulterated pain

Early in the week, injury-related withdrawals — players qualifying for the tournament and playing to collect a check, even if they cannot complete the match — were a major topic of conversation. On Thursday, an actual, gruesome, real-time injury took over.

Let me describe this link to you so you don’t have to click on it: That's Bethanie Mattek-Sands, 32-year old American doubles whiz and seemingly one of the nicest, most well-regarded players on either tour, suffering what appears to be a gruesome knee injury and screaming repeatedly.

Her opponent, Sorana Cirstea, quickly made her way across the net and appeared to either gag or get choked up as she got close to Mattek-Sands. It took nearly 15 minutes for medical help to reach their court. Early indications are that her knee dislocated.

Photo by David Ramos/Getty Images

Ugh.

All this, and I didn't even mention the fact that as the tournament began, we were all arguing about something John McEnroe said.

Let's not mince words: the first week of the Wimbledon Championships has sucked. We should focus on the happy Jack Sock towel story and hope that better emotions rule the second week of the fortnight.