#apparently i only speak ambiguous endings

[too-fond-to-be-fearful]

Been thinking recently about the goings-on with Duolingo & AI, and I do want to throw my two cents in, actually.

There are ways in which computers can help us with languages, certainly. They absolutely should not be the be-all and end-all, and particularly for any sort of professional work I am wholly in favour of actually employing qualified translators & interpreters, because there's a lot of important nuances to language and translation (e.g. context, ambiguity, implied meaning, authorial intent, target audience, etc.) that a computer generally does not handle well. But translation software has made casual communication across language barriers accessible to the average person, and that's something that is incredibly valuable to have, I think.

Duolingo, however, is not translation software. Duolingo's purpose is to teach languages. And I do not think you can be effectively taught a language by something that does not understand it itself; or rather, that does not go about comprehending and producing language in the way that a person would.

Whilst a language model might be able to use probability & statistics to put together an output that is grammatically correct and contextually appropriate, it lacks an understanding of why, beyond "statistically speaking, this element is likely to come next". There is no communicative intent behind the output it produces; its only goal is mimicking the input it has been trained on. And whilst that can produce some very natural-seeming output, it does not capture the reality of language use in the real world.

Because language is not just a set of probabilities - there are an infinite array of other factors at play. And we do not set out only to mimic what we have seen or heard; we intend to communicate with the wider world, using the tools we have available, and that might require deviating from the realm of the expected.

Often, the most probable output is not actually what you're likely to encounter in practice. Ungrammatical or contextually inappropriate utterances can be used for dramatic or humorous effect, for example; or nonstandard linguistic styles may be used to indicate one's relationship to the community those styles are associated with. Social and cultural context might be needed to understand a reference, or a linguistic feature might seem extraneous or confusing when removed from its original environment.

To put it briefly, even without knowing exactly how the human brain processes and produces language (which we certainly don't), it's readily apparent that boiling it down to a statistical model is entirely misrepresentative of the reality of language.

And thus a statistical model is unlikely to be able to comprehend and assist with many of the difficulties of learning a language.

A statistical model might identify that a learner misuses some vocabulary more often than others; what it may not notice is that the vocabulary in question are similar in form, or in their meaning in translation. It might register that you consistently struggle with a particular grammar form; but not identify that the root cause of the struggle is that a comparable grammatical structure in your native language is either radically different or nonexistent. It might note that you have trouble recalling a common saying, but not that you lack the cultural background needed to understand why it has that meaning. And so it can identify points of weakness; but it is incapable of addressing them effectively, because it does not understand how people think.

This is all without considering the consequences of only having a singular source of very formal, very rigid input to learn from, unable to account for linguistic variation due to social factors. Without considering the errors still apparent in the output of most language models, and the biases they are prone to reproducing. Without considering the source of their data, and the ethical considerations regarding where and how such a substantial sample was collected.

I understand that Duolingo wants to introduce more interactivity and adaptability to their courses (and, I suspect, to improve their bottom line). But I genuinely think that going about it in this way is more likely to hinder than to help, and wrongfully prioritises the convenience of AI over the quality and expertise that their existing translators and course designers bring.

[harunovella]

feel my unconditional love ; t.u.

synopsis: being the fourth wife of tengen uzui must have been the world punishing you for being unmarried at the ripe age of 18; the last in your family to move on... or so you thought.

cw: alternate universe, fourth wife!reader, self isolation, arranged marriage, mentions of violence, near death experience, tengen is just such a good man and husband, reader just needs a big hug, angst, running away, slight slow burn, training, loss of virginity, oral, first time, love confessions, plot twist, happy ending, ambiguous ending, not beta read

wc: 9.4k+

an: my first ever tengen fic! I love this man so very much and it's a shame he's hardly written... a lil side note, the reader goes through mild depression but it isn't stated as such, she just isn't happy with the predicament she's in and is sort of on a self destructive path (self isolation/not eating out of sadness) but I promise there's a happy ending! if it's not your sort of thing, you are more than welcome to ignore the story...

p.s. this is only reader x tengen, the wives are only mentioned throughout the story and have minor interactions with the reader (sorry, not sorry, I want tengen all to myself)

The sound of rain pouring down from the evening showers and colliding with the veranda echoed in your head. You sat with your knees pulled in, gazing out into the dark of the night as the thunderstorm roared. Lightening flashed momentarily before the explosive rumble followed. It wasn't wise to be sitting so close to the rain as the gusts of wind caused the droplets to lightly sprinkle at you and the interior of your room... however, you didn't seem to care. The state of mind you were in wasn't a lovely one. 

It had been less than 24 hours since you became the fourth wife to the retired Hashira, Uzui Tengen. The sound of Mrs. Uzui from outside your room was unsettling and foreign to you whenever someone wanted to speak to you—whether to give you food or check up on you. After all, the second you became a wife, you practically locked yourself away from the rest of the world after, digging yourself deeper into the sorrow you felt. 

You were the youngest and last daughter in your clan who needed to be wedded off. In a family of five sisters, it was expected for you all to be raised into proper housewives. A life you despised. You never wanted this, any of this. You had avoided it for so long. All your sisters married fairly young, between the ages of 15 and 16... you, however, were 18 and managed to add some time. Solely because you were the youngest and everyone was so busy they had nearly forgotten about you... but that didn't last long. 

The moment your clan came to the realization that you were now 18, still unwed and doing nothing, they were quick on their feet. You weren't present for most of the decision making, only aware that a certain clan owed yours and this was the perfect way to clear up the debt. The details were never given to you, why it was that something was owed, but you were told the man you'd marry not only was practically one of the last of his clan, but also already wedded to three other wives. 

That left a bad taste in your mouth. 

How could your family allow this? Tossing you two a man with that many wives? Surely they must've cared some for you.. right? 

Apparently, they did not. 

You were unhappy as it was, but to be a fourth wife to someone? You've heard plenty horror stories of women in marriages such as those. Being used as nothing more than a tool to expand clans, long forgotten once they no longer could produce. Others dying and being disposed of during child labor (or while carrying a child). It terrified you, to say the least. Was that what you were going to end up as? Such a young woman with a who life to live... only for it to be taken from you just because you were seen as a breeding machine?

You cried for days before the wedding. You cried the day of. And you cried right after when you locked yourself up. 

Now? You were exhausted. Your eyes heavy, your body aching to rest, but you just couldn't... no matter what. Even though the ceremony was less than a day ago, you couldn't quite remember the last time you properly slept. You got no more than three to four hours of sleep. You barely ate, too. How were you still functioning? 

Days would come and go, and you'd be the same. Hidden from the others, not showing yourself during meals or, really, anything. The maids would come knocking but you'd never answer. Food was always left outside your door and it was almost always halfway full. You tried to eat, but everything was tasteless to you. The spiral you had found yourself falling into was deadly... even the other wives would try to speak to you, mentioning how worried they were. 

You didn't even know their names. 

Or did you? Maybe it was mentioned at one point. Who knows, you've been on autopilot for a while now. Information goes into one ear and out the other. What have you become?

"I'm worried for her..." Hinatsuru sighed as she sat besides Suma and Makio. "She hasn't come out of there and it's been two weeks..."

"She's hardly touched her meals, I can see the portions get smaller but the plates are never empty," Makio added. 

"Yeah, and ever time I ask her if she'd like to join me whenever I go to the hot springs, she never answers!" Suma frowned as Makio shot her a glare. 

"Why the hell would she want to do that if she's been avoiding all of us?!" The black and yellow haired woman growled as Suma's frown deepened. 

"I don't blame her," Tengen sighed as he was sat before them in their garden. "She was forced into something she didn't want. She's the youngest of her clan, people's mindsets change. Generations move away from the old ways. And I'm sure the idea of me having three wives already left a bad taste in her mouth. She wasn't raised in an environment like ours."

Eyeing the white haired man, Hinatsuru settled her hands on her knees, "maybe you should try and talk to her... I feel bad for the poor girl. She hardly knows anything about us and who knows what her clan has fed her. She's scared and I don't think she'd be willing to ever come out if we don't try... Especially you, Lord Tengen."

You were trying your best to eat a little more than you had the day before, no matter how much your body was refusing, even if it screamed for it just as badly. The sound a knock made you flinch slightly before you settled the warm bowl down beside you, muttering a small who is it? as you sat on the tatami matting. 

"It's me," though you didn't hear much of him, you knew who it was. There wasn't much male voices around anyway. "May I come in?"

Considering it, seeing as you haven't really seen or spoken to someone in quite some time—losing track—you gulped. "Okay..." you mumbled, fiddling with the sleeves of your kimono. 

Sliding the door open, unsure what to expect, Tengen peeked in and spotted your small frame in the corner of the room, tray of picked at food beside you as your gaze went out beyond the veranda. You were alive, obviously so, and you weren't... destructive. The room looked as if it was hardly even lived in, but by the looks of it, you managed to at least keep up with yourself. At least, for your hygiene. As much as you avoided everyone, he was told that you would leave the room rather late at night to bathe and clean up before going back to locking yourself in. However... you weren't eating much and it was a major concern. You did eat some, you managed to get food in your belly, but you never properly finished your meals. 

Feeling his lingering presence, you turned your head to face the towering man who was still at the threshold. There was clear concern on his face, the way he had eyed his surroundings with a faint furrow of his eyebrows... Then, he looked at you, and you were sure he noticed the dark circles and the subtle redness in your eyes from your lack of sleep and tears. You had gotten a little better within the time that has progressed, seeing as you were at least never truly bothered or forced to do anything... but you still struggled and you were still scared. 

"You know, you are more than welcome to treat this home as your own. It is, after all, yours as much as it is mine," Tengen spoke up, eyeing you, but you stayed silent and looked away. He watched as you pulled your knees in and gazed out at the stars. It was a clear night this time around. Looking down at your tray, seeing you ate a bit more than usual, Tengen took in a quiet, deep breath. "We are all here for you if you need anything..." At that, he left. Not a word uttered from you nor a look back. 

This was going to be much more difficult than he had thought. 

You were going to run away. That's what you decided when you nearly struck a month of being a married woman living in her own isolation. You were tired of being locked away out of fear and all that you filled your head with. You wanted to live your dream of traveling the world and being a free woman, no longer shackled to her family and the old ways of life. 

You were eating more, slept a bit more, maybe it was because you had been scheming to sneak away and disappear for good. Maybe you were excited. Maybe you've completely lost your mind. Whatever it was, it gave you enough courage to do what you were doing now. Since no one really forced their way into your space, leaving you be, no one was aware of what you had in mind. You also weren't aware either, as the world was so vast and you knew so little. But you wanted to do it. You wanted to run, to run so far, to see it all. To see what other lands were like. To feel the wind, to watch the ocean roll onto the shore. Everything and more. A life for yourself that you deserved. 

After all, what more could a young woman want? It wasn't like you thought of the consequences of such actions. You were begging to live in a vivid dream, away from the nightmare your parents brought you into. 

It wasn't hard to leave the premises of the Uzui estate. You managed to slip out late at night, later than when you'd bathe. You wore something more suitable than what you normally wore, clothing to allow for more movement. A small bag was slung over your shoulder and onto your back as you made your way out and nearly sprinted on ahead. You were foolish, that was given, but you wouldn't admit that. It would bite you on the ass for being so brainless... but that wasn't of your concern. 

At least, not yet. 

All you thought about was the cold, night air patting your exposed skin. How strands of your hair that flew from its braid tickled at your cheeks. The way you felt the grass crunch beneath your feet as the moonlight guided your path. You held a compass in one hand, deciding to go North West, in hopes to run into something along the way. 

As your feet pulled you along, you kept your guard up. Sure, traveling alone at night never was wise, but you weren't about to walk out of the residence in broad daylight for everyone to see. This was a huge risk you were willing to take, and, again... you were foolish. You were well aware of demons, aware that your husband was once a destroyer of their kind, so of course you believed yourself to be fine. Wasn't like you'd get caught up in a mess, right? What were the odds, anyway?

The trio decided to leave you your dinner again, all three wives deciding to make the effort into visiting your room more often than not to at least know you were alright and alive in there. None of them blamed you for how you felt... even if a month had passed. Hinatsuru was always the one to knock first and announce the delivery of your food, while Makio listed what was available on the tray, followed by Suma offering (once again) to go to the springs together. It almost became a daily routine for them, seeing as you were now one of them, they wanted nothing more but to help you feel at home. Or, at least, try to. If you'd let them...

On the night of your "escape" from the estate, Tengen felt the odd desire to check on you. It was something he did often, once a day at least—and, if not—every other day. He stood from his seat amongst his wives suddenly, excusing himself without an explanation as he aimed for your room within the Uzui grounds. There was a sense of urgency, and his gut instincts never failed him. 

Tapping his knuckles on your shoji, Tengen called your name. As the seconds pass, and he'd call your name repetitively, his tone became one of urgency. Slight panic began to build within his chest, his eyebrows furrowed as you didn't answer. No matter what, you always responded to his knocks. 

Sliding the partition open, Tengen searched the area before stepping in. Nothing was out of place, everything was as they were each and every time he'd visit. Taking a few steps towards the veranda and peeking out, there was no sight of you.

Sucking in a sharp breath as he felt his heart race, Tengen searched every inch of his home, places you'd usually be at this hour of night. Yet, you were nowhere to be found. 

Taking in sharp breaths as he clenched and unclenched his fist, he eagerly returned to his wives, words slipping off his tongue faster than he could process them, "she's run away."

"What?!" The three grasped in unison. 

"Where could she be?!" Suma shrieked. 

"It's not safe out there, especially at this hour!" Makio added. 

Frowning in worry, Hinatsuru placed a hand on the man's arm, giving it a small squeeze of urgency, "you must find her... she could be in danger right now for all we know."

You weren't bright. That was a given. You were still a teenager, though considered an adult, you just barely lived two decades of your life. Of course things would go bad for you, of course the universe wasn't kind to those who failed to use logic and took advantage. Now in a state of fear, you felt guilty. You should've stayed, right? It wasn't like you were being forced to do anything, all of those horror stories weren't true. At least, not for you. Tengen never forced you to procreate with him, his wives were constantly reaching out to you, everyone was so kind... yet here you are, running for your life because you chose to run away. A foolish child you were. If you died right now, it would be your fault. No one else to blame. 

Tears slid down your cheeks as you tried everything in your power to escape, to survive. What made you think this was a wise idea to run away, especially so late at night? You had no set of skills to protect yourself. You were raised to be a housewife, not wield a sword! You had no survival skills, only basic instincts. Of course you knew you had to do something to get away, yet all you could think about was to run and to hide. 

And running and hiding could only get you so far. 

You found yourself in the grip of a grotesque demon, ready to sink its sharp teeth into your flesh and rip you into pieces. To make you it's dinner. You were going to become another victim, another soul lost to the damned. You sobbed and begged for help as the multi-armed being gripped and felt nearly every inch of you, it's nasty slobbering echoing in your ears as it barred it's fangs. You shoved and kicked, thrashed and begged for a way out. Using your own teeth to bite down, it granted you a few moments of escape, reaching out for a sharp piece of metal scrap on the ground, stabbing it into the creatures eye. 

The shriek it released made you cover your ears and hiss in pain. Loud ringing bounced within your head as you tried to get back up on your feet to escape, but it was too quick. It latched onto your ankle and tugged you back as you kicked and shoved at it. It pressed its weight against you, nearly suffocating you as it trapped you beneath it, sinking its razor sharp teeth into your neck as a gruesome scream left your mouth. 

Kicking and slapping, trying to shove the demon off of you as your blood began to gush down your neck and pool beneath you, your vision began to blur. Your screams grew faint as your body fell weak. The moon was bright above you, no cloud to block it from your sight. It almost felt as if it were mocking you, reminding you of what you left behind; a home, a husband who wasn't trying to take advantage of you, and people who tried to reach out. 

Why were you so inconsiderate? Why must you be so selfish? Look where you ended up! Bleeding to death by the teeth of a demon, ready to devour you and no one would know. No one would figure out what had happened and the demon would live to see another night. Another victim. Another soul taken. 

You closed your eyes for a moment, begging, pleading to the universe, for one last chance. For freedom, freedom away from the hands of death. 

You apologized for everything, for your selfishness, for being ungrateful. You quietly begged and begged and begged for a second chance. For a way out of this, even if it was just to apologize to Tengen and his wives, to thank them for their hospitality even if you kept yourself rudely locked away for so long. 

Just one more chance. Just one more time to do things right. To live my life. 

Opening your watery eyes once more, the sound of chains and the sight of the demons head being sliced right off of its neck came into view. Your heavy eyes blinked a few times, wondering if you imagined it. Before you could process it, you were lifted off the ground, away from the demon that turned into nothing but dust. The distant sound of your name being called had you weakly searching for its source as you slipped in and out of consciousness. The sight of Tengen's face, mouth uttering words, was all you saw before your world turned black. 

The sound of nature was all you could process. Birds chirping as the wind rustled through tree leaves, hummed in the distance. Your body felt heavy, your eyes barely able to flutter open. This must be the afterlife. You must've died. As far as you could remember, you were bleeding to death at the hands of a demon. 

Forcing your eyes open as you took in deep breaths, you felt blinded by the brightness, lifting a weak arm to cover the glare. Your eyes began to adjust as you blinked a few times before lowering you arm. Everything slowly came into view. A familiar ceiling sat above you before three recognizable faces peeked at you. 

I'm alive?

A collective sigh was heard, relief washing over the faces of the women studying you before two of them stood up and rushed away. One stayed behind. Your vision was blurry, but you could make out who it was. 

"Oh, we were so worried..." Hinatsuru said in a breathy tone as she placed a hand on her chest. "Especially Lord Tengen..."

Before you could even try to respond, the sound of the shoji sliding open and rapid footsteps caused you to turn your head. A large figure knelt beside you, uttering for the women around you to give him a moment alone with you. Your vision was still quite off, but the more you blinked, the more clear it became for you. 

It was Tengen, the women that were once around you were clearly his other wives... and you were back in his home. Your home. Alive and bandaged up. How did you survive? You were sure you were going to die from blood loss if the demon didn't get to you. Slowly sitting up with a wince as Tengen carefully watched you, scooting closer as he kept an eye on your figure, you held your kimono closed as you gently touched your once wounded neck. 

"Why did you run?" Was the first question he asked, even if he knew the answer. 

"I didn't want to be a wife," you spoke, voice hoarse. "Never wanted to be another number... I wanted freedom for so long... I just wanted to feel alive..." You confessed as tears pricked your eyes, trickling down your cheeks slowly as you kept your gaze low. 

Gently, Tengen's hand cupped your cheek as his thumb wiped away your tears. A gesture so innocent, making your heart flutter within your chest. Something you probably would've flinched away from, if it wasn't for this man seemed to have genuinely cared for you. "I'm sorry for what you've been put through."

Shaking your head, you muttered, "it's not your fault. It never was. You've been so kind to me... and so have your wives... I was selfish to run away and not appreciate what I had. Though it was a life I didn't want... it was better than being held in a marriage with someone who could care less if I died the next day..." Sighing, you turned your head to look at him. "I didn't want to just be a wife... I've never wanted that life."

A small smile grew on Tengen's lips, the sweetest you had ever seen on any man. His hand reached up to caress your hair, gently stroking your loose locks before falling back and settling on your cheek. "I will come up with a plan."

"What?" You gasped, caught off guard as you stared at him and his maroon eyes. 

"I would never force you into something you don't want... but you are still my wife," he said as you blinked. "As my wife, I want you to be happy. Even if that means being away from me—"

"Lord—"

"Allow me to get to know you better and help you find your peace."

Gazing at him, you gave him a small nod. Little did you know the man you'd marry, would be one of the very few people you'd trust with your life. 

You started a new routine with Tengen as the weeks passed since your encounter with that demon. Your husband would visit you daily, joining you on the veranda as you shared small talk, truly getting to know one another. It was nice, to say the least, and the man you married was very intriguing. He practically gave you his life story, you learned so much about him; his clan, and his time as a Hashira. He was impressive. Skilled, intelligent, and beyond kind. You couldn't help but admire him for the achievements he's made in his life—for a man only in his 20s. 

On the other hand, you were still quite reserved. You broke out of your shell, little by little. As the two of you went on walks together around the estate, relaxing in the garden, you found yourself slowly opening up to him. With his wives, you were still quite timid, but you tried your best to be kind and acknowledge their sweet hello's and respectful bows—something they very much appreciated. 

On one of your shared moments with Tengen, an evening after dinner you had with him, alone on your veranda, you told him how you'd love to travel the world. Tengen had never seen you look so hopeful, a dreamy expression written across your face. He couldn't deny you of your dream, instead, telling you he'd help you figure things out. No matter what it took. 

A little over a month had passed and you were a different person. You smiled more and showed your face more often than not. Although still a bit antisocial and enjoying your alone time, you'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy Tengen's company. Actually, you very much appreciated it. You liked having him around, so close to you. Someone you considered a dear friend, even if he was your husband. He was starting to take place in your heart, and the idea of you eventually making your way out in the world was a tad bit dreadful. Even if you knew he'd always welcome you home with open arms. 

You were growing attached. 

One day as you were sitting in the garden, piecing together a flower crown of sorts, Tengen offered you his golden plan: join you on your journey of freedom until you were ready to set off on your own. Whether it was a week or a month, he'd partake and make sure you could handle it. At first you were hesitant, not wanting to take him away from his other wives, but he insisted he'd do so (especially since he, too, was growing attached). He didn't want you discovering the world without any sort of self defense, either. Especially with demons lurking in the shadows. 

After much thought, you agreed with subtle excitement. The two of you planned out your upcoming travels and how he'd train you. Even with a missing hand, Tengen was still a flawless fighter. He truly was impressive—you would soon learn as your self defense training was going to be a big part of your days to come. 

"I will return in a few weeks," Tengen announced to his wives as he said his goodbyes. Hinatsuru always was the calmest, but Suma always took it the hardest—which lead Makio to scold her. It was nothing new to Tengen, but for you, it was quite the eye opener. 

Before you were ready to begin your journey ahead, the three women handed you little parting gifts. They gave you tight, warm hugs, and words of encouragement. They begged for you to visit often and to not stay too far for long. You thanked them for their warm hearts and hospitality, forever grateful for their kindness. 

Though this new chapter of your life may be terrifying, you were looking forward to starting it with Tengen by your side. 

You were skilled. Beyond skilled. Tengen didn't expect you to be so... easy to train. It was as if it were in your bloodline to be so graceful. The moment he allowed you to practice with weapons, seeing how you were a natural, Tengen made a mental note—one he'd eventually use to recall information that your clan was in fact once fighters. One of the reasons why you were married off to the Uzui. 

On one of your nights out before a fire, Tengen had informed you of what he knew about your clan's past. It caught you off guard, amazed it was in your bloodline even if it was practically a dead practice for your own family.... It was starting to make sense. When Tengen started explaining breathing techniques, and the many that existed—including his own that he had been teaching you—he wondered what your clan's once was. 

Nights continued to pass, you stayed in various inns in separate rooms, and sometimes you stayed outside. When it came to outside, you usually rested against a tree as Tengen kept watch, but as time passed, you grew more comfortable with leaning against him—same went for the inns. You slept on separate futons, but within the same room. Tengen easily caught on to how you grew more confident in your relationship with him; standing and walking closer to him, becoming affectionate with simple touches and grazes of your hand. It made him happy—happier. 

Especially when he started to realize how much he had been falling for you... Which made him wonder, were you starting to feel the same?

He tested the waters one day on your shared journey, surprising you with a small gift. You weren't sure how or when he had done it, but when he handed you a small box with a necklace in it, you were in awe... but what had you blushing was the fact that the jewel at the center was one of his very own that he once had attached to his headband during his Hashira days. 

You denied it at first, saying he couldn't give it to you, but Tengen insisted he wanted you to carry a piece of him with you. He so kindly placed the necklace on you, his fingertips grazing your skin as you shivered, body growing hot. A subtle silence grew between the two of you when you turned around to show him it, and the look on his face made you flustered. Sure, Tengen was an attractive man, but after all this time of getting so close to him and becoming so attached... it was hard not to feel a change in the air that you two shared. 

Ever since then, things haven't been the same. Not for the worst, but... it wasn't something you were accustomed to. You weren't used to this sort of attention nor the desire sitting within the pit of your stomach and the depths of your heart. It was an odd sensation, a feeling like no other. The way your heart raced when he looked at you, how your skin tingled whenever he touched you... the way your body reacted whenever he was closer than he should be. Sure, you were one of his wives and a lack of boundaries was expected, but it still had your whole being trembling. 

If you knew any better, you would realize that you had fallen in love. Not with his looks (though he was a looker) but with him. His personality, his way of being, his (not so) simple existence in the universe. Every little thing he did, whether it was for you or for others. How he handled you when it came to little things like taking shelter from thunder storms or making sure you were comfortable when you had to rest. You were one of his wives, it was expected, but there was something there between you two that you were sure was unique to only you two. And Tengen felt it, too.

Probably why your final night was so painful, to the point you both drowned yourself in (what felt like) endless sake and the warmth of the hot springs. Neither of you wanted to think about your last moments together until... whenever you made a return. If you decided to at all. This was what you wanted, to see the world, to be free... but after growing so attached, so accustomed to Tengen's existence by your side, you knew it was going to feel off. As if you were imbalanced. 

You were too deep in thought to even realize how close Tengen got as you sat in the soothing pool of steaming water. "I haven't had a night like this in forever..." he sighed, looking up at the stars.

Turning your flustered face in his direction, taking a moment to eye the stars above, your focus settled on him once again. Your eyes trailed his stunning features—gazing at his loose strands of ivory locks, those fucsia eyes... his sharp nose, the golden hoops on his earlobes... and those lips of his that settled in its usual grin. He was so handsome, it pained you to look at him. It didn't help that you two were sharing a bath and all you had separating you both was the water and the towels around your body. 

Tengen's chest was on full display, something you had seen a number of times as he was very proud of his physique; he always found a way to show off his muscles—not like you had a reason to complain, anyway. He sat there, in all his glory, arms spread out beside him as he leaned his back against the pool's wall. 

"It's lovely..." You spoke up, swallowing the small lump in your throat. You tried to look away, not wanting to stare for too long, but it was hard to... Tengen was just so handsome.

Lowering his focus from the dark sky that glittered with stars, towards you, Tengen watched as those innocent eyes of yours fluttered from his chest, to his eyes, down to his lips, then switched between the two. He couldn't help but grin. If you weren't making it so painfully obvious, he wouldn't have been there with you in that moment, sitting so close that he could almost feel your body heat instead of the warm water. "It is, but not as lovely as the view I have."

Flickering your eyes back up to meet his own, your heart skipped a beat as he so casually leaned in towards you and brought his hand up to caress your cheek. A subtle gasp left you before you looked away, flustered and trembling at his words, only for Tengen to gently keep your head in place. 

"Rather cheesy, wasn't that?" He winked as your heart dropped down to your feet. 

"Just— Just a tad bit..." you stuttered, eyes dancing between his own as he did the same to you. "But... But I like it..."

Smiling, Tengen leaned in a bit more, his nose just barely grazing your own as his voice came out smooth, almost a whisper. "Then, may I kiss you?"

Almost, as if without hesitation, you nodded. A breathy answer leaving you as you, yourself, grew closer to him, closing the gap between the two of you as his lips softly met your own. 

It started off so gentle, the sweet taste of his lips against yours. A small press before you parted, taking in a small breath before Tengen's hand held the back of your neck, fingertips entangling themselves with the loose strands that escaped from your updo. With a small tug, your lips met his once again, except with a different desire. His tongue grazed your bottom lip, pushing past and pressing against your teeth. Your own parted, allowing him entrance to slip through. Gliding his tongue over yours ever so expertly, involuntary moans left you as you felt the muscle press and slither against your own. 

Bringing you closer as his hand slid down to your lower back, you found yourself holding your towel closed while your other hand moved into his hair. Pressing against the back of his head and tugging gently, the two of you breathed each other in, panting and huffing in between kisses. You weren't sure what it was, maybe it was the sake... or maybe you just wanted this along. The gravitational pull you felt towards Tengen was something you never felt before, a tug unlike any other. It made your insides twist, your heart race, and a sudden warmth fill you. 

Shifting his kisses away from your lips as you tried chasing after them, he left small pecks against the corner of your mouth. Your cheek and along your jaw, down your neck until he found that sweet spot that made you tremble. He nipped and sucked at your smooth skin, leaving marks in his wake as he left a trail of hickeys along your shoulder and chest. 

Tengen moved dangerously low, open mouthed kisses against the swell of your breasts, up until the edge of your towel. Your grip tightened against the material as your other tugged at his locks, as if trying to pull him away, only for your back to curve towards him. You knew you should stop, even if the pool was private for the two of you, you had never done anything like this before. You were excited and nervous all the same, body so desperately desiring him after all those shared nights. 

Lifting his head and looking up at you with hooded eyes as your blooded rushed in your body, Tengen kissed your cheek before guiding you out of the water and back to your shared room. He kept his arm wrapped around you as he had you pressed against his side, kissing your cheek and along your neck. Tengen didn't bother to close the shoji behind him, his body already finding yours as the two of you lied against the tatami mat. He hovered over you, his large frame enveloping your own as he sweetly smiled down at you, "beautiful..."

Blushing, you took in a sharp breath before he placed a gentle kiss against your lips. "You're so handsome..." You shyly mumbled as Tengen let out a small chuckle. 

Lowering his head to nuzzle your neck, he pressed small kisses before lifting his head once again, "do you want to continue this?"

Taking in a deep breath, you nodded before cupping his cheeks, "yes... I trust you. You— You are my husband after all."

Eyeing you, seeing the sureness in your eyes even if you were trembling, Tengen kissed you once more before he sat up. With you settled between his knees as he leaned onto his heels, he reached for your towel. Eyeing you as you nodded he slid back before pulling open your towel, revealing your bare body. Naturally, you went to cover yourself, but Tengen caught one of your hands. "It's alright," he softly spoke, kissing your knuckles one at a time. "My beautiful wife..."

Lowering your hand, Tengen leaned down towards you, kissing down your neck ever so slowly. Then he kissed from one shoulder to the other, against either of your breasts, the valley between them, and along your stomach. He kissed your hip bones before licking a stripe up the side of your body, stopping at your right breast. Lifting his eyes to meet your own as you shivered, Tengen twirled his tongue around your nipple before bringing it into his mouth. A squeak left your parted lips as your chest quickly rose and fell. With every suck and nip, Tengen gave both of your breasts equal attention, leaving a trail of his saliva behind, a string connecting your left nipple to his lips as he lifted his head. 

The smile he wore made your heart race faster, a look of ecstasy written across his face... you could only imagine what his expression would be once he—

A yelp left you as his mouth was against your bare pussy, too lost in your hazed mind to even notice when he had moved down. Tengen pressed a kiss against your lower lips before his tongue parted your folds, a shiver running down your spine as it met your clit. "What I'd give to have both hands now."

"T—" before you could whine, his tongue swirled around your sensitive bundle of nerves before moving to tease your entrance. Your hands slid into his locks as your legs wrapped over his  shoulders. Burying his face deeper against your aching cunt, you felt the way Tengen's open mouth began to devour you, tasting every bit you had to offer. The sweetness of your dripping heat that made him moan with anticipation as his hips bucked. 

Feeling his tongue prod your entrance as a whimper left you, Tengen's arms wrapped around your thighs, fingers digging into your skin as he pulled your leg further apart. Lapping up your excitement, teasing your clit, pushing past your entrance and devouring your sinful sounds. Your panting filled the air, your eyes nearly rolled back as your head fell towards the mat beneath you. 

He couldn't get enough of you; he couldn't get enough of the sounds you made, how your thighs pressed against his head and your cunt dripped for him. "Have you ever come before?"

Gulping, you shook your head, face burning in embarrassment. "N— No..."

Lifting his head enough, Tengen kissed your inner thigh, "there's nothing to be ashamed of, my sweet wife. It only means I'm lucky enough to be there with you to experience it—to be the reason."

Opening your teary eyes as you looked at him, Tengen gave you a reassuring smile before you felt one of his fingers tease your entrance before slowly filling you. Your heart skipped a beat, breath hitching as he pumped his finger a few times before adding another. His lips latched against your clit as his fingers massaged your inner walls, reaching depths within you that made your body shiver and shake. A feeling filled you, a burning unlike any other as your breathing grew rapid and moans became louder. 

A white hot heat filled you, your eyes squeezed shut as your fingers nearly yanked at his hair. You were shaking as you came, Tengen continuing his ministrations before pulling out and lifting his fingers covered in your essence. Sitting up and spreading them to show you the mess you made, Tengen brought his fingers into his mouth, tongue lapping up your release before his lips met yours. 

You winced at the foreign taste the moment his tongue made contact with your own, a slow, sultry kiss before he reached to remove his own towel. "You'll be alright," he muttered against your lips as he sat up, bringing your legs over his thighs. His hand caressed your thigh as you were still processing the euphoria you just experienced. "We'll do this slowly, okay?"

Gulping, your hooded eyes fluttered open as they trailed down his chest, towards his toned stomach, past the patch of white hair that lead to his hardened length. Your heart dropped at the sight, a gasp leaving your lips as your eyes widened. "I— I... You— You are so big... I don't know if—"

"It's alright," he reassured, giving your thigh a small squeeze. "You'll be alright, like I said, we'll take things slow."

Nodding as your heart raced, Tengen brought his hand to his cock, giving it a few strokes, coating it with your juices before he aligned it with your opening. He could hear the way your breathing quickened, felt how your thighs pressed against him. He spoke softly, continuously reassuring you as he slowly filled you. With just the tip, your chest heaved and your hands tried clinging onto something, clawing at the mat beneath you. 

Pushing in further and further, biting his tongue as his body burned, Tengen took in shallow breaths at your tightness. The way you squeezed him, how your cunt was sucking him in... The sounds of your shared, heavy breathing filled the air, soon followed by heavy moans and skin slapping the moment he thrusted into you. Whimpers and cries of his name left your lips as your hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin before clawing at his back as he hunched over you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, keeping him close as he thrusted at a rhythmic pace. 

"T— Tengen— Too— Too big!" You whimpered, tears pricking your eyes at the dangerous stretch. The discomfort was overpowered by your pleasure. You weren't sure how much of him filled you, but you were positive he wasn't even all the way in. "Too— Too—" 

"It's okay, it's okay, my love... It's okay," he reassured, body breaking out into a sweat as his hips bucked against you, pushing deeper and deeper as you cried out. With each shift of his hips as he pulled out, your pussy sucked him right back in. "It's like we're... meant for... each other," he breathed, a hiss leaving his lips. He wanted to fuck you, fuck you deeply, fuck you until you couldn't walk... but he knew, he knew it was your first time. He knew this was your last moments together before you went your own way, and as much as he wanted to leave you with an everlasting memory of his cock imprinted on your cervix where no other man could possibly reach, Tengen stopped himself. He wanted you to never forget this moment, obviously so, but he also wanted it to be a moment you enjoyed as much as he did—especially for your first time. 

Thrusting in and out of you, pushing deeper each time as you squirmed and cried, begging him to move faster—telling him he was too big—your body wrapped around his and kept him sheathed within you. You felt your second orgasm building within you as Tengen's fingers rubbed circles against your clit. Your breathing against his ear was almost enough to make him come then and there as you shook in your release. Your pussy fluttered against him as your body practically went into shock. You felt it from head to toe, your body tensing around him as a cry left your lips, his name coming out as a desperate moan. 

Continuously thrusting his hips, ready to pull out, your legs wrapped tighter around him, keeping him deep within you as you milked him for all his worth. He weakly called your name, body shaking above your own as he nearly collapsed against you. "Sh— Shit..." Tengen grunted as he filled you with his seed, coming deep inside as you kept him close. 

Your bodies were already drenched as it was, but the sweat practically made you stick to one another as his massive body flopped against your own. You could barely breathe as it was, but with his weight against you, you nearly suffocated... and yet it felt so nice. You didn't want him to leave, you didn't want to leave. You just wanted to stay like that, there with him, in that moment. A moment so intimate, one you didn't want to end; one that you once feared. Now it was something you knew you'd never forget. 

Tears brimmed your eyes as your bottom lip trembled. Your hands fell to your face as Tengen lifted his head to eye you. "Hey, did I hurt you? Are you okay?"

"N— No... It's not— It's not you..." you mumbled. "I'm sorry, I..."

"Hey..." he hushed you, kissing your tears away. "It's okay, it's okay... I'm sorry if you regret this—"

"No!" You shook your head. "Never! I— I... It's just, tomorrow we... we go our separate ways and— and I feel as if... I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?" He asked, eyeing you with the kindest smile. "You are my wife, are you not?"

Nodding your head with a pout, Tengen nuzzled your neck before leaving a sweet kiss against it. "I am..."

"There's nothing to be sorry for, all that matters to me is that you're happy... and that you enjoyed it..." he said, almost questioning whether or not you did. 

"I did," you softly smiled. "I'm happy to have had my first time with you... I've never trusted anyone more..."

Grinning, Tengen shook his head, "I'm sorry for the man who follows after me.  Whoever wins your heart will never be like me."

"Tengen..." You whined, only to earn a chuckle from him. "I won't forget any of this, that's for sure."

"I'm glad," he smiled, gazing down at you, "because neither will I..."

Eyeing him as a silence filled the room, you reached up and caressed his forehead, ran your fingers through his hair, and cupped his cheek, "thank you."

Turning to kiss your palm, Tengen mumbled against it, "thank you."

"You'll always have a home with me," Tengen said as he stood in front of you, caressing your cheek as you leaned your head into his palm. "I can't say I won't miss you, because I know I'll be missing you dearly. We've grown so close... but I want nothing but the best for you. I want you to be happy, to find yourself, to live your life... But I hope some day, maybe you'll... come back to me..."

Smiling up at him, you nodded. "You've done so much for me, I don't think I could stay away from you forever. I appreciate you... and you have my endless gratitude."

Eyeing you, he sighed before leaning his forehead against yours, "if you ever have regrets... if you ever want to come back home... don't hesitate to reach out. I'll always welcome you back with open arms."

Sighing as you took a moment to enjoy his close proximity, you gently pushed back and cupped his face. "Thank you."

Eyeing you, Tengen gently kissed you before he stood straight. "I have one more thing to give you..."

Watching him with furrowed brows, he handed you one of his blades; the chain snatched and now dangling from the one he held towards you. "You— You can't."

"Please, have it. It'll only give me piece of mind knowing you have something to protect you... And also a way to never forget me... A way to eventually come back to me..." he said, handing it over. Tengen's swords weren't easy to hold, made for a man his size, but with one less attached... it was a bit easier to manage. 

"It's... big..." You said, earning a chuckle from him. 

"You can manage with big things," he winked as you blushed. "I have no doubts."

Sighing, you moved to wrap your arms around him, hugging him tight for a moment or two, breathing him in one last time. "Thank you..."

Hugging you back, Tengen kissed the top of your head before you pulled away and turned to part from him. Just before you could get too far, Tengen caught your wrist and tugged you back to him, planting a deep, sentimental kiss against your lips. An ever lasting one filled with sadness. He let go, forcing himself to peel away from you as he slowly let go of your wrist, studying you and every bit of your face once more. "I'll always love you... you'll always be my wife and will always have a place in my heart."

Smiling up at him with tearful eyes, you gulped, "I— I will always love you." Not wanting to stay any longer as you knew you'd break easily if you looked at him for a second more, you turned and began your trek. 

Tengen watched with a heavy heart, waving as you turned for a moment to say your final goodbye. There was in ache in his chest, a sadness filling him. You left a mark on him, a big one at that. You would never be forgotten. As much as he loved and adored all of his wives... there was something about you that made his chest feel different. A love unlike any other. Something he feels as if he couldn't have... But he prayed. He prayed that some day... your paths would meet again. 

* FIVE YEARS LATER *

"Tenchi!" A voice called out amongst the many. Tengen found himself at a local market during his travels, visiting his beloved disciples, before returning home. "Tenchi!"

"I'm right here, mama!" A gentle, little voice came out as Tengen's focus shifted from the fresh produce before him, over to a small boy. "Look what I found!" Softly smiling at the sight of the youngling—easily 5 years old—hold up something with excitement, Tengen's eyebrows narrowed for a moment. 

That's oddly similar... He thought as his attention was settled on the whiteness of the small boy's hair that had a headband wrapped around it. "Okay, but only one, alright? And don't run off like that again, you had me worried..."

"Sorry, mama..."

"It's okay, baby."

Snapping out of his daze, Tengen watched as the little boy hugged the kneeling figure before him. He couldn't quite see who it was from the passing bodies, but as the woman stood up, the retired Hashira's heart skipped a beat. "It's..." his breath hitched as his eyes made contact. 

It was you. 

Blinking a few times at the sight, you sweetly smiled with a small wave, earning a bright one from him. Tengen didn't hesitate, he made a beeline for you, stopping and towering your figure as happiness filled his veins. "You... It's really you..." he nearly whispered. He hadn't seen you since you parted ways five years prior. It wasn't like you lost contact, you wrote him letters as he did the same to you every now and then. He was aware you were alive and well, as you were of him... but seeing you in the flesh? That was something else all together. Could he kiss you? Could he hug you? It'd been so long, he didn't know what his boundaries were. 

Smiling up at him, you felt the small figure tug on you as they hid behind you. Your son shyly peeking out from behind as he eyed the giant man standing before you. "It's me," you nodded, heart fluttering as you took Tengen in. How he hardly changed, still as flashy as ever. His hair had grown more, but it was clearly being maintained with the layers being trimmed. His eyepatch still bedazzled, his nails still painted... You couldn't expect anything less, this was Tengen Uzui after all— the supposed god of festivals. "You haven't changed a bit."

"Gotta live a flashy life, keeps me young," he winked as you chuckled. He reached for your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips as he pressed a kiss. He didn't miss the blush on your cheeks or the way your eyes had slightly widened. There was no doubt in his mind that you were saving face, your reaction seemed composed. "It's really good to see you. How have you been?"

"Yeah... I'm good. We're good," you nodded as you moved slightly to present the little boy that clung to you. Tengen's eyes lowered to the white haired boy, instantly recognizing those eyes... His heart skipped a beat the moment he recognized those features... "This is my son, Tenchi."

"Son?" He nearly choked, catching himself as he kept his own composure. Of course this was your son, he should've put two and two together. But not once have you mentioned it before in your letters... And who else could possibly be the father if—

"Yes," you slightly smiled. "Honey, say hi."

Looking up, Tenchi clung to you as his grip tightened around you. He watched as the large man moved down to kneel. "Hello..."

"Hi, Tenchi," Tengen smiled. "I'm Tengen Uzui. The flashiest man on the entire planet. And a great friend of your mothers," he proudly stated as you blushed. A small gasp left little Tenchi. 

"I know your name!" He exclaimed as Tengen lifted his brows before smirking. 

"Oh? Is that so?" The man asked. 

"You are mama's hero! Her trainer and gave her that big sword!" The little boy gasped. "You are so cool! Mama told me so many stories! I want to be just like you, Mr. Uzui!"

Gulping as the sudden urge to tear up awakened within him, Tengen took in a sharp breath and smiled. It wasn't until then when he had the little boy now standing before him that he studied those eyes. Eyes that reflected his own... The same ivory locks, those bright eyes and that shiny grin. There was no denying it... "That's an honor, Tenchi. And I like your headband," Tengen grinned, lightly poking the little boy's forehead as you watched their interaction with a heavy heart. 

"Oh!" Your son blushed. "Just like you! Mama said you wore a headband when you were a— a Hash— Hash..."

"Hashira," Tengen finished with a kind smile as the little boy nodded. 

"Yes! I wanna be just like you! Protect my mama from all evil!" He proudly said with his little fists on his hips. Tengen couldn't help but let out a choked laugh, as if the realizations made had his heart aching. This little boy was much too like him. "I look up to you!"

Feeling his heart skip a beat, Tengen looked away for a moment before ruffling Tenchi's hair. "I think you'll be better than I could ever be," he said without an inkling of doubt in his words, then looking at you as you looked at him with woeful eyes. It was clear there was something weighing on you. 

Placing a gentle hand on your son's head, caressing his shoulder length locks that were quite similar to Tengen's, you eyed said man with a hopeful smile. "Would you like to come have dinner with us? There's a lot to catch up on."

With a racing heart, Tengen looked at you with a similar expression, optimism filling his chest. "I would love to."

[vashtijoy]

Idk if you’ve talked about this before, but in the event where ren and akechi are playing that shooting game together there is a very funny interaction and my fellow shuake fans and I are unsure what it means.

In English, Akechi jokes that he’s practicing gunplay to take ren out. Clearly this could either be a murder joke or a date joke. In Spanish, he apparently uses a phrase that can only mean a date.

What does he say in japanese? Was it ambiguous there too or was it clearly a murder joke or date joke? Again, sorry if you already explained it lol

…also this is kinda awkward but was the usage of the term gunplay intentional or does it have multiple meanings and fanfic has just ruined me orrr…

Hello! I am so happy to be able to go over this with you. Many thanks to @platinumdream, @minkhollow42, @somethingpersonarelated and the r/spanish subreddit for verifying this one for me.

This line stands out because the Japanese and English (and also the Spanish) translations are all radically different—different enough that what we have here is a stellar example of "the Xerox effect".

Let's take a look.

the scene in japanese

Akechi 気付いた? そうだよ、いつか君も懐に忍ばせたこれで⋯ kizuita? sou da yo, itsuka kimi mo futokoro ni shinobaseta kore de... [lit. you noticed? that's right, some day <see below>...]

Let's take a quick look at the grammar of this line, which I think is dual-meaning in Japanese just as it was in English (and if any of this seems like bullshit please get in touch, as it never ends well when I try to produce sentences of my own):

Akechi does not finish this sentence—he's left off the verb. So, as often happens with him, his meaning is ambiguous. Let's take the obvious one first:

いつか君も懐に忍ばせたこれで【ある】 itsuka kimi mo futokoro ni shinobaseta kore de [aru] Some day you, too, will have one of these concealed in your pocket.

Short and sweet: "I carry one of these, concealed, and some day you will too". Note that there's nothing here about practicing, as there is in the English.

But there's another possible meaning here:

いつか君も懐に忍ばせたこれで【撃ってあげる】 itsuka kimi mo futokoro ni shinobaseta kore de [utte ageru] Some day I'll [shoot] you, too, with this thing concealed in my pocket.

WELP. Like I say, I'm not entirely sure, but I do think the strong likelihood is that this dual meaning exists in Japanese.

I should say I don't think there's necessarily a suggestion here that he carries an illegal gun (though since Naoto has one in P4, it's very possible)—I think it's a metaphorical pocket, his inventory in the Metaverse.

Though I don't think this is really what's going on, there are also a startling number of idioms with futokoro that suggest embracing....

but what is the futokoro?

Idiomatically speaking, 懐 futokoro often translates pretty cleanly as "pocket". But something else is going on: your futokoro is explicitly your breast pocket.

Originally, it was the flap in the front of your kimono where you tucked things away. And so it also appears in a lot of idioms relating to the bosom, or the heart. 懐に飛び込む futokoro ni tobikomu is to throw yourself into someone's arms. 懐に入る futokoro ni hairu, for instance, means to worm your way into someone's affections, or to win someone's confidence—sound familiar at all?

But there's something else going on, of course, with Akechi concealing a weapon in his breast pocket:

Yep. Here's the payoff for this line in rank 5. Akechi tucks that silencer away in his breast pocket—just like he told Joker he would. And then he laughs. So did he know at rank 5 that this was going to happen, or did he bring this up for some other reason? Well, you decide.

By the way, here's Joker's question about gunplay:

Joker 撃ち慣れてる? uchi nareteru? Are you used to gunplay?

The Japanese just means "Are you used to shooting guns?"—I'm not sure it has any of the more, er, fanfic connotations of the English "gunplay". @specterthief agrees there doesn't seem to be any innuendo to the Japanese line.

the scene in english

Akechi: Ah, you noticed? Well, I'll need as much practice as I can get if I'm going to take you out.

Let's look at what's happening here, because it happens very often. Like much of Akechi's dialogue, this line in rank 5 was originally a double entendre—it has a very obvious, and relatively innocuous, meaning, but if you squint, you can see Akechi is hinting at something far less innocuous.

Wordplay of this kind takes a lot of time, thought and skill to translate. So what happens in practice is that the translator has to choose one meaning to put front and centre. The English translator has decided, very reasonably, that Akechi's implied "I will kill you" is more important than the joke about the concealed weapon.

To be clear, this was probably the right call. I love the relative subtlety of the Japanese and the 11/20 callback, but it's important that people playing the game understand what's going on—even if, over here in blorboland, it's clear that He Would Not Fucking Say That.

the scene in spanish

Do sit down.

Akechi: ¿Te has dado cuenta? Bueno, tengo que practicar todo lo que pueda si quiero invitarte a salir.

Now, I need to be as up front as I can possibly be about the fact that I do not speak Spanish. But I know a lot of people who do, and they have responded with one voice:

...

"Ask you out"? "ASK YOU OUT"?????

This is what is meant by "the Xerox effect".

We start in Japanese, with the relatively subtle "I have a concealed weapon", which becomes "I'm going to shoot you with a concealed weapon" if you think about it a little more. Then, in English, we become more blatant, with "take you out" having the up front meaning that Akechi will shoot Joker; rather than being subtext, it's now the point of what he's saying. And it's introduced something new—the alternate alternate meaning, of "take you out [on a date]".

It is possible that the Japanese line has a third meaning, very similar to this reading of "take you out"—you would have to torture the context here to get dating from the English, in the same way you'd have to torture the Japanese to get embracing from it.

But there's no torture in the Spanish. Oh, no. Spanish Akechi, as they say, just fucking goes for it. and why the hell not.

but what happened here?

The Spanish localisation is an indirect translation, translated not from the Japanese original, but from the existing English translation. It retains any and all errors in the English script because of this. And when the Spanish translator looked at this line of Akechi's, they saw not the original Japanese dual meaning, the one the English translator saw, but the one the English translator introduced—the dual meanings of the English "take you out".

And the Spanish translator, again, had to choose which of Akechi's seeming dual meanings to keep. Should they keep the line about shooting Joker? Or should they keep the line about taking Joker on a date?

Just like photocopying a photocopy, detail and accuracy are progressively lost, and errors accumulate. Of course, these indirect translations are not without their positives—translating from English allows for a far wider range of translations to be done quicker and more cheaply. Without them, far fewer languages would see official translations at all.

Also, it's really funny and that Spanish translation is a gift.

revision history

click here for the latest version.

v1.1 (2024/01/11)—confirmed no innuendo on uchi nareteru.

v1.0 (2024/01/10)—first posted.

[theunsinkableship1]

Lukolaland: What would it take to pull me away?

DISCLAIMER: This is LUKOLALAND only. Do not read if you're not a shipper. This is PURE SPECULATION. No harm intended.

Once again, Lukolaland finds itself in disarray, with many shippers feeling disheartened and disappointed after Tifaine.red’s recent TikTok live. While this may have come as a shock to some, we must remember that much of this is not new, and it doesn't negate what we’ve witnessed over the years, particularly during the press tour. We know what we saw, and we can't unsee it.

The adjacent presence has lingered for nearly a year, yet it hasn’t changed much. It's clear that she isn’t the biggest threat, she's a young woman in love with someone who doesn’t seem to reciprocate those feelings. It’s not her fault; she didn’t realize what she was stepping into. While her insecurities and attempts to capitalize on the situation are frustrating, she’s not the main player here, the clock is ticking.

So why should we stay and wait for them to sort things out? Because what speaks volumes in the Luke and Nicola saga is everything that isn’t happening, everything that remains unsaid.

This situation could have been managed differently from the start. There were multiple opportunities for clear communication and professional handling, yet these were not taken. Nicola and Luke never said that they didn't love each other in a romantic way, they have said that they're friends in a complicated and very special way that blur the lines and is not easy for us to comprehend, they have acted all the time as lovers even when we couldn'ts see them and behind the scenes. This is confusing for who pays attention and we do. Luke could have introduced A as his girlfriend before the tour, during the tour or after the papgate, establishing the relationship publicly. He didn’t do it maybe because he doesn’t consider her as his girlfriend. He doesn’t have to discuss his private matters with the public, but a simple acknowledgement would have decrease passion and expectations. the initial shock to the fandom would have subsided over time, allowing everything to proceed with less speculation. The lack of these actions, combined with what has been done under apparent pressure, speaks volumes about the true nature of the situation. His adjacent has a small but public presence and she seems eager to be claimed and shared with the world as she is doing the most to make it known. It could have been less drama induced episode.

Luke and Nicola could have clearly stated that their relationship was strictly platonic, curbing the growing Lukola frenzy, they were always elusive or evasive on the subject leaving space for doubt and ambiguity. Their professional teams could have made clear statements to put an end to the speculation.

Many great creators in this fandom have faced criticism this week for their Lukola content. I understand that, to outsiders, it might seem strange for grown people to dedicate so much time to shipping people they don't personally know. I used to think the same way and never imagined I'd care so deeply about celebrities' love stories. However, not understanding something shouldn’t lead to attacks. If you believe we’re delusional, allow us to be so in our own corner of the internet. We aren’t harming anyone; we’ve simply built a community that celebrates real love. Those who don’t believe Lukola Love have no need to be here.

It might seem ridiculous to some, and they are free to think so, but it's unfair to create spaces just to mock us. This community has brought light, laughter, and joy to many of us. The only people who have the right to ask us to stop are Nicola and Luke themselves, and they haven’t done so, stating multiple times that they find it sweet, because the majority of this community is neither harmful nor toxic. We genuinely love and support them. We condemn harassment and attacks on them and strive to be respectful by staying in our own space and respecting their boundaries. If Nicola or Luke ever express discomfort or a desire to reassess those boundaries, most of us would comply or,would stop because, contrary to popular belief, we are functioning adults with full lives.

I might not have understood this before, but now that I'm part of it, I see why so many are touched by what we've witnessed, I feel the love, it’s rare, pure, and incredibly beautiful. I always liked Nicola, I always had a soft spot for Luke, but seeing them together has enhanced that feeling. I truly believe they’re better together as they love and help each other in many ways. Most of us recognize that having something so special is a blessing, almost miraculous. It's because we value love, especially in a world where it's often missing, that we feel compelled to celebrate, encourage, and nurture it whenever we see it.

I will only leave this ship if their relationship becomes toxic or if something truly inexcusable happens. As long as they maintain their bond, I’ll support them silently, even through other relationships, marriages, or kids. If they appear to be single and uncommitted, I will continue to support them openly in Lukolaland. Why? Because I want to believe in real love, it makes the world better.

[cherry-pop-elf]

Hello! So, I hope this request is okay to ask, if not, I'm so sorry!!! (Especially as it is a triggering topic) --- TW ‼️‼️ healing from SA

I was wondering about a fic with george where the reader (gender neutral but afab anatomy) has maybe been put through something in the past (left ambiguous), and essentially is just ready to try more intimate stuff with george, and is able to just fully enjoy themself with him? Like a healing sort of thing?

I know this request is kinda different. I've seen your other posts about sensitive topics and thought they were great, and I checked to see what you are/aren't okay with (I hope I didn't get it wrong, if I did, I'm very sorry!), so I thought I'd send this in. I just thought it'd be a healing read! BUT, I understand that it's still sensitive, so totally no worries if that's the case!

Also, I hope this isn't too specific???? I apologise if it is!!!!

I hope that you're having a lovely day ^^

((Sorry it took so long! It’s been finals season, and since it’s such a heavy topic I wanted to be in a good headspace to work on it. Ya know?))

As someone who suffers from self harming ((I have an issue where I just scratch myself and my arms get scratched like crazy. They are vertical, so no one thinks they are ‘real’ self harming scars 🙄)) so writing George on a topic like this would be very comforting to me as well. Thank you for being so brave in asking 🫂 I’m so proud of you for speaking! This will be lovely

Kissable

George Weasley X AFAB reader

Warnings: 18+, heavy talks about Self Harm and Suicidal Ideations, gentle sex, lots of fluff and kisses, body positivity, disabilities, Umbridge, Fred gets to live because we need to lighten this heavy topic, lots of gentleness, wizarding war typical angst, deafness, body dysmphroia, it’s gonna be heavy and descriptive but also there is plenty of comfort to balance. Not sugar coating comfort. Sugaring coating can be so annoying. Trust me. I know

Life sure was different, when the war finally ended. The stress of it all was off everyone’s shoulders. The world was finally able to move forward. Death wasn’t at the doorstep. Life was suppose to be happier, but you still felt like it wasn’t. That you were holding yourself back. That even the battle of Hogwarts didn’t shake you back to reality. You felt bad, and George noticed.

“S’matter, jellybean?” He asked you, as he leaned himself against the railing. Having seen you space out again. Happened alot, but he noticed it more than ever now. As if he wanted to leave you to be stressed after all. This should be a happy time, but somehow it wasn’t.

“Just….Thinking.” You muttered, as you played with the end of your sleeves. You could hear him sigh, a deep one, as he watched. As if he knew something. Something you wish he didn’t. Seemed such a worry was made a reality, when you were both suddenly apparated into his office. A place for privacy, after all.

He’s been suspicious, but a constant wizarding war tends to take your mind off things. Along with busy with a school year, and starting up a business. Made any doubts get overrun with work, and stress, get covered. Not today, though. Not today.

“Love, we need to have a talk. A serious one, please.” That made your heart drop, as he would motion you to join him on the couch. You felt so terrified, as you were forced to sit next to him on it. Now having your hands held by his.

“You know I love you, and I want to take care of you. I love you so very much. We’ve been through so much together. You’ve been there for me, and I want to be there for you. You know that, right?” He asked, as you gave a sheepish nod. Wondering where this was going, but deep down knew he figured it out. He’s had it figured out for a while.

He’s not stupid, after all. You could only hide something like this for so long. Why you never turned on the light, how you used Umbridge as an excuse for anything that was accidentally seen. How you always wore long sleeves, even when going to bed. If you could hide your body, you did. But now? George could understand that pain, and he wasn’t having you suffer in silence anymore.

“Love, it’s ok. You know that, right? I’m not here to judge, or make fun of ya. Gonna be the last person to do that. I mean, look at me. Look at Billy boy. We know a thing or two about getting roughed up.” He tried to not directly say what he wanted to say, in a means to let you be the one to say it. To let YOU be in charge of it.

After the war, he just wasn’t the same. When Fred went in that coma, oh he was in utter hell. He was already recovering from his ear. Now he had to spend every day, wondering if his twin would live or die. How Umbridge caught wind of such a thing, and tried to pull something. Like trying to say Bill was qualified under the Werewolf laws. Oh life was hell, and he had to project somehow. Not the same as you, but to say there wasn’t a taste is an understatement.

“George, I really don’t want to talk about this-“ You tried to weasel out, but his grip on your hands only tightened. The sadness in his eyes left you frozen in place. He wanted to take care of you, and make sure you knew you were safe with him. Such a complicated mess it all was. Just made you feel worse, if anything.

“Love….Let me see you. Please. Let me see all of you. You see me, can I see you?” He tried, and your tears just welled up more. You couldn’t understand why he was doing this. Why he cared. Your brain just didn’t accept that people can love you. It’s hard to grasp.

“This is different-“ You tried. “Why is it different?” He rebutted. “It just is. It’s different when I do it-“ How the brain was complex, and a pain in the ass to have. Luckily, George knew a thing or two about them. You learn alot when running a joke shop. Kids come to you with so many problems. You learn things you don’t want to.

“I don’t want to force you, but I can’t have you suffer like this anymore. I’m not doing this to hurt you, Jellybean. You were there when I lost my ear. When I thought I was going to lose Fred. Umbridge, everything. Let me be there for you-“ He begged, as he forced your hand onto the side of his head.

Your palm would feel over the scars from the Potion Master Made Spell. How deep they were, and never seemed to properly heal. How familiar the texture was. The smoothness of cut flesh, as he no longer could hear. The lines that cut into his hair, cheek, and even face. It was nothing like what Bill suffered, but it hurt. Hurt no longer being identical.

With a shakey breath, you gave in. Ready to accept him screaming at you in disgust. To say all the mean things people have said to you before. Attention seeker, that you need to make them deeper already, that you look like a cutting board. Every insult, every mean remark. All of it. You accepted your fate, as you rolled up your sleeves.

The air was silent, but it wasn’t heavy. No, it was calm. Like the air was clear. For once, the weight was gone. You couldn’t understand why there was such a feeling of peace. Why wasn’t he looking at you with disgust? With hate? Why was he smiling?

“Hm, kinda remind me of Charlie. He’s got ink like crazy, same for Bill. You’ve seen them. Bills got these protection ruins, and Charlie has as many dragons as possible. You would look good with sleeves.” He smiled, as he gently held your wrist. Truly looking at them, and not flinching at all. He was looking at you. And wanting to make you feel like there was a chance you didn’t have to hide. That you were the center of it all. Not the scars. Not even asking why you had them. He didn’t need to know. He just wanted to know if you knew he could keep you safe.

The fact he started to kiss them was what had you sob. He was kissing something you hated so much. He was accepting it as a part of you. This was just what was part of your life. Your struggles. Your fears. Your hate. He was accepting that, because he loved you. You were what he cared about. Not what people thought.

It was such a tender moment, as you were able to let yourself cry. Let yourself have that good, needed, cry. All the while George took care of you. Kissing your scars, and holding you close. Just wanting you to know you were safe with him. Not rushing you. You never rushed him when he bursted into tears, no matter how random it was. So, you deserved that attention all the same.

“George…You know how I said I wanted us to wait until we were married?” You asked him, as you wiped your eyes. He would brush them aside, as well, as he nodded to you. Keeping his eyes glued with yours, as he tried to show you his full attention.

“It was kinda a lie. I didn’t want you to see me….But I think I’m ready now. I think you can see me now.” You consented, as he smiled. Clearly proud of such a big step. His pride made you want to cry more. There was no shame, or doubt, in those big brown eyes. He didn’t see you as any less, as before the topic was broached. It was as if you simply dyed your hair. It’s still you, under it all.

“I’ve been waiting for this, and I was willing to wait for never even.” He chuckled, as he kissed your cheek. Another reminder he was there for you. Not for some end goal. There was no end goal, with love. There was a continue. A continue for as long as the hearts wanted.

With a gentle kiss to your lips, the two of you were side alonged back into your shared flat. Fred would be able to handle the shop just fine, after all. It’s near closing anyway. With how close those two were, you wouldn’t be surprised if he knew where George went. Even as far as why.

“I’ve always wanted to see you. So badly.” He sighed, as he kissed you again. Gentle, and sweet. Not this heated passion in the books or movies. Just tender, and making sure you were taken care of. In every sense of the word. This was love, not sex.

Just gentle kisses, shared between you two, as he helps remove your clothes. Allowing more and more of you to be seen on the surface. Every cut, bruise, stretch mark, imperfection, whatever you had. He was able to finally see it all, and wouldn’t stop kissing each little dot on your skin.

It was so scary. Scary to allow him. He was so proud of you to allow him. To allow him to witness you whole. He was so damn proud. Couldn’t stop his kisses all over your skin. Along with a few little playful ones, like right on your nose. Just wanting to make you smile. Know that you were safe. No matter how vulnerable you were. You allowed him to feel safe, when he lost so much. It’s a crime to not return the favor.

Open mouth kisses would trail over your body, as he helped you lay down on the bed. Slow, sweet, and savoring it. Understanding just how important it all was. No need to rush. No need to treat it as a one and done. This a moment to share, between two people who loved each other. So very very very much.

“You really are beautiful. I know I know. I can say it all I want, but I mean it-!” He whined at the end, making you smile. Ever playful, no matter the mood. Was very soothing. Made any heavy topic easier to deal with. He just made life easier, and his smile could sooth any coals under your feet.

There was one more little kiss to your nose, before he finally allowed himself to strip. His own body full of scars from so many things. War, failed experiments, Umbridge, death eaters, blood purest’s, friends turned enemies, the list goes on. Those scars felt different to you. He didn’t ask for them, yet wasn’t ashamed of them either. The mind can truly be so warped, but George was always one to be fascinated by the world. Willing to dive into that hellscape you call a brain, because you are in there after all.

“You are so beautiful.” He just kept on saying, before his naked body was pressed against yours. Playful little kisses were pressed all over your face, as your skin felt his. Felt his scars on yours, yours were felt on his. Just pure skin contact, as he was holding you close. Loving every little part of you. If it was you, he loved it. Scars and all.

“I’m ready when you are. And if ready is never, eh. Who gives a shit?” He would place another kiss to your nose, before your hands were around his neck. You were trying to mentally psych yourself up, and he was more than happy to wait. Happy to just admire you. Big ole Brown eyes, and a freckled smile.

“Yeah. I’m ready.” You nodded, as he gave you another kiss. One arm was used to prop himself up, as the other found your slit. Just being very gentle, and stroking it. Not yet intruding, but just taking it nice and slow. He was no virgin, after all. But you were, and he was going to treat you right.

Slow, steady, and calculated. A man who was that of an inventor. He knew how to move his fingers. Gentle over your slit, almost ghosting it even. Made you crave more, in such a simple gesture. Those rough fingers on such a sensitive part of your body. All exposed to him.

A kiss to your neck was given, as he finally slipped them in. Had you shiver, but he kept planting kisses on you. Easing you into such a feeling you were growing costumed to. How you always loved his big and rough hands. Always brought you comfort. Now they were bringing you pleasure.

“You already feel so wonderful. Bloody amazing.” He whispered, as he would kiss along your jaw. Just two fingers pushing in and out of you. His thumb even working at your clit, and it had you whimper a bit. Such new stimuli, but he was keeping it slow and gentle. Easing you into it.

“Don’t be shy. I can only hear so much, have mercy on me.” He teases, as it helped bring you back to earth. That this isn’t just sex. You were making love with someone you love. Made you smile, as he kissed the corner of your mouth. Drinking in the soft little breaths you left for him, before he snuck a third finger in.

“Oh you are going to feel so bloody good. I just know it. I can hardly wait any longer.” He moaned for you, as he was picking up his speed. That earned him more sounds from you, as your walls were coating his fingers. Showing you were enjoying yourself, when your voice was lost.

“Are you ready, or was this enough for one day?” More reassurance. That even now, when he’s so close to getting his turn at pleasure, he wanted you to know it didn’t matter. You matter. Almost made you cry.

“I’m ready, Georgie. I mean it. For once, I’m ready.” You would cup his face, and admired him. Those warm eyes, that imperfect unsymmetrical face. Those freckles, those scars, and that beautiful toothy smile. That’s your man, and he was all yours. Never thought you deserved such a wonderful man in your life. In this moment though? You finally accepted it. Even if it was temporary, you were able to fight your brain long enough to say you deserved this man. Seemed George could even see it in your eyes, as he pulled you into a deep kiss.

The tip of his cock felt so hot. As if he was just twitching in need. Had you feel so beautiful. Beautiful to know he was that excited to be with you. Hard to fake a feeling like that, after all. That feeling of a throbbing cock. Just hungry to finally feel you. Feeling you, he did. Finally slipping inside, as you pulled him closer. Moaning into his mouth, as the gesture is returned.

You swore he might be feeling more pleasure from it than yourself. There was a morbid comfort in that. Knowing your body could do such a thing. Ever after so much, it could still do good. Made your body relax, and had you enjoy the ride all the better.

The feeling of his hips meeting yours, and how he rolled them. Feeling those hip bones against your soft flesh. It just itched a scratch you didn’t know you had. Feeling this slender man above you, with his arms tense. Those muscles showing themselves off to you. Freckled and scared. So beautiful to you.

The moans he gave you had you drunk. They sounded so good. You swore you could get off from them alone. The feeling of him moaning into your mouth, as he kept rolling his hips into yours. Fingers tangled together, as you both just enjoyed each other. No need for words. Just embracing what your bodies wanted. The feeling of connection, and love.

It was like a beautiful dream. Nothing else mattered, in that moment. Just the two of you. Making love, and enjoying each other’s company. To feel the air grow heated, and sweat build between you both. How those easy rolls grew in speed, and had you both gasping each other’s names. Fingers holding on tighter to each other, as if afraid to melt into nothing.

“You feel so good-“ He spoke so breathlessly, as he would keep thrusting into you. All the while you moan openly for him. Your hands were trapped under his own, and you would give him squeezes of delight into those callused fingers. Allowing yourself to be louder. A mixture of allowing yourself to enjoy it, and a need to make sure he could hear how much you were indeed enjoying it. It’s the least you can do. Small acts go a long way, and you witnessed such first hand tonight.

“I don’t think I’m going to last much longer-“ He admits, sounding so embarrassed. It was cute. He was always so cute. Had you smile, and he smiled back. Your smile seemed to comfort his blushing cheeks, as you two returned another kiss. A kiss, as his hips begun to thrust in an uneven pattern. Had you whimper for him, as he kept true to his word. He didn’t last any longer, and he was soon moaning your name into your mouth. Tangling it in your tongue, and his.

The heat inside felt so satisfying. To let yourself ride a high, and have it be with him. How your legs couldn’t stop themselves, and wrapped around him. Needing to have him as close as your bodies could allow it. As if needing to become one. It was truly like being a fire work. A burst of pleasure, and sounds. It all felt so good, and it truly did feel like it filled a void in your heart that you didn’t know you had.

Coming down from the high was treated slowly. The both of you savoring it. With him holding you, as he stayed where he was. His head snuggled into your neck, as you played with his hair. Your turn in giving him the gentle comfort. Allowing him to use his working ear to enjoy your breathing, and heart. No need to worry about words. Just gentle affection. Embracing each other, and enjoying a moment of existing.

“Worth the wait-?” You asked, as you two were finally in a more clear headspace. He took a moment to think, as he pulled out you. Had you whine, as you liked the feeling. That made him chuckle, as he was soon pulling a blanket over you both.

“Yes. Very much worth the wait.” He would reassure you, as he was now your big spoon. Making sure you felt safe, in yet another vulnerable moment. His legs tangled with yours, as he wrapped his arms around you. Giving you a hug, as he pressed his face in your neck. Enjoying your scent.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but not out of sadness anymore. But pure relief. You will still have your dark days, but you had a bundle of sunshine to stay there. Stay, and wait, for when you could speak again. He wouldn’t leave you behind when things got rough. He was making sure of that. Not even processing how much this simple act of spoon was bringing such joy. He existed, and it made you existing easier.

“Love you, Georgie.” You said, as you stole a hand to kiss. His own lips returned the gesture, as they were right on your cheek. “Love you more, Jellybean.” He yawned.

That comfort of another body, it was just what you needed. For once, in a long time, you weren’t scared to fall asleep. You were happy to sleep. To get rest, even excited to wake up again. Because you knew one thing, and one thing that changed everything.

He would be there when you woke up, and that was what mattered. He would be there, every time you woke up, and sometimes that’s all it takes to make you wake up.

Your sunshine, always there when the rain clouds came. Always there, and will never leave.

[bucksdaffy]

okay, so i've seen some people claim that tim minear is an avid buddie shipper and that he's slowly but surely laying the groundwork for buck and eddie to become canon in the future and...

i'm just thoroughly confused about this assertion.

i'll preface this by saying i'm very new to the fandom, so i'm prepared to be wrong about this. i'm aware i may lack crucial context because i've been here only so long. also, i don't know tim personally, so i obviously can't speak to his true intentions, but i'll make my case anyway.

i'll cite two RECENT comments by tim that i assume people might draw this conclusion from:

[?: There is a sect of the fandom that just wants 9-1-1 to be the Buck and Eddie show, and any cut that removes a second of them is going to get the same reaction. Nothing short of renaming the show "Christopher's Two Dads" is going to make them happy.] T: I totally get that. I even appreciate it. Which explains the entire first act of last night's episode. I kind of did for the Buck/Eddie fans (I mean I really do it for myself in the end). I just thought... they'd like it? Shrug. I liked it, so whatever.

Minear tells Rolling Stone that he hasn’t just been aware of fan reactions, he’s actually changed storylines in the past to avoid being accused of queerbaiting. But rather than help, he says it made the show worse. “Nobody wants to be accused of queerbaiting so I kind of stopped writing those characters together. And I think it hurt the show because I was so afraid to be accused of something that I wasn’t going where I would naturally go with the stories,” Minear says. “I just decided that I just have to write the thing that I think is right. I just have to be honest with the story I’m telling and let the chips fall where they may.”

now, i may be biased, but this doesn't read to me like he plans on buddie endgame at all.

while it's clear he loves the bond between buck and eddie and enjoys highlighting it in the show, saying he totally wants them to end up together feels like a reach.

he discusses being accused of queerbaiting in the past, which led him to backtrack a little and stop writing buck and eddie together. how does this suggest he did it because he wants buddie to become canon? if that were his intention he could have continued to drop more (apparent!) hints that buck and eddie may love each other in a non-platonic way. he wouldn't care about the accusations of queerbaiting so much, because he would be planning to make them canon all along. sure, there are external constraints that could prevent this from ever materializing, but that doesn't mean he couldn't write the dialogue in a clearly ambiguous way so that once he gets a pass and everyone else involved is on board with it, he could confirm that "yeah, you were right; it was a good ol' friends-to-lovers slow burn trope all along. congrats!!" no. instead he backtracked because he didn't want anyone to think he was writing buddie as anything other than a platonic relationship. that's it. but he eventually realized it doesn't really matter because people are going to think what they want to think regardless. and he obviously loves buck and eddie's friendship so he might as well just make the most out of it at this point. and if he ever feels like maybe it is a good time to turn their friendship into something more because it feels right for story, he'll go for it. but if not, he won't.

i see a lot of people claim buddie is a six-season-long slow burn, being carefully crafted right now for future canonization. and they say tim basically confirmed this. but i really can't see his comments being a confirmation of the sort.

if there are any quotes i'm missing that suggest otherwise, i would love to go through them. so if anyone's aware of any, please don't hesitate to hit me up.

but at the moment i believe y'all are just setting yourselves up for disappointment.

[ellewritesalright]

Second Best - Part 3

Nikolai Lantsov x reader

Part 2 --- Masterlist --- Part 4

A/N: Hello! Look at me with two updates in one month, who'd have thought? Buckle in for this one, it's twice as long as the last part. Once again, I hope it is coherent enough :) and again, I gave the mc reader a last name :)

Synopsis: When you were a child, the Lantsov king and queen arranged for their second son to marry you, a rich Ravkan noble family's only daughter. After many years, after all the destruction of the war, and after Nikolai was crowned king, Nikolai breaks off the engagement. But the complications of your past and your strict parents make it a nightmare to find a new fiance, so Nikolai promises to help you, yet he slowly realizes the mistake he's made.

Warnings: strict and low-key abusive parents, very slight self-image issues because of said parents, mentions of illness and death, kinda confusing and purposefully ambiguous details that will be important later in the story (bear with me please), not 100% proofread

Word Count: 4670

..........

Being without a fiance was an unfortunate circumstance. All your life you had witnessed young women like you being paraded around in hopes that they would find suitors even richer than their families, but because the Antonovs had made their deal with the king and queen so long ago, you never had to participate in such dreadful activities. In the past month since your disbanded engagement, you had attended three large gatherings and hosted many more as your parents frantically searched for someone worthy enough to marry into the family.

As you wound down for the evening, feet killing you and your head a bit buzzed from all the wine of another party, you slunk over to your vanity. After removing your makeup, you reached into the top drawer, trailing your fingers across its ceiling where you'd tacked a letter. It had arrived in the morning, after breakfast when you were by yourself in the library. But you'd yet to read it, too busy with your parents' antics to hide away and comb through the words. With a brief admiration of the double-eagle seal, you grabbed your letter opener and cut it open. 

The handwriting was long and there were lovely loops in the 'p's and 'g's; you smiled to yourself as your eyes followed their rounded paths. Nikolai was always perfectly composed, and so were his letters. This was the third one you'd received, and he wrote of more possible suitors for you. There were some more details about his day-to-day in response to a few light-hearted queries you had posed in your last response. When he asked for embellishment on your ideas of mechanical updates at your family's estate you were so eager to start drafting your response that you almost tipped over your ink canister.

He had also requested that you assess the suitors recommended in his previous letter, and you frowned as you rated them. 

Each one was well-bred and richer than the last, but none felt right. There was always something wrong with them, like wandering eyes, or a terrible way of spitting when speaking, or one suitor who had kissed your hand so sloppily you thought a hickey would form. They were all unattractive in their own ways, and you wrote as much in your letter to the king. In your closing, you made sure to thank him again for looking out for you. It was too kind of him. 

At the end of this most recent letter, he said that he enjoyed playing matchmaker. Apparently, it was a brief and welcome reprieve from the hard topics of war and politics. If he wasn't exaggerating this fact, your thanks would likely mean nothing to him, but you thanked him nonetheless.

You grazed a finger across his signature at the bottom of his letter. Yours truly, Nikolai.

If your hand had not reached up to your mouth in a moment of contemplation, you might have missed the smile that etched itself onto your lips, but the shape of it was unmistakable beneath your touch. You banished that smile and went to bed, trying to banish Nikolai from your mind as well, but finding it more than a little difficult. The swooping lettering of Yours truly was printed on the inside of your eyelids.

……….

“How did you enjoy the first act of the ballet, Lord and Lady Antonov?”

Your head twisted around to see Nikolai standing at the doorway to your family’s opera box. Your father politely stood from his seat and bowed to the king while you and your mother bowed your heads. You softly grinned at Nikolai, keeping your excitement measured in front of your parents.

“It was overdone,” your mother replied.

“Quite,” nodded your father.

“I think it is rather lovely so far,” Nikolai said. He looked at you. “And your thoughts, my lady?”

You looked up at your friend. “I think it is overdone, yet charmingly so. I rather enjoyed the dance with the foxes; the dancers all moved remarkably like canines."

Nikolai grinned and nodded. "That has also been my favourite part so far."

"And the sets are just magnificent."

"Aren't they?"

You both smiled at one another for a moment. A moment that was broken by your father clearing his throat. 

"What brings you to our box, your highness?" Your father asked.

Nikolai looked over at him, smiling politely. "I was actually coming to introduce a friend of mine to your family." Nikolai gestured to the door, and you noticed a man about ten years your senior standing there that you hadn't noticed when Nikolai walked in. "This is Lord Alexei Alianovic. Alexei, this is Lord and Lady Antonov and their daughter." 

Lord Alexei bowed to you and your parents. "It is a pleasure to meet you, lord and Lady Antonov." He smiled at you. "And you, my lady. His highness has told me much about you."

"All good things I hope," you said with a gentle expression as you glanced between him and Nikolai. The king had a small smirk on his lips as he looked back at you.

"Quite," Alexei nodded.

"Alianovic? You're Lord Dmitri Alianovic's son?" Your father asked him.

"I am, sir."

Your mother looked pleased, which couldn't bode well for you.

Your mind quickly cycled through everything you knew about the Alianovics, trying to find something wrong. The Alianovics were wardens of a large stretch of southern Ravka. But Lord Dmitri was rather old and would likely die in a short manner of years, leaving his entire estate to his heir, Alexei. The Alianovics were an old and reputable Ravkan family too, with a few blood ties to the royal family from many decades back; Alexei would be Nikolai's very distant cousin, then.

Looking between him and Nikolai again, you could see no resemblance. Not in hair colour, eye colour, face shape, bone structure, or even stature. Lord Alexei was tall and lanky, with chestnut hair and dark brown eyes and a charming mustache. Nikolai was also younger by about ten years. Still, Alexei was decently handsome for a suitor.

While lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice how your parents had seemed to step closer to Alexei like a pair of vultures.

"I should give my condolences for your loss, Lord Alexei," your father suddenly said. You didn't like the calculation in his brow. "What a terrible thing it is to lose the person you love."

Alexei's expression drooped a bit. "Thank you, lord Antonov."

"It is a great tragedy that your daughter will grow up without her mother," Lady Antonov said to him. 

That's rich, coming from you, you thought to yourself as you held back a scoff.

You looked between your parents and Alexei, who was growing paler by the second. Now that they mentioned it, you remembered that the Alianovic heir was a young widower with a little daughter. His wife had died in some horrible horse riding accident.

"Ana is too young to know any different," Alexei said sadly. "Though sometimes it seems like she misses her mother."

You somberly clasped your hands together and offered him a sympathetic look. Unlike your scheming parents, you truly did feel for him. 

"It can't be easy to raise a young child on your own, but I am sure you're giving her the best life you can," you smiled softly.

"I've seen him with little Ana; there is no father more attentive and caring than Alexei," Nikolai said. Alexei bowed his head a bit at the compliments.

"Ah, but what life is it for a young girl to live without a mother?" Lady Antonov spoke up again. You nearly glared at her blatant attempt at setting you on this poor man. "When I think of all the things I have taught my own daughter, I can't imagine a man ever understanding what it's like. My daughter knows how close a bond can grow between mothers and daughters--knows how important that relationship is--don't you, my dear?"

She cast you a look; a warning and a warm smile and a quick condescension all rolled into one.

You nodded, holding back the bitter taste that jumped into your throat. You tore your eyes from her to look over at Alexei again.

"I feel for your Ana in what she has lost." You expressed all your empathy as you spoke to him. "The pain of losing a mother is unimaginable… losing someone so important in life, especially as a child, isn't easy for anyone."

Your mother stiffened a touch. Your father did too.

"But you sound like an excellent father to Ana. You should be proud." You softly smiled at him.

Alexei nodded at your words. "Thank you, my lady. You are very kind."

"And you are very patient to have weathered my parents' barrage of questions."

Nikolai almost snorted at your joke. Your parents did not have the same reaction. For a brief second, you saw their anger; then they forced a laugh, playing off your words.

"You'll find our daughter is quite spirited at times, Lord Alexei," Lady Antonov commented. She was still saving face after you'd insulted her and your father.

"I don't mind it," Alexei chuckled quietly. "She has the same humour as my late wife did."

Your parents began engaging Alexei in a real conversation, and Nikolai took the moment to slowly step up beside you.

"Saints, your parent's methods are brutal," he murmured so only you could hear. "Your mother especially."

"Tell me about it." You restrain from rolling your eyes.

Nikolai let his volume grow just slightly as his words became innocuous again. "I'm going to the shore tomorrow."

"As in the shore of the true sea? How long will that take?" You raised a brow.

"My envoy will be gone for a full month. But I promise to write to you." He smiled then grew quiet again. "Can't leave you completely alone with these maniacs, now can I?"

You almost laughed.

Bells outside your opera box signaled that the show was about to continue, so Nikolai and Alexei took their leave. The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. At least, until you got into the carriage going home.

"It was good of that impish king to introduce you to Lord Alexei," Lady Antonov began. "He stands to inherit quite a large title from his father, you know."

You nodded then rested your head against the carriage's side wall. "I know, mother."

"Stop slouching," she huffed.

"It is just us three, mother."

"I don't care. You will sit up straight, you stubborn little girl." Her eyes were hard.

You glanced at your father beside you. You were searching for a shred of support from him since sometimes he would not leave you to fight her alone. But tonight he did not offer even a glance in your direction. He just stared boredly at the darkness outside his window.

Your eyes crossed to hers again. Your hand began itching as you sat up straight.

"That's better, daughter of mine." Her hands folded on her lap. "You nearly ruined things tonight."

"Ruined what? Lord Alexei liked me," you said, holding back an eye roll.

"You nearly told him. And the king."

You pursed your lips, scratching at a dotted scar on your knuckle. "I did not."

"You were quite close to it."

"I was not."

"You spoke of loss."

"So?" You sighed heavily. "I was sympathizing with Lord Alexei--and in case you didn't notice, he liked me better for it."

The carriage arrived home and you stepped out before the chauffeur could open the door for you. You hurried inside, heading upstairs to your suite rooms. But Lady Antonov was hot on your tails.

"Stop, dear," she commanded. 

You did not stop. You kept climbing the stairs. But she grabbed your arm before you could get inside your room.

"You're a little ingrate, girl, but fortunately you're still my daughter. And as my daughter, you will shut up and do what I tell you to do and say what I tell you to say."

Her hand tightened on your arm. Her voice was low, but sharp as a hound's bite.

"If I tell you to jump, you'd better be in the air. If I tell you to keep your mouth shut about your beginnings, you'd better sit silently with a pleasant smile on your face and remember how lucky you are to be where you are."

Her other hand went to grip your chin. You could feel her nails dig into your face ever so slightly.

"Do you understand me, daughter?" She hissed.

You nodded, and her grip tightened on your chin.

"I want to hear you say it, girl."

"I understand, mother." You grit out

She kept you locked there for a moment longer, then she let go of you. "Go to bed. You look unkempt."

You said nothing as you went into your room and shut the door behind you. You held it together until you got to your bed, then you fell apart. You clamped a hand over your mouth to staunch the sobs as tears poured over onto your cheeks. 

……….

A month passed by slowly. You were paraded around by your parents, your mother in particular, to every party and gathering among nobles and high-ups in Os Alta. Each outing was more miserable than the last. 

You would dance and drink, and dance and drink, and dance and drink, while your mother plotted conversations and chance encounters with any man she deemed suitable. She had a knack for finding the richest man in the room; no wonder she had married your father all those years ago.

Tonight was one such night like all the rest. Though tonight you promised yourself to abstain from drinking. The hangover after your last outing with your parents had confined you to your bed for half the day, and you needed to keep sharp for tomorrow. Nikolai was returning home from the western shore to a small celebratory dinner at the Grand Palace. He sent an invitation to you with your usual letters, though you could hardly describe them as usual. 

What started with Nikolai's quest to find you a suitor had developed into a weekly correspondence that did not stop even as he traveled the country on kingly duties. In fact, your most recent letters from him only contained a couple of names for you to consider. You had written that he must be giving up hope, and he replied that he was vetting potential husbands based on the critiques you had given so far–of which there were plenty to pull from, he mused.

Lady Antonov extended a glass of bubbly to you but you shook your head. She rolled her eyes and took your hand, wrapping your fingers around the stem of the glass

"Drink and socialize," she ordered.

"I have the king's dinner tomorrow, mother," you told her.

She suppressed a frown, lowering her voice in case she said anything treason-worthy. "I don't care about that lousy boy and his dinner. General Halinsky was good enough to invite us this evening and I won't have you sulking in the corner. Now, go make nice with all the soldiers. And look for a myriad of medals on their chests, dear. Don't settle for one or two."

With her instructions in your head, you walked about the room, slipping in and out of conversations with ease. The older men all wore many honourable medals pinned to their jackets, and the younger ones wore few. Conversation flowed better with the young men, while the older men spoke of things that had no bearing in your life. They laughed about old missions across the fold and complained about the decline of the nation. You tried to boost this perception, saying how you believed in the king's abilities, but they were quick to dismiss you.

"King Nikolai is too involved in the first army," the evening's host, General Halinsky, griped. "The old king used to leave the commanding to real commanders, but our boy king thinks he can boss us all around just because his daddy got him a few medals and promotions during his time as a soldier."

You took the opportunity to defend him. "His highness earned those promotions on the battlefield. He--"

"He made major by 17. I made major by 23. The boy obviously had help from his father."

"What an unfortunate and incorrect assumption on your part, General," you said with a bright smile, the kind of smile that these men expected to see from a young woman like you. "His highness got the promotion at 17 because he was obviously better at the job than you ever were."

You walked off after that, absorbing yourself in a discussion between two younger soldiers of the benefits of first and second army mingling. You sipped on your drink and politely smiled back at Halinsky anytime you felt his eyes driving into the side of your head. You upset the host, and your mother was guaranteed to be livid, but you couldn't care less. If defending Ravka's king made people upset, then maybe they deserved to be upset.

One of the young soldiers you were speaking to was laughing at your mediocre jokes with the fervour of a dog playing fetch. Only two medals were pinned to him, and you pitied his efforts in this losing battle. He seemed nice enough, but nice isn't a quality your mother would forgive two medals for. Rich would do better, but he lacked the obnoxious refinement to be truly wealthy. 

Your father permitted you to go home early after you sweetly lied and said you had a terrible headache. You didn't see your mother's face as you left, but you were sure she'd be furious. It was her thought that you were more salable when you were there to be paraded around. Without you present, any talks of you would be diminished.

Still, you were in no mood to stay.

By the time you were in your carriage travelling home, you felt exhausted. With a sour taste in your mouth, you thought about how this was yet another outing that proved unsuccessful. Not a single one of the men you'd met merited any sort of consideration.

While you normally would have written to Nikolai or read one of his letters after a night like this, you didn't have anything to write which couldn't be said to him at his dinner. You would speak with him then, and all would be right.

……….

Dinner was four courses of quick conversation and good-natured travel stories, and you enjoyed every second of it. You were sat with one-third of the Grisha triumvirate to your left and a West Ravkan captain Nikolai brought back with him on your right. You were one of the only guests not part of the first or second army, and you could count on one hand the number of guests middle-aged or older. It was a young and well-versed group Nikolai pulled together.

As the king and one of his long-time first army friends recalled an embarrassing moment in their training to the eager ears of a heartrender and several first army soldiers, you turned to David, asking him about his recent work. He had your complete attention as he described a sort-of rocket launcher that was meant to couple with an inferni’s abilities.

The captain on your other side joined your conversation at this point, and he maintained a puzzled look in his eyes as he tried to figure out the schematics of David’s new contraption. You had to admit, the captain was easy on the eyes, with a decent jawline and an endearing batch of freckles on his face. You suspected that Nikolai didn't have a singular focus of politics when bringing him to Os Alta. Based on your limited conversation over dinner, the captain met all of your criteria thus far; he was handsome, conversational, and he had a sweet disposition that hadn't been spoiled by the hardship he'd endured in war.

Though you still had to wonder what kind of financial situation he was in; your mother considered anyone with less than two villas a pauper, so she had high standards when it came to the wealth of a suitor. You doubted that whatever amount of wealth the captain had would suffice.

Some of the Grisha returned to the Little Palace after dinner, but most of the guests stuck around. Those who remained were directed to the drawing room after dinner, and you followed after the group, slowing your steps as you travelled through the gallery. Your eyes wandered the portraits and landscapes, closely following every brushstroke. 

You halted completely when you looked up at a picture of the royal family. In this depiction, Nikolai was about the same age as he was when you first met him. A frown encroached on your lips as you stared at the oil painting. To think you might have married him. You might have walked past this painting for the rest of your life, but you let your resentment at your parents bubble over and you sided against them in the argument of your engagement. Now it didn't look like you would find anyone to marry. 

"You'd better hurry or the brandy will be gone," Nikolai said as he sidled up beside you, a good-natured smile on his lips.

"Then it's good I'm not known to drink brandy."

He grinned. “So you’ve chosen to admire the gallery, then?”

“Correct,” you said as you pointed at a painting of a harbour. “I don’t understand how artists do it. How they can commit the real world to canvas like that.”

“You’re quite the artist yourself,” he said with a small smirk. You gave him a confused look and he chuckled again. “That drawing that you sent with your second last letter? Of the stuffed bear you had as a child?”

You rolled your eyes. “I only drew that because you expressly commanded a sketch of him after I briefly mentioned him in a letter."

“Well, I wished to know what this beloved bear looked like,” he playfully defended. “You can’t blame me for that. Besides, it was a lovely drawing.”

“That sketch was abysmal; I’m no artist,” you sighed.

“I thought it was a perfectly charming drawing of… remind me of the bear’s name again?”

You huffed softly. “Viktor.”

“Yes. Viktor.”

"I called him Vik."

“And who gave you Vik?”

“A friend,” you answered truthfully, despite how much you knew you should lie.

“A friend,” echoed Nikolai. “Was he a brown bear?”

“No, he was grey.”

“Grey? That is rather unusual,” he grinned. “And, let me guess, you were so attached to Vik that you took him all the way with you to Ketterdam and back as a little travel companion."

Your heart raced. You shouldn’t be telling him more about this. You sighed and scratched the back of your hand. The tiny dotted scar on your knuckle itched like nothing else as your thumb soothed over it.

"Actually, no. We parted ways many years ago when I was five. Firepox spread through our household and I fell ill with it. Once it ran its course and I recovered my parents insisted that all my toys should be burned for risk of future infection."

He frowned softly. "That's too bad."

"It is," you admitted quietly.

A moment of quiet settled in the tall gallery as you both stood there. It was a sad memory you’d just divulged, and a memory that your parents would rake you across the coals for if they knew you’d told him. Still, a part of you was glad to tell him that. You rarely thought about the artifacts of your childhood, let alone voiced their ghostly memories.

Nikolai turned to face the painting nearest to you both. His eyes softened on the portrait of his family. 

"That was the last portrait ever painted of my family all together like that. We sat for it only a couple of months before I left for school."

"That was around the same time we first met.”

“We met as infants, I believe,” he said, looking at you again.

You straightened out a bit. ��Right. I suppose we did." 

"Our second meeting, then. Do you remember it?" He gave a charming smile.

You rolled your eyes at the memory. "How could I forget? Lady Antonov made me wear a frilly monstrosity of a dress. It was ghastly."

"I will concede that you looked a bit like a puff pastry," he chuckled. His eyes scanned over the deep purple gown you wore now. "You seem to have developed a better sense of style since then; your gown this evening is quite lovely."

"Thank you," you said softly. Your hands clasped together again as you scratched at the apex of your first knuckle. "If I remember correctly, you barely spoke to me when we met all those years ago."

"I was fourteen, I probably didn't have much to say anyway," he shrugged.

"I don't believe that for a second."

Nikolai stared at you for a moment. It was hard to say if it was his kingly presence or the softness of his hazel eyes that had your chest constricting a bit.

"You want the truth?" He quietly asked, a tiny smile playing on his lips.

"Yes,” you nodded.

"I was afraid to make a fool of myself in front of you. I figured that the less I said, the less I could mess up."

He sounded like a boy as he spoke. His voice was vulnerable and young at that moment, a stark contrast to his broad, regal frame. Outwardly, he presented as a proud and strong figure, but on the inside, there was a youth and inexperience to his words.

"I was always afraid of messing up too. My parents were so insistent about our engagement. To them, I had to be perfect to keep our engagement intact," you quietly confessed. "If I knew we wouldn't end up married I would have stopped trying to be perfect for them a long time ago."

He pursed his lips as his eyes flitted to your hands for a second. You forced your itching fingers to be still, clamping them over your irritated skin.

"I'm sorry for any discomfort you might have endured from your parents since I broke it off. It can't be easy for you."

"I'm used to it." You gave a wry smile. Then you attempted a joke, “Finding a new fiancee is considerably harder than I thought, though.”

“So I've heard,” he chuckled slightly.

“Maybe my expectations are too high, but every suitor is too much of one thing, not enough of another. It’s an impossible task.”

“I take it that you weren’t charmed by Captain Balandin, then?”

You sighed. “He’s better than most. Kinder, younger, and more handsome than the men my mother pushes me towards, but I don’t know if he’s eligible.”

“He is single if you’re concerned,” Nikolai said as he furrowed his brows.

You shifted on your feet a bit as your face warmed. “This is going to sound incredibly greedy, but is he two villas kind of rich?”

“Two villas? Saints, no. The man is a soldier. He has a modest house in Os Kervo and a less modest apartment here in Os Alta. Otherwise, he travels around with the army.”

“Then my parents would never approve.” You let out an exhale. “Things are looking bleaker, Nikolai.”

“Don’t despair. You’re young, beautiful, clever, and you have an incredible fortune to your name,” he said half jokingly. “I am sure that there are plenty of suitors who meet your lengthy list of requirements.” 

“Really? Where?” you groaned softly. You smiled slightly at him, glancing at the other end of the gallery. “I think I'll take that brandy now."

He offered you his arm and escorted you back to the other guests.

..........

A/N: Thanks for reading! Feel free to like, reblog, and comment if you want to read more, I really appreciate the feedback! If you want to be tagged in the other parts of this series or to be added to the Nikolai taglist please comment on this part or send me an ask. Otherwise, I hope you have a great day/night :)

Masterlist --- Part 4

Taglist:

@xceafh @rhaenyrakryze @thecrowsgambit @nghtwngs @hauntedenthusiasttragedy @stuffyownswrld @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @angie-likes-to-read @take-me-to-ny @historianthesecond @lunamadhatter99 @lareinaa007 @folklorde24 @a-candle-maker @elicheel @charmingpatronus

Nikolai Taglist:

@sweet0pia-uwu @notoakay @naushtheaspiringauthor @liter4ti @marchingicenotes7 @eyeofthestorm

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

How does the Mimic know so much about Cassie?!?! Theory Speculation

Something I've been wondering on the course of my playthrough was how the Mimic knew a lot about Cassie.

Maybe not her personally...

But here's the thing...

The Mimic is shown to have communication through HELPI. The message he sent to Cassie was Gregory and when Cassie arrives she says:

"Gregory, are you there? I got your message!"

So this means that the Mimic sent Cassie a message OUTSIDE of the confines of the Pizzaplex.

(Unless you get into the theory that it was real Gregory who sent the outside message in the first place and then from then on out since she got there she was being manipulated by the Mimic through the Roxy-Talky but...........We don't have time to unpack all that... and it does line up with what we know about Patient 46 and GGY..... bbuuuuuuuuttt One theory at a time... lol )

Let's say for the sake of the argument that the Mimic was the one who sent the Outside Message for Cassie for help.

Because... We know what Gregory's message is.

We heard it in the trailer:

Gregory's message in Text:

"Cassie I hope you get this message. I'm trapped. Here at the pizzaplex or what's left of it. I don't have time to go into how I got here. But you have to help me out! Save me Cassie please! It's so dark down here!

Don't give up on me yet."

(granted the "don't give up on me yet" is more trailer bait line as Steel Wool talking directly to the consumers then what I think was actually in Gregory's message... but I do think the first part is definitely the message Cassie gets.)

This is the message that the Mimic left Cassie. I would say... on her cellphone... But... we know Cassie doesn't have a cellphone at her age.

We can safely assume so because she would have tried to use her cell phone a LONG time ago to try and reach Gregory.

I think that Grimmic left this message on Cassie's home phone. And we know her Dad is out of the picture right now. Steel Wool makes it REALLY intentionally vague if her Dad is alive or dead considering he was a human Staff at the Pizzaplex. She always uses past tense or ambiguous tense when talking about her dad, but it's always unclear if she's speaking in past Tense about Bonnie or her Dad.

But.. We do know that her Dad is not in the picture AS OF THIS MOMENT...

Because in Roxy's Salon, when you use the AR mask near a Fazwrench Door, (remember her Dad has a Fazwrench apparently) you can see this note:

The reason I say this note is written by Cassie's Dad, is that in Roxy's Salon we see so much of exposition about Cassie's past throughout Cassie's favorite areas. And throughout the game it is severely hinted at that the AR mask does display things based on what the wearer wants to see. or based on memories the wearer has.

aka: Monty soda machines turning into Roxy machines... Sun and Moon's Room being tidy in AR cause Cassie was a daycare kid and remembers Sun and Moon being kind and good daycare attendants. Roxy being the only animatronic that appears as Cassie remembers her fully cause she was her favorite. The mask functions as literal nostalgia rose-tinted glasses at times.

There's also the Brazil/Hallucination ending... where Cassie just sees what she wants to.

Sometimes AR does weird stuff for the sake of weird stuff, like floating objects everywhere and enlarged objects, but because Roxy Salon was so relevant to plot details, and explaining how Gregory and Cassie were friends and how she was devastated when he went missing.... Yeah. I'm saying this note was from her Dad.

So he's not in the picture..... right now of this moment.

So Cassie probably heard this message on her home phone when her parent.... parents?? Parent. Her Dad wasn't home, so she went to investigate the Pizzaplex herself.

Now... How did the Mimic get Cassie's number? how did he send a message to the outside world? We already know that he's connected to HELPI. So I'm not surprised that he can send messages from way below the foundation in concrete...

But.... How did he know how to Mimic Gregory effectively.... How did he know to prey upon Cassie's loneliness? How did he know that she would do everything to help him and she would do it if it was Gregory?

Now... I don't think he knew all this... But there are often times where the Mimic preys upon Cassie's loneliness in a very effective way.

And if you look at the mission objective hud... It keeps changing to things like this:

"Don't you want to save Gregory? Try harder!"

"I'm lonely."

He also says things like: "I'm so scared and alone. It's dark down here. Save me Cassie please"

When they meet for the first time, he even says: "You saved me!"

He preys perfectly upon her loneliness and manipulates her from the very start of the game from the moment he speaks till the moment you get HEPI and the mission objective hud starts saying crazy stuff.

Cassie is a very lonely kid. And I wouldn't be surprised if Gregory is her only friend and she feels she owes him for being there for her when no one else was. Roxanne Wolf and Gregory are all she has. Her Dad isn't even there for her. Either left to "get milk" or was killed by Vanny.... but... in her mind her Dad might have "Went missing" as well... All we know is that her Dad is not in the picture currently and Roxy and Gregory are all she's got.

.....How would the Mimic know this? How does he know to prey upon Cassie's loneliness insecurity so expertly?

....How does the Mimic know how to MIMIC GREGORY???

Well....

We know that Gregory was down here. Cause we do find a backpack with his name on it, right outside the door where Mimic is sealed. Which is probably where the Mimic got the Fazbear Walky Talky from in the first place....

But that's not enough evidence.

We just know that Gregory was down here at some point to probably seal the Mimic with Concrete.... Maybe with Vanessa, but that part is unclear.

But... I think Gregory knew the Mimic before this.

With the Mimic being canon, getting a better grasp on Cassie's character and who she is as a character...

I can say definitively My speculations about her being patient 46, and connected to Charlie in some way......... Since Charlie from the Silver Eyes tends to have weird connections and parallels to patient 46....

But my idea that Cassie would be connected to 46 or Charlie in anyway..... Are completely wrong.

But do you know who seems to be connected to Patient 46 and Charlie More now?

Gregory....

And I don't think Gregory being homeless was a fabrication. He just wasn't living in a cardboard box.

He was living in the Pizzaplex....

And you remember.... that one room... In Security Breach... that everyone theorized about but we had no definitive answers?

Yeah.

The post-it note room.

This room is written with a lot of notes.... some in binary... some in English. Some in drawings.

But... people pieced together, that this room seems to consist of a Robot coming into consciousness and communicating with a second party.... And I think that it's the Mimic.

Because.... when you EXIT this post-it note room.... You can find a trail of post-it notes... Leading to a workbench... with...

A TRANSISTER RADIO THAT CAN BROADCAST OUT FREQUENCIES AND ENDO SCHEMATICS

We now know that these are definitively about the Mimic And the Mimic Probably stayed in the Post-it note room for some time.

The post it note room leads a trail that takes us directly to these Schematics...

So... The Mimic was in that room for a long while.... Talking to someone.....

Who do I think they were talking to?

Gregory.

We already know that Gregory is homeless, and we find many of his hideouts scattered throughout the Pizzaplex.... and while we don't know if Gregory has any direct connections to the Afton Family other than being a parallel... This is the only thing that fits given the information we know right now.

And we do know that the Mimic is a Learning Adaptive AI... And it might not have killed Gregory at first cause he was reminded of the boy it used to grow up with.

I don't believe Gregory taught the Mimic things maliciously or manipulatively... I really think Gregory found a robot that crawled into this room he was hiding in that copied him...

And if we know Gregory... this isn't even book text... This is in-game Text.... Gregory sees animatronics as cool robots and toys/tools to mess around with. (I'm saying... climbing into a unconscious animatronics stomach hatch is not the first thing I would do when avoiding mall security......) Like it's part of the reason Gregory's first thought was upgrading Freddy to make his night easier.

Gregory views the animatronics as Robots and tools, while Cassie tends to view them more as people/characters.

So once Gregory comes across this creepy endo that copies him and has his own sign language, they write back and forth and he talks to it. He talks about his friends like Cassie probably, and rambles about stuff... Cause Gregory is excited this thing can learn, and he wants to talk to it and teach it.

Are there holes in this theory?

Sure.

Like Gregory's reaction to the Endos in the base game doesn't line up if he's seen the mimic endo before. Nor his reaction to Burntrap in the Afton Ending. "He? What is that thing???"

There's way too much Afton Family and Charlie/Puppet symbolism in the post-it note room to say definitively that this was the case....

But... The post-it note room leading to a trail of Papers where the Mimic Schematics are....

I really do think the Post-it note room is where the Mimic learned a lot of things... And if Gregory was in there teaching him stuff and talking to it, he Was probably learning about Cassie too.

Anyway, that's what I think and wanted to throw it out to the void before Matpat starts swerving all over the DLC.

[tainbocuailnge]

lately I'm thinking about how there's a discrepancy between what shalem's files describe as happening and what we actually see happen in game.

the files say that after phantom came to rhodes and registered as an operator, shalem went into hiding, effectively disappearing from public view for a long time until phantom left for the castle and shalem got pinged for the rescue mission. but in rewinding breeze shalem is walking around the hallways and striking up conversation of his own accord, even telling mint in detail about his backstory. the vignette makes it clear phantom hasn't been with rhodes That long yet at this point, since the problems with /his/ file only just now came to light, but it's also clearly set very shortly before phantom's disappearance into the castle, because the vignette ends on phantom spotting the blood diamond costume and spiralling.

so assuming this isn't some continuity mistake or retcon, either the files are lying about what shalem was up to, or shalem had some reason to come out of hiding that day, and perhaps both.

the files lying is a pretty safe assumption to make, they're clearly written by the troupe instead of rhodes HR, and unlike rhodes HR the troupe has no interest in creating an image of shalem that is actually representative of the truth. but if they're lying about this thing they could be lying about all of it, it's difficult to draw conclusions from the information given about shalem since there's not much of it and most of it is unreliable. of course, being unable to reliably conclude anything about what he's like is his whole fucking problem to begin with, and why i keep rotating this guy in my head constantly. if we assume "the files are lying" is the only factor at play, then that means the troupe apparently wants to present shalem as more afraid of them than he is. they're insisting that he was cowering in his room for ages when in reality he was going about his days as normal.

but the other option, that shalem had something to do that day that was important enough to come out of hiding, is also compelling. no explanation is given for how the blood diamond costume made it to phantom's room, only a suggestion for why he hadn't noticed it until doctor pointed it out (if phantom can use arts to prevent others from perceiving him, naturally so can the troupe that taught him everything he knows). shalem has that assistant line where he insists you didn't hear him talking with anyone, which combined with phantom saying he came to rhodes because he heard a voice saying the person with the answers he's looking for would be there, had originally lead me to speculate that shalem might be receiving sleeper agent instructions in that voiceline, and he's the one who put the costume in phantom's room. shalem's oprec recontextualised that line as him having intense hallucinatory spirals basically every day, so i'd put aside the possibility for a while. but if we assume he was there to speak with mint because he had something important to do, he becomes an option for how that costume made it to phantom's room again.

the second option is a little shakier admittedly but i love the idea of shalem having had an ambiguously willing hand in setting up the events of is2 because his feelings regarding phantom have got to be so fucking inscrutable and contradictory. the uncertainty of how much influence the troupe may or may not still have on him is of course the foundation of his fucking problem, so it's by design impossible to say for sure whether any of this is what happened. the more attention you pay to shalem the less certain you get about anything regarding him.

[valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn]

Episode 2 of What If Season 2 poked the Peggy hornet’s nest and did exactly what I thought it would. 

So, for context, in this reality Yondu actually handed Peter Quill over to Ego when he was supposed to, and within just 6 months Ego was able to corrupt his son into a conqueror, so they invade Earth together. Peggy is director of SHIELD at the time, and she and Howard work together to assemble a proto-Avengers team to stop them. The team consists of Hank Pym, Bill Foster, T’Chaka, Thor, Wendy Lawson (who I think is from Captain Marvel), and… wait for it… the Winter Motherfucking Soldier. 

Yes, for real.

And because I know you’re thinking it, the excuse given is that he is in the hands of the Russians during this time, so Peggy and Howard couldn’t possibly have known about it UwU. Anyway, when they see him there’s a super drawn-out moment where they both think they recognize him (and it’s while he still has the mask on, so while this probably wasn’t intentional I actually read that as yet another middle finger to Steve, as Peggy could apparently recognize Bucky even under his disguise while Steve couldn’t). And then, Howard says, I shit you not: “I'd heard the rumors, but even if they’re true, the man we knew is long-gone, Peg, and we have bigger fish to fry.” And then later in the episode, with no segway from that to this, there’s a scene where they’re all together and the Winter Soldier has his mask off, and actually speaks. 

So, at least in this universe, Howard and Peggy are 100% aware that Bucky Barnes is in fact the Winter Soldier. Later on in the episode Howard attempts to get through to him, but only when it becomes a necessity to save the world (because he is about to kill Peter Quill while Hank is trying to convince him to turn on Ego), but it’s still pretty damning. And then at the end of the episode, rather than trying to rehabilitate him, they just let him go. Like, it’s not the same situation as Steve where he was out cold and unable to do anything, they could have taken Bucky in and tried to break his programming, but they didn’t. It’s left ambiguous what will happen to him after that, so it’s not like they sent him back to Hydra, but Hydra is still out there in this universe, so my hopes aren’t high.

TLDR; this episode attempts to handwave away the very strong possibility that the Howard and Peggy of the Prime Timeline knew what was happening to Bucky, but in doing so unintentionally made them look so much worse.

I don't... I can't even... WTF did I just read? (not you of course, I mean, what is wrong with Marvel?) 🤦‍♀️

So they use Bucky while brainwashed and/or still with Hydra's BS in his mind, and they don't even care to help him out after? They see a victim and they use him and then turn away from him, not caring about his well-being? And, I assume, Howard and Lady Brexit are still framed as good guys? And how are they any better than Hydra in that story?! The absolute nerve...

Once I read the spoilers a few days ago and saw they were going to have her as Director of SHIELD, I just knew they were going to absolve her of everything and never have her answer for any of her actions. And of course the only one who says he had "heard rumours" was Howard, not her. She's an angelic glorious being incapable of doing anything wrong. What in the absolute narrative protection is this...

Howard and Miss Brexit couldn't possibly know about Bucky... yeah, right. Except for the fact that they knew what Zola had done, because Steve told them, and they still willingly worked alongside him, even gave him a nickname. Oh Arnie, my beloved, wasn't it fun when you tortured Steve's best friend? Let's have some beer. I don't see how Miss "I shoot innocents when I'm jealous" Brexit could have recognized Bucky considering she didn't give a damn about him after Steve risked his own life against her wishes to save him, but apparently in this she can tell who he is even with a mask on? Damn girl, did you inject the serum in him yourself?

And I'm sorry but what is this... “I'd heard the rumors, but even if they’re true, the man we knew is long gone.” Excuse me? Oh, good enough to use but not good enough to save? How is the everloving hell is that even a line?! Oh my god, Marvel, just say you hate Bucky and go. I don't get it, what, he's the guy who ruins their beloved Steggy nonsense and they can't help themselves, they have to drag him through the mud for daring to be more important to Steve than Miss Brexit here? (And I say that as a non-shipper but holy crap, this is nuts.)

Not even in another timeline are these two somewhat redeemable. And Bucky is fucked up no matter what. Typical.

So the Infinity Saga had Stark as their golden boy and now it's Agent Brexit's time to shine... Will the Hero Cinematic Universe ever provide any heroes of narrative protection or are they going to choose the bad ones only? Oh, you're a soldier kidnapped, tortured and brainwashed? Go ahead and make amends, you monster. Oh, you willingly worked for the TVA and tortured and killed because you wanted to? Poor you, let us frame you as good and pat you on the back, you sweet thing.

Wow, I got mad in this one. Sorry. I have the Bucky feels right now 😜😂

[sicklyseraphnsuch]

Radahn and Godwyn

I double checked with the Japanese side of things. But out of all the named demigods and children of Marika/Radagon, the only two demigods that don't speak is "Godwyn" and "Radahn". And they have interestingly parallel storylines?

Godwyn also has friends that struggle to do right by him. His dragon friend, Fortissax, is desperately trying to fight the death blight to the very end. The same way Jerren was trying to give Radahn a valorant death.

Likewise, there's another party who claims to know better - that Godwyn actually wants to be turned into the Prince of Undeath or whatever, and Radahn actually wants to become Miquella's consort. They're being hailed as champions through another's lips.

On looking at the Japanese lines (and the JP fandom reaction), it doesn't appear that there was any less ambiguity regarding Radahn's role in all of this. They appear to be equally as baffled, and though the JP lines alter Miq's tone, I don't read that as clarifying in anyway. Radahn's reaction remains a mystery.

And Vaati capped this beautifully. So what if Radahn said yes or no? No answer could have stopped Miq from achieving his goal. In which case, Radahn's answer is unimportant in the grand scheme of the plot.

But it's important regarding character development. If Radahn said sincerely yes, then perhaps he truly did want a more gentle world and he was willing to help Miquella (for a price). If Radahn said sincerely no, then there was nothing that Miquella could've offered to sway him - and perhaps he would opt for a world eternally in battle than a world of pece.

Likewise, Miquella's manipulations deepen if Radahn said no but if Radahn said yes, then it's not like he embarked on this journey alone - he had counsel except his counsel involved a sister who would never tell him no and Radahn who apparently thought this was a great idea (the fool). But it has a lesser impact on Miq's character because Radahn's answer only sheds light on how hard Miq was going, not the why he was going and for whom because none of that has changed from the base game.

Radahn's answer is primarily for Radahn's character and the fact that FromSoft insists on his inscrutability is... curious. In the same way... What do we truly know of Godwyn? Supposedly this Golden Child.

Because we don't have any voice lines from either of these men. What they wanted - How they responded - It leaves a gap in our Knowing. That feels too neat to be an accident.

[spectrum-color]

does robin hobb actually doesn't like fitz and fool together? i'm halfway in the series and seem some people speak abt this

This is a tricky question to answer, because we really don’t know where she stands right now. Bear in mind that this answer will have whole series spoilers so I will put it below the cut.

On one hand, the end of Fools Fate featured the Fool leaving Fitz so he can have a hetero happily ever after with Molly, telling him that he’ll never be able to offer him what she can. When people objected to this because of the buildup of Fitz and the Fools relationship through TM and the resurrection scene in particular, Robin Hobb wrote a very angry blog post. In it, she said that Fitz and the Fool were just like childhood best friends, that portraying their relationship as romantic invalidates Fitz and Molly, and people who didn’t like the ending were just angry that they didn’t have sex. She also railed against fanfic and said some pretty offensive things about how for Fitz to be involved with a man, he would have to be gay and it would cheapen his history with women (apparently bisexuals don’t exist.) This got a lot of backlash needless to say and convinced a lot of older fans that she’s homophobic, which you still hear sometimes.

THAT SAID in Rain Wild Chronicles, she put a gay character at the center and gave him a (honestly terrible imo but it has its supporters) romance. This seemed like a possible apology to fans who were angry about the blog post. In the final trilogy, the Fool returns and it’s a mixed bag. On one hand, she portrays Fitz and Mollys life together as lonely, and Fitz misses the Fool fiercely and lacks any true friends without him. On the other hand, when the Fool does return, he’s been horrifically tortured into insanity, is (mistakenly tbf) stabbed by Fitz, rejected by his daughter, and is generally miserable for the entire trilogy. It felt mean spirited and there are people who have theorized it was motivated by spite towards people who didn’t like the separation. idk if I believe that because it came out at a time when grimdark was very popular in the genre, but it is out there.

As I mentioned earlier, Fitz and Molly’s youngest daughter, Bee, is also the Fools child through magic and his successor as White Prophet, which is pretty loaded. Fitz coming to accept that the Fool is her father too and that they should raise her together is actually a major plot point. Their relationship is also repeatedly shown as being Fitzs priority in this trilogy: he writes the Fool intensely emotional letters that he never sends during his years at Withywoods, he leaves Bee behind to save the Fool and then to care for him when he nearly dies, he passes as a couple with Amber while they’re in Kelsingra and Bingtown.

Most importantly, in the end, when he’s dying and carving his memory stone wolf to go into the Skill stream like Verity did, he chooses the Fool to go with him. Not only that, but Bee tells the Fool that she resented him because she thought that Fitz loved him more than he ever loved anyone else, including her. You could def debate if that’s the truth, but it was very charged, and it was on the last few pages, so it was the endgame. It is all very ambiguous and something she hasn’t spoken on outside of the text of the actual book since the TM era. Personally, I just go by what’s in the text, not anything extraneous Hobb said.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hello Steph!!! I was wondering if you or your wonderful followers have recs for me. I'm looking for fanfics with a deep study of Sherlock character. His past, his behaviour etc. Maybe without ships? But I'm ok with johnlock tho. Thanks ❤️

Hey Nonny!! *HUGS*

OOOF Most of my fic recs are Johnlock stories, so I do apologize for that... I DO have a list I put together for "Introspection" type fics, which are essentially character studies or either character so I can use your ask for that list, but I think you'll also find some stuff you'll like on these lists:

POV Sherlock 1st & 2nd Person

POV Sherlock 3rd Person Pt. 1: Fluff

POV Sherlock 3rd Person Pt 2: Hurt/Comfort & Whump

POV Sherlock 3rd Person Pt 3: Angst/Angsty Fluff or BAMF Fics

Fics in “Sherlock’s Voice”

If anyone has something more catering to Nonny's request, please do, but for now, let's see these Introspection fics!

INTROSPECTION / CHARACTER STUDIES

The Moment When by drekadair (K, 509 w., 1 Ch. || TGG Fic, Friendship, First Person POV Sherlock, Introspection, Worried Sherlock) – Sherlock sees John in the pool, and doubts. Set during the end of "The Great Game." (FFNet)

The Hollow Man by HHarris (G, 639 w., 1 Ch. || John’s Chair, Introspection, Sherlock’s Big Feelings™, Post TRF, Angst, Emotional Turmoil, POV Sherlock, Pining / Sad Sherlock) – Still reeling from the apparent loss of his one and only friend, Sherlock returns to 221B for the first time after the events of The Reichenbach Fall.

Five Seconds by xXLadyLovelaceXx (K+, 658 w., 1 Ch. || TGG Pool Scene, Friendship, Introspection) – In the half-second before Sherlock shoots the jacket, John notices something. (FFNet)

Back in the Saddle by grannysknitting (M, 1,577 w., 1 Ch. || Post TGG AU, Donovan POV, Observation / Introspection, Protective Sherlock, Injured John, Case-ish Fic) – Their first return to solving crime after the pool and the explosion. (FFNet)

Upon This Throne by ifonlynotnever (T, 1,773 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-TRF, Angst, Romance, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Introspection, Imagery, Pining Sherlock, Drug Use, Passage of Time) – Inside Sherlock's mind is a Palace. Inside the Palace are many rooms. Within the largest room is the Throne. Upon the Throne sits the King. (FFNet)

Love and Bombs by Spark Writer (T, 1,780 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3, Romance, Angst, Pining Sherlock, 1st Person POV Sherlock, Introspection, Ambiguous Ending) – Love and bombs aren't all that different, John. In the end, they're almost indistinguishable. (FFNet)

You Can Imagine The Christmas Dinners by johnsarmylady (T, 1,780 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Family, Introspection, Fluff, Post-ASIP) – Set the morning after a Study in Pink, John sits and contemplates Mycroft's words. (FFNet)

Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil by PipMer (T, 1,895 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate Universe || Deaf John, Mute Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Romance, Fluff and Angst, Character Study, Morse Code, Love Confessions) – John is deaf. Sherlock is mute. There are no two people more suited for each other.

Spectrum of Mourning at the Funeral of a Solitary Man by TheBookshelfDweller (T, 1,956 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Grief, Friendship, Sherlock First Person POV, Introspection) – Because each kind of love produces its own kind of grief, a long-ignored voice tells the story of five mourners of Sherlock Holmes, a man who in the end, was all but solitary. (FFNet)

The Lie-In by KendylGirl (M, 2,000 w., 1 Ch. || POV Sherlock 1st Person,  Bed Sharing, Fluff, True Love, Introspection) – Five months after his return, John and Sherlock spend a day in bed. Part 2 of When to Let Go

Study in John by chappysmom (K+, 2,158 w., 1 Ch. || Post-ASiP, POV John, Introspection, Friendship, Nightmares, Caring Sherlock, John’s Limp) – After the events of "A Study in Pink," John lies on the couch in Baker Street and thinks about the whirlwind events of the day. What is he getting himself into? (FFNet)

Coming Full Circle by KCS (K+, 2,358 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate TGG, Friendship, Drama, Violence/Death References, Drugging/Poisoning, Kidnapping, BAMF John, Moriarty POV, Introspection) – Moriarty had John for almost six hours between his abduction and the showdown at the pool - more than enough time to implement a Plan B for his escape should Sherlock call his bluff with the fake bomb vest. (FFNet)

It's All Fine by AkoyaMizuno (T, 2,459 w., 3 Ch. || Post-TGG, Introspection, Mild Angst, Friendship) – Sherlock never asked what happened in the hours between John being kidnapped and the events at the pool. It occurs to him, days after the fact, that he probably should have. (FFNet)

Overture by Kate_Lear (M, 4,435 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss / Time, Friends to Lovers, Angry John, Introspection, Developing Relationship, Embarrassed / Insecure Sherlock, Morning After, Bed Sharing, Cuddles / Limpet Sherlock) – A short snippet on how John and Sherlock might have got together.

Days Go By by Hummingbird1759(T, 4,454 w., 6 Ch. || Angst, Friendship, Post-TRF, Introspection) – The characters' lives go on after the Fall... sort of. (FFNet)

When Your Belly's in the Trench by Morgan_Stuart (T, 4,743 w., 1 Ch. || PTSD, Character Study, Rescue, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Torture, Trauma, Danger, Drama, Kidnapping/Captivity) – The next time that door opens, John Watson will kill the person on the other side.

Applied Linguistics by what_alchemy (M, 4,837 w., 1 Ch. || Possessive / Anxious Sherlock, Introspection, Bed Sharing, Past John Whump, Est. Rel., Marriage Proposal, Sherlock Loves John So Much, Word Play) – “He wants to shake John by the shoulders, wants to open his mouth and swallow John whole. Wants to marry him.” Sherlock searches for the right words.

Bound Into the Fire by Tara Laurel (T, 6,672 w., 5 Ch. || TEH, Suspense, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Bonfire Scene, John Whump, Mary is Nice) – "John sometimes compared Sherlock Holmes to the flaming beast in his mind...Not such a bad way to go, John mused. Being consumed by Sherlock. Dying in his fire. No. This was different. He was burning alive. Not figuratively. Not some flowery metaphor. Burning." There was no two minute stay of execution. "Amazing how fire exposes our priorities." (FFNet)

Victim, Bait, Hero, Friend by KimberlyTheOwl (T, 7,887 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG Epilogue, Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Past Kidnapping / Torture / Implied Rape, Panic Attacks, Worried / Possessive Sherlock, Lestrade is a Good Friend) – Some insights into why John was perfectly willing to throw everything away for a chance to kill Moriarty at the pool. Trauma, ugliness, and finally healing. Some nice supporting work by Lestrade as well. (FFNet)

A Friend Indeed by Sanru (K+, 8,190 w., 1 Ch. || Missing John, Friendship, Drama, Introspection, Possessive Sherlock, Worried Sherlock) – Something has gone terribly wrong with a supposedly simple case. John Watson is missing. While the search for him is proving to be fruitless, it has made Sherlock realize that having an emotional attachment to someone may have its disadvantages but he liked being able to call John his friend. Now if only he could find out what happened to him... (FFNet)

The Skin Over My Heart by standbygo (E, 8,849 w., 1 Ch. || Post-Hiatus, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, Dog Tags, Military, Homophobia, Gay Bashing, POV First Person Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Undercover, Haircuts, Flashbacks, Touching, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Metaphors, Introspection, Hand Jobs, On the Couch, John’s Past, Angst with Happy Ending) – Sherlock and John are still trying to adjust to Sherlock's return from his hiatus when John's friend Bill Murray brings them a case. Someone is targeting the LGBTQA+ members of Bill's unit. John and Sherlock go undercover at the unit, but when they end up having to flirt to flush out the suspect, Sherlock realizes he's in over his head.

Illogical, even. by magikspell (E, 9,119 w., 1 Ch. || Grey-Ace Sherlock, Character Study, Growing Up, Victor Trevor, Romance, First Time/Kiss, Sherlock-centric) – Five reasons Sherlock never believed in love and one reason he does now.

A Is For Aftermath by ElvendorkInfinity (T, 10,567 w., 1 Ch. || Injury / Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Pre-Slash/Bromance/Platonics, Hallucinations, Introspection, Insecure / Worried John, Big Brother Mycroft, Alternating POV, Anxious Sherlock, Self-Deprecating, Mildly Possessive Sherlock, 3G Moment) – John is still hallucinating, Sherlock cannot sleep, and Lestrade has a new case for them. But will life at 221B ever be able to return to normal? Epilogue to M is for Moriarty. (FFNet)

Always the sun by Rose de Sharon (K+, 12,377 w., 3 Ch. || Song Fic, Alternate Post-TGG, Friendship/Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection / Reflection, Injury Recovery, Obsessive / Protective Sherlock, Nightmares, John’s Past, Bed Sharing / Cuddles) – Sherlock ponders about how much his life has changed since John has become his flatmate. (FFNet)

To be loved by Strange_johnlock (E, 12,436 w., 8 Ch. || Post S3, Established Relationship, First Person POV Sherlock, Pet Names, Soft Sherlock, Mild ADHD, Protective John, Captain Watson, Body Appreciation, Bottomlock, Rough Sex, Travelling for Holidays, Introspection, Sherlock Loves John So Much It Hurts) – John is so deeply integrated into the work, both as my conductor of light, and as a great shot with a vicious right hook who tackles men -and women- no matter their size all in my defense. He protects me with all he can without question, and this loyalty is surely more than I deserve. Or: Sherlock is counting his blessings.

holding steady by darcylindbergh (E, 12,724 w., 4 Ch. || Post S4, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Growing Old, Gone Fishing, Mood without Plot, Soft Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, POV John Third Person, Anxious Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Touching, Feeling Old, Sherlock Worship, Crying Sherlock, Cuddles, Comforting, Introspection, Retirement, Hand Holding, Forehead Kisses, Caring John, Bed Sharing, Emotional Love Making) – Sitting on a thick wool blanket at the end of a rickety dock side-by-side, legs dangling over the edge, a styrofoam container of wet, dark dirt between them, they’re fishing. John knows what this is about. This is about finally figuring it out.

The Velveteen Doctor by Lantean_Drift (M, 12,815 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Dev. Rel., Introspection, Mild Whump, Taking Care of Each Other) – A series of events that show John just how real he has become to Sherlock – like a bright, brilliant flash of colour in an otherwise greyscale world.

Pattern Behaviour by SilentAuror (E, 14,835 w., 1 Ch. || POV First Person Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Introspection, Stroppy Sherlock, Light Humour, Friendship, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Wall Kisses, Fluffy Angst, Happy Ending) – Sherlock doesn't even know why he resents John's dates so much. Until the day he does know. Slight angst, unrequited feelings (but don't let that scare you off!)

Hope for Heroes by Richefic (K+, 16,887 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TGG Fic, Introspection / Flashbacks, Friendship/Epic Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Worried/Anxious Sherlock, Sherlock Admires John, BAMF John, John Deduces, Fancy Party, John’s Self Esteem, Domestics) – In the final moments of "The Great Game" Holmes hopes he will have the chance to tell his flatmate that he was wrong. Heroes do exist after all and the one in front of him is called Dr John Watson. (FFNet)

And A Doctor by stillwaters01(T, 24,962 w., 6 Ch. || Five and One, BAMF John, Hurt/Comfort, Doctor John, Friendship, Character Study) – It was only when people actually saw John working as a physician that they began to understand: that it wasn’t just about bullets and IEDs and trauma care under fire. That “doctor” actually covered a pretty wide field. And that John was bloody good at covering ground. 5 times Dr. Watson treated others and 1 time he treated himself.

A Quiet Life by DiscordantWords (M, 25,176 w., 6 Ch. || Post S4, Retirement, POV Sherlock, Awkwardness, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Minor Character Death, Questionable Parenting Choices, Non-Linear Narrative, 20 Year Old Rosie, Meddling Mycroft, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Angst, Sherlock Whump) – There had been three days of silence and a funeral. Sherlock had the terrible feeling that whatever happened next would depend, entirely, on him.

How To Unfold a Heart by elwinglyre (E, 25,477 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It, BAMF John, Mentioned Eurus, POV First Person Sherlock, Case Fic, Fluff, Slow Burn, Topping from the Bottom, 3 Yr Old Rosie, Introspection, Sexual Fantasies, John Worship, Ogling, Hand Holding, Kidnapping, Domesticity, Sherlock Whump, First Kiss/Time, Doctor John, Caring John, Soft Sherlock, Sensuality, Touching, Crying, Love Confessions, Anxious Sherlock, Rimming, Toplock, Fingering, Bossy Bottom John) – To Sherlock’s dismay, John’s return to Baker Street with Rosie is only temporary. Sherlock’s daily visits to Regent Park with John and Rosie illuminate his lost childhood memories and missed opportunities. But with each trip to the park, Sherlock also feels a growing sense of hope. That is until the past horrors return unexpectedly in a cryptic note folded in the shape of a heart. To decipher the message, Sherlock must uncover the nature of the hearts around him, including his own.

To Mend Icarus by AlessNox (T, 28,347 w., 14 Ch. || Post-TRF / Pre-S3 Divergence, BAMF John, Anger, Fighting, Sex, Bed Sharing, Stalking, Case Fic, John’s Past, Introspection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Crime, Mythology, Darkness) – After a case lands John Watson in court, he tells Sherlock that he is leaving. Not understanding why, Sherlock decides that the only way to learn the truth is to investigate his flatmate, Dr. John Watson. Sherlock finds that coming back is not enough to fix all of the damage that he caused by leaving. A post Reichenbach, post reunion re-discovery fic.

Another Auld Lang Syne by DiscordantWords (M, 30,234 w., 31 Ch. || Post S4, Mutual Pining, Alternating POV, Introspection, Parentlock, Christmas, New Year’s, First Kiss, Past Drug Use, Angst with Happy Ending, Drinking, Sherlock Whump) – There had been years of missed chances.

Lucifer's Gardens by ampersand_ch (E, 32,679 w., 12 Ch. || GERMAN VERSION|| Romance, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Murder, Poison / Drugging, Mystery, John Undercover, Academic Club, Therapy, Rituals, Jungian Archetypes, Doctors & Physicians, Grief/Mourning, Esotericism, Hospitals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, John Falls In Love With Another Man, Jealous Sherlock, Crying, Doctor John, Hand Holding, First Kiss/Time, Mysticism, Hugging, Touching) – John goes undercover for an investigation as a favour to Lestrade in a village in Suffolk. The events surrounding the case awaken deep-seated fears in Sherlock. While John begins to come to a realisation of what he needs in Lucifer's Gardens, Sherlock tries to find a way to reach John – in more ways than one.

There's Someone On Your Shoulder by halloa_what_is_this (NR, 41,215 w., 6 Ch. || Pining Sherlock, Introspection, Daydreams, Sherlock Loves John So Much it Hurts) – Sherlock trips and falls head over heels in love, makes a lot of lists and stares, stares, stares.

Triage by scullyseviltwin (E, 51,612 w., 14 Ch. || Character Injury, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Falling in Love, Slow Burn, Sherlock POV, Toplock) – Sherlock’s mind goes exceedingly, devastatingly quiet and gray-blank. When he speaks it’s through a thick haze, it’s through molasses, he’s so disconnected from the words that it may as well be the unconscious shooter speaking.

Spare Parts by Raina_at (E, 63,497 w., 10 Ch. || 24th Century / Futurism AU || Post TRF, Pre-TRF Relationship, Case Fic, Mutual Pining, Estrangement, Reconciliation, Science Fiction, Reunion, Nightmares, Angry John, Cybernetic John, Emotional Discussions / Heart to Heart, POV John, Scars, Past Drug Use, Forehead Touching, Emotional Lovemaking, Kissing, Apologies, Kidnapping, Rescue Mission, BAMF John, Bed Sharing, Top Sherlock) – Two years ago, Sherlock Holmes jumped off the roof of New London Hospital. Two months ago, he walked into John's clinic as if no time had passed at all. John hasn't seen him since. But then Sherlock knocks on John's door with a case he can't say no to, and while figuring out why the biggest manufacturer or synthetic limbs in the System is going after veterans, they also need to find out whether there's a way to fix what's broken between them. Part 1 of Realigning Gravity

Drawn to Stars by Silvergirl (E, 109,272 w., 60 Ch. || S4 Compliant to TLD / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock’s Italian Adventure, Sherlock/OC and Johnlock, Jealous John, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, First Kiss/Time, Idiots in Love, 3 Part Story, Slow Burn, Inexperienced Sherlock, Bottom Sherlock, Introspection, Multiple Alternating First and Third Person POV, Separation and Reconciliation, Emotional Love Making, Love Confessions via Letters, Angst with Happy Ending) – After the Culverton Smith case Sherlock is clean, working, and looking for a romantic partner—since John has told him that’s what he needs. Shame John didn’t mention he was interested in that role himself, before Sherlock went off to Rome with a gorgeous Italian copper to try to fall in love and become a complete human being.  Part 1 of the Drawn to Stars series

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns. 

[tobiasdrake]

Honestly, post-all the final reveals, episode 1 is fucking fascinating.

We're never given a clear answer to that question. What is Rio doing here? Near the end of the series, her motivation becomes that she wants Billy. But she can't be here for Billy initially, because she approaches "Agnes" before he ever enters the picture.

Why are you here, Rio?

It... It can't be that simple, can it?

Is Death... trying to take advantage of the situation to reconnect with Agatha?

I mean, the obvious answer is that she's here to break Agatha free. But why? And why now?

On the Witch's Road, she arrives by crawling out of Sharon's grave. In Agnes's illusion, she's "in the neighborhood" so to speak as well. She's summoned by Wanda's corpse.

On a separate note, the car crash is interesting.

Involved in the murder mystery is a mysterious car crash with two passengers in the front seats and a bloodstain in the back. Agnes can see that there are dots to connect between the crash and Wanda's death but doesn't feel that the two events are directly connected to one another.

Because they aren't. Because that's Billy's car crash.

...you know, it was one thing when Wanda's body popped up in Agnes's illusion. But if there was any ambiguity left regarding Wanda's fate, I think Death herself saying she's toast probably seals it.

Rio indicates that Agatha only started "hiding behind the Darkhold" or in other words using its power to stave off Death after they broke up.

There's one theory that Agatha, during her coven's execution of her in WandaVision, was using the Darkhold. That when her coven accused her of "stealing knowledge beyond her age and station", they were talking about the Darkhold.

Another theory, posed in this show, is that Agatha traded Nicky's life for the Darkhold. This is proven untrue... but not necessarily untrue. A possibility still exists that Agatha made a Rumpelstiltskin sort of agreement to sell Nicky before she ever knew, only to become desperate to backtrack on the deal after he was conceived and she felt a mother's love for him.

But here, Rio refers to the Darkhold as Agatha's means of, ahem, ghosting her post-their falling out. So she likely only came into possession of it well after her Witch's Road con murders began.

There is so much "Ohhhhh, that's what they were talking about," in this conversation-fight.

An interesting note that Death is forbidden from killing people directly. But torture is apparently okay. She works on Aladdin Genie rules.

That makes the climactic boss fight in episode 8 a little confusing. But then... she doesn't kill anyone during that fight. In fact, Agatha and Rio straight-up spoil the ending in this conversation.

Agatha can't feed on Death's magic because then she would fucking die, because it's Death's magic.

Again, this exchange gains whole new layers when you realize that they aren't just ex-lovers exchanging barbs, but that Rio is the metaphysical embodiment of a concept. Whether or not she has a functioning heart is genuinely a question worth interrogating.

While also being a barb exchanged between ex-lovers.

...I wonder if Rio being Hispanic was a purposeful decision as a reference to La Muerte?

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Special

Pairing: Dave York x virgin f!Reader

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only) 

Word count: 7k

Warnings: large age gap, virgin!reader, first time sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, PIV sex (with a condom), possessive!Dave, ambiguous/dark ending

Summary: You’re part of the newest class of interns at the DIA. Told to either sink or swim, can you stay afloat long enough to get everyone’s coffee order right, deliver reports to the correct offices, and juggle the attentions of the gorgeous man in office 712, the only person at the DIA so far who’s given you the time of day?

A/N: I wanted to write first time sex with Dave York and this ended up going in a direction I did not expect! Dave is soft, but gets a little unhinged at the end, and the ending is ambiguously dark. I don’t use beta readers; instead I just send my friends increasingly unhinged screenshots with no warning or context to see how they react. Thank you to @leslie-lyman, @pedropascalx, @honestly-shite, and @radiowallet for dealing with my shenanigans, I love you all.

Masterlist

“First of all, let’s get one thing straight right now. You are not special. You think you were hot shit at Harvard? You’re worms here. The way the DIA vets their interns is simple: we throw you into the middle of the ocean. Some of you are gonna drown, that’s the point. The rest of you are gonna survive by crawling your way to the top of the pile and fighting to stay afloat.”

You try to keep your face neutral as the woman–who doesn’t look to be much older than you, but who clearly has a chip on her shoulder after surviving her own cutthroat internship at the DIA–introduces the new group of interns to their first day on the job. 

“You have questions about what to do, where to go? Fuck you! Figure it out. You–” she points at a young man beside you. “What’s your focus?”

“C-Counterintelligence,” he stammers. 

“Second floor, talk to Mike.”

“Who’s–”

“What did I just say?”

The man’s mouth snaps shut and he rushes away in the direction of the elevators. The woman sends several more interns scrambling in scattered directions, looking for their new offices for the next year. Finally, her finger lands on you.”

“You.”

You’re ready. “Cybersecurity,” you announce, keeping the waver out of your voice. 

“Oh.” She looks you up and down with a wrinkled nose. “That means you’re with me. Basement.”

You follow your guide down the stairs to a room at the end of the hallway. You look excitedly around the cramped room, where your fellow interns take up almost every available surface, typing furiously on laptops stacked on books or piles of paper. Everyone in the room is lucky to be here: all the tops of your classes in Ivy League schools, all considered prodigies in your fields, all with overblown expectations of yourselves before your careers even start. 

“Where’s my laptop?” you ask, eager to get started.

Your guide gives you a withering stare. “You can’t just arrive here on your first day and be top dog,” she says. “Everyone you see here has spent months earning their place doing the important work.”

“What am I going to be doing?” you ask warily.

“Coffee.”

“Coffee!?”

“Coffee. And–” she checks her watch, “–you’re late. Go up to conference room E403b and for God’s sake, take a notebook. You’re going to want to write it down.”

It takes you ages to find the conference room. You try first to look for it on your own, wandering the labyrinthian maze of offices and cubicles, trying to make sense of the naming convention on the doors. Finally, you have to ask a floor secretary, who looks at you like everyone seems to look at the interns at the DIA–with aggressive indifference.

The meeting is apparently in full swing when you enter, and you fight down the urge to grimace as conversations cut off in mid-sentence as every head in the room swivels to look at you. You hold up your little notebook and shake it slightly. 

“Coffee orders?”

Everyone speaks at once, of course, and you scribble furiously, trying to get it all down. Carmel latte, cappuccino, macchiato, americano–fuck, wait–which one of those was nonfat? It’s all the more difficult because you don’t know a single person’s name; you try to write down simple descriptions instead. Blondie. Guy with paisley tie. Hawkish nose. Thick glasses lady. Eventually, you look down at your writing. It’s chaos, of course.

“Thanks!” you squeak. “Be right back with your–uh, with the coffees!”

You run across the street to the nearest coffee shop, feeling more like a magazine editor’s PA than an Intelligence intern. All that’s missing is vague instructions to get various fashion designers on the phone. You juggle fourteen coffees on your way back, a delicate balancing act of cardboard trays and sloshing, hot liquid. 

By some miracle, you manage not to spill any on yourself when you reach the fourth floor again.

“Hi! Me again. Um–okay. So, americano… cold brew… iced latte…” you begin handing out the coffees, glancing down at your muddled cheat sheet in vain, trying to remember who had what.

"What's this?" the man with the hawkish nose asks, frowning down at the cup you’d placed in front of him. 

You look down at your hastily scribbled notes. 

"Uh, a… pumpkin spice latte?" 

The man's eyes narrow.

"That's mine," a woman to his left pipes up. “I’ve got your black coffee right here, Dave.”

The table is a flurry of movement as several other people switch drinks, correcting your apparently many mistakes. You want to sink into the floor–this isn’t what you’d signed up for in the slightest, and now this entire conference room thinks you’re a moron. 

“Thank you,” the man–Dave–says. “That will be all.”

You nod at the obvious dismissal, and retreat from the room. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

Thankfully, the rest of the day is spent organizing a massive filing cabinet by alphabetical order, and you don’t have to interact with anyone else for the rest of the day after such a major fuckup. You’re just finishing up the V’s when you hear the same woman from before call out your name, and you cringe inwardly. God, what now?

“More coffee?” you ask with a wry twist of your lip.

“Hilarious. Will you take these up to Mr. York? He’s on the seventh floor, wing C, office 712.” 

A stack of reports is thrust in your face, and you have to scramble not to let any of them go cascading to the floor around your feet.

You mutter the directions under your breath as you take the elevator up. York. Seventh Floor. C wing. 712. York. Seven. C. 712. 

You tap timidly on the office door. The occupant looks up, and you have to suppress the urge to turn around and run away. It’s the black coffee guy. The man who’d dismissed you after you handed nearly everyone the wrong cup. 

Dave York.

Dave appears to be on a conference call, but he holds out his hand, beckoning you in. Before he drops his arm again, he makes a ‘just one moment’ gesture as he finishes up the call, so you wait, awkwardly rocking back and forth on your heels as you stand just inside the doorway, listening to the conversation. 

“We were fortunate that a potentially serious nuclear incident did not happen,” someone on the computer says. “Next time, we may not be so lucky.”

“All we can do is monitor the situation,” Dave responds. “I want a report that we can submit to the hill by Wednesday at the latest.”

When the call ends, Dave closes his laptop and looks up at you expectantly. “What do you think?”

You blanch.  “Think? I–”

“The call. Zaporizhzhia. What do you think?” Dave folds his arms and looks up at you with a neutral, open expression. He’s the first person who’s really looked at you all day. The one thing you’ve learned is that interns do have one superpower: invisibility. Most people have looked right through you, as important and significant as an office potted plant. 

To add to your nervousness, the man is gorgeous, and you find yourself staring at his pursed lips and dark eyes for longer than strictly necessary.

“I don’t… I’m just delivering stuff,” you mumble. “I brought these, uh, reports I was supposed to–”

“Our intern program only takes the highest talent from the most prestigious schools,” Dave interrupts. “I don’t believe for a second that you came here to just fuck up some coffee orders and deliver reports.”

Your gaze drops down to the floor, embarrassed.

“What school did you go to?” 

“Brown,” you answer automatically. 

"What was your major?"

"Cybersecurity."

“Honors?”

“Highest.”

You peek up at Dave through your eyelashes. He’s smiling now, as if he finds you amusing. 

“And I’m guessing you didn’t fund your education by working at Starbucks,” he says sardonically. 

“I had a fellowship,” you mumble. 

Your answer makes Dave laugh out loud, but you don’t find the humor in the situation. You can't figure out if he's making fun of you or giving you a very back-handed pep talk. 

"So, Miss Brown," Dave says. "What do you think?"

“The–the reactors at the plant are shut down,” you start slowly, “but there’s a risk that the nuclear fuel could overheat if power supplies to the plant’s cooling systems are cut off. They’ve already been forced to operate on backup generators a number of times. The–uh–the shelling should be tantamount to the use of a weapon of mass destruction.”

Dave listens, nodding intermittently. When you’re finished speaking, he holds out his hands for the stack of reports. When you hand them to him, he drops them on the side of his desk.

“Thank you.”

Another dismissal.

You nod and make your way over to the door.

“Brown?” Dave calls out, making you turn.

“Sir?”

“You’re going to be treated like a doormat for the next twelve months, but you are not one. The most important thing you can do right now is to have some fucking teeth. Got it?”

The words may be harsh, but Dave’s eyes are warm, one corner of his mouth turned slightly upward.

You nod rapidly. “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

The smile grows. “Chin up, kid.”

Kid.

You nod, and with a little sigh, you head back down to the crowded cave that serves as a home base and office space for all of the interns in the building. 

– – – – – – –

The next week there are more reports to deliver to office 712. And the next week. And the next. You wonder just how many deliveries the man gets, or if it just happens to be you every time. After the first day, Dave continues to make small talk with you–sometimes asking about work, sometimes discussing current events, or just remarking on the weather.

Dave York is off-limits, but you can’t help the way your heart starts to pound when he looks at you, or worse, when he talks to you. Sometimes you feel like he must be able to hear that telltale waver in your voice that indicates how incredibly flustered he makes you. You feel off-balance whenever he’s around; your words are more breathless, delivered at a higher pitch, and you can’t stop yourself from looking at him with wide eyes and parted lips whenever he says anything. He fascinates you. He’s just aloof enough to be mysterious, but personable enough to give the illusion of approachability. 

Dave asks you things. Your opinions on foreign affairs. Your approach to cybersecurity. Your desired career path in Intelligence. Your… your weekend plans? Captivated by the older man’s attentions, you tell him everything. Sometimes you want to slap yourself for not being able to shut the fuck up whenever you step foot in his office, but Dave listens so intently–or, at least, gives the impression of listening intently–that it’s hard to stop. You tell him your career aspirations, your future dreams, your opinion on blockchain, the fact that you had a disastrous blind date last weekend, everything. 

“Disastrous how?” Dave chuckles. 

You laugh. “Where do I begin? First, he shows up twenty minutes late, then he won’t stop talking about his ex and his investment portfolio…”

Dave makes an exaggerated gasp, making you giggle harder. “He–that’s not all–he insisted on ordering for the both of us, which would have been fine, except he ordered filet mignon for himself and a house salad for me.”

“Where the hell do you find people like this?” Dave asks with a grimace.

You shrug. “Tinder.”

Dave shudders. “Doesn’t sound worth it.”

“There’s really no other way to meet people my age,” you mumble. 

Dave’s head snaps up. “People your age?” he parrots.

“Yeah, I dunno. I mean, I wish I could skip to the part where everyone knows what they’re doing, but that’s just not how it works, right?” God, how you wish you could find someone who could show you everything you’ve been missing, everything you’ve wanted but was never really sure how to ask for–at least, not with the right person. There have been plenty of wrong people, and it never seemed like the right time with any of them. Of course, now, at twenty-three, you’re considered a late bloomer–and that narrows the field of potential first partners even further. No one seems to want to deal with someone as inexperienced as you. 

You shudder to think what that dipshit from last weekend would have said if you would have confessed just how inexperienced you really are…

“If you want someone who knows what they’re doing, it sounds like you’re looking in the wrong place,” Dave murmurs, and is it just your imagination, or has his voice gotten deeper, more husky?

You swallow. “Probably, Sir,” you mutter noncommittally. “I, uh–I have to go. I’m supposed to be taking meeting notes down on three.”

“Stay safe out there,” Dave says quietly. 

You can’t help but turn back as you reach the exit, giving Dave a small, shy smile as you leave. His dark eyes are piercing into yours, and you feel the burn of his gaze long after you’ve left the room. 

– – – – – – – – – 

You start staying in Dave’s office longer and longer after you deliver your reports. You always sit in one of the chairs opposite his desk–the left one, usually–and talk with wide-eyed enthusiasm for a half-hour or more, sometimes. You start talking about everything. Your family. His. You learn that he’s divorced and has two girls. You learn that he plays the piano, and that he almost always reads non-fiction, rather than novels. 

“Any more dates from hell?” Dave asks one afternoon with a wry grin.

You laugh. “The last guy put me off of Tinder for a while.”

“Good.” 

Your eyes snap up to meet Dave’s questioningly. 

“You can do better, you know that, right?” 

You shrug sheepishly. “Not like I haven’t been trying,” you grumble. “They all seem sweet online, and then they turn out to be jackasses.”

“Maybe it’s the online thing that’s the problem,” Dave suggests.

“Old man,” you tease. “That’s how people meet nowadays.”

“Is it,” Dave murmurs. 

“Mmhmm. Well–I’m gonna go, I’m supposed to be handing in some statistical analysis of supply chain cybersecurity risks by the end of the day,”  you say, popping out of your chair and heading for the exit. 

Your hand is on the doorknob when Dave speaks again. 

“I would treat you as you deserve,” he rasps under his breath. 

You freeze on the spot. Did he really just…? Slowly, you turn your head to look back at the desk. Dave’s gaze is downright predatory, with hooded eyes and a little half smile that seems as if it’s challenging you to act.

“S-Sir?”

“Think about it.”

– – – –

You do. 

You do little else but think of Dave’s words for days. I would treat you as you deserve. Think about it. You speculate wildly about what it would look like–whatever Dave thinks you deserve. You have little to go on–so little experience, that you can only call up steamy romances and movie scenes for examples. What would Dave York be like as a lover? Would he be rough? Gentle? Intense? The prospect of this man being your first… well, it’s daunting. Intimidating. 

But if the idea scares you so much, why have you been soaking through every pair of underwear since Dave said those words to you? 

Why does your heart skip a beat every time you deliver coffee to his meetings, his dark eyes burning into you as you pass paper cups around the conference table? 

Why do you touch yourself to the thought of him, late at night, your fingers a poor substitute for Dave's deft hands?

Dave, for all of his intense staring, doesn't bring the subject up again. You would think his silence on the matter is a mark of chivalry–you didn’t accept his advances, and now he’s backing down–but for the way the man looks at you like a treat to be devoured. It isn’t the look of someone who’s been turned down.

It’s the look of someone who’s waiting. 

You know–and Dave seems to know, too–that it’s a matter of time before you approach him again. He’s achingly polite every time you deliver anything to his office, asking about your day and listening intently to the answer, although the subject of your failed Tinder dates doesn’t come up again. If it had, there wouldn’t have been anything new to report–you’ve stopped responding to any messages, unable to entertain the idea of anyone else when the person you want the most is right in front of you.

Dave has ruined you for any other man, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

– – – – – 

In the end, it takes two weeks. It would have only taken one, but you spend the second week gathering up the courage to say something to the man. Your mind is made up, but you drag your feet until Friday, when the tension inside your body is so great that you can finally stand it no longer.

You knock on Dave’s door that afternoon with empty hands. No reports. No coffee.

Dave, when he looks up to see you standing awkwardly in his doorway, seems to know exactly the reason you’re there. His eyes dance with equal parts amusement and desire when he says, “Shut the door.”

You do as he asks and take a few steps forward, not moving all the way inside and sitting down in one of the chairs opposite Dave’s desk as you usually do.

“Don’t lurk in the doorway, pretty girl. Come sit down.”

You give Dave a shaky smile and sink down into ‘your’ chair, nervously smoothing your skirt with your hands as you do. “You–you know why I’m here,” you say timidly.

“I do.” Dave nods, leaning back in his chair. “I need you to say it out loud, though.”

“I–I want–” you trail off. What is it that you want? You can’t think properly, the only thing you want is him, you want this man and all of his dark, intimidating energy and you want his attention and most of all, you want to know what he meant when he said he’d treat you as you deserve.

“What do you want,” Dave prompts when you don’t finish the sentence.

“You,” you whisper. “I just–you. That’s what I want.” 

Dave’s smile is wolfish. “I’m going to need you to be more specific.”

“I want you to show me exactly what you meant,” you say, tilting your chin up and growing bolder. “You told me to think about it, and I have.”

“You’ve thought about it?” Dave repeats, his smile widening.

“I’ve done nothing but think about it,” you admit quietly. 

“Did you touch yourself?”

“Did I–Dave!” you protest, aghast.

“Did you?”

Your heartbeat pulses in your ears, and you’re barely able to hear your own answer over the rush of blood to your face. 

“Yes.”

“Good,” Dave murmurs. “Good. I want you to come over tonight,” he says. “Give me your number. I’ll text you the address.”

You dictate it to him with your heart in your throat while Dave taps the numbers into his phone. A few moments later, your own device buzzes with a text. 

“There,” Dave says. “Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.”

– – – – – 

Your head is buzzing with anticipation for the rest of the day, and the feeling grows when you arrive back at your little studio apartment to get ready for tonight. You shower again, taking extra care to shave, and you pull on the sexiest lingerie that you own–a black lace thong and matching bra. You spend too much time dithering over what to wear–should you be casual? Sexy? Flirty? The address Dave had given you is in a neighborhood; it’s clearly his home. Should you still dress as if it’s a date? After some deliberation, you choose your favorite ‘date’ outfit–a maroon dress with off-the-shoulder sleeves and an enticingly short skirt. 

You can’t help but notice the difference in the way the two of you live, when your Uber pulls into Dave’s neighborhood. You live in the cheapest housing you could find–a drab, postage stamp of an apartment with peeling wallpaper and faulty electricity. Dave lives in a pretty white house with a generous yard and a garage. You try not to think about the fact that the man must be fifteen years older than you, or more. What does he want with you?

When you knock on his door and Dave’s eyes widen and darken at your outfit, you know you’ve made the right decision to dress up a little. He ushers you in with a warm hand at the small of your back–the first time he’s ever touched you, and your breath catches at the simple intimacy of the gesture. 

When you enter the house, you’re hit with the pleasant aroma of food, and you shoot Dave a questioning glance.

“Did you… make dinner?”

Dave chuckles. “Did you think I invited you here just to fuck you?”

“...Yes?”

Dave tsks. “I believe I said I’d treat you as you deserve,” he says simply, leading you into the kitchen. He hands you one of two already-poured glasses of white wine, letting his fingers brush yours as you accept it. 

Dinner is chicken alfredo, which is incredible, but your stomach is already full of butterflies, and you don’t eat as much as you usually would. The two of you chat easily, as you always do, although things on your end are a little quiet. It’s not that you’re nervous, it’s that–okay, yes, you are nervous. Not because you don’t want to lose your virginity tonight to Dave York, but because you just don’t know what to expect. Will it hurt? Will he hold you after? Will you cum? Will he care if you do? Would he want to touch you first, would he, would he, would he—? With so many questions swirling around in your head, is it any surprise you can’t get a word in edgewise?

Eventually, Dave clears the plates and stacks them gently in the sink. Not sure whether to follow him or not, you take the awkward middle ground, rising from your seat and taking a few steps forward, standing in the middle of the kitchen feeling silly. 

You needn’t have felt awkward in the slightest; Dave walks toward you with dark, hooded eyes and a predatory smirk. When he reaches you, he runs one finger tip across your bare shoulder. “You dressed up for me,” he remarks. 

Breathlessly, you nod. 

“Sweet thing,” Dave murmurs. His hand moves up to gently cup your cheek as he steps in closer until you can feel his body heat. Your eyes flutter shut reflexively as his lips draw near, his breath ghosting across your face as he descends.

It isn’t your first kiss, by any means, but it’s the first that makes you forget how to breathe. Dave's lips are gentle, but insistent, his mouth moving sensually against yours until your lips part of their own accord and Dave's tongue flicks out to taste you. 

Dave is apparently spurred on by the full-body shudder it causes, and his arms are suddenly around you, crushing you to him, as he delves into your mouth and takes what he wants. You give it all willingly, although your heart is hammering at the prospect of more to come.

Your hands clutch at Dave's shirt uselessly as he deepens the kiss. You're vaguely aware of the little whimpers you're making into his mouth, the gasps and sighs as he subtly changes the tilt of his head or teases your tongue with a playful lick of his own. 

Finally, when you're about to drown in your arousal, Dave breaks away and takes your hands in his, pulling you out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his bedroom. 

Dave kisses you again beside the massive bed, and this time, his hand slides up your bare thigh underneath your dress, causing you to shiver again. 

Dave chuckles. "Poor thing, you feel like you're about to fall over," he teases. He guides you down onto the bed, and your heartbeat reaches a crescendo.

Dave is on top of you, a low growl in his throat as he presses his length against your thigh. His hand slips underneath the material of your thong and he groans at the wetness he finds there, but the feeling of his hand on your labia is foreign and unfamiliar and suddenly your body stiffens, your eyes going wide with trepidation.

Dave pauses, his hand still inside your underwear. His eyebrows draw together, his lips pursing with confusion as he pulls back to look at you. 

“Why do you look so scared?” he asks, concerned.

Your mouth opens, but you can’t find the right words. You search Dave’s face, trying to think of something to say, but all you can think about is his finger resting on your parted folds, the first time anyone has ever touched you there, and you feel like you’re about to spontaneously combust.

“Tell me,” Dave insists.

“I… fuck, I’ve never done this before,” you mumble. 

Dave looks as if a bucket of ice water has been poured over his head. “Done what?”

“Any of it. I–I’ve never–”

Dave’s hand slips out of your underwear, his eyebrows knitting together as he takes in what you’re saying. “Nothing?” 

You press your lips together and shake your head. Oh God, this is it–the moment Dave realizes this isn’t what he thought it was, and you’re a girl playing pretend.

“Oh, honey,” Dave breathes. “Why didn’t you say anything before now?”

“I didn’t want to ruin it,” you say quietly. “I know I’m too old to be–you know–and I just wanted to get it over with, and–”

“Shh,” Dave commands. “It wouldn’t have ruined anything. I just would have done some things differently.”

“Like what?” you ask timidly. 

“Moved slower, for one,” Dave answers. “Savored you.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly. 

“And I will,” Dave promises darkly. “Savor you. Enjoy you thoroughly. I need you to tell me one thing, though.”

“Anything,” you agree.

“Do you really want this? Think about it. There’s no going back.”

You nod rapidly up and down. “I want it.”

Dave surges forward and captures your lips in a passionate kiss. “It will always be me,” he growls against your mouth. “I will ruin you for anyone else.”

You barely have the presence of mind to utter one final word.

“Please.”

Just as he’d said, Dave moves slower now. He divests you of your dress and bra, letting his fingers dance across your cleavage, circling closer and closer to your nipples until you’re squirming slightly on the bed, your breath coming out in little pants. When the tip of his finger just lightly touches one, you arch off the bed as if an electric shock had just coursed through you. You’ve never been this keyed up in your life.

Dave chuckles at your response, and you duck your head in embarrassment at first, but he grips your chin and tilts your head back up to meet his dark gaze.

"Don't do that," he chastises. "I want to see every little thing that I do to you."

His mouth engulfs one nipple and you sob out loud into the room. Oh God, it's hot and wet and you can somehow feel the way his tongue is licking at you all the way down into your pussy. 

"That's it," Dave encourages. "Fuck, you’re so responsive.”

You feel like your brain is melting. Dave is a real and heavy and delicious weight on top of you, his hands pulling pleasure from you that you’ve never felt in your life, and he’s barely even touched you yet. He lavishes attention on your nipples until you’re shaking, licking and sucking to find out what you like–and he discovers quickly that you like it when he flicks his tongue back and forth against the little bud by the way it makes your head tip back as you gasp loudly. 

“Take it,” Dave whispers. “That’s a good girl.” 

Eventually, he kisses a path down the sensitive, soft skin of your belly, making you squirm and giggle slightly. Dave chuckles darkly.

“Ticklish?”

You nod breathlessly. Dave nips softly at the little swell of your belly before moving down to the lacy fabric of your underwear and running his nose up and down the material. 

“Oh,” you exclaim. “Y-You don’t have to do that, that’s–”

“I really fucking want to,” Dave says. “I want to taste this sweet pussy and I want to feel it shake around my tongue when it cums for me.” He inhales deeply with half-lidded eyes, making a low noise in his throat at the smell of you. When he finally hooks his fingers underneath your waistband and starts to pull your panties down your legs, you think you might combust. 

"Has anyone ever done this before?" Dave asks.

"No."

Dave's lips curl into a wicked smile. "Beautiful girl," he rasps. "I'm going to fucking ruin you."

The first little kitten lick to your clit nearly makes you cum right then. You clench violently, and Dave chuckles, the low vibrations sending little shockwaves through your cunt. 

"Ohh, I'm going to enjoy this," Dave murmurs before he starts lapping at your pussy again. You're impossibly wet, so worked up that you can already feel the telltale heat crawling its way up your spine. 

You babble at the ceiling– "Dave–Dave, fuck, I can't–oh my God, this is–Dave!" The last cry of his name ends in a squeak as you shatter for him, clenching around his tongue and feeling, rather than hearing, his resulting groan.

When you come back to awareness, Dave is hovering over you, his dark eyes flitting over your face, watching you come down. 

“Taste yourself,” Dave rasps, his lips–shiny with your slick–too close to yours. “How fucking sweet you are.”

You nod, and Dave lowers his mouth to yours, his entire body pressing against you again–and you feel the hot, hard length of him against your thigh. His hand grasps your hip, his fingertips digging into your flesh, and you moan at the feeling, and at the unfamiliar taste of you on Dave’s tongue. 

Despite the orgasm, you still ache between your thighs, an emptiness that cannot be soothed by just Dave’s tongue. 

“Dave, I need–” 

“Shh, I know,” Dave murmurs. “I know.” His hand moves to the button of his pants, undoing it with one hand and shoving his pants down around his thighs before kicking them the rest of the way off. You stare at the way his erection strains against the tight material of his boxer briefs. When you hesitantly reach out and touch it, Dave hisses but doesn’t move, letting you explore at your own pace. It feels… big.

“Dave,” you begin, shaking your head slowly, “it’s not gonna fit. It’ll–”

Dave chuckles low in his throat. “I promise, it will.” “But what if it—hurts?” you squeak, growing timid again.  

Dave lowers himself again until the two of you are flush together. “Look at me,” he directs. “Look at my face. Would I ever hurt you?”

You search his face, but all you can find is blunt honesty. “No,” you whisper. 

“No,” Dave agrees. “No, and by the time I’m done with you, you’re going to be fucking gagging for it, pretty girl.”

He sucks his index finger into his mouth, coating it in his saliva, before slowly sliding it into your soaking cunt. 

“You’re gonna cum again like this,” Dave states frankly, “with my fingers and with my mouth, and I’m gonna make you so fucking wet that it’ll slide right in.”

He thrusts gently with one finger, watching your face, those dark, burning eyes sweeping over your expression and assessing your reaction. When you start chasing his finger, making little mewling sounds when it’s just not enough, Dave crawls back down your body and lathes his tongue over your clit for the second time that night as he adds a second finger. 

Just when you’re about to reach your peak again, Dave pulls back, reducing the friction and causing the feeling to retreat. You shoot him a questioning glance, but he simply smirks back, gradually giving you more until you feel it building back up, and then eases off. He repeats this little ebb and flow of pleasure, this little game of give and take, over and over and over until you’re panting and squirming and desperate to cum. 

“Dave–” you whine when the pleasure recedes again.

“One more time,” Dave promises. “You’re doing so well, sweet thing, being such a good girl for me.”

It’s as if Dave has the ultimate control over your pleasure–knowing how to make it rise and fall at his pleasing, and he does, fucking up against a spot you’ve never reached yourself while his tongue swirls around your clit until everything starts to tighten again, when he stops. 

“Dave!” 

“I said one more, didn’t I?” Dave protests. “Trust me, I’m gonna make you cum so fucking hard after working you up like this.”

He presses a gentle, feather-light kiss to the tip of your clit, his eyes dancing with amusement at your desperation. 

“Poor thing,” he goads, and his fingers start to rub insistently against you again. He sucks your clit into his mouth, gently flicking it with his tongue, and the spot inside you–you suddenly realize you feel like you’re about to–

“Dave–DaveDaveDave–shit, hang on, it–I’m gonna–”

He doesn’t withdraw in time, and something bursts inside you and splashes out around Dave’s fingers as you come apart again. You’ve never felt anything like this–it feels so fucking good but fuck, your face heats in embarrassment as you realize just how wet the sheets–and how wet Dave–is.

“Oh–oh no…” you mumble, but Dave is eagerly licking you clean with a deep groan, licking up into your cunt to chase the last droplets of the surprising deluge. 

“Dave, I–” you start to apologize, but Dave is on you again, kissing you passionately before you can utter another syllable. 

“My good fucking girl, so fucking sweet for me,” Dave murmurs against your lips. “Squirting all over me on her first time.”

“Please,” you beg him. “Please, I want more–”

Dave rolls off of you to rifle around in a drawer. He pulls out a condom and a small packet of something else, and you watch as he removes his underwear, heavy cock bobbing free between his legs, before rolling the condom on and opening the packet, drizzling the viscous fluid into his hand before coating his cock. He slides the same hand between your legs, coating you with the thick, slippery liquid. 

“It’ll be easier with lube,” Dave says by way of explanation. You expect him to crawl between your legs with you on your back, but instead he lies down beside you, urging you onto your side and pulling you flush against him so the two of you are spooning, instead.

“Just lay like this,” Dave murmurs into your ear, sending goosebumps to the surface of your skin. He grabs your top thigh and pulls your legs open, so that your top leg is splayed over Dave’s. His lips are still at your ear when you feel the thick tip of his cock sliding back and forth against your pussy, and your breath quickens even as your hips instinctively push back against him. 

“Shh, relax,” Dave soothes, and slowly starts to push in. 

“Oh–” you breathe, feeling him breaking you open for the first time. True to his word, it doesn’t hurt. It’s overwhelming, and somehow incredibly emotional, even though you’ve never really attributed any significance or meaning to your virginity, viewing it more as an inconvenience over the past couple of years. Still, the reality of Dave pressing inside of you feels profound in some way, and you think back to what he’d said earlier. 

“I’ll ruin you for anyone else.”

He might be right. At this moment, you aren’t sure if you’ll ever want anyone else. 

Dave pushes in inch by inch, taking it slow, paying attention to every little hitch in your breathing, until the two of you are completely joined. 

“Feel that?” Dave grits out, his voice sounding unusually strained. “Feel me?” 

You nod, breathless. 

“Tell me.”

“It feels–fuck, I feel so full.”

Dave’s hips flex experimentally, and you whimper pitifully. 

“Again,” you exhale. 

Dave obeys, giving you his cock with slow, deep thrusts, one arm banded around you, holding you flush against him and the other still gripping your inner thigh. You can feel every inch of him, heavy and thick inside of you. You never would have imagined that sex with Dave would be this sensual, this intimate. His breath is hot against the shell of your ear, his breaths getting heavier with effort and pleasure. His lips nip at your earlobe, then brush messily up and down the side of your neck. He finds a little spot just behind your ear that makes you shiver every time he passes it, and he sucks a mark into your skin there, making you moan pitifully. 

“That’s my girl,” Dave rasps against your skin. “My precious girl. I wanted this from the beginning, you know? That morning with the coffees, I pictured laying you down on that conference table and eating that pretty cunt until you begged me to stop.”

The dark timbre of his voice, the filthy words, and the drag of his cock along your walls all combine to make you a puddle in Dave’s arms. 

“Little did I know that I’d be the first to taste you,” Dave continues, his thrusts increasing in intensity as he speaks. “The first to make you come undone with my fingers, the first to feel how fucking tight and hot you are.”  

His hand slides up your inner thigh until his fingers strum at your clit. “I’m gonna make you cum around my cock and once I feel it squeezing me, I will never let you go, you understand? I’m going to make you mine, sweet girl. I’ll give you everything; ruin you for everyone else so you’ll never want anyone else. Say you’ll let me give you everything,” Dave commands, his voice deepening to a low growl.

“Y-Yes,” you breathe, stunned at the shift in tone. 

“Yes, what,” Dave leads.

“Yes, you can give me everything.”

“Good girl,” Dave coos. “I’ll treat you how you deserve. You won’t have to worry about anything; you’ll be my special girl. Won’t you?”

Dave’s possessive words are slightly unsettling, but the coil is tightening inside of you thanks to Dave’s deep thrusts and his fingers circling your clit, and you can’t find it in you to disagree as you start to reach the point of no return, the little moment of vertigo before the plunge. 

“Yes,” you gasp.

And you fall. 

– – – – – 

The first thing that comes to your awareness is something warm and damp between your legs. Your eyes blink open sluggishly and you turn your head to see Dave kneeling between your legs, wiping you gently clean with a washcloth. 

His cock is softening, resting inoffensively between his legs, no longer flushed and angry, and you tilt your head to the side thoughtfully as you watch him. 

Dave notices you looking, and he smiles.

"Did I hurt you?"

You smile and shake your head. "No."

"Good." Dave discards the cloth and joins you on the bed, folding you into his chest. 

"Is it always like this?" you ask softly. 

"It is with me," Dave answers frankly.

"Did–did you mean… all of the stuff you said? I mean–at the end?"

"Of course," Dave says. "You are my special girl, aren't you?"

"I–" you swallow. "Yes?”

"I'll give you everything," Dave promises. "You won't be an intern anymore, I'll see to that. I want you as an analyst on my team, working for me directly."

"Won't–won't people object to that?" you ask, aghast. 

"They wouldn't dare," Dave rumbles. "They don't go against me. And they won't go against you, either. You'll be mine, and that means you're off-limits. Wouldn’t you like that?”

You nod slowly in agreement. Would it be so wrong to let this man help you along in your career? Especially a man who’s so very attentive to you, who says that he’ll give you everything, who says sex with him is always this incredible. Wouldn’t it be akin to madness to say no to this?

“Perfect,” Dave says. “You’ll start on Monday. You won’t go down to that basement cave any more, you’ll work in my office. With me.”

“Oh,” you say, hardly able to believe what’s happening. “I–wow, Dave that’s really sudden–”

“Mmm,” Dave hums, nuzzling into your neck. “All the best for my special girl, hmm?”

You laugh disbelievingly. “Okay,” you giggle. “Yeah”

Dave chuckles too, deep in his throat. 

You glance at the old-fashioned alarm clock sitting on Dave’s bedside table. It’s nearly ten. You start to second guess yourself–would you be intruding if you stayed the tnight? Do people usually stay over after the first time, or do they leave? Why didn’t sitcoms prepare you for this moment? 

“Should–should I go home?” you ask, unsure of whether Dave wants you to stay.

“You think I’d kick you out after this?” Dave teases, his fingertips digging into your ribs to make you squeal ticklishly. “Silly girl. You’re staying right here.”

You nod. “Good,” you mumble. “‘Cause I’m feeling a little tired.”

“Go to sleep,” Dave says softly, kissing that little spot behind your ear that makes you shiver. 

Your eyelids are impossibly heavy, and you think you must fall asleep in a matter of minutes.

Just before you do, you think you hear Dave say one more thing. 

“My special girl, you are home.”

It was probably just your imagination.

[mitochondriaandbunnies]

Miami Vice S1E23: Lombard

Sonny and Rico must guard a mobster before his court testimony.

We've made it to the S1 finale (although I will reiterate that this should've been the second to last episode and Evan should've been the finale)

I like this episode; I like Dennis Farina; I like Sonny's difficulty with how much he likes Dennis Farina; I like that this episode forces Sonny to think about the humanity of the people he's working "against"

Much like how I'm not a huge fan of the Other Val Episodes after S1, I do not particularly think there ought to have been a sequel episode to Lombard... but Michael Mann loves Dennis Farina a lot, so like, what're you gonna do

Lombard opens with Al Lombard talking with his son Sal Lombard; I could not be more tickled by the fact that for some reason Lombard Sr. is clearly an American-Italian from Chicago and Lombard Jr. appears to be a Hispanic New Yorker. Where did your son pick up his accent, Dennis

Tubbs arrests one of Lombard's goons; I swear the goon is one of the Boat Bears from Made for Each Other

When Lombard gets supinaed (the inciting incident of the episode), Sonny watches him (long before the camera focuses on Sonny) with what reads as intense, almost awed boyishness, like a kid watching their favorite athlete to copy their moves. It's weird, because at this point Sonny believes Lombard ordered the hit on Barbara Crawford (Sonny's old flame from One Eyed Jack) and verbally expounds upon how much he hates him. Nonetheless, from the beginning you get this odd sense that as much as Sonny hates him, he's also deeply fascinated by him

John Santucci returns, playing a different character than Corrupt CIA Agent Dale Menton. He's Lombard's duplicitous assistant here, also making this episode a pre-reunion for Crime Story

Castillo explains to Sonny and Rico that Lombard will end up getting killed if he testifies; Sonny says he hopes that's exactly what happens. He does not sound convincing-- you get the sense that he thinks that's how he ought to feel, but can't quite manage to internalize those feelings having now witnessed even a modicum of humanization of Lombard

I am completely obsessed with the decor in the malt shop Santucci meets his contact in. Why is there a giant cement cake in the middle of the dining room. Why doesn't EVERY restaurant have one.

Switek is apparently eating hot dogs to... lower his cholesterol?

In Lombard's hospital room, Tubbs sniffs a single rose while Crockett berates Lombard; he appears to steal it on the way out

On a related note, Lombard is constantly framed by flowers

While doing surveillance, Sonny suggests Lombard is on the way to the movies and Rico, in what I can only describe as The World's Worst Australian accent, says, "Crockett, never bring more than one suit case to the theater." Sonny responds "Oh really?" in the same accent, because they are a) in love and b) the dumbest idiots on earth

Thus follows a gorgeously moody low-speed chase (so low speed they politely go through a toll booth) set to U2's Wire. The lyrics speak to guilt and innocence and cold fire in a cold man's eyes, seemingly focused on Lombard's criminality. The full song, however, is about suicide by drug overdose. It's a desperate track, ending on the ambiguous lines:

I give you hope Here's the rope Here's the rope Now swing away

Are Sonny and Rico providing Lombard with a little bit of hope, or are they simply setting him up to die? Are the writers equating a life of crime with the self-destructive seduction and allure of an addiction to hard drugs? Are we supposed to hear the pain and need throughout the song as Lombard's, or Sonny's? Or both?

Lombard realizes that Charlie (Santucci) set him up; Sonny (in defense of himself and Lombard) shoots Charlie during the fallout. He apologies, saying he was "just doing his job." Much like the rest of his defensiveness surrounding Lombard, this feels very misaimed-- he was quite literally doing his job.

Lombard, at the safehouse, joking: Well, it's not the Grand bay. / Sonny, still pissed about everything forever: WOULD YOU PREFER THE YMCA

Rico gets sent out for pasta ingredients and Sonny sulks; immediately after dinner Sonny seems to have forgotten he's supposed to hate Lombard. The post-dinner scene reminds me immensely of the scar-comparison/U.S.S Indianapolis scene from Jaws-- three men around a table, making revealing small talk in the still danger of the night, two of whom are positioned as uncomfortable parallels (Sonny/Lombard and Hooper/Quint) and a third something of an outsider (Rico and Brody). Sonny has at this point warmed up to Lombard even though he knows he should hate him, the same way Hooper warms up to Quint even though Quint has been a menace to him up to this point. Sonny and Lombard talk fatherhood, and you get the distinct sense that the issues of being a Vice cop with a child and the issues of being a criminal mogul with a child are more or less the same.

Rico appears not to gamble, which is interesting to me-- we only even get implication and subtext on the topic, but he's really not much into vices. He doesn't smoke, is a vegetarian, doesn't seem to gamble, and drinks progressively less as the series goes on. He's never positioned as particularly moral for this, nor as a stick in the mud. He's just slightly outside the world so many of the other characters are a bit too deep in-- vice doesn't stick to him like it does to others.

Near the end of the episode, Lombard states the theme of the show out loud to Sonny-- you and I aren't that different. Sonny responds with: "Wroooong. I don't murder people."

Which uh

You are a TV cop, Sonny, you actually do do that

And uh, later in the series you. Uh. Well.

We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, I guess.

I think what works really well about this episode is that tension. This is the 3rd "Sonny is faced with a parallel that hints at a likely tragic future for him" episode, but unlike with Arthur Lawson and Evan, Lombard doesn't appear to be torn apart by the gulf between his job and his convictions. While the implication is that Lombard may die after the episode ends, Sonny doesn't know that-- his final moment with Lombard ends with a smile and a joke. Sonny sees his own convictions-- loyalty, love of family, living by one's own terns-- mirrored in Lombard, a career criminal, and it doesn't destroy him. He's very much like Sonny in many ways, but he's able to live with his own cognitive dissonance in a way Sonny, Artie, and Evan cannot, perhaps because he is simply able to admit that what he is doing is wrong. Sonny isn't there yet-- he has to be able to believe that what he's doing as a cop is right partially because he doesn't believe he's capable of doing good in any other way, but partially because it's painful. There's a penance aspect to Sonny's career in vice, and from his perspective, Lombard doesn't have to pay it. And despite all this, Sonny likes him-- Lombard shows him another possible vision of the future-- and he just doesn't know how to feel about it. It's still not quite as powerful a season ending as Evan, but Farina and Johnson sell it.