#apparently i only speak ambiguous endings

[jungkoode]

FIVE SECONDS TO FREEDOM | 01

˗ˏˋ corporate by day, streets by night ˎˊ˗

"The thing about living a double life is that eventually, the lines blur. And when they do, you realize one of those lives was never really yours to begin with."

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⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 5.2k

rating: mature

content: board room suffocation, underground racing salvation, lollipop theft, overheard family secrets, & the weight of expectations vs. the freedom of speed

jimin’s skyline r34 | y/n’s toyota ae86

✧ author's note ✧

Hi. Hello. Yes. It’s me again. Back on my bullshit. (⌐■_■)

Welcome to the fic where I apparently decided that “you know what would go crazy? If Jimin was Latino, dangerously charming, emotionally layered, and casually obliterated me with a phone call to his baby brother.” So here we are.

Let’s talk about this beast.

This story is set in Tokyo’s underground street racing scene because I have exactly two moods: high-octane chaos and identity crisis. And guess what? This fic is both. We’re following a Y/N who is not the typical “relatable girly with a shit job and a dream.” No. This Y/N has money. Like money money. Corporate-heiress-pressure-cooker-money. Unrelatable? Maybe. But I wanted to explore what it means to be trapped even when you “have it all.” Because sometimes your prison has marble floors and a driver’s license with your dad’s last name on it.

And then there’s Jimin.

Who, yes, is Latino in this one. Because the power. The flavor. The emotional complexity. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about the boy who speaks different languages depending on who’s listening and smokes like it’s the only thing keeping his hands from shaking. And because I desperately wanted to give him a backstory that feels lived in—messy family dynamics, financial trauma, and protectiveness so sharp it’s basically a character flaw. (Also, his pet names are lethal. Just sayin’.)

This fic is about duality. Public image versus private life. Corporate obligation versus personal freedom. The daughter and the driver. The mechanic and the monster you have to be to survive in a world built for people who look like your father.

Jimin and Y/N exist in parallel—each of them double-lifing through their days, hiding parts of themselves behind steering wheels and sarcasm. And I’m obsessed with the way their masks crack in front of each other.

ALSO. Yes, Jimin speaks a lot of Spanish here. And I did include translations in parentheses where it matters to the narrative. For short expressions or filler phrases that don’t really add anything to the dialogue (like “ay, pues” or “nah, hermano”), I either left them be or translated them only if it shifted the tone/context. If you’re wondering “what did he just say,” trust me—if it’s important, it’s already translated. And if it’s not important, it’s flavor, not plot. You’re safe. You don’t need Duolingo. (But like… maybe you want it after this fic. I won’t judge.)

This chapter ended up… long. Because I love suffering and also because I have zero restraint when it comes to character psychology, apparently. So if you’re here for racing scenes and sexual tension and moral ambiguity and emotional repression in leather jackets? Buckle up.

We’re going full throttle from here.

Edit: reminder that chapter 1 takes place 6 months after the prologue!

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

The Hayashi legacy weighs forty-seven million yen per quarter, and tonight it feels like every yen is sitting on your chest.

You walk out of the conference room with that smile still glued to your face—the one you've perfected over more than twenty years of being the perfect daughter, the ideal heiress, the future of Hayashi Motors Corporation. 

Each step brings you closer outdoors. Each step means a flick of your kitten heels against the marble floor of the corporate building. Each step means freedom.

"Excellent points during the quarterly review, Y/N-san," your father had said, pride gleaming in his eyes as the board members filed out. "Your suggestions for the new electric vehicle division show remarkable foresight."

You'd nodded. Smiled. Thanked him for his confidence in your vision.

You hadn’t mentioned that you'd spent the last three hours fantasizing about ramming your pen through the mahogany table when Nakamura-san had questioned your engineering credentials for the fifteenth fucking time. 

Or that when board member Sato had asked if you thought you were ‘ready for such responsibility at your age,’ you'd wanted to remind him that you've been rebuilding engines since you were sixteen and probably know more about automotive dynamics than his entire golf club combined.

But Hayashi daughters don't lose their composure. Hayashi daughters smile politely and prove themselves through results, not outbursts.

Hayashi daughters are perfect.

The elevator ride down is not—because it feels endless. 

Forty-three floors of suffocating corporate air, each ding marking another level between you and the person you actually want to be. 

Your reflection stares back from the polished steel doors—black Armani blazer, pearl earrings, hair pulled back in a sleek chignon that your mother's stylist spent an hour perfecting this morning. 

You look exactly like what you are: the face of Japan's automotive future, groomed and polished to perfection.

But perfection means nothing to you if it doesn’t come in four fucking wheels.

The parking garage is a different world. 

Darker. Quieter. Real.

Your steps quicken as you approach the sleek Mercedes S-Class—the car that screams ‘responsible heiress who makes sound financial decisions.’ The one you drive to corporate events, family dinners, any place where appearances matter more than what's under the hood.

But tonight, appearances can go fuck themselves.

You slide into the driver's seat and immediately feel the weight pressing down on your shoulders, your chest, behind your fucking eyes. 

Three hours of quarterly projections, market analysis, and thinly veiled suggestions that maybe you should consider ‘sharing leadership responsibilities’ with a more experienced male colleague. 

Three hours of nodding along while grown men who've never held a wrench explained automotive engineering concepts you learned before you could legally drive.

Your hands shake as you grip the steering wheel.

It all cracks.

Your forehead drops forward, hitting the leather with a soft thud, and your fingers tangle in your hair—fuck that stupid chignon anyways.  

A shaky exhale escapes your lips, then another, and for just a moment in the darkness of underground parking level B3, you let yourself feel the exhaustion that's been building for months.

The quarterly reviews are getting more intense. The board meetings more demanding. The expectations heavier.

Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you just... stopped. Stopped smiling through the condescension. Stopped proving yourself to men who measure your worth in profit margins rather than skill. Stopped pretending that sitting in conference rooms talking about market demographics is what gets your blood pumping.

But that's not an option. 

The Hayashi name doesn't get to quit.

You take three deep breaths—in through your nose, out through your mouth, the way you know how to control adrenaline spikes. 

Center yourself. Focus on what matters.

Tonight, what matters is speed.

You reach into the back seat for the gym bag you strategically placed there this morning. 

Inside: worn jeans, a black tank top, your racing jacket with the faded sponsor patches, and the fingerless gloves that have seen more action than your corporate wardrobe ever will.

And really, changing clothes in a car? Not ideal.

Luckily for you, it requires a specific kind of coordination you've perfected over the years. 

Blazer off, carefully hung to avoid wrinkles—because if your mother sees it tomorrow morning looking anything less than pristine, there will be questions. 

Pearl earrings removed and tucked into the center console. 

Hair tie pulled free, letting your hair fall to your shoulders in a way that feels like salvation.

Of course, the transformation is more than cosmetic. 

As you pull on the jeans, you can feel your breathing slow. Tank top over your head, and your shoulders relax for the first time in hours. The racing jacket slides on immediately, and when you zip it up, you're not a Hayashi, no automotive heiress, no board meeting survivor.

You’re just… you.

And that you knows where she’s going tonight. 

The underground parking garage has a service exit that most people don't know about. You discovered it during your rebellious teenage years, when you first started sneaking out to watch street races from highway overpasses. 

Now it's your escape route—a way to slip from one world into another without anyone noticing the transition.

Your real car is waiting three blocks away in a rented garage space that doesn't appear on any family financial records. 

Your beautiful, sweet AE86.

Black and white paint scheme that earned you some stupid ‘panda’ nickname.

But it doesn’t matter, because tonight—as many others—this is your ticket to freedom.

You start the Mercedes.

No soul, no personality, just reliable transportation from point A to point B. 

Everything your family expects from both their vehicles and their daughter.

But as you navigate through Tokyo's late-night traffic toward the garage where your real car waits, you can feel your pulse quickening. 

Because earlier, Maya texted that there's a gathering at the docks. Nothing official, just people showing off their builds, talking shit, maybe some impromptu runs if the mood strikes. The kind of casual meet where you can breathe, where your worth is measured in tenth-of-a-second reaction times rather than quarterly profit projections.

And you need this. 

Need the smell of gasoline and burnt rubber. Need the sound of engines being pushed to their limits. Need to remember who you are when you're not performing the role of perfect daughter.

You need to move toward the place where the Hayashi name doesn't matter and the only thing that counts is how fast you can make eight-six liters of pure joy scream down a stretch of asphalt.

Your phone buzzes.

𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐚🐝 : 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚞??? 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚑 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝙰𝙴𝟾𝟼 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 

You don't reply. Don't need to.

The thing about earning your place at the top of Tokyo's food chain is that punctuality becomes optional.

You pull into the lot twenty minutes after Maya's text, because showing up on time is for rookies still trying to prove they belong. The ones who circle the block three times before working up the courage to park. The ones who check their mirrors obsessively, making sure their cars look perfect from every angle.

You? You just fucking drive.

The familiar crunch of gravel under your tires signals home in a way that marble corporate floors never will. 

Engine off, and immediately you can hear it—the symphony that makes your pulse quicken. Revving engines, bass lines thumping from custom sound systems, the occasional screech of someone showing off with a burnout. 

This is your world. The one where board meetings and quarterly projections don't exist.

Your AE86 settles and you can already feel eyes tracking your movement. 

You've earned every glance, every nod of respect, every whispered comment about how the panda-colored Toyota shouldn't be able to keep up with cars worth ten times as much—but somehow always does.

You scan the lot for Maya's ridiculous purple Silvia, but before you can locate her in the maze of modified metal, a familiar arm snakes around your neck from behind.

"My giiiiirl," Maya drawls, and there's that tilted accent she gets when she's been drinking or fighting or both. 

Probably both, knowing Maya.

You chuckle and drive your elbow back into her ribs, just hard enough to make her grunt. 

"Dramatic much?"

"Always," she grins, but doesn't let go of your neck. Maya's version of affection usually involves some form of minor violence, which explains why she gets along so well with the racing scene. "You missed the opening act."

"So where's the twins, huh?" You ask, sliding your keys into your jacket pocket. 

Maya's grin turns sharp. "Twins have been dealt with."

You frown. "Huh?"

Instead of answering, Maya just tilts her head toward the far end of the lot, and your stomach does something complicated when you follow her gaze. 

A midnight purple R34 Skyline GT-R.

Him.

Jaque fucking stands near his car like he owns not just the vehicle but the entire lot it's parked in.

The bastard who handed you the only loss of your racing career. 

The one who earned his place here by beating you, which means he gets to be in this lot, in your crew, in this weird little bubble where surnames don't matter at all; but rather how fast you can make your car scream.

One loss. 

O n e.

But apparently that's all it takes to earn yourself a permanent pain in the ass who shows up to every meet like he's got some kind of standing invitation to make your life complicated.

Maya snorts behind you as you start walking toward the Skyline, but she follows anyway, because Maya never misses a good show. 

And this? This is definitely going to be a show.

Your boots crunch against loose gravel and cigarette butts as you cross the lot. A few conversations pause as you pass—the usual mix of admiration and speculation that follows you wherever you go in this scene. 

But tonight something is making your spine straighten and your hands curl into loose fists at your sides.

Because Jaque isn't just here. 

He's here and apparently he's been ‘dealing with’ the Tanaka twins, which could mean anything from out-racing them to putting them in the hospital. 

And knowing the twins' habit of running their mouths about your car, your driving, your right to be here in the first place, you're not entirely sure which outcome you'd prefer.

His car still feels warm, oozing off expensive modifications from here—high-octane fuel, performance oil, the metallic scent of carbon fiber still warm from whatever run he just finished. 

Everything about the car screams money and precision, the kind of build that most people spend years saving for.

But you know better than most that the car is only as good as the driver behind the wheel.

And Jaque? 

Jaque is very, very good.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Jaque."

The name comes out flat. Matter-of-fact. Like you're reading from a grocery list instead of addressing the one person who managed to crack your perfect record.

He looks over his shoulder, and that glance transforms into something that makes your stomach do things you refuse to acknowledge. 

Full-blown smirk, eyes included. 

It spreads across his face like spilled oil, slow and inevitable.

He lowers his sunglasses—the ones he always wears even at nighttime because apparently being cocky as hell isn't enough, he also has to be stupid—and raises his eyebrows in mock surprise.

"Hello to you too, princesa." 

The pet name hits exactly like it's supposed to—annoying and warm in equal measure. 

You ignore the warm part, though. 

He turns fully now, back against the Skyline's midnight midnight purple paint job, arms crossing over his chest like he's settling in for a show. The position makes his shoulders look broader, his stance more relaxed, like your presence here is the most entertaining thing that's happened to him all night.

Which, knowing Jaque, it probably is.

"Cut the bullshit, lover boy." You stop just close enough that you have to tilt your head slightly to meet his gaze. "The twins."

His grin widens. "What twins?"

The innocent act might work on other people. 

The way his head tilts just so, like he's genuinely confused by your question. 

Like Shinji and Akira Tanaka haven't been running their mouths about your AE86 for the past three months.

It doesn’t fool you though. Never does. 

You sigh, loud enough that Maya chuckles. Your tongue presses against the inside of your lower lip—a habit you've never been able to break when dealing with particularly dense specimens of humanity.

Or Jaque, to put it simply.

"Don't play stupid," you say. "It's too easy."

That gets a chuckle out of him. Low and rough, like gravel under tires.

"Siempre tan bocona, tú." (Always so mouthy, you). 

The Spanish rolls off his tongue like he's commenting on the weather, not insulting you in two languages at once. His smile never wavers. 

"Twins are not here."

You want to throttle him.

"I could see that much, thanks for pointing out the obvious."

"Ay, pues." He shrugs, and the movement is liquid smooth. "You don't want stupid answers, don't ask stupid questions."

Maya snorts behind you. Traitor.

Your jaw ticks. Just once. Just enough that you know he notices because his eyes flick down to catch it, that smirk getting smugger by the second.

"Shinji," you say, because playing his word games is getting old fast. "Akira. The Tanaka twins. Where are they?"

"Ah." Like understanding has just dawned. Like he hasn't been deliberately obtuse for the past thirty seconds. "Those twins."

"Yes, Jaque. Those twins."

He straightens slightly, the lazy posture shifting into something more intentional. Not threatening—never threatening with you—but focused. Like you've finally said something worth his full attention.

"¿Por qué?" (Why?) The question comes out slow, curious. "Miss them?"

"Because they were here twenty minutes ago talking shit about my car, and now they're not." You cross your arms, mirroring his stance. "And you're here looking entirely too pleased with yourself."

"I always look pleased with myself, gatita." Another pet name. Another small flame of irritation. “Es mi cara natural." (It’s my natural expression.)

"Answer the fucking question."

He laughs again, and this time it's genuine. Surprised. Like you've done something delightful instead of threatening to wrap your hands around his throat.

"Calma, chiquita." One hand comes up in a placating gesture that somehow manages to be condescending and charming at the same time. "No need to get all worked up."

"I'm not worked up."

"No?" His eyebrows climb higher. "Think you are."

Your eyebrow twitches. He smiles. 

"They're not here," he says finally, voice losing some of its playful edge. "Took a little drive. Might not be back for a while."

"What kind of drive?"

"The educational kind." He pushes the sunglasses back up his nose, hiding his eyes again. "Someone had to explain proper parking lot etiquette to them."

Your hands ball into fists at your sides.

"I don't need—"

"Hey, tranquila." He holds up both hands now, but he's still smiling. Still enjoying this way too much. "This is your territory, ¿no? They talked shit about the boss lady. Someone had to warn them."

Boss lady. 

Like you're some fucking mafia princess instead of a racer who's earned every ounce of respect through skill and stubbornness.

"That's how we do it in my country," he adds, like that explains everything.

"This is Japan."

His smile turns sharp. Dangerous.

"And I'm latino."

You scoff, looking sideways because seriously—he's unbelievable. 

Like being Latino is some kind of universal excuse for whatever bullshit he decides to pull. 

Like slapping his ethnicity on the table explains away every reckless move, every stupid decision, every time he decides to play knight in shining armor when nobody fucking asked.

Like he’s not basically insulting his whole ethnicity when he does that: 

Your hand dips into your jacket pocket, fingers finding the familiar crinkle of cellophane.

"Right," you say, unwrapping the cherry lollipop with sharp, efficient movements. "Because your passport gives you a free pass to stick your nose in everyone else's business."

The wrapper finds its way back to your pocket.

"No es eso, princesa." (It's not that, princess.) His voice carries that lazy drawl that means he's having way too much fun. "But where I come from, you don't let randos disrespect the people you—"

You pop the lollipop into your mouth, cutting him off mid-sentence.

The words die on his tongue.

His eyebrows lift, and he makes this low snorting sound that has absolutely no business being as distracting as it is. Like he's just witnessed something worth stopping traffic for.

You turn back to look at him, lollipop stick jutting from between your lips.

 "What?"

The smirk that spreads across his face is slow and dangerous. 

"Nada, nada." (Nothing, nothing.) But his eyes haven't moved from your mouth. "Keep going."

Before you can ask what the hell that's supposed to mean, an arm locks around Jimin's shoulders from behind. 

It’s Taeyang, appearing like he materialized from the fucking parking lot shadows or something.

"J is off his game tonight."

Jimin doesn't even try to shrug out of the hold. Just keeps staring at you with that insufferable expression.

"Nah," he says, voice dropping lower. "Just distracted."

He gestures lazily with his chin, eyes still locked on yours.

"Can't focus when you keep putting things in your mouth like that."

The lollipop nearly falls out of your mouth.

What the actual—

Your hand moves before your brain catches up, grabbing the stick and yanking the candy free. The cherry flavor lingers on your tongue, sweet and artificial and suddenly too much.

“Ay, dale, beba. Don’t stop on my account. Looks tasty.”

"You want it that bad?" You hold the lollipop out toward him, voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Here. Choke on it."

The parking lot goes quiet.

Not completely—engines still rumble in the distance, someone's still blasting music from their stereo. But the space between the four of you turns into this weird vacuum where even Taeyang stops breathing.

Jimin straightens.

Slowly.

Like a cat uncoiling before it pounces.

Taeyang's arm slides off his shoulders as he takes a step toward you. 

Then another. 

Until he's close enough that you can see the exact moment his pupils dilate, can smell that mix of cologne and gasoline that shouldn't work but does.

He reaches out.

Plucks the lollipop from your fingers as if this is just something he does every day.

And pops it into his mouth.

The cherry-stained stick disappears between his lips, and he just stares into your eyes like he’s hoping for a reaction. 

"What's wrong, princesa?" The words come out muffled but still carry that infuriating drawl. "Didn't think I'd take it?"

Your pulse hammers against your throat. Hard. Visible.

Fuck.

Your mouth opens—ready with some cutting remark, some dismissive comeback that'll put him back in his place—

Nothing.

Not a single goddamn word.

Jimin's grin spreads. 

"Naaaah, wait." He lets the word stretch, savoring it like the candy between his teeth. "You actually—" 

A soft, amused chuckle escapes him. His tongue flicks against the lollipop, deliberate. Testing.

"—speechless?"

Heat crawls up your neck like flames licking gasoline. .

"Shut up." The words snap out before you can stop them, but your voice wavers. 

Just enough. Just fucking enough for him to catch it.

Jimin hums, a low sound of pure entertainment. He steps back—not far, just enough to keep you teetering on the edge of whatever this is.

"I should steal your shit more often," he says, amused. 

The comment jolts you back to yourself. Back to solid ground.

"Give it back."

He rolls the candy between his teeth, considering. Like he's weighing the entertainment value of compliance versus continued torment.

Then he grins.

Shifts the lollipop to one side of his mouth, head tilting as he watches you with that same lazy, predatory amusement that makes your skin feel too tight.

"You really want me to give it back, mami?" 

That accent. The way he wraps around the word like silk, all rolling consonants and heat. 

Something flickers up your spine. Quick. Electric.

You don't react. Won't give him that satisfaction. Instead, you let your mouth curve into something unimpressed, arms folding across your chest as you pretend to consider.

"Up to you," you say, voice carefully casual. "But it's mango."

The reaction is instant.

Violent.

Jimin spits the lollipop out so hard you hear it hit the asphalt with a wet thwack. His whole body jerks backward, hand swiping across his mouth like he's trying to scrub away poison.

The grimace that twists his features is beautiful. Pure disgust mixed with betrayal.

Maya fucking wheezes beside you, the sound high and breathless.

You press your lips together, feigning concern. Let your eyebrows lift in mock surprise.

"Oh, wait—" You blink, tilting your head like you're just remembering something important. "Actually... it was cherry."

His entire body goes statue-still.

Slowly—so slowly you can count the seconds—his hand drops from his mouth. His jaw locks. His tongue darts out, running over his teeth like he's confirming what his taste buds already know.

The lingering sweetness. 

Cherry. Not mango.

"You—" Jimin's voice comes out sharp, exhaling like he's been sucker-punched. His eyes snap back to yours, flat and accusing. "Are you fucking serious?"

You lift one shoulder in a casual shrug.

"I mean..." Your head tilts, innocent. "Can't you taste the difference?"

Jimin stares at you. Then at the discarded lollipop on the oil-stained asphalt, sticky and abandoned. Then back at you.

The silence stretches.

"Do you think at the mention of mango I was taking a damn moment to assess—"

"You should've," you interrupt him, voice honey-sweet and absolutely ruthless.

Before Jimin can fire back, someone from his crew—Daniel, probably, the loudmouth who never knows when to shut up—pipes up from behind him.

"Yo, you allergic or something?"

The words hang.

Maya's grin freezes mid-wheeze. The rest of Jimin's crew shifts, glancing between him and the spat-out lollipops

Your stomach drops.

Cold. Fast.

Jimin doesn't look at them. Doesn't acknowledge the question floating in the air like clouds, just stays flat, unreadable, but his jaw ticks—just slightly, just enough for you to catch it.

And suddenly, you realize—

They don't know.

None of them know.

It's such a small thing. Insignificant. A stupid fruit allergy that probably means nothing in the grand scheme of underground racing and territorial bullshit. But still—

You're the only one who noticed.

The only one who clocked it months ago when he shoved aside a drink without explanation. The only one who saw him swipe a fruit skewer off someone's plate but carefully, absentmindedly, avoid the mango piece in the middle.

No one else ever caught on.

Your chest tightens with something that feels dangerously close to... understanding.

Jimin exhales sharply through his nose. Reaches into his pocket with movements that are just a fraction too controlled to be casual. Pulls out a pack of gum.

"No," he says, popping a piece into his mouth. His tone is clipped, dismissive. Final. "I just don't like surprises."

He chews once. Twice. Like that explains everything.

Like it's enough.

His crew buys it.

They snicker, shake their heads, make some comment about how dramatic he always is. Daniel laughs too loud at his own joke about Latino attitude. The conversation shifts, interest dissipating like vapor in hot air.

Just like that, the moment passes.

But not for him.

And not for you.

Because Jimin's gaze flickers back to yours—sharp, searching, like he's trying to read something written in a language he doesn't quite understand.

You hold it.

The stare. The challenge. The unspoken question floating between you.

His jaw tenses. His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek, working the gum like he's trying to scrub away more than just the lingering taste.

Then he huffs. Quiet. Humorless.

Looks away.

"You're so annoying," he mutters, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

The words should sting. Should make you defensive, ready to snap back with something twice as cutting.

Instead, your mouth curves.

"Feeling’s mutual," you say, voice soft enough that only he can hear it. 

Jimin doesn't answer. Just shakes his head once—like he's trying to clear it of something he doesn't want there—and turns toward his car.

But you catch it. The way his shoulders set. His somewhat robotic movements now.

The realization that someone saw through his bullshit.

That someone noticed.

The sound of his voice speaking Spanish hits different when he thinks no one's listening.

You're half-listening to Maya complain about her clutch slipping when movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention. Jimin peeling away from his crew, phone pressed to his ear, heading toward the far corner of the lot where the lighting gets spotty and conversations turn private.

Something about the way he moves—purposeful, almost urgent—makes you tune out Maya's mechanical rants entirely.

"—and then the fucking thing just started grinding, you know? Like metal on metal, which obviously means—"

"Mm-hmm." You nod absently, watching Jimin settle against a concrete pillar about thirty feet away. Far enough that his crew can't hear him, close enough that if you strain just a little...

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Clutch. Grinding. Very tragic." Your eyes don't leave Jimin's silhouette. "Keep going."

And Maya does. 

But you're already tuning her out again because Jimin's voice carries just enough on the night air, and the shift in his tone is immediate. 

No trace of the lazy, teasing drawl he uses with everyone here. 

"¿Martín? ¿Qué pasó, hermano?" (Martin? What happened, brother?)

"No, no, tranquilo. Decime qué pasó." (No, no, calm down. Tell me what happened.)

There's a pause, and you can see him run his free hand through his hair. His shoulders tense.

"¿Cómo que se pelearon? ¿Por qué?" (What do you mean they fought? Why?)

Another pause. Longer this time. His jaw ticks.

"Ay, Martín... ¿y le dijiste qué?" (Oh, Martin... and you told her what?)

You edge closer, using Maya's continued clutch commentary as cover. 

"No, está bien, está bien. No es tu culpa, cabrón." (No, it's okay, it's okay. It's not your fault, dude.) His voice drops, gentler. "¿Pero por qué le dijiste que andaba en los clubs? Sabes que se pone loca cuando piensa que ando de joda." (But why did you tell her I was at clubs? You know she goes crazy when she thinks I'm partying.)

He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a pack of cigarettes. The lighter flicks once, twice, before catching.

The first drag makes his voice rougher when he speaks again.

"Sí, ya sé que no sabías qué decir. Pero la próxima vez decile que estoy trabajando, ¿dale?" (Yeah, I know you didn't know what to say. But next time tell her I'm working, okay?)

You watch him take another drag, the cherry glowing orange in the dim light. 

The way he holds the cigarette—practiced, automatic—suggests this isn't a recent habit.

"¿Qué más te dijo?" (What else did she tell you?)

The pause that follows is different. Heavier. You see his free hand clench into a fist at his side.

"¿Cómo que no va a aceptar más plata?" (What do you mean she won't accept more money?) His voice sharpens. "Martín, ¿qué carajo le dijiste exactamente?" (Martin, what the hell did you tell her exactly?)

Another drag. Deeper this time.

"No, no, no. Escuchame bien, cabrón." (No, no, no. Listen to me carefully, dude.) His tone shifts, becoming more authoritative. "Vos no te vas a poner a trabajar. Tenés trece años, boludo. Tu trabajo es estudiar." (You're not going to start working. You're thirteen years old, idiot. Your job is to study.)

You can hear the frustration building in his voice, see it in the way he paces within the small circle of light.

"¿Necesitás libros para la escuela? Yo te los compro. ¿Necesitás zapatillas? Yo te las compro. No digas huevadas, Martín." (Do you need books for school? I'll buy them for you. Do you need shoes? I'll buy them for you. Don't talk nonsense, Martin.)

The cigarette moves to his lips again, and apparently the sound carries through the phone because his brother says something that makes Jimin pause mid-drag.

"¿Qué?" (What?)

A beat.

"Naaaah, no estoy fumando." (Naaaah, I'm not smoking.)

You don’t even speak Spanish like that but you know that’s a fat lie coming off his lips. Pretty clear he’s talking about smoking by the way his eyes flicker to the cig.

You almost snort.  

His brother clearly doesn't buy it, because Jimin's response is immediate and defensive.

"¿No me creés? Pues decile a la mamá que vos también fumás, a ver qué dice." (You don't believe me? Well tell mom that you smoke too, let's see what she says.)

There's a pause, and then Jimin's voice turns sharp with realization.

"Ah, ¿no, cabrón? ¿Ya sabía, ya sabía...?" (Oh, no, dude? I already knew, I already knew...?) He takes another drag, and his chuckle is dark. "¿Qué te creés, que no vi los cigarros que guardás en el cajón?" (What do you think, that I didn't see the cigarettes you keep in the drawer?)

The next words need no translation. It’s a threat. A big brother threat. 

"Cuando vuelva a la casa te voy a agarrar a palos, Martín. Dejá de fumar." (When I get home I'm going to beat your ass, Martin. Stop smoking.)

But there's affection underneath the threat. Worry. The kind of protective anger that comes from caring too much.

"No, no me importa si todos tus amigos fuman. Vos no." (No, I don't care if all your friends smoke. You don't.)

Another pause, and his voice softens slightly.

"Mirá, hermano, yo sé que está jodida la situación con mamá, pero..." (Look, brother, I know the situation with mom is fucked up, but...)

He trails off, takes another drag. The silence stretches long enough that you wonder if the call dropped.

"¿Martín? ¿Seguís ahí?" (Martin? Are you still there?)

Whatever his brother says next makes Jimin's shoulders slump. The fight goes out of his posture all at once.

"Sí, ya sé que está preocupada. Pero no puede rechazar la plata y después quejarse de que no alcanza para nada." (Yeah, I know she's worried. But she can't reject the money and then complain that there's not enough for anything.)

His voice drops lower, more intimate. Like he's sharing a secret.

"Escuchame, si ella no la quiere aceptar, me re vale verga. Le voy a hacer el ingreso igual." (Listen to me, if she doesn't want to accept it, I don't give a shit. I'm going to deposit it anyway.)

Your eyes absentmindedly flick to him as he considers his next words. Or maybe he’s listening in.

"Nah, nah, escuchame." (Nah, nah, listen to me.) His voice softens again. "No le digas nada a mamá de esto, ¿sí? Si pregunta dónde ando, decile que… no sé, que ando con amigos. Que ando estudiando. Lo que sea." (Don’t tell mom anything about this, okay? If she asks where I am, tell her that… I don’t know, that I’m with friends. That I’m studying. Whatever.)

A pause.

The phone is still pressed to his ear when his expression changes.

Goes cold. Hard.

"¿Qué dijiste?" (What did you say?)

His voice drops to something lethal.

"¿Que la mamá prefiere agarrar dinero del papá?" (That mom prefers to take money from dad?)

The cigarette trembles between his fingers.

"Martín, decile a la mamá que como se atreva a agarrar dinero de ese pendejo—" (Martin, tell mom that if she dares to take money from that asshole—)

He cuts himself off. Takes a sharp drag. Exhales through clenched teeth.

"No, no, hermano. Escuchame." (No, no, brother. Listen to me.) His free hand scrubs over his face. "Ese cabrón no va a mandar ni un peso. ¿Sabés cuánto le va a costar mandar dinero desde México? ¿Las transferencias internacionales? ¿Los fees del banco?" (That asshole isn’t going to send a single peso. Do you know how much it’s going to cost him to send money from Mexico? International transfers? Bank fees?)

A bitter laugh escapes him.

"Y aunque mandara algo, no va a ser suficiente. Nunca es suficiente con él." (And even if he sent something, it’s not going to be enough. It’s never enough with him.)

The words come out sharp. Angry.

"No, no hay pero que valga, cabrón." (No, there’s no ‘but’ about it, dude.) He takes a sharp drag, the cherry flaring angry orange. "Ese hijo de puta nos abandonó. Nos dejó sin nada. Y ahora que nosotros estamos bien, ¿quiere jugar al papá responsable?" (That son of a bitch abandoned us. Left us with nothing. And now that we’re doing well, he wants to play responsible dad?)

You can hear the pain underneath the anger. Raw. Bleeding.

"¿Sabés cuánto pinche dinero perdimos en las transferencias cuando nos fuimos de Argentina? ¿Cuánto nos costó empezar de cero acá?" (Do you know how much fucking money we lost in transfers when we left Argentina? How much it cost us to start from zero here?)

Silence stretches. You can see him listening, jaw working around the cigarette.

"Sí, hermano, entiendo que está enojada conmigo. Pero prefiero que esté enojada y segura a que esté contenta y en peligro." (Yeah dude, I understand she’s angry with me. But I’d rather have her angry and safe than happy and in danger.)

He flicks ash onto the pavement with sharp, agitated movements.

"Nah, hermano. Nah. Ese dinero está sucio. Todo lo que toca ese hombre se vuelve una mierda." (Nah, bro. Nah. That money is dirty. Everything that man touches turns to shit.)

Another pause.

"¿Y sabés qué más? Aunque tenga que meterle el dinero a la cuenta sin que sepa, lo voy a hacer. Porque ustedes son mi responsabilidad. No la de él." (And you know what else? Even if I have to put the money in the account without her knowing, I’m going to do it. Because you guys are my responsibility. Not his.)

The cigarette burns down to the filter between his fingers.

He flicks it away.

"Decile que si necesita dinero, que me hable a mí. Que yo siempre he estado acá. Yo nunca la dejé. Yo nunca—" (Tell her if she needs money, to call me. That I’ve always been here. I never left her. I never—)

He stops himself. Takes another drag.

"Martín, ¿me estás escuchando?" (Martin, are you listening to me?)

A reply. Confirmation, you guess by his expression.

"Ese dinero de papá… no lo agarren. Por favor. Yo sé que parece fácil, pero nada de lo que viene de él es fácil. Siempre hay un precio." (That money from dad… don’t take it. Please. I know it seems easy, but nothing that comes from him is easy. There’s always a price.)

He sighs now, listening in before he leans his head back against the wall. 

"Decile que no me espere despierta hoy. Que llego tarde. No quiero pelear con ella. No hoy." (Tell her not to wait up tonight. I’m coming home late. I don’t want to fight with her. Not today.)

His eyes flicker to the sky above him. Perhaps pondering; perhaps buying himself more time. Then:

"Tengo que colgar, hermano. Cuida a mamá. Y si ese pendejo trata de contactarla, me avisas inmediatamente, ¿me escuchaste?" (I have to hang up, brother. Take care of mom. And if that asshole tries to contact her, you let me know immediately, you hear me?)

His voice goes soft again. Protective.

"Te quiero, Martín. Todo va a estar bien." (I love you, Martín. Everything’s going to be okay.)

He ends the call.

Takes another cigarette from the pack.

And when your eyes flicker to his movements—you notice he lights it with hands that aren’t quite steady.

goal: 300 notes

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[ronwestbreeze]

NONBELIEVER | viktor

summary: you would think two zaunites would come together and change the world. but perhaps fate had other plans for the two...

word count: 5.7k

warning: no use of y/n, angst and ambiguous endings???

author's note: so act 3 really messed me up lol but enjoy some angsty viktor because why not? the gif is from this set!!

ACT I: MOB

Like Viktor, you lived and breathed the Undercity just not in the same way.

Your face used to be what artists would paint, even for a revolutionary.

But now it was stained with blood of your own. Beaten out of you mercilessly until cool shackles were clamped onto your hands and steel bars shielded you from the world. You have been in prison for some time now. Months, maybe a year? These days you’ve lost count. The only way you could tell how much time had passed was the growth of your hair. That was the price of being a revolutionary. That was the price of taking risks no one else would. Now you tasted blood and smelled old pipes. That was life in Stillwater Hold.

How you got here was the same story as any other inmate. You had planned to destroy a part of Piltover to make a point. To show that the people of the Undercity would not rest or become the ants under their boots. Most of your comrades had escaped from Enforcers, others were killed in the explosion, and then there was you. It was a sacrifice so that your comrades could have time to escape. And you’ve long accepted your fate.

That is until a certain professor decided to mess with fate.

After being forced out of your cell to meet this Professor Heimer—something, you weren’t really sure about. All you knew was that these Enforcers really liked to manhandle you especially roughly and took pleasure in seeing the black eye and blood on your teeth. That you were used to.

“Oh dear, could we please get her a towel at least?” The professor chided with a shake of his head. “Goodness, at least have her be presentable!”

Eventually, you got the rag, albeit it was thrown at you. After spitting on one of the Enforcer’s shoes, you wiped the blood and dirt from your face as the professor began speaking.

“Well, you certainly live up to your name. The Rebel Moon, is it? You may or may not have heard of me, but I am Professor Cecil. B. Heimerdinger and I are here as a Piltover Academy representative!”

A beat of silence went by. You realized then he was waiting for a response. You rolled your shoulder back and rubbed your aching jaw. “What are you meeting with me for?”

Professor Heimerdinger cleared his throat awkwardly, “Well….it seems you’ve left yourself a bit of a…reputation. I specifically admire your work on the bridge a year ago—marvelous work!” Sarcasm. You didn’t quite appreciate the condescension either. Seeing the unimpressed expression on your face, he quickly continued, “What I mean to get at is that we found some of your…erm, blueprints and I was surprised to see that most of them had been handwritten yourself, is that right?”

One of the Enforcers placed down a file filled with your old blueprints. They were mostly a copy of the Piltover Bridge, others were for weapons that your previous comrades built off of your drawings. Then there were the private drawings. The ones filled with naïve dreams of rebuilding the Undercity, changing it to a place where it was safe for everyone.

You snatched the files and hid those drawings in the file earning a quick yank from one of the Enforcers holding your chain. But after a subtle look from the professor, the chain loosened, and you frowned, anger boiling in your blood. “Where did you get this?”

Heimerdinger raised his hands, “I come in good faith, child, that I can promise.”

“I don’t particularly care about your promises—”

“Oh yes, very true,” The professor tapped the table thoughtfully. “But I do think you will like the proposition I have for you.”

Apparently, you had the potential talent of being an architect. One of the best in your generation it seemed—which somehow, he got from just looking at your old blueprints. And now he was convinced that you should join his Academy and that this was the perfect opportunity for you to change your life. To start over. To—

“Become one of you people?” You frowned and pushed the file away from you. “I’ll take my chances in here.”

 Heimerdinger, of course, was quite the persistent man.  “Imagine what you could do with your talents, Miss Moon. You’re still so young, you don’t have to waste your life behind bars. You can start anew!”

“I’m not wasting away in here.” You say simply, your shoulders are heavy and your face still sore. Carefully and slowly, you leaned back in the chair you were sitting in,  trying not to put too much stress on your recently dislocated arm. “That’s the thing with you Upsiders. You all don’t know anything about what it is to fight. And what it is to sacrifice just so your people can see the light of day. I don’t need your handouts. I’m doing just fine here. It’s where I belong.”

At that, he frowned. “I’m afraid I disagree with you, Miss Moon.” He pushed the file back toward you. “You have the chance to create something beautiful for your city, for your people. You have the chance to help them live. You have the chance to be something greater.”

Greater. You weren’t great. It was either great or nothing.

Somehow, Heimerdinger managed to strike a deal and get you out of Stillwater despite your rejection. For some reason, he was so determined to make you into something that you weren’t. And you were determined to fail. You were determined to prove him wrong. Even if he tried to impress you with the new uniform, the scenery, and the architect of Piltover—just to inspire you—you would not break.

If anything, seeing all this luxury only made you angrier. Even if they preached about you now being free with new chances, there were still shackles clamped on your wrists, imprinting themselves like a tattoo. To remind you that even if you’ve gotten this chance, there is always a chance for you to go back. And they wouldn’t hesitate to send you back once you mess up. Which was what you were counting on.

But it seemed that Heimerdinger was a lot more astute than you expected. The professor had you in his study during the day to work and look over some blueprints for new housing at the Academy. It left you with very little time to plan something reckless that would have you sent back to prison. Which, you guessed, was what Heimerdinger wanted. So, you entertained him and worked on the stupid blueprints, redesigning everything as fast as you could so you could get done faster and have more time on your hands.

Of course, that plan went quickly out the window when there came more demands for blueprints. Leaving you swapped and buried deep in work you didn’t even want. And yet, admittingly, it was a nice distraction. There was a small part of you—the child you—that enjoyed some of this. You would never admit that to Heimerdinger and yet you couldn’t put the pencil down. Eventually, you began receiving so many different requests for different projects that Heimerdinger got you a lab over your own, so all your stuff didn’t get overcrowded in his study.

Requests were filled with more designs or redesign for specific buildings they were hoping to update to catch up to the times—and then there were a few that had you designing weapons. The more you worked, the more of a reputation you began to build in the Academy. The new Undercity kid. Rebel Moon. Hephaestus. It was all ridiculous.

That’s when another fellow Undercity student finally found you.

“I fear those papers would catch on fire the more you glare at it.”

It was an accented voice that stirred you out of your spinning thoughts. You definitely had been glaring at the blueprints of a recent request for an apartment just a few walks from campus. You briefly glanced over your shoulder toward the man—he seemed a little bit older than you, walked with a cane, intrigued amber eyes, and a small, amused smile tugging at his lips.

“If you’re here for a request then just leave it over there with the rest.” You murmured before turning your attention back to the blueprints after pointing toward a desk in the corner stacked with many more requests.

There was a short breath before he spoke, “Ah, no, I actually already sent a request just a few weeks ago…I’m impressed by your work, the professor has a knack for spotting talent.”

You didn’t respond as you kept staring at the blueprints, twirling the pen in your hand, feeling the weight of the shackle around your wrist.

You heard him clear his throat, “So, you are from the Undercity?”

“What’s it to you?” You grunt before outlining.

“Well, truthfully, I didn’t expect the Academy to accept another one.”

At that, you swirl around in your seat and sized the man up carefully. He was pale, slightly hunched to hide his true height, neatly combed dark hair, and he had very fine cheekbones. “Another one? What, too many Zaunites in your perfect little school?”

“I would’ve thought they had enough once I joined.” He gave a knowing smile that made you pause and narrow your eyes.

“…You’re…from the Undercity?”

He moved toward you; the click of his cane echoed in the quiet room and offered his hand to you. “I’m Viktor. I’ve heard a lot of great things about you, Miss Moon.”

You stared at his hand for a moment, tilting your head, “Great things? That doesn’t sound right.”

Viktor chuckled, still holding his hand out. “Eh, some people might have a few opinions about you. Unfortunately, it made me all the keener to meet you in person.”

“Am I what you expected then?” You asked as you eventually shook his hand, your shackles clinking a bit.

With a small smile, he squeezed your hand, “No. Not at all.”

Your brow twitched as you studied him. He was delicate-looking. But his hand was a bit larger yet slender. They were calloused, just like yours yet warm compared to your coldness. It was then you realized that your hand was still in his and you pulled it away and turned back to your work.

“My name’s not ‘Miss Moon’ by the way.” You grunt as you refocus.

There was another soft chuckle and a click of his cane before he was gone. You couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder and stare at the doorway, a little bit too intrigued.

After that, you didn’t stop seeing Viktor. At least twice every week you’d get a request for him to polish some designs for his work. Sometimes he’d send his assistant, Sky, and sometimes he’d come in person himself.  At first, you weren’t entirely sure about him. But the fact that he was from the Undercity along with his assistant was slightly comforting. At least you weren’t alone here. Still, it was odd. Foreign.

“Have you ever gone out to see the finished product of your work?” Viktor asked you one day, deciding to linger even after delivering yet another request for something to do with a Hexcore.

“No.”

“Why?”

You frown and glance toward him. He was looking over some of your finished blueprints with a strange look accompanied by a smile. “I’m just not interested.”

Viktor blinked and met your eyes with a small frown. You didn’t say much more—truthfully there wasn’t much more to be said about it.

“Well, it’s one of the most beautiful designs I’ve ever seen. If that’s any consolation.”

You felt something in your chest at his words. Perhaps some of you did want to see the finished products of your design. And yet you were always rooted in this lab. In the dark under one lamp, barely seen by other students. Hephaestus.

Viktor tapped your workbench thoughtfully and hummed, “I’ll leave you to it, Miss Moon.”

You rolled your eyes, “That’s not my name.”

He laughed and left your lab.

On another day he came into your lab in quite a hurry. He left his requests as usual before rushing out. Only he left a ring behind. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you glanced at the ring on the floor and toward your workbench before sighing. After grabbing the ring, you pushed up from your stool and left your lab. This was the first time you’ve walked around campus or went anywhere besides your lab or Heimerdinger’s study.

You asked around for Viktor’s lab until you stopped on a bridge, spotting something quite familiar.

It was the newly remodeled dorms. They glistened like gold in the sun. Build just like how you imagined them in your head. Just like how you outlined it on paper. Only in your dreams could you imagine what they would look like. But seeing it….It was real. And it was beautiful. And it came from your mind.

“Ah, Miss Moon, odd seeing you here!” Viktor approached you quite smugly from across the bridge. He glanced toward the dorms and gave a grin, “They just got done with it last week. What do you think, hmm?”

You narrow your eyes, “You scheming little eel.”

Viktor blinked almost too innocently, “I haven’t a clue what you mean—ah, I was looking for that.”

He gestured toward the ring in your hand. You gave it back to him while your eyes couldn’t help but draw back to the dorms. There was a tightness in your chest and a small ache behind your eyes.

“Glorious, isn’t it?” Viktor asked, his voice gentle as always.

You snapped out of your reserved awe and cleared your throat. “They did okay, I guess.”

With that, you darted back to your lab, the dorms imprinting themselves in your mind.

It became a routine at some point. Viktor began visiting your lab a little more often. At first, you didn’t notice this. But some days he’d come back to your lab a second time that day just to linger and see what else you were working on. At first, you thought you found it annoying. But as the days carried on and turned into weeks, you began to begrudgingly look forward to his visits.

“At least make yourself useful. Look over my work and see if there’s anything I missed.” You tried grunting when he leaned a little closer than usual to look at the blueprint you were working on.

“Hmm, I can try.” Viktor hummed as he flicked his eyes over the finished prints. “But they’re all probably perfect as usual.”

“Don’t you have some work to get to?”

“Not particularly, no.”

For some reason, he started leaving shit in your lab. Which would lead to you having to go and find him and return his stuff. Stuff like a screwdriver or some paperwork. Today it was a journal as you trudged through the campus and finally found his lab.

“Vik, I understand you’re a busy man, but you can’t keep leaving your shit in my area.” You huffed, throwing his journal onto his workbench, breaking him from his focus.

“Oh, Miss Moon,” He looked genuinely surprised to see you. “I wasn’t expecting you…”

“Yeah, right, so you didn’t leave this in my lab on purpose? You just happen to leave it there for me to find and bring to you?” You hummed, tilting your head as you got a good look at what he’s been working on—something a lot longer than what you’ve been doing. The Hexcore was what he called it. You didn’t understand it yourself—or cared much to learn about it. But you did notice some of your designs were used for his work.

“Mmm, you make me sound like a calculating stalker.” Viktor hummed as he got to his feet, joining your side. So, close his arm brushed against yours.

“Are you?” You quipped dryly while studying the Hexcore.

His slender fingers gently brush along your elbow. “I wouldn’t call myself a stalker, no. Are you interested?”

You glanced at him and realized he was talking about the Hexcore. “No. Just give me the why.”

Viktor hummed once more and leaned against the table, his fingers still brushing gently along your elbow. “For our home.” At that, you felt a tightness within your chest, your features falling slightly. Viktor, who had become very astute with your expression, gently grabbed your arm and squeezed it. “What’s with that face?”

You remember your life before the Academy. You remember your determination to prove Heimerdinger wrong. “Sometimes…I feel as if I’ve gotten too comfortable…too used to all of this….”

In the end, it was always your people above everything else. A revolutionary never dies, that was the simple truth.

“I think I’ve gotten too comfortable too.” Viktor frowned softly, tilting his head a bit to get a better look at your eyes when you averted your gaze. “And it’s all your fault, Miss Moon.”

You rolled your eyes only for him to lean forward and capture your lips with his. A lick of fire had been rekindled within you, breathing life into your soul, into your body. When he brought his hand to the back of your neck, when he practically cradled your face and brought you closer so he could deepen the kiss, when he touched you so gently as he always did, it was as if for a moment that heavy weight on your shoulders had been lifted. Leaving you weightless for even just a moment. That bit of relief was a breath of fresh oxygen in your lungs.

The heat from his lips moved from your mouth and down to your jaw and to the crook of your neck. Your back was pressed against the workbench as he practically clung and draped himself over you. And you let him. Even when he desperately wanted to feel you and kiss you all over, he was gentle. He always was.

The days didn’t change much except for whenever he was free, he’d head straight for your lab. Whether on a break or in a hurry, he’d always stop by and pepper your face with quiet kisses and touches before leaving for his lab. It was routine. You were getting comfortable. Comfortable in his warmth. In his gentle hold.

“Just stay,” Viktor murmured against your jaw as you examined some of his work with the Hexcore. “Your presence is better than that tea Jayce always makes.”

“I can’t, Heimerdinger wants to meet with me soon, and I got a bunch more new requests on my desk.” You hummed while looking through Viktor’s partner, Jayce’s, notes. “I think that Jayce guy requested some designs for a hammer of some kind—that’s been taking up most of my time as of lately so I can’t necessarily—”

“I know, I know,” Viktor rested his chin on your shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment as he slumped against you.

His health had gotten worse, which was something you and everyone else noticed. It did worry you how much he was working lately without much sleep, but you quickly learned how much of a stubborn man he was—especially when it came to his work.

“What do you think Heimerdinger wants to meet with you about?” He voiced your constant question out loud.

“Don’t know.” You murmured, trying not to think too much about it—or his health right now. “Won’t know until I get there. Probably wants to send me back to Stillwater.”

At that, he pinched your waist, “Don’t joke like that.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“Losing you is not funny to me.”

You placed Jayce’s scribbles down and wrapped your arms carefully around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder with a soft hum. He instantly relaxed in into your hold, but of course, you could tell his mind was still half Hexcore and half you at the moment. “Be sure to get some rest, okay?”

As usual, he gave a half-assed noise of slight agreement.

ACT II: REBEL MOON

It wasn’t long before Jayce Talis became the Man of Progress and Viktor became buried in his work. And then you were promoted. The lead architect of a very important project for Piltover. No longer the Rebel Moon but Hephaestus, Piltover’s future.

But.

But.

Everyone saw you as the kid saved from the Undercity and made a new. Everyone saw you as the future of their city. You were part of the progress of tomorrow. And you kept chasing Viktor, trying to keep up with his mind but he—he had become so work driven—so ambitious on the Hexcore dream that he had forgotten everything else.

You were angry. Angry at Piltover. Angry at what you’ve become. Angry at Viktor. This wasn’t the life you had chosen. All of this was envisioned for you. This wasn’t for you. You had nearly gotten so swept up in all the glamour and success that you had nearly forgotten—

No. You would never forget your people.

So, when your lab went up in smoke when you destroyed the project that you had been assigned to as lead architect, when the Enforcers tackled you to the ground and arrested you on the spot, when one of them grinned as if they’d been waiting—waiting for you to finally mess up, you knew right then that you would never be what Heimerdinger, what Viktor, or what anyone saw for you. You were a Zaunite after all. And a revolutionary. A rebel. Always.

It wasn’t long before you were placed back in Stillwater Hold. In the same cell. With the same shackles. You didn’t even get to tell Viktor goodbye. Would he have even realized it? Or perhaps, it was better off to leave him to his Hexcore dream. Perhaps, that was best. Yes.

But your mind was no longer settled with just staying in a cell and living out your sentence. One thing Piltover did give back to you was your fighting spirit. Rekindled your fire. And breathed life into your dead soul. And so, you weren’t quiet in the cell. You made noise. Cried out for war until the rest of the prisoners joined you. It wasn’t long before a riot broke out. The prisoners overpowered the guards, and you led them to escape.

The streets of Zaun were screaming for the Rebel Moon once more. Even now more so than ever when rumors began flying around about a rocket hitting Piltover, resulting in a few councilmembers’ deaths. Your thoughts wandered to Viktor, you wondered if he was okay, if he hadn’t killed himself working so hard. But your focus went back to your people. To the escaped prisoners as you all went into hiding underground. They followed you. Their chosen leader. You had no wish to be a leader, but you did want to be free and help your people.

ACT III: NONBELIEVER

Hiding in the Underground for months began to wear everyone down, even you—their supposed fearless leader. The sickness in the Undercity knew no bounds. Many of your people were getting sicker and dying as the days passed. You did your very best trying to supply and care for them—but you could only do so much.

That’s when you started hearing strange rumors about some healer in the Undercity. A herald or whatever that meant. At first, you didn’t think much of these rumors while being so focused on caring for your people.

Soon, sightings of strange people began appearing. Shouting about the Herald and how he could save their people. You were…wary of this. It almost seemed too good to be true. And you hadn’t seen these strange people yourself, so you thought it was all fake, stories made up to give the people false hope.

You came back from the small local market with more food than you could scrape up. Somehow, you’d have to figure out how to make it last throughout the month. But there were so many people. So many people are coming for refuge, and so many people in need of help.

“Are you the Rebel Moon?”

At the voice, you stop and glance over your shoulder, only to find no one there. Had you imagined it? Were you too wary after months of people coming to you and seeking refuge? The name Rebel Moon became a beacon of hope as much as it was for the name Jinx or that Herald.

Deciding it was just exhaustion messing with your head, you turn to continue forward, only to gasp and stop when you nearly ran into someone standing directly in front of you.

And they had appeared out of nowhere. It was a man that you didn’t know. His face void of any emotion except for a simple smile on his face, strange crystal-like fixtures embedded into his skin, while wearing white fabric far too clean to have come from the Undercity.

“You are Miss Moon, yes?” The man asked.

You stiffened. No one had called you that in a while. No one except… “Whose asking?”

The smile remained on the man’s face, “The Herald has been searching for you, Miss Moon. And he would like to speak with you.”

You gripped the basket of fruit and near stale bread in your hand and gritted your teeth, “I’m not interested, thanks.”

Just as you nudged past the man to continue down the crowded street, he spoke again. Only this time it wasn’t his voice coming from his mouth.

“You’re a hard woman to track, Miss Moon.”

It was like the air had been stolen from you as you whirled around to stare wide-eyed at the man with Viktor’s voice. The basket fell from your grasp, but the man was quick to catch it—somehow so fast—as he handed it back to you. “V-Vik?”

He nodded and slowly blinked, “I feared I wouldn’t see you again. You disappeared so suddenly, almost as if you weren’t there to begin with.” The man’s hand came up to gently brush his fingers along your jaw sending a sharp shiver down your spine. “Almost as if you never existed.”

You flinched almost and stepped back. Thoughts swirled within your mind as you tried to reel from the man speaking in Viktor’s voice. “What…what is this? How are you doing this?”

“I don’t want you to be frightened of me.” He instead said, taking another step forward but didn’t reach out to touch you again. “I only want to help you. I can save those people from that sickness.” You opened your mouth, ready to ask how he knew but stopped yourself which allowed him to continue, his voice gentle. “Only if you let me.”

“You’re the Herald.” It was mostly confirmation for yourself as you let the words slip out.

The man smiled softly, “I wish to see you again, Miss Moon. There is so much I wish to show you. But I will come to you first.”

Before you could ask what, he meant by that, the man’s voice returned, and Viktor’s voice was gone. “The Herald will come tomorrow, Miss Moon.”

And with that, watched this vessel of a man walk away. Leaving you feeling as if you were in some type of nightmare. No, alternate reality. It must’ve been some hallucination. Yes. That had to be it.

Only when the next day came, one of the children at your camp came running to you about the Herald being here, did you know right then and there that this was not a hallucination.

You watched as he entered your camp with those lifeless people that followed him.  Viktor had changed. Covered in indigo metallic skin, his hair slightly longer, his posture straighter yet still relying on a cane—or staff in this case.

Viktor’s eyes found yours almost instantly as if they were magnetically drawn to you. It looked like him.

“Miss Moon.” He hummed as he drew closer, staring at you with the same gentleness despite the distance in his expression.

It sounded like him.

You led him to the tent he would be staying in, watching the lifeless people tend to your people with baskets of fresh fruit and food. Viktor called your name in his accented voice, drawing your attention back to him, finding him already staring at you with an intense expression.

Even in this form, Viktor’s body couldn’t help but be pulled toward you. He let the staff rest while his hands slowly came up to trace and feel this human skin. Distantly he was all too aware of it. How he still reacted to you. With the remnants of Sky lingering in his mind, his thoughts had always wandered back to you. The image of your divine being. If he could still dream, it would’ve only been you he would’ve seen.

There was a strong pull that led him to you. Perhaps sensations of desperation. Even as he leaned his forehead against yours, feeling the little warmth coming from your body against his metallic yet pallid skin—he still wished to mold himself to you. To never stop touching you. To never let you slip from his fingers again

And then there was that look on your face. The furrow in your brow running heavy with exhaustion—you hadn’t slept. At that realization, his hand gently squeezed the side of your neck absently.

“You’re so quiet.” Viktor hummed finally, quietly for only you and him to hear in the stillness of the tent. His thumb traced your cheekbone. “You’re always keeping your thoughts from me.”

You tilted your head, trying to stir yourself out from the haze of his touch. “Are those…those people….are they the ones you ‘saved’?”

“Yet, so honest.” There was a hint of a smile on his face as he selfishly pulled your hand against his chest, keeping it there, selfishly. “Yes. They’re healed. No more…senseless pain. I can offer your people this peace. And you can come to stay at our new home. I think…you’d like it. You need peace.” He rubbed his thumb under your eye, making your shoulders grow heavier. “And rest.”

You couldn’t come up with a response. His lips linger on your mouth, and your jaw, and your neck. His fingers thread through your hair which had grown longer since the last time he had seen you. Gentle traces, cool breath fanning along your skin, his arms wrapping around your weathered and scarred form. Even your fingers traced his new skin. Refamiliarizing yourself with him.

But.

But.

It wasn’t him.

Even when his lips pressed gently yet hastily against yours, his body clinging to your human flesh, it still felt like a stranger. Familiar yet unfamiliar.

Confliction warred at your mind as you watched him move through the camp, your people looking at him as if he were a savior. As if the gods had sent him when it was only magic and remnants of the Hexcore embedded into his body. Your eyes couldn’t stop falling onto the lifeless people he ‘saved’. The ones that followed him without much thought. Would your people look like this? Void of themselves? No breath. No heartbeat?

But then you wanted Viktor. You wanted to go to this peaceful land he had created for himself and these people. You wanted to be with him. To be wrapped in his gentle embrace once more. To hear his voice whisper gently into your ear, easing the exhaustion from your muscles.

But.

But.

But.

Viktor reached out toward a boy. Sparks danced along his fingertips. The boy stared in awe. It was instant, your reaction.

Your hand grasped his wrist, stopping him. Viktor’s gaze met yours in an instant. You didn’t know what your face looked like, but it made Viktor falter.

Viktor saw your face and absolute dread filled him. A sense of it at least. It made his body go slack in your grasp—surrendering to you instantly. The glassiness of your gaze and that expression. He had never seen such a thing on your face. Fear. Desperation. Hurt. Sorrow. Grief.

He’d lost you. No. No. He’d…He’d get you back. He couldn’t let you go again…he couldn’t let…

What was this strange feeling in his chest?

You pulled him away from the boy and Viktor allowed himself to follow you. Gazes unwavering. But you forced the words out of your mouth. “This isn’t what I want for these people. This…this isn’t saving them…”

He couldn’t let you slip from his fingers.

You couldn’t let him take your people’s humanity.

He needed to keep you. To keep his humanity.

“Revolutions never rest.” Was your whisper as you released his wrist.

He called your name, but you forced yourself to turn your back on him.

“Show him out.” You murmur to one of the stronger men in your camp. You couldn’t turn back. You couldn’t look him in his eyes. If you did….

Then this conflict would disappear in an instant.

Viktor and his followers left without much problem. Maybe that hurts too.

The yearning for Viktor never left you and yet it wasn’t your job to bring him back. This Hexcore…all of it was beyond you. Maybe all of it wasn’t meant to be for you. Maybe…Maybe he wasn’t meant to be yours….

Days later you had heard the Herald had changed.

Days later the Herald was gone from this world.

Days later your exhaustion and grief wore on your shoulders.

Days later you’re trudging through the Undercity, more baskets filled with fruit in your arms.

Days later, you find a blue shard on the ground, somewhere near where Viktor’s utopia had been.

You picked it up from the ground, a remnant of what remained of Viktor and his work. You saw the manmade tents that were now abandoned, the builds similar to your past designs of what you wanted for the Undercity.

Silent tears fell from your cheeks as you gripped the shard. And you clutched the shard so tight in your hand that you could’ve sworn you felt a soft hum from it. Or maybe you were imagining things. Maybe you were too exhausted. Maybe you really did need rest.

And then.

You heard that accented voice.

“Miss Moon.”

Your breath hitched as the shard suddenly began to glow.

And Viktor’s voice came from it.

“May I show you something?”

And then. There was a bright blue flash.

@sadderall-xr @renn-pumkin-head @aise-30 @callingstars

[theamarischapter]

He's Not My Boyfriend!

CHAPTER 01; funny story

pairing: beomgyu x f!reader

w/c: 1.7k

genre: strangers to frenemies to lovers, high school au, slow burn...ish (?), fake dating (for a day)

warnings: none!

summary: In which, both your and Beomgyu’s friends started shipping you together after you offhandedly told them a story you thought was funny. They seem to have taken it another way and now every time someone asks about it, you wish you could go back and never mention it at all. You barely know the guy, let alone like him! And it's not like he likes you, either...

fic below the cut! enjoy <3

JANUARY 7TH

It was a day like any other. A faint breeze whispered against the windows of your living room. Outside, specks of snow painted the landscape a bright white. Winter, your second favorite season, only because you still prefer the superior weather of spring. You had gathered with some friends to hang out, bundled up in blankets on the couch as snacks and cocoa filled the coffee table in front of you. To your left sat Hueningkai, your cousin–more like your brother–who saw you grow from diapers, to your awkward phase, to who you are now: An outgoing, confident, genius (in his opinion at least; his grades are lackluster compared to yours). 

Across from you two, on the floor and around the coffee table, sat the friends you made when you first ‘started your new life’, Chaewon and Yunjin. You met them at orientation (where Kai coldheartedly abandoned you) and things sorta went from there. Kai had heard lots about them through your late-night FaceTime calls and frequent hangouts, and he’d met them a couple of months into freshman year when he had no one besides you to hang out with at lunch. They all clicked, to your relief, and you’d formed your own little group together. Usually, you all love having movie nights or just chill, cozy hangouts, especially during winter. No one wants to be out in that cold for too long, realistically. Soobin, Kai’s friend, had decided to come this time around, too. He sat at the edge of the couch next to Kai, legs crossed and a blanket over his lap. Everything was going well. Airy giggles carried in the small space as the mugs of hot cocoa emptied and you all caught up on life while also reminiscing on embarrassing stories from your past. That was your first mistake. 

“I was actually talking to my mom the other day, and…she brought up this story. ” You said ambiguously. Your eyebrows lifted and a smile pulled at the corner of your lips. Of course, you had piqued everyone’s interest, and they all pressured you to continue. There was a hum of silence as you wondered where to start, and then finally, you spoke.

“So basically, Kai’s been best friends with Beomgyu–you know him right?–since like…birth.” You started, immediately capturing the attention of your two friends across from you. They’d heard of him, shared some classes even, but never really talked to the guy directly. As for Kai, he knew him obviously (like literally everything about him), and Soobin did too since they’re all friends. 

“But even though Kai’s my cousin, I don’t really talk to him. So, my mom was telling me about how this one time, Beomgyu stopped her at the grocery store and went, “hey, are you y/n’s mom?” my mom recognized him, obviously, because he and Kai are practically attached at the hip. Then apparently, he started talking about how I was a good student and I was always nice and stuff. And then after that, my mom never shut up about how he probably had a crush on me. Honestly, I doubt it. I remember she came home and asked me if I knew him and I was just like, he’s Kai’s friend? But like…why was he talking to my mom of all people?” You chuckled at the end of your rambling, finding Yunjin eyeing you with a sly smile, she was the first to speak. “My question is how he knew that was your mom if you two weren’t even friends?” She asked, her eyebrows lifting as she leaned towards you playfully. “I think your mom was onto something.” 

A crease was quick to form between your eyebrows, lips parting as you rolled your eyes with a scoff. No way. “Yeah, no. Okay, maybe talking to her in the middle of a grocery store was kinda weird, I’ll admit, but the only reason he knew it was my mom is ‘cause of Kai, probably. Plus, we look exactly alike. It doesn’t mean he liked me, though.” You argued, unsure why you felt so defensive all of a sudden.

“I dunno, I think you two would make a cute couple.” Soobin cut in. His large, deep brown eyes observed your increasingly frantic form. Around them were thick, black, square-framed glasses that slipped down his nose as he sat up straight. If you looked close enough, you could see a hint of amusement in his expression from the way dimples threatened to form on his cheeks as the corners of his mouth twitched. “What? I barely even know him!” You exclaimed. However, it did little to stop the seed planted in their minds from growing. How did none of them take your side? Fake friends, seriously!

“Barely know him? Y/n, he’s been my best friend since I was six.” Kai interjected, which shocked you to the point where your jaw practically reached the floor. Not because he totally called you out but because you assumed (or maybe hoped) that at least Kai would’ve been against it since Beomgyu was his best friend. But he wasn’t. “Besides, he’d be better than any man you’d be interested in.” 

“Hey! My taste isn’t that bad. I’m just unlucky.” You defended with a scoff and a forceful punch to Kai’s shoulder. Chaewon and Yunjin seemed to chuckle in disagreement, and your head whipped to them as your movements became more animated. “It’s really not! Besides, this isn’t what we were even talking about.”

“Right. So when’s your guys’ first date?” Chaewon asked as her lips quirked into a teasing smile. Her short hair bounced as her head turned to the side. Your cheeks were heating up, and you did not like it.

“I hate all of you.” You grumbled, still trying to fight. It was useless because the idea was already implanted in their minds and they’d already come up with the perfect ship name. Y/ngyu, or alternatively beomy/n. Well, this will be so much fun, you thought.

— °˖✧✿✧˖° —

10 DAYS LATER - JANUARY 17TH

It’s not fun. At all. Put simply, you want to crawl into a hole and die. Better yet, ceased to have existed at all. Okay, maybe that’s dramatic, but how else are you supposed to react? Your friends' big mouths mean that Beomgyu has found out about the ship name, yay. In fact, Kai seems proud as ever to admit that he asked Beomgyu about you–but you couldn’t be bothered to ask about the details. Even the mention of his name has irritation bubbling in your chest. It’s a pity since the guy himself hasn’t done anything.

Imagine your surprise when Yunjin is pulling you and Chaewon along to a new spot to eat lunch. Of course, you hadn’t thought much of it. Or, rather, you wanted to give your friend the benefit of the doubt. There was the annoying shipping stuff going on but most of the time that stuff just came down to dumb jokes and teasing. Plus, it’s cold out and she’s seemingly dragging you to a nice, warm, quiet classroom. As you trudge further and further from the cafeteria, loud conversation turns into faint murmurs that can be heard beneath the hum of the wind outside. You can’t help but feel your cheeks rise and your lips part as you smile. This is nice. Peacful.

Well, it would’ve been.

Your feet stop when you see the classroom, its door fully ajar and inviting. Kai, Beomgyu, and Soobin all sit at a cluster of desks moved together, three empty seats for you and your friends. Absolutely not. Immediately, you turn the other way. Curse Yunjin’s deathly grip on your wrist and Chaewon pushing you forward from behind because you don’t get far before they’re shoving you into the seat next to Beomgyu’s. Nothing comes out of your mouth, and nothing but an awkward glance is shared between you and the tall, pale-skinned, long-haired boy. He looks about the same as you remember from second-period math in eighth grade.

But maybe if you would’ve stared longer you would’ve noticed the way his eyes lingered for just a second too long.

— °˖✧✿✧˖° —

Beomgyu was, admittedly, a little surprised when Soobin first brought you up in conversation—well, not really. You’re Kai’s cousin, after all, so it wasn’t necessarily weird just…a bit unusual. He’d been over at Soobin’s house, sitting in front of the TV as they mindlessly clicked away at gaming controllers and argued over who was better. Things settled for a while when they switched to a more chill, less competitive game: Minecraft. The faint glow of the TV illuminated their faces in the dark, the only sounds being the occasional clicks of the controller and hum of the gentle background music. That’s when Soobin spoke.

“You know y/n?” He asked quietly, sneaking a glance at the boy next to him, who’d gone stiff at the mention of your name. Beomgyu cleared his throat, feigning relaxation as he slouched slightly, hitting all the wrong buttons on his controller as he mustered a response.

“I, uh, yeah, ‘course—I mean, she’s my best friend’s cousin after all. Why wouldn’t I?” He fumbled through his words, seeming weirdly nervous. Soobin raised an eyebrow, a small smile pulling on his lips as he leaned toward his friend, nudging him gently.

“You’re so obvious, Beomgyu.” He teased, attempting to elicit a reaction. The reaction he got, however, was quite unexpected. Upon hearing the obvious implications of those words, a crease formed between Beomgyu’s brows and his hair bounced as he shook his head, scoffing.

“Obvious about what?” He asked, almost sounding offended. There was something lacking in his tone, Soobin noticed—the usual, easygoing, playfulness of his loud and obnoxious friend. Beomgyu, for once in his life, sounded serious. “I don’t like her.”

“I didn’t say you did,” Soobin replied, conceding with a small sigh. His gaze lingered on Beomgyu for a moment, attempting to decipher what was happening beneath the surface. He’d only meant to tease, but now he felt a little guilty. “Just joking around…but you’d be cute together.”

Well, he wasn’t guilty enough to quit teasing completely. This time, at least, Beomgyu let out an amused huff, rolling his eyes. Yeah right. As if you hadn’t ignored him the entirety of middle school.

“Shut up. No we wouldn’t.” Beomgyu grumbled, focusing back on the game and ignoring the familiar feelings threatening to bubble up. You’re on a whole other planet from him.

a/n: first fic! i hope this chapter isn't too boring, promise it'll get better vv soon if it seems people are interested (even if not i'll probably keep writing anyway lols). many more chapters to come! right now it's looking like 12, but it may get shorter/longer depending on what happens. also fun fact this is based on real events in my life...except it's less fun irl (this is my way of coping). comments, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! xo

— °˖✧✿✧˖° —

next chapter

[gffa]

People shouldn't be too hard on Mon!

I absolutely love and is grateful of Freed's understanding and appreciation of the Jedi, apparent in the book, apparent in the interview he'd given for the book:

"For me, the excitement of the time period here, is that I tend to think of 'Star Wars' as a setting with plenty of room for grey area stories and moral ambiguity, but there are very clear lines of good and evil as well. There's no version of 'Star Wars' in which you look at the Emperor and go, 'Well, maybe he had some good ideas.' No, the Emperor is evil. And the Jedi and Luke at their best are good. Everything else exists somewhere in there. This is a period where the remains true but no one really knows that the Emperor is evil.

"As far as the public is concerned, this guy just won the worst war in living memory. The Clone Wars were this horrendous affair and Palpatine has put an end to it. Yes, he's declared himself Emperor but he's not the embodiment of all evil. There's not even a Death Star out there. On the absolute good side, the Jedi have sort of been tarnished in recent years. War scrapes away at the shining morality of any organization."

I think Freed really understands what Lucas meant when he said "The Jedi have been corrupted by this war."

...but I still don't hold it against Mon cause she's going through hell and she spoilerspoilerspoilerspoiler in the later half of the book. I think she's fascinating, wonderful, equally valid character with equally valid viewpoints as Bail within context of their own worlds and experiences in this novel.

The editor of the book said it best:

Bail – knows the truth about Palpatine, the Empire, and the fall of the Jedi. Caught between his commitment to truth and justice at any cost, and the duty he has to the daughter he’s been entrusted to protect.

Mon Mothma – a master politician, who believes – like so many – that opposing Palpatine is part of the regular game of politics. She doesn’t yet realize, Palpatine stood up from the game board years ago, and she’s playing against shadows.

Mon and Bail are allies, but not really friends (at this time). Padme was their link, and now, she’s gone. Where does that leave them?

For Mon and Bail especially, the secrets Bail holds that he cannot reveal leaves a gulf between them. And what does it mean when they find themselves at odds with each other, over truths they cannot speak?

prev anon) I'm talking about their different mindsets and experiences and viewpoints born from those and I'm not excusing Mon's... *spoilers* anyway I hope you enjoy the rest of the book! It's so nice seeing an author like Freed, who usually writes non-force side of sw, handling the jedi with such warmth, understanding and awareness

This was such a reassuring message to get, thank you! I've been avoiding spoilers for the book as best I can, but I'm only a quarter of the way through it and I was wondering how the various themes were going to go, but Freed's interview quotes and your comments have made me glad that I'm picking up what this book is putting down, because that's exactly how I've been reading it. (And why I'm hoping to encourage more people to read it--though, I will give a warning that this book can be uncomfortably prescient about current events in a way that I wouldn't say Alexander Freed Is A Witch, but that can be very hard to read about if you're not in the headspace to deal with a lot of reflections of the dumpster fire we're currently in.) As for Mon, I hope nobody comes down on her for this, because as much as I scream, cry, throw up, etc., over Bail's scenes, in general I lean a bit more towards Mon's way of doing things, because I think her approach is her answer to the question, "But what can actually be truly achieved?" That she is looking at an incredibly shitty situation with only shitty options and asking herself what can she actually get done, what does she have a snowball's chance in hell of success with? And she knows clearing the Jedi's name at this point in time is not on the table, not when there are a million other things that might actually do tangible good for the galaxy. And I don't disagree with that! I love the Jedi more than anyone, but clearing their name isn't more important that, say, trying to stop the Wookiees from being classified as a non-sentient species! Clearing their name isn't important enough to blow all your political capital and having nothing to show for it when there are people who you can help, with a chance that will actually succeed! Bail's idealism isn't stupid, he's incredible and the galaxy needs a shining light like him, it's necessary for the bigger hope for the future, we can't make it through the dark times without bright, shining hope. So even when they don't always think positively of each other, I never get the sense that Bail and Mon don't understand that the other is doing what they think is best. They just disagree on what that is. And it makes sense! Bail knew and was friends with the Jedi! He knows the truth about Palpatine and how important all that Force shit is to what's going on here! Mon is operating with the idea that this is a political battle--and she's not entirely wrong, she's necessary to the recovery of the galaxy, too, just as Luke is necessary to save the day, so too is Leia, and I sort of see that reflected in Bail and Mon's approaches--one is focusing on the mystical and one is focusing on the political and I think both are important here. So, I have nothing but hearts for Mon Mothma and what she's trying to do for the galaxy.

And I don't see them as antagonists here, I see them as two people who look at each other with the understanding that there is deep love and compassion for people in the other, that they want this other person on their side not just for political alliances but because they care, and maybe they want to scream in frustration that the other person can't see what they see, but I don't feel for a second that this is going to end with them anything other than them as friends. Their scene in Rogue One implies she knows about Bail knowing a living Jedi, if not directly knowing about Obi-Wan Kenobi, which isn't something he would tell just anyone. I'm hoping for the same with Saw, there's going to be conflict about their approaches, and I love that that's clearly a theme/why these three characters were chosen as the pillars of this book, that each of them are shown to have their reasons why and that each of them serve a purpose. I scream/cry/throw up more about the Jedi because that's the most fun for me, but I am enthralled with Mon's chapters just as much, the political tightrope she's on, and I would encourage people to read for those aspects just as much as I would encourage them for crying about the Jedi. ANYWAY, EVERYONE SHOULD READ THIS BOOK FOR YOURSELF, I'm having fun with the snippets I'm posting, but the book is so much more than those things! It's one of the best SW for rounding out the characters and filling in the transitions between the movies and TV shows, but in a way that keeps the tension and emotional gut-punches despite that we know where it's going. ALSO, MON MOTHMA AND BAIL ORGANA ARE THE BEST, I'M WILLING TO FIGHT THE INTERNET OVER THIS

[kosher-martian]

Okay I just had the most messed up Star Wars dream. But also it was really cool and the most screwed up scene Star Wars could have ever produced. It actually woke me up with how messed up but also kind of interesting it was. I'll post this now and then reblog later for the evening crowd.

The dream was clearly supposed to be a deleted scene from the Disney+ Obi-Wan series set at the end of the last episode when Obi-Wan is coming to visit Leia in the epilogue. 

In this version of the show Obi-Wan picks up a sidekick along the way, Nari (the Jedi killed in the first episode to show the normie audience how badass the Inquisitors are). Apparently he wasn't killed in the first episode in this version, but instead badly injured but rescued by Obi-Wan. Now he has a cybernetic hand and leg, which I'm sure didn't trigger any PTSD flashbacks in old Kenobi. 

When asked what he's going to do, Nari says he plans to go off and "continue the fight" by helping Jedi and other force sensitives escape the Empire along the Hidden Path. Leia asks Obi-Wan and Nari if they want to meet someone special. Senator Bail Organa looks uncomfortable, but Leia leads the two Jedi and the Senator  back to a hospital room with medical droids and nurses. The camera zooms in and the droids & nurses move one-by-one out of the way to reveal... (I'm building suspense here)... a greatly diminished Padme Amidala. 

Obi-Wan immediately backpeddles out of the room for a quick anxiety attack.

She didn't die giving birth, but stroked out and is basically a vegetable only capable of staring off into the distance and drooling. They have Natalie Portman done up in a bunch of prosthetics to make it look like her face is drooping heavily on one side. Her hair is buzzcut (I guess narratively to keep Padme from pulling at it?) and she's connected to a bunch of massive medical equipment that makes her look small and fragile. Obi-Wan, out in the hallway and refusing to go in, is horrified because he could have sworn she was dead. Senator Bail reveals that he cooked up the whole dying story and did a switcheroo with one of her body doubles!?! WTF Bail!?!

Leia tries to talk to Padme, as does Nari. She mentions that her mother really doesn't respond but she feels like Padme is in there and listening. Nari recognizes Padme (as a politician who was friends with Anakin Skywalker, not as hi secret lover and eventual wife) and is happy to see her. He says something about how lost he feels but he's found purpose or whatever. He was just a padawan when Order 66 happened and he just knows if Anakin had been there at the Temple (evidently he was not present for the Anakin/Vader fight scene and reveal) ... 

Hearing the name "Anakin" causes Padme to snap back to reality for a second, just as Obi-Wan finds the strength to enter the room. They lock eyes as he enters the room and she slowly de-ages into a long-haired healthy looking Padme. I think it was supposed to be ambiguous whether she was being force healed or whether it was just a symbolic de-aging to what Obi-Wan sees in his mind's eye. She struggles to speak. The medical equipment bugs out. She says his name slowly. 

On Mustafar, Vader is stalking around his castle ranting about Kenobi while a little spidery robot droid walking alongside projects a hologram of the Emperor. He's ranting about Kenobi i living on borrowed time and how he'll tear apart the galaxy to find him and finish what he started and... 

Suddenly he stops dead in his tracks and he looks out a window up at the night sky. There's a lone shimmering star. Sidious tries to move the conversation forward by talking about troop movements or whatever and notices he's being ignored. Just as Vader says "Padme?" under his breath, we see Sidious flick his hand in annoyance and Vader's suit starts malfunctioning, forcing him to take a knee. Because of the timing of Vader speaking and the suit malfunctioning, the "-dme" part of "Padme" is rendered in Hayden Christensen's voice.

Sidious does the line from the original version but more annoyed in tone and with the Kenobi-specific parts removed: "You seem agitated, my friend. I wonder if your thoughts are... clear... on this, Lord Vader? If your past cannot be overcome...". 

Vader's suit malfunctions some more. Vader groans in agony.

"No. Kenobi and- Kenobi means nothing to me. I serve only you."

.

.

.

And that's when I woke up. Screwed up, right?

I HATE the idea of Padme being kept alive but as a vegetable, but I do like the idea of Sidious keeping his metaphorical finger on the kill switch to keep Vader in line.

Normally my dreams are extremely boring. The overwhelming majority of my dreams (80% of the ones I remember) are Grocery Shopping Simulator™ in a procedurally generated grocery store that only sells frozen food and tupperware. Just aisles and aisles of freezer sections and shelves with only plastic containers. The rest of them are either Transcribe Handwritten Table into Excel™ or the very rare Drive aimlessly around empty residential streets of my home town during the mid morning to kill time until the post office opens but the post office never opens, time doesn't appear to really be moving forward, and I just keep driving past the same few houses and sometimes my car radio will play an old rock song I like but otherwise it's just static or my unconscious mind's attempt to make radio ads™.

And then there are dreams like this!?!

[maspers]

I feel like those of us in the Cosmere fandom don't appreciate how the Stormlight Archive isn't a murder mystery.

(Well okay there's a little bit of one in Oathbringer but we aren't talking about that)

It could have been so easy for the death of Gavilar Kholin to have been a murder mystery. Let's look at the scenario, shall we? There's a big meeting and party, where peace is supposed to be declared, and then the King dies. Say we DIDN'T know whodunnit. Gavilar's death haunts the narrative, and every subplot in the story soon ties back to that single driving question of "Who Killed Gavilar Kholin?". Over the course of the story, we've seen the layers slowly peeled off, one by one, revealing a whole bunch of suspects.

There's Dalinar, the King's brother, seemingly a depressed drunkard but was once known a deadly warrior and general.

There's Sadeas, the highprince who is seemingly loyal to the king but is otherwise a backstabbing slimeball.

And there's another highprince, Amaram, who was talking with Gavilar for quite a while earlier in the day.

Jasnah, the King's heretical and highly intelligent daughter, and...

Also the person who hired Liss, an actual assassin, to spy on the event and possibly kill someone else.

Then there's Elhokar, the King's incompetent son who is nonetheless next in line for the throne.

And Elhokar's hedonistic wife, Aesudan, who was apparently enough of a problem that Jasnah was planning on killing her.

Speaking of wives, the King's own wife Navani is soon revealed to be cunning in her own right... and angry with her husband.

Dalinar's sons, Adolin and Renarin, don't seem to have been in attendance, but considering everyone else in the family was there there's no reason they couldn't've been around as well and nobody mentioned it.

There's Eshonai and the other Parshendi drummers, a.k.a. the opposing faction. Eshonai in particular seems to be dangerous.

And her sister, Venli, is also dangerous, was also present, and probably wasn't supposed to be.

At least four of the legendary Heralds are soon revealed to be present as well. The King was planning on betraying Kalak and Nale, Jezrien was drinking with Dalinar, and Shalash was defacing the artwork.

Taravangian, the seemingly weak and compassionate King of Kharbranth who secretly is planning on orchestrating a LOT of murdering.

There's the mysterious "Thaidakar", leader of the Ghostbloods who Gavilar himself thought was the one responsible for killing him.

Since it's a Cosmere work and we didn't yet know Hoid couldn't hurt people, it would be easy to assume he's an available suspect as well.

Gavilar could have even committed suicide, as some part of an elaborate scheme.

A huge assortment of servants and partygoers, all of which could have been the killer. Not to mention the spren (and a seon!), who are soon revealed to not necessarily be as mindless as they seem.

Literally anyone else in the story becomes fair game at first glance. Even though she definitely wasn't there at all, Shallan Davar is revealed to have history with that particular night as well. You can keep going and connect everyone to the murder somehow, at least at first.

And lastly Szeth-son-son-Vallano, a mysterious Shin man in white, seen roaming the halls with a very bizarre sword.

Of course, we all know what happened. It was Szeth, in the King's chambers, with the honorblade. And he did it on the orders of the Parshendi. There's no whodunnit, or even a howdunnit (and even the whydunnit is only partially hidden from the reader, Jasnah's POV reveals Eshonai and the other Parshendi were pretty upfront about why they did it). There's no ambiguity, the death is merely a spark that kicks off the plot into motion.

"The Mysterious Murder of Gavilar Kholin" would have been a crutch. It would have been so easy for Sanderson to use it as a backup sideplot, supporting the other stories and keeping things tied together. There's an AU out there where Kaladin ends up being the amateur detective who puts the last piece together and confronts Szeth in an epic battle in the sky. That could have happened. But it didn't.

Brandon Sanderson does not need to rely on a murder mystery to keep his story standing. Regardless of whether it was intentional or not, he had enough faith in his narratives to make them stand on their own, moving forward beyond the death of one pathetic man. The Stormlight Archive is not about how people die, it's about how people choose to live. So it cast aside its crutch, walked forward on its own legs, and became one of the best dang fantasy sagas in history.

And then, in the ultimate "psych!" moment, things went back around and kept connecting to that night anyway. Like a bizarre episode of Columbo, where everything else around the extremely upfront murder gets revealed instead. Instead of using the murder mystery as a device to support the plot, the entire rest of the story is used as a device to support the account of the murder. So that even though it WASN'T a murder mystery we're thrown by the plot twists anyway.

And then, of course, while we're still reeling from those reveals, the rest of the plot hits us with some more Sanderlanches, because this story is still going. And it was never really about Gavilar, anyway.

It's brilliant. How the heck does Sanderson pull these crazy writing shenanigans off?

[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 😜😂

[yuseirra]

I really got everything right last July… Please…

AUGH (A Lament Post)

Um… Um!!~~~~Um…

Ha… Before I even start reviewing or talking about this manga (again), I just want to say:

To the best of my memory, I’ve never once really brought up the fact that I majored in psychology, or talked much about my personality type or any of that stuff for all the years I'd been here -and I've been using the net for a loooong time- before this piece came along (You know how people say certain types are good at reading emotions…? I was so frustrated that I ended up even mentioning that…)

So I read my old post I wrote back last July on how I thought the incident involving Ryosuke might have really played out, right?

And I couldn't have been more right at that point in time. GOSH. EVERYTHING I STATED IS BROUGHT UP AND RE-EXPLORED LATER IN THE EXACT SAME CONTEXT, WITH KAMIKI'S TESTIMONY IN 160.

PLEASE... I GOT EVERYTHING RIGHT....

The fact that Ai would have told him about their babies as she was there at the hospital, that he may not have known Ryosuke's true colors, the fact that he only prepared flowers with no ill intent,

That he really did not intend to do ANY harm.

Oh my god. I really had it all figured out.

Oh my god… LOL… Oh seriously!!! Seriously!!!!! Wow, I really am kind of amazing.

Wow… seriously…

What Kamiki said in Chapter 160—was exactly what I had already figured out back then. Around Chapter 154.

It’s literally the same.

Wow, I basically got everything right at the time, didn’t I?

L-Lol… LOL… haa… Oh… That’s why, ever since last year, I’ve been saying it. I'd been going in about it because I knew something was up.

I picked up the signs… and pointed them out-

But it felt like no one was getting it… Even when I went through everything point by point, it didn’t seem to get across. Of course, so many of you were very kind and watched on with interest,

But I don't think a lot of people believe me…

Also, apparently in Japan, you can’t drink alcohol until you're 20.

Then Kamiki wouldn’t have been able to drink alcohol… so what does that tell us? That means… that flashback in Chapter 154 was a lie.

There was a scene where Ai couldn’t drink until she died. So then, someone a year younger than Ai—how could he drink? He definitely wouldn’t have gone out to drink. Maybe he went along like Kana? But no… this is…; I think this was a hint that what he said back then was a lie—made up to make himself look bad so that Aqua wouldn’t have to feel bad about ruining his reputation. I've said this over and over.

Honestly, he seems like the type who’d be more strict about things like that than Ai. Like if Ai suggested drinking, he’d be the one saying, “Minors shouldn’t drink.”

AH seriously!!! Seriously!!! I’m just so frustrated!!

I don’t want to get worked up. I want to speak gently and calmly. I always smile when I’m outside, you know? I’m always smiling…people actually take me as a calm person in real life.

But this manga really stressed me out. Like, there was something that stuck out to me, and the story kept hiding it—circling around like it was a big mystery—and then they just… went off by themselves.

What was this story?

It wasn’t even a story. It was just the authors whispering secrets to each other and moving on.

And okay, fine, even that I can understand. I really can.

But if you’re going to depict a person getting stabbed to death—such a horrifying incident—and if you’re claiming to tackle a social issue, then there are things you need to make clear.

Leaving it vague like this and making readers wander around confused—if that’s the authors’ intention, then I think that’s a bad idea.

It's obvious! I can see what they're doing! I don't think any of this is so funny or enjoyable though!!

Even mystery stories give you the answer in the end!

But this… leaving it ambiguous like this—it honestly feels kind of cruel to the readers.

And then at the very end, we have characters say something like “people don’t care about the truth”.

The authors the ones who crafted the story like this…;; What are they bragging about? This is a story, not real life.

In real life, maybe things are vague. But the writers know the whole truth and deliberately hid it. That’s like laying a trap, isn’t it?

At this point, I don’t even know if this story was worth the effort I put into figuring it out.

They handled the topic so lightly, given how heavy it is.

It was painful—and yet, light. If it’s painful, then be heavy. If it’s light, then be casual. Pick one. I suffered from all directions.

I was so lonely. I was confused: Why can’t anyone seem to see it? Why doesn’t anyone notice? Or… did I miss something? Did I do something wrong, I wondered and kept going back to check if there were things I missed.

I’d already laid out all the answers.

Still, I kept reading with anxiety, just in case I was wrong.

It was just so strange…

What the character said, how the other characters treated him—it just didn’t match up with what I was seeing.

I know I’m not the only one who felt this way, but it was as if there weren't many who picked these things up... But it stood out, so I had to say it! Because you have to know the truth when you form an opinion about things, don't you? So you have to seek it out before anything...

I felt like I was losing my mind. I was sure I was right, so why did the manga keep saying something else?

But I was prepared to accept it if I was wrong.

It’s not my work, and I’m always ready to be wrong.

But—ah, seriously, though… LOL

Logically and intuitively, I still think the way I see it makes the most sense. At this point, I believe I really understand what this is and how things are in this piece. The answers I find should be correct.

Surely I wasn’t the only one? But I don't recall having seen others go, “Hey, what Kamiki's saying’s a lie,” or “That doesn’t add up.”

So I started wondering why… and both reactions, inside the story and the responses outside of it piled up and it got even more stressful because I felt what's happening is so wrong.. It was so wrong.

Thankfully, there were and are many of you who tolerated my fusses on this, that allowed me to feel comfortable enough to post my thoughts out here... May it not be the more common-widespread-received takes, but, I am grateful for this really.

I felt very distressed regarding this work because I could sense something was going really wrong...

Honestly, I still do!! It’s gotten a little better, though!!

Thank you for reading my theories and posts!!

Even though it’s fiction, it’s still a story involving a crime. And the subject matter is really sensitive. There are real people who’ve died because of things like this. I didn’t want to misread it.

The whole thing about “what kind of person Kamiki really is”—they never clarified it properly, and then no one takes any responsibility for all the speculation. Not the characters, not anyone…They lay out a lot of harsh words, throw him things and deem him as something way too easily

< That really stressed me out. It's not just. It's not fair. You shouldn't jump into judging someone so easily.

That situation wasn’t okay.

Whatever it is, I don’t think you should make assumptions. You should wait until something clear comes out and then talk based on that.

So maybe it would be worthwhile for someone to look at it from a different angle.

Ugh. This even made me want to study psychology more seriously and go to grad school or something. Not sure if I'd actually go, but maybe if I studied it properly, I’d feel more confident and able to speak my mind!! Even though this is just a manga.

I actually don’t try to analyze or pick apart real people like this.

I try not to.

People are alive. I don’t think it’s my place to judge or evaluate them.

I believe humans are layered, multi-dimensional beings.

But I do seem to be pretty quick at picking up on people’s emotional states.

Like “I think I’d get along well with this person” and so on…

I get a sense about people. It’s hard to explain in words—it’s intuitive.

But I guess not everyone is like that…

MBTI and things like that—while interesting, I also kind of dislike them. I think they can make people narrow-minded, so I try to keep my distance.

Still, I do feel like there’s something that… only someone with a specific personality type could recognize between each other, there IS this specificity that a lot of people don't seem to catch or is hard to recognize.

When I encounter something like that, I can go, “Ah, this—I know this.” (of course, there are things I don't see as well too.)

But those things… are hard to get others to understand.

From what I’ve seen, that personality type gets wildly different interpretations. My interpretations often differed from the mainstream takes regarding those kinds of characters(but they turn out to be pretty accurate in the end). I don’t think people really understand it well. I don’t think it’s understood properly. Maybe it’s just not a common type. And that does make you bound to get a bit lonely.

But I still… want to go together with others.

I think I have that desire—to keep talking and try to bring people along towards what I make out and see.

Of course, I respect individual interpretations and want everyone to have fun.

But this is a crime we're talking about…

And the way the work approaches it—it’s steering both the characters and the readers in a specific direction. In terms of that, this work is really malicious. Honestly, if you just go along with the story, you just can't hoard Kamiki in a fair light. The main character hates him and everyone except Ai blames and bashes him, and he's pretty resigned. You are made to believe this guy must be the root of everything, and then the work, near the end, starts vaguely hinting that he actually may not be responsible for what our main character sought after him for, like for 15 volumes, but doesn't wrap it up properly and just drowns him.

So that’s on the writers—it’s their responsibility if people misunderstand the character.

Why does my head hurt just from thinking about all this, especially with real-world incidents overlapping in my mind?

And still, since it’s someone else’s manga, I keep thinking maybe my interpretation could be wrong…

Like, “Huh? But this has to be right → but what if it’s not… → check again → but this has to be what it’s saying, right? → but maybe not… → but this is serious matter, how it's playing out's so awful, isn’t this right? → but…”

It was just that same cycle over and over.

I’d already figured out the answer, the moment I came back to pick up this story, I had gotten EVERYTHING at that point, but I kept circling around it

because the authors wouldn’t make anything clear.

Could it be that I'm taking things too seriously? At this point, I feel like I’ve thought more about these issues that's been brought up in this work than the authors themselves!! How can they be this careless?

They’re probably just resting peacefully now that the serialization is over. After causing so much distress to others.

What’s wild is that this work actually said something like, “Stories can hurt people,” in the middle of all this.

How could they still do this while they know it...

Were they trying to say, “I know this story will hurt you, but please understand”?

No...; even if that was their intent, this manga is just too malicious...;

I mean...;; if only they hadn’t included a scene like, “I’ll become your favorite(oshi)” or whatever, it would’ve been so much better. Like, if those scenes contribute nothing to the ending, then why even put them in? (I feel so sorry for Kana as a character. Who knew that scene would have zero impact in terms of the ending)

I don’t expect much. If they had at least made their message clear, I would’ve been willing to see it in a better light.

I’m usually the type to go, “Okay, if not this, then at least that—if not that, then something, at least something...” and keep lowering the bar, hoping to salvage something from it.

I think I’m a pretty generous person; I believe I try to see things in a positive light?

But this story... seriously...;

Even after backing off that far, they still didn’t meet any of those minimal hopes I had, so eventually I just couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

It’s bad. It’s careless, and on top of that, it’s cruel—so it’s really bad.

I know what they’re doing, I get it—I understand what this story is, what’s behind it, and probably even what they wanted to say and why they wrote it this way.

But... I don’t think that aligns with the direction I agree with.

If they had just done even one thing out of ten properly...

Sure, the mythological references were done pretty well.

But... sigh... at least tell us what myth it is.

I actually went and looked up everything myself.

Like that last creepy expression Kamiki makes—turns out the god he’s based on was said to be so frightening-looking that he drove away all the other gods. That might be why they included that. Sarutahiko must be one scary-looking god, if you learn about that, then that scene does click in the weirdest ways because you see,

In the myths, Sarutahiko Okami really didn't do anything. He was just standing there, waiting to guide Amaterasu's grandson, he was there to do a favor for him, but he gets misunderstood because he has this intimidating look(gaze)

And the only one who could withstand that gaze was his to-be-wife Ame-no-Uzume, she was the one who shook him, they fall in love at the spot, get married and build a home to settle down together and have descendants- that parallels how things went in onk in terms of what happened between Ai and Hikaru.

That god is even said to have been born in the abyss, depending on how you interpret it.

Every time I researched, I kept digging up more and more like pulling on a sweet potato vine.

Honestly, every little trait of Kamiki's matches up with the characteristics of that god.

That part really was interesting. I honestly really enjoyed reading and finding things about it, it was endless and I might even figure more if I look even harder-

But it makes me wonder... what even is important to these authors?;;

And why do I have to go do all this research on my own?;; It’s not like everyone’s a fan of Japanese mythology.

And lastly—Fatal is definitely Kamiki’s song. It is.

Like I said before, doesn’t that song have some instruments that sound kind of like traditional Japanese ones?

That part near the end of the song. Shamisen? I don’t know Japanese instruments well so I might be way off, but near the end—or maybe somewhere in the middle—there’s a melody that sounds kind of old-fashioned and traditional, right?

Isn’t that because Kamiki’s a Japanese god?;;

He’s a native Shinto deity—together with his wife, Ame-no-Uzume (who is Ai).

I went and listened to some shamisen performances after having this thought pop into my head-

And it does feel pretty similar. Yeah. It really is.

Alright, that’s it for today!

[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.