#but I think there is far more irony to be found in everyone just thinking 'oh a garden? so like flowers. pretty!'

[indulgentnine]

“I fucking know it’s not a rebirth,” Velvette is quick to retort and when the light shows up, she does flinch and she hates that she does. These holy types were getting way too much on her nerves and it made her feel pathetic. She was the best bitch here and did whatever the hell she wanted. To think she could be looked down upon like a bug. Every fiber of her being could not stand it. The irony she looked over to the chair he offered to which she refused to sit on.

“Names can bind us and our fucking freedom,” she explains about why she was so on the defense. Even if a contract could not simply be made with only her name to her knowledge, she knew names still had power. Hopefully, this leak did not show her what any of the information could do.

Beginning to pace in front of him she listened to his reasons and gave a stop when he ended at those last few statements. The fact he made sense she would not ignore but still found herself rolling her eyes as she was ever unreasonable. “Sick is a real fucking great way to put everyone down here, but you really think putting everyone together will do jack shit?” She can’t help but bring up.

“Oh if we’re such a nuisance preventing the curing, then smooth the roads, darling,” she says with far too much gall, even rolling her eyes with a turn away. “Again, there is no saving these sick as you put it when you just have them all clawing in the same bloody cage. Even if you begin to work on one they’ll just get sick again and the cycle continues. I’d rather be at the top of the scrap yard making everyone far more sick even if I’m vomiting up blood like all the rest!”

He’d found this to simply be the easiest method of getting their guard down. Appealing to their ego, their sense of self-importance. Hubris is a disease that threatens the fall of all humans great and small, and the Vees are hardly any different. Strike when they are good and comfortable, choke the laughter from their throats when the moment is opportune.

“Is it the name your mother and father gave you, is it not? This place is not a rebirth, you do not get to escape your past. Your wards and security are a paper shield, your influence matters little in the grand scheme of things.”

She advances, and the Great Saint does not so much as twitch, looking her up and down as she stomps forward as one might examine a ladybug that has landed upon their arm. He waves a hand, and in a flash of dazzling light a comfortable armchair manifests by where she stops, as though he is inviting her to sit.

“The rules? Simple: Humanity is broken. Poisoned. Sin is a disease, a contagious one. that infected your ancestors when the First Humans took that which they had been commanded not to. Hell is not a prison; it is a quarantine zone, for those so terminally ill that there is no hope for them. Thus the exterminations: cull the sick, save the healthy. As for what you are?”

His smile grows slightly, thin and vulpine as he steeples his fingers in front of him.

“A nuisance. You and your cohorts, squabbling amongst each other for scraps like animals. A self-important speed-bump in efforts to save those that can be cured.”

[flowersandfashion]

'what would I wear to the met gala?' I would paint my body like a hyper-realistic stone statue covered in moss. an effigy of the elites, consumed by the time garden as they consumed it. destroyed, decomposing and returning to the earth.

[itendtothinkalot]

& it was all yellow (strangers to lovers)

summary: yellow was never beomgyu’s favorite color—until you came along with your ridiculously bright yellow headphones that somehow made you look even cuter. he saw you on the bus once, just minding your business, and that was it—game over for him. suddenly, yellow wasn’t just a color; it was you. the only problem? beomgyu (yes, the choi beomgyu, who seems cool and confident to everyone else) turns into a shy, blushing mess whenever you’re around. now he’s sitting there, heart racing, trying to come up with any excuse to talk to you—without making a complete fool of himself. except he does.

genre: fluff!!! super mega fluff. no angst. none at all. i promise!

characters: beomgyu x f!reader

words: 11.9k

warnings: cursing? i think

a/n: im such a beomgyu simp. i just have so much ideas for this man...and legend has it hes not even my bias.........................

Beomgyu liked to think of himself as two different people.

There was Group Beomgyu—the one his friends knew. Loud, quick-witted, always cracking jokes that left everyone in stitches. He was the guy who could light up a room without even trying. The one who dared his friends to do the ridiculous, like singing karaoke in public or sneaking fries into a movie theater.

But then, there was Solo Beomgyu.

That version of him emerged the moment he was alone. Quiet. Thoughtful. A little unsure of himself. Solo Beomgyu found solace in the mundane—watching raindrops race down bus windows, people-watching from his favorite spot at the back of the bus, and trying to guess the life stories of strangers in passing.

The bus ride to campus was his favorite part of the day. It was his escape, his time to recharge before stepping into the chaos of college life. And lately, it had become even more interesting—because of you.

It was silly, really. The first time he noticed you, he thought you looked cute as you climbed onto the bus in a skirt and baby tee. Your hair was tied back in a low ponytail, and you wore a pair of headphones that were impossible to miss. Those headphones—bright, sunny yellow—were probably the most damning thing about you.

How could someone so effortlessly capture his attention with something as simple as a pop of color? Yet there you were, sitting a few seats away, bobbing your head to the music only you could hear, completely oblivious to the way you’d become the highlight of his mornings.

Life had a funny way of showing irony. Just the day before, after spending hours gaming with his buddies, Beomgyu had sighed into his pillow, the weight of routine pressing down on him. It wasn’t that he hated his life—far from it. He was content, in a way. But somewhere deep down, he felt like his world had lost its color.

Nothing excited him anymore. Life had become an endless loop: wake up, take the bus to campus, study, head home, game with his friends, sleep, and repeat. Sure, there were the occasional party invitations, and he didn’t mind attending one here and there. But even those didn’t light a spark in him. They were fun, sure, but not really his scene.

It was strange to think how much his days blended together—until recently. Because now, as silly as it sounded, one part of his routine had started to stand out.

You.

Or, more specifically, your bright yellow headphones. They’d added a splash of color to his otherwise grayscale world. Something about how unapologetically vibrant they were made you seem larger than life, even as you quietly kept to yourself. It wasn’t just the headphones—it was you. The way you looked so at ease in your own little bubble, head bobbing to music only you could hear.

It was ridiculous to feel this drawn to someone he’d never even spoken to. But then again, maybe those yellow headphones weren’t just a splash of color. Maybe they were the first brushstroke of something entirely new.

It had been weeks since he’d first noticed you. By now, he’d already memorized your bus schedule—not because he was a stalker or anything, but simply because you seemed to follow the same routine as him. Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, like clockwork, you’d board the bus at the same stop, settle into your usual seat, and disappear into your world of music.

The two of you always got off at the same stop, though you’d inevitably drift in separate directions. He’d head toward the business building, his heavy bag slung over one shoulder, while you veered off toward the art center. That alone made him think you were an arts student. It fit, somehow. There was something creative about the way you carried yourself—effortless, like you were painting a masterpiece just by walking through the world.

And even though he didn’t know your name or anything about you beyond these small details, you’d already become a fixture in his mind.

–

“You should talk to her,” Soobin mumbled, biting off a chunk of his chocolate bar and waving it lazily in the air as if the solution were that simple.

“And say what?” Beomgyu shot back, slumping further into the worn couch in their shared dorm.

“I don’t know... things?” Soobin shrugged, barely looking up from the phone in his other hand.

Beomgyu rolled his eyes, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “You’re useless.”

Soobin smirked. “Says the guy who’s spent weeks staring at her like a weirdo.”

Beomgyu groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “It’s not that easy, okay? What if she’s not interested? What if I mess it up? What if—”

“What if she’s waiting for you to say something?” Soobin interrupted, his tone suddenly a little softer. “Look, all I’m saying is, you’re not gonna get anywhere just memorizing her bus schedule and hoping she notices you exist.”

Beomgyu scoffed but couldn’t deny the sting of truth in his friend’s words. He’d spent so much time admiring you from afar, inventing scenarios in his head, but none of them ever involved him actually... acting on it.

“Fine,” he muttered, more to himself than to Soobin. “I’ll talk to her.”

Soobin raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Beomgyu straightened up, determination flickering in his eyes. “Next time I see her, I’ll... I’ll figure something out.”

Soobin grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Can’t wait to hear about how that goes.”

Beomgyu shot him a glare but couldn’t help the tiny smile tugging at his lips.

–

And just like that, he’d convinced himself he was ready to approach you. Except he wasn’t. Days had passed, and despite his mental pep talks and rehearsed lines, he couldn’t bring himself to even say hi.

Like he said, “solo Beomgyu” was a whole different type of Beomgyu.

In front of his friends, he could crack jokes and steal the spotlight without breaking a sweat. But in front of you? He became a nervous wreck, fumbling over words in his head that never even made it out.

Well, that was until one fateful morning.

The city had woken up to chaos. Roads were closed in multiple areas because of some big event Beomgyu didn’t bother to look up—probably a marathon or a parade or something equally annoying to his morning routine. Either way, it was causing a major disruption, and Beomgyu was not thrilled.

He stood at the bus stop, waiting impatiently as three consecutive buses rolled by, each one packed to the brim. It felt like an eternity. He rolled his eyes and groaned inwardly, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder.

Great. 

The crowd at the stop grew thicker, and Beomgyu found himself shifting uncomfortably between clusters of impatient commuters. He hated waiting. Hated the feeling of wasting time when he could’ve been doing literally anything else.

And then he saw you.

You stood a little further down the pavement, your yellow headphones perched snugly over your ears, your gaze focused somewhere distant. You didn’t seem nearly as bothered by the chaos around you, which only added to the list of things Beomgyu found unfairly fascinating about you.

For a moment, he debated whether to move closer, maybe strike up a conversation while you both waited. But before he could make up his mind, the next bus pulled up.

This one wasn’t quite as crowded, though still far from comfortable. Beomgyu squeezed on, finding himself pushed toward the back, when suddenly, a voice interrupted his silent grumbling.

“Excuse me.”

It was soft but clear enough to make him glance over—and there you were, maneuvering through the aisle, your bag held close to your side as you tried to find a spot to stand. Beomgyu froze.

You were right there.

Fate, coincidence, bad luck—whatever it was, it had dropped you within arm’s reach. Beomgyu’s heart hammered in his chest as he tried to decide what to do. Say something? Smile? Pretend he didn’t notice you and stare out the window like his life didn’t hinge on this moment?

The bus jolted suddenly, and you stumbled, grabbing onto the nearest pole to steady yourself. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it—that pole was the same one Beomgyu was holding onto.

Your hand brushed his, just briefly, but it was enough to send his brain into overdrive.

“Sorry,” you said softly, glancing up at him with an apologetic smile before returning your focus to the window.

Beomgyu blinked, his heart still racing. He opened his mouth, words teetering on the edge of spilling out, but all he managed was a faint, “It’s okay.”

You didn’t hear him. Or if you did, you didn’t acknowledge it. And just like that, the moment passed, leaving Beomgyu kicking himself internally.

But as the bus rolled on, he found a tiny flicker of hope. Sure, he hadn’t said much, but you’d spoken to him first. That had to mean something, right?

20 minutes. The bus ride was 20 minutes, and the two of you were right next to each other. Beomgyu felt his palms sweating, his heart pounding in his chest.

God, she’s right beside me. He felt himself gulp, glancing over at you from the corner of his eye.

He’d never been so grateful for being almost a head and a half taller than you. It meant you couldn’t see the small, nervous glances he kept stealing in your direction.

The bus was growing more crowded by the minute. It was starting to get a little uncomfortable. You could feel yourself being pushed into Beomgyu, the pressure increasing with every jolt the bus took. His arms were propped up, gripping the taller handles above him, while you fumbled around, trying to find anything to hold onto. First, you grabbed the pole, then the handles near the seats, but as the bus rocked, you found yourself with nothing to stabilize you.

Beomgyu noticed. His heart skipped a beat. Without thinking, he reached behind you, his hand hovering near your backpack, fingers brushing against the fabric, just trying to hold you steady. He hoped you didn’t notice.

But the bus was moving like a rollercoaster. The driver swerved around a corner, and suddenly, the entire vehicle felt like it was on the edge of tipping. A pothole hit with a thud, and the jolt sent you stumbling.

You flailed for balance, but there was nothing left to grab. Before you knew it, you were teetering dangerously, feeling yourself lose your footing.

In an instant, Beomgyu’s hand shot forward. His fingers found your shoulders, steadying you before you could fall. The warmth of his hands against you was unexpected, sending a flutter through your chest.

You looked up at him, your eyes wide with surprise.

“Thank you,” you said breathlessly, your voice soft but clear, your heart still racing from the near-miss.

Beomgyu froze for a second, the sound of your voice like music to his ears. He felt the flush creep up his neck but tried to hide it with a casual, “No problem.” His grip lingered for just a moment longer than necessary, though neither of you seemed to mind.

The bus swayed again, and for a second, everything felt oddly... comfortable. Beomgyu could hear his heart thumping in his chest, but this time it was because of you—not the chaos of the ride.

—

The next day, the roads had finally cleared up. Beomgyu silently thanked every living being for that, especially since he had been about 30 minutes late for his class the previous day, missing out on a lecture he’d already been struggling with.

As he waited for the bus, his eyes automatically scanned the street, and there you were—your familiar yellow headphones bouncing as you made your way toward the bus stop.

You looked up, catching his eye from a few feet away, and offered him a smile.

“Hello,” you said, your voice light and friendly.

Beomgyu’s heart skipped a beat, and for a split second, he forgot how to breathe. “H-Hello,” he managed to croak out, cringing inwardly. Idiot.

You didn’t seem to mind, though. You gave him another smile, and it felt like the whole world slowed down for a second.

The bus soon arrived, and the two of you got on. Beomgyu’s eyes scanned the seats, and to his horror, all the empty ones were... right next to each other.

He froze. Great. Of course. Of all the seats.

Reluctantly, he made his way toward the row where you had already started to sit, mentally preparing himself for a potentially awkward ride. As he approached, you glanced up at him, your expression brightening.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

You shook your head. “It’s a free country.”

Beomgyu hesitated for a moment longer than necessary before sitting down beside you.

The bus jolted forward, and he instinctively reached for the pole above them, his fingers gripping it a little too tightly. Why am I so nervous? He couldn’t understand it.

Meanwhile, you settled into the seat, adjusting your backpack and glancing out the window. For a moment, it felt like the most natural thing in the world—sitting beside someone you’d barely spoken to but already felt strangely connected with.

Beomgyu had no idea how to break the silence. But then, as if on cue, you turned to him.

“So… how’s your day going so far?”

It was a simple question, but the way you asked it made his heart race all over again. He managed to smile, albeit awkwardly.

“Uh, good, I guess. The roads are less crazy today.”

You laughed, and it felt like the weight in his chest lightened a little. “Yeah, I noticed. It was a mess yesterday.”

He nodded, relieved that the conversation hadn’t turned into an awkward silence.

“So… you’re heading to the art center again?” he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

You nodded, your smile softening. “Yeah. I’m always there on  Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays.”

“Oh.” He pretended like he hadn’t known this little detail about you.

Beomgyu found himself relaxing a little more with each passing second. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. The awkwardness was still there, but it felt like a stepping stone—like the beginning of something that could finally get easier.

The bus continued to roll along, Beomgyu stole a quick glance at you, his heart fluttering as you hummed softly to the music in your headphones. For once, the awkwardness didn’t feel so unbearable.  

The next few minutes passed in relative silence, with only the occasional rattle of the bus as it made its way through the streets. Beomgyu found himself struggling to think of anything to say. He could hear the faint melody of your music through the air, but there was no other conversation to fill the space. He tapped his fingers nervously against his thigh, stealing glances at you, trying to figure out how to start another topic.

His mind raced with all the things he could say, but none of them seemed good enough. This is so awkward, he thought, almost groaning internally. Why is this so hard?

His eyes landed on his phone. The distraction was tempting. He pulled it out and quickly opened Spotify, deciding that he could at least use the music to mask the silence between the two of you. Beomgyu scrolled through his playlists, searching for something that felt right for the moment.

The bus jerked again, and Beomgyu adjusted his seat, tapping on a song and turning the volume up, only to suddenly realize—Wait, I haven’t connected my AirPods.

Flustered, he fumbled with his phone, tapping at the Bluetooth settings and then back to the app, his face warming with embarrassment. Idiot. 

But as the awkwardness hit its peak, you turned to him with a soft smile. “I like that song,” you said, your voice calm and easy, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “It really suits you.”

Beomgyu blinked in surprise, his nerves a little shaken by the unexpected compliment. He looked at you, his heart racing again. “It suits me?” he repeated, voice a little higher than he intended.

You shrugged lightly, a mischievous twinkle in your eyes. “Yeah, it’s got a kind of... laid-back vibe. Kind of like you, I guess?”

Beomgyu’s face flushed, not sure whether to laugh or be more self-conscious. He adjusted his AirPods in a hurry, trying to make himself look less flustered than he felt.

“Thanks,” he said, a small grin tugging at his lips. “I mean, it’s just a playlist... but yeah. It’s one of my favorites.”

You smiled back, then looked out the window again, but Beomgyu couldn’t help but notice how much more comfortable the moment felt now. The weight of silence didn’t seem so heavy anymore.

He tapped play on the song again, this time making sure the music was coming through his AirPods. The familiar melody filled his ears, and for once, the awkwardness didn’t feel so unbearable. Instead, it was like a subtle connection was forming, one little step at a time.

"And how would you know if I'm laid-back?" Beomgyu asked shyly, his voice barely above a whisper. He couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious, but the curiosity in your eyes made him feel like he could ask the question without it sounding too awkward.

You chuckled softly, turning to face him for a moment. "I don't know," you shrugged, smiling. "Just a guess? Call it a woman's intuition."

Beomgyu blinked, not quite sure what to say. “Woman's intuition?” he repeated, a little taken aback.

You grinned, a playful glint in your eyes. “I don’t know, maybe I just get a sense of things.” You hesitated for a second, then added, “But I could be wrong. I mean, I don’t really know you.”

He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. But at least, for now, you didn’t seem to mind.

"I-I guess I do try not to let things bother me too much," he mumbled, still trying to figure out what to do with his hands. "Though, I wouldn't say I'm always that chill. I have my... moments." He let out a nervous laugh, hoping you wouldn't think he was some kind of mess.

You smiled, your eyes crinkling at the corners. "Everyone does."

Beomgyu blinked, surprised by how comforting your words were. For a moment, it felt like the world had slowed down again, and it was just the two of you, exchanging these small moments of understanding.

"True," Beomgyu said softly, his smile growing a little more genuine. "I guess I'm just not great at dealing with, you know, awkward moments."

You looked at him curiously. "Awkward moments, huh?"

Beomgyu nodded, his ears turning a little red. "Yeah... like this one." He gestured vaguely between the two of them, the words spilling out before he could stop them. "I mean, I don't usually... I don't know, talk to people like this."

Your smile softened. "You seem like you’re doing just fine to me."

His heart swelled a little at that. "Really?"

"Yeah," you replied, your tone sincere. "You’re doing great."

Beomgyu’s face lit up with a smile he couldn’t contain. "Thanks," he said, feeling a little less nervous than he had before. "That means a lot, actually."

For a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the sound of the bus’s tires on the road and the faint music in his ears the only background noise. Beomgyu felt a strange sense of peace settle in his chest. Maybe this wasn’t so hard after all.

He glanced over at you, catching you humming softly along to the music, and realized that, somehow, this was one of the most comfortable conversations he’d ever had.

"Hey," Beomgyu said after a beat, his curiosity getting the best of him. "What about you? What’s your favorite type of music?"

You turned to him with a thoughtful look, clearly enjoying the question. "I guess I’m all about the acoustic stuff mostly."

"Acoustic, huh?" Beomgyu said with a smile, intrigued. "I can see that. Seems like something you’d like."

You smiled, the sound of your laughter filling the space between you. "You got that from…?”

“Call it an idiot’s intuition.” He chuckled.

You laughed, “What about you?"

Beomgyu chuckled, trying to hide the grin that spread across his face. "I’m pretty into all kinds of stuff, but right now? Definitely some chill pop. Y’know, maybe I’m starting to agree with you on the whole laid-back thing."

You raised an eyebrow, playfully teasing him. "So, you admit it?"

Beomgyu shrugged, leaning back a little, feeling a little more confident with each word. "Yeah. I guess I do."

And in that moment, Beomgyu finally realized that maybe, just maybe, the things he’d been too nervous to do or say weren’t as difficult as he’d once thought.

—

Beomgyu slumped back into his bus seat, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Idiot," he muttered under his breath. After weeks of stealing glances and summoning every ounce of courage he had, today had finally been the day he talked to you. Well, kind of. It was small talk—weather, classes, and music. But it was progress.

And yet, in his nervousness, he’d forgotten the most important thing. He hadn’t asked for your name or your number. He groaned inwardly, glancing out the window as the bus trundled down the familiar route. It was Thursday, which meant he wouldn’t see you again until Monday. Four whole days.

“Great,” he muttered, slumping further into his seat. “Four days to kick myself for being an idiot.”

Monday arrived far too slowly, and Beomgyu was oddly fidgety, his leg bouncing as he stared at the bus stop from his seat. The bus slowed to a stop, and his heart leapt in anticipation—only to sink when you weren’t there.

He glanced out the window, confused. Maybe you were running late. Or you’d taken an earlier bus? He brushed it off, convincing himself you’d show up tomorrow.

But then Tuesday came. And Wednesday. And still, there was no sign of you.

Beomgyu found himself staring at the seat you always sat in, empty and glaringly obvious. He hated how it bothered him so much. He barely knew you—he didn’t even know your name—and yet he felt like something was missing. Like the bus rides were quieter without the possibility of you being there.

By Thursday, disappointment had settled heavily in his chest. He sat near the back, earphones in but barely paying attention to the music. The world outside the window blurred past, but his thoughts were stuck on you.

Where were you?

—

It had been approximately two weeks since Beomgyu had last seen you. You had vanished like the wind, leaving him frustrated and more restless than he wanted to admit. Every day since, he’d made excuses to linger outside the art center, hoping for some sign of you. Desperation had even driven him to approach the center’s custodian, awkwardly asking if he’d seen anyone with bright yellow headphones.

“Yellow headphones?” a voice behind him piped up, catching Beomgyu off guard. “You mean this girl, right?”

Beomgyu turned to find a tall, sharp-featured guy holding out his phone, displaying a picture of you.

Immediately, Beomgyu’s stomach twisted. He took in the guy’s confident smile, the casual air about him, and the way he spoke about you like he knew you well—too well. He didn’t like it one bit.

“Yeah, that’s her,” Beomgyu said, his voice measured. “Who are you?”

“I’m Yeonjun,” the guy said, sliding his phone back into his pocket. He extended a hand, but Beomgyu hesitated for a second before shaking it. “I’m her friend.”

Friend? Beomgyu’s eyes narrowed slightly. Yeonjun was a little too good-looking to just be a friend, wasn’t he?

“So, uh…” Beomgyu cleared his throat, trying to hide the slight edge in his voice. “Do you know where she’s been?”

Yeonjun’s expression softened, a flicker of concern crossing his face. “Yeah. Something happened a couple of weeks ago. She’s been taking some time off to deal with it. But she should be back next week.”

Beomgyu felt a wave of relief wash over him—until Yeonjun added, “She’s been doing okay, though. We’ve been texting, and I’ve checked in on her a couple of times. You know, just to make sure she’s alright.”

Beomgyu’s jaw tightened. Texting? Checking in? Was that really necessary for a “friend”? He tried to keep his expression neutral, but a pang of jealousy flared in his chest.

“Right,” Beomgyu said, forcing a small smile. “That’s good. It’s good she has…people checking in on her.”

Yeonjun tilted his head, studying Beomgyu for a moment. “Who are you, anyway?” he asked casually. “Do you…know her?”

Beomgyu froze for a split second, the question catching him off guard. He shrugged quickly, trying to play it off. “Not really. We just…take the same bus sometimes.”

“Oh,” Yeonjun said, his lips quirking up into a small, knowing smile. “I see. So you’re, what? A bus friend?”

“Something like that,” Beomgyu mumbled, suddenly feeling like an idiot. He wished he’d thought of something cooler to say, but it was too late now.

“Well,” Yeonjun said with a grin, “that’s cute. But yeah, don’t worry—she’ll be back soon. And maybe I’ll see you around too, man.”

“Yeah. See you,” Beomgyu replied, watching as Yeonjun walked away.

As soon as Yeonjun was out of sight, Beomgyu exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He felt ridiculous. He didn’t even know your name, and yet here he was, stewing over some guy who probably wasn’t even competition.

Still, as he walked back toward the bus stop, the thought lingered: What if Yeonjun wasn’t just a friend?

—

And Yeonjun was right. You were back the following week, except you were dressed in the darkest colors Beomgyu had ever seen you wear. Your expression matched your clothing—cloudy, somber, and weighed down by something unseen. Strangely, he found it almost endearing that you seemed to dress the way you felt.

Still, it made him worry. Not that he had any right to, given that you two weren’t exactly close. But the thought lingered: What could’ve happened to make her look this upset?

When he finally gathered the courage to take the seat beside you on the bus, you didn’t even glance at him. You were completely absorbed in your thoughts, your body language practically screaming, Leave me alone.

“Life sucks, doesn’t it?” Your voice cut through his thoughts suddenly.

“Huh?” he asked, blinking in surprise.

You didn’t look at him, your gaze fixed out the window. “It sucks, doesn’t it?”

He hesitated for a moment before nodding. “It can suck,” he admitted. “But it can also be really great.”

You turned your head slightly, finally acknowledging him with a raised brow. “Oh, yeah? How’s it ‘really great,’ exactly?”

“Well,” he started, leaning back in his seat, “it’s great because… it’s unpredictable. You never know when something good might happen. Even when everything feels like it’s falling apart, sometimes the universe throws you a surprise. Like…” He paused, glancing at you meaningfully, “…sitting next to someone who’s too cute to be upset.”

The corners of your lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through. “That’s cheesy,” you said, but there was no hiding the slight blush creeping onto your cheeks.

“Cheesy, sure, but also a fact ,” he replied with a grin. “See? You’re smiling already..”

You shook your head, laughing softly before falling quiet again. After a beat of silence, you sighed. “I’m not usually like this. I don’t like moping around. It’s just…”

Beomgyu tilted his head, waiting patiently for you to continue.

“…My parents decided to sell our old childhood home,” you admitted, your voice soft and tinged with sadness. “I had to go back and clear out all my things. It’s stupid. A first-world problem if you must, but I didn’t think it’d hit me this hard.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze warm and understanding. “It’s not stupid,” he said gently. “It’s your childhood. It’s where you grew up, made memories, and felt safe. It’s okay to be upset about losing something that meant so much to you.”

You looked at him, your expression conflicted. “I guess. It’s just… I feel so silly. Like, there are bigger problems in the world, and here I am crying over a house.”

“It’s not just a house, though, is it?” he countered, his tone firm but kind. “It’s a piece of you. And no one gets to tell you how to feel about it, not even yourself. Your feelings are valid—every single one of them.”

Your lips parted slightly, taken aback by his sincerity. For the first time in days, you felt a weight lift off your chest.

“Thanks,” you said softly, offering him a small, genuine smile. “I didn’t realize I needed to hear that.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he said with a wink, making you laugh despite yourself.

As the bus rolled to a stop near campus, you glanced at him and hesitated for a moment. “Hey, Beomgyu?”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe life doesn’t suck that much after all,” you said, your smile widening just a little before you stood up and stepped off the bus.

He stayed seated, watching you walk away, and couldn’t help but grin to himself. Maybe life didn’t suck that much, indeed.

Then it hit him. 

How’d you know his name?

—

It had become second nature to save each other a seat on the bus. Whether it was an unspoken agreement or just something you both fell into, neither of you questioned it. For the next two weeks, your mornings began with a quiet understanding. You’d sit side by side, talking about the most mundane things—complaints about the weather, funny things you’d overheard, or random thoughts that popped into your heads.

Still, you hadn’t exchanged names, let alone numbers. It was almost absurd at this point, how you knew snippets of each other’s lives but not the most basic details. Except you did know his name—and Beomgyu was still wondering how.

Beomgyu found it funny too. But he didn’t mind. He liked your conversations, no matter how random they were.

Then one day, Beomgyu didn’t show up.

You found yourself glancing down the street more than once, your brows furrowed as you searched for any sign of his figure walking toward the stop. The bus pulled up, and you hesitated, standing on your toes to peer down the block one last time before climbing aboard.

You took your usual seat by the window, feeling a small pang of disappointment. The bus rolled forward, the rain outside picking up again and blurring the city beyond the glass. You stared at the streaks of water running down the pane, wondering where he could be.

That was when the bus jerked to a sudden stop.

You glanced toward the front, curious, only to see someone hopping up the stairs, drenched from head to toe. It took you half a second to recognize him, but when you did, you couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you.

Beomgyu stood there, panting slightly, his hair plastered to his forehead and water dripping from his jacket. His sneakers squeaked against the floor as he caught his breath.

“You made it,” you said, grinning as he shuffled over to your seat.

“Yeah,” he replied between breaths, dropping into the seat beside you with a sheepish smile. “Barely.”

“Did you seriously chase the bus?” you asked, trying not to laugh too hard.

“Well…” He scratched the back of his neck. “I couldn’t miss it. Someone’s got to save you a seat.”

You shook your head, biting back a smile as you handed him a tissue from your bag. “It’s the other way around, is it not?”

“Maybe,” he admitted, taking the tissue to wipe his face. 

As the bus rolled forward again, the rain continued to pour outside, but it didn’t bother you as much anymore. Beomgyu was here, sitting beside you again, and for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, that made the day feel a whole lot brighter.

“Y’know… I still don’t know how you know my name while I don’t even know yours,” Beomgyu said, leaning back in his seat as he looked at you with curious eyes.

You grinned sheepishly, fiddling with the strap of your bag. “I… It’s stupid.”

“What’s stupid is that we’re practically best friends now, and I still don’t know your name or have your number,” he said with a pointed look.

“I like our friendship. It’s low maintenance,” you teased, biting back a smile.

“I’d like it more if I could talk to you more often instead of just on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays,” he countered, his lips quirking into a small pout.

You laughed. “But isn’t it fun this way?”

“It’s a whole amusement park,” he replied with a chuckle. “Though we’re threading off-topic—how’d you know my name?”

“Who doesn’t know your name, business boy?” you shot back, laughing softly.

“What?” His brows furrowed in confusion.

“You’re the infamous business boy on our school’s social media page. You don’t know about that?”

“Oh, I heard Soobin mention something about it a couple of times, but I don’t really check the app. I just use it to look at the lunch menu,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck.

“Well, you’re always making appearances on there. Especially from new students. ‘The dude from Econs 305 is really cute,’” you mimicked in a high-pitched voice, earning a laugh from him.

“Oh, so you’re saying you frequent the page often to find me?” he teased, leaning a little closer with a smirk.

“No! I’m just saying it pops up on my feed,” you said quickly, feeling your cheeks heat up. You looked away, embarrassed by the way he was watching you now.

“Hmm.” Beomgyu’s smirk deepened as he tapped his chin dramatically. “You’re blushing. Are you sure you don’t check it on purpose?”

“Absolutely not,” you huffed, still avoiding his gaze.

“Okay, okay,” he relented, though his grin didn’t fade. He leaned back in his seat and looked at you thoughtfully. “Still, I’m flattered. Infamous, huh? Guess I’ve got quite the reputation.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” he said with a playful shrug. Then, after a moment of silence, he tilted his head and added, “So, are you ever going to tell me your name, or are you going to keep the mystery alive?”

You hesitated, biting your lip. “I don’t know… The mystery has a certain charm, don’t you think?”

“Oh, come on,” he groaned dramatically. “Throw me a bone here.”

You laughed, finally relenting. “Fine. I’ll tell you—on one condition.”

“Anything,” he said eagerly, his eyes lighting up.

“You’re going to have to wait a little longer,” you teased, grinning at the look of mock horror on his face.

“Is this some kind of game for you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” you grinned, feeling a little mischievous. “But don’t worry, I’ll tell you soon enough.”

Beomgyu sighed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

Your conversation was abruptly cut off by the bus driver’s voice over the intercom, his tone apologetic. “Sorry for the delay, folks. There’s a small flood up ahead, and we’re going to have to take a detour. We’ll be going around, so it’ll take about 20 more minutes. Please bear with us.”

You sighed, leaning back into your seat. The rain outside was relentless, tapping against the windows in a rhythm that made your eyelids heavy. Gradually, you drifted off, your head tilting toward the window. Every so often, you jerked awake, only for your head to fall back against the glass with a soft thud. Beomgyu watched you, his lips twitching as he stifled a chuckle. He shifted closer, his gaze softening. Carefully, he leaned over and gently placed your head on his shoulder.

You didn’t stir. The comfort of the moment made you relax further into him, unaware of the quiet smile on Beomgyu’s face. After a few moments, an idea sparked in his mind. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a Sharpie, the black marker feeling oddly significant in his hands. Glancing down at your arm, he softly grasped your wrist, guiding it gently. He wrote quickly, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips as he scrawled:

‘Text me, I’m trying to be your best friend on all 7 days of the week - Beomgyu’

Once he was done, he sat back, his heart racing a little as he looked at your sleeping form. Pretending like nothing had happened, he adjusted his posture and looked out the window, as if he hadn’t just written his number on your arm.

About 15 minutes later, the bus jolted as it finally approached your campus, pulling into the stop with a slight screech of the wheels. The ride was almost over, and you began to stir, your eyes fluttering open slowly. You blinked a few times, squinting in the morning light that filtered through the windows.

Beomgyu glanced over at you casually, his face neutral as you yawned, rubbing your eyes. You stretched and groggily looked around, your gaze landing on him.

“Hey,” he said, almost too nonchalantly. “We’re here. Campus, I mean.”

You nodded, still dazed from sleep. “Yeah, I guess we are.” You glanced down at your arm, and your eyes widened when you saw the writing on your skin. A small smile tugged at your lips, though you tried to hide it.

Beomgyu didn’t acknowledge your surprise, pretending to look out the window, his fingers tapping rhythmically on his bag. “Didn’t want to wake you up, but… it’s kind of hard to miss, huh?”

You rubbed your arm, trying to act casual. “Hmm, what’s this?” You raised an eyebrow, playing along.

“Nothing,” Beomgyu said, voice smooth. “Just figured it was a good time to share my number. You know, in case you need me for… any reason.” He grinned, his gaze flicking to you for a moment before he quickly looked away, feigning innocence.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, your heart fluttering a bit at his casual confidence. “Smooth, Beomgyu. Really smooth.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to make sure I’m not just a bus stop friend,” he said, a playful tone in his voice. “I’ve got big plans for us to hang out… all week long.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You’re something else, aren’t you?”

Beomgyu only grinned, looking down at his bag as the bus doors finally opened. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

As you both stood up, gathering your things, there was a lingering sense of something unspoken between you two, the kind that felt both thrilling and comforting all at once.

—

Beomgyu glanced down at his phone again, his finger hovering over the screen, but there was still no text from you. It had been a day or two since he wrote his number on your arm, and he couldn’t help but wonder if you were just too busy or, worse, playing hard to get. The thought made his chest tighten. He didn’t like that feeling, the uncertainty, but it was all he could think about. God, he wanted you so much, but now... now he wasn’t so sure.

He sighed, shoving his phone into his pocket and heading toward the campus bus stop. His mind kept replaying the moment he'd written his number on your arm, hoping you’d text him. He should’ve just asked for your number, but for some reason, he’d held back. What was wrong with him?

And then, as if on cue, he saw you standing there. His heart skipped a beat. You were just as he remembered—yellow headphones hanging around your neck. But there was something different this time. Something he hadn’t expected.

Someone was with you.

Beomgyu stopped dead in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. Yeonjun. Of course, it had to be him. The guy was tall, confident, and... his arm was around you. Beomgyu's stomach twisted, the jealousy creeping up on him. He wasn’t the type to feel this way, but seeing the two of you together felt like a punch to the gut.

He told himself it wasn’t a big deal. That you’d never given him any indication you liked him in the first place. You were beautiful, funny, smart—of course, you’d be taken. He shouldn’t even be surprised, but damn it, it stung more than he expected.

Beomgyu glanced away, his feet itching to leave. Maybe it was better not to make a fool of himself.

Just as he was about to walk off, a loud voice rang through the air. "Beomgyu!"

He turned, and there you were—waving at him, smiling that infectious smile of yours. His heart fluttered. You looked so happy to see him. For a brief moment, the jealousy melted away, and all he could do was return your smile.

"Beomgyu, right?" Yeonjun said, raising an eyebrow. He grinned, the kind of smile that made Beomgyu want to roll his eyes. "I remember you. You’re the one who asked me where she was when she disappeared for two weeks."

Beomgyu’s face flushed instantly. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to vanish into the ground or laugh it off. "No, no. That’s not me," he muttered, shaking his head quickly, trying to downplay the awkwardness of the moment.

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. "No, I remember. It was you. I mean, you're the Business Boy, aren’t you?" He smirked, clearly amused. "I was a little surprised you were asking about this idiot here."

You shoved Yeonjun lightly, but Beomgyu could see the playful affection in your eyes. And in that moment, his heart sank. So this was it. You and Yeonjun. He had hoped he was wrong, but now he could see it clearly. You were a couple.

"You asked about me?" You tilted your head slightly, your eyes catching his.

Beomgyu’s cheeks flushed pink. "I mean, you were gone for so long, so I was just... wondering where you went."

"You came all the way to the arts center just to ask about me?" Your voice was light, teasing, and for some reason, it made his heart race.

Beomgyu quickly waved his hand, his face growing even warmer. "It’s not like that," he said, trying to downplay it. "I was just curious, that’s all."

But before he could say anything more, you grinned, eyes sparkling. "That’s so sweet!" You suddenly rushed over to Beomgyu’s arm, linking it with yours, much to his surprise.

He froze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden closeness. He wasn’t sure whether to pull away or enjoy the moment. His heart thudded in his chest as you looked up at him with a playful smile.

"Okay, okay," Yeonjun chimed in, his voice teasing. "I get it, you two have some weird little connection, but we have to get going. I’ll let you two catch up later." He gave Beomgyu a knowing look before nudging you gently, a playful grin still on his face.

You looked a little embarrassed, but you didn’t let go of Beomgyu’s arm. "Sorry, I just... haven’t seen you in a while, Beomgyu," you said, your voice quieter now, your gaze softening. "It’s nice to know you cared enough to ask about me."

“It’s only been two days,” Beomgyu thought bitterly, but didn’t say aloud. He couldn’t help the twinge of disappointment that surfaced, especially after the number exchange that had been left hanging.

"Also, you haven’t texted me back," you sighed dramatically. "To think you were the one who told me to text you."

Beomgyu blinked, slightly taken aback. "You did?" His voice betrayed his confusion. "I didn’t get anything from you."

"You did!" You shoved your phone in his face. "See?"

Beomgyu grabbed your phone and checked the message history. "I didn’t get anything," he said again, scrolling through, but as he looked closely, he raised an eyebrow. "Wait, you saved my number wrong. It’s an 8, not a 6."

You stared at the screen in disbelief. "It’s a 6. I’m sure of it. Hold on, I even took a picture of it! See!" You quickly opened your gallery and shoved the phone at him again, showing him the snapshot of the contact info.

Beomgyu frowned, shaking his head. "No, that's definitely an 8," he said with a laugh, trying to hide his amusement at your determination.

"You have terrible handwriting!" you retorted, hands on your hips.

"No, I don’t!" Beomgyu shot back, now laughing. "You just have terrible comprehension skills!"

The two of you continued to bicker, your playful banter creating an almost natural rhythm. Yeonjun, standing beside you, cleared his throat loudly, interrupting the back-and-forth.

"Love, we really have to go," he said, his tone flat and a bit impatient, but still affectionate.

You blinked, suddenly realizing the time. "Oh, right! Sorry, I got carried away." Then, turning to Beomgyu with a bright smile, you said, "I’ll text you tonight, Beomgyu!"

Beomgyu, still processing the sudden turn of events, gave you a nod, though his chest felt oddly tight. "Alright," he said, his voice soft. "I’ll be waiting."

With that, you waved one last time and walked away with Yeonjun, leaving Beomgyu standing there, staring after you. He couldn’t help but wonder if the playful banter had meant something more—if maybe there was more between you two than just casual friendship. But until he heard from you, he could only hope.

—

Beomgyu laid in bed, his mind racing. Strangely, it wasn’t you that occupied his thoughts now—it was Yeonjun. Who was he, really? He wasn’t one to stalk someone’s Instagram, but tonight, he found himself doing just that. Scrolling through endless dance videos, selfies, and posts, he finally stumbled upon a highlight reel with a familiar yellow color—your yellow headphones.

Without thinking, his fingers tapped the screen, and video after video started playing. There you were, laughing, giggling, screaming, clearly having fun with Yeonjun. The two of you were obviously close—closer than he had imagined. His chest tightened as he watched, feeling a knot form in his stomach. He didn’t know how to feel. Jealous? That seemed silly, especially since you had never shown any signs of liking him back. His crush on you felt like a one-sided affair, and if anything, this just confirmed it.

Beomgyu chuckled to himself, still feeling that flutter in his chest. He quickly typed another response.

He sighed, shifting uncomfortably under the covers. Time to move on, he told himself. It was just a silly crush, and he had no right to keep dwelling on it. You were probably just being nice, and Yeonjun was clearly in the picture. Beomgyu had no business lingering on something that wasn’t even real.

Just as he was about to close the app, a notification popped up on his screen. 

Yellow Headphones: Beomgyu!

His heart skipped a beat, and a rush of warmth spread across his chest. So much for moving on, he thought again, his thumb hovering over the message. He hesitated for a second before responding.

Beomgyu: Yellow headphones~ Yellow Headphones: Is that my new nickname? Beomgyu: Well, depends, it’s either that or bus girl and that doesn’t really have a ring to it. Yellow Headphones: I suppose. Anyway, whatchu doing? ^^

Well, Beomgyu couldn’t tell the truth, now could he? Stalking your potential boyfriend sounded really stupid.

Beomgyu: Just using my phone. You? Yellow Headphones: With Yeonjun right now. He’s been stressed over his dance recital and I’ve been helping him with it, but he’s still feeling all over the place. Beomgyu: Oh. You and him seem really close. Yellow Headphones: Of course! We’ve been friends since we were 10 ^^ we’re practically brother and sister. Beomgyu: Oh! You two aren’t dating? Yellow Headphones: God no, ew… besides, he has a girlfriend, and he is not my type.

Beomgyu’s eyes widened as he read that. Not my type—those words felt like a weight lifting off his chest. The knot in his stomach loosened, and he felt an unexpected surge of hope.

Beomgyu: Oh!

Beomgyu smiled—actually, he beamed. His excitement made him jump out of bed, letting out a quiet scream of joy, before realizing he was making too much noise.

“BEOMGYU, SHUT UP, I’M TRYING TO FUCKING SLEEP!” Soobin yelled from across the hall.

Beomgyu winced, sheepishly holding his phone closer to his chest. "Fuck, sorry!" he whispered, grinning to himself. He had a reason to be happy tonight, and that was enough for now. He quickly typed another message, eager to keep the conversation going.

Beomgyu: Haha, my bad. Yellow Headphones: Haha, it’s okay! Anyway, do you have any plans for tomorrow?

Beomgyu hesitated for a second, heart thumping. Was this really happening?

Yellow Headphones: Maybe we can hang out? I’d love to take this friendship out of the bus.

Beomgyu grinned wider, practically bouncing on his bed.

Beomgyu: I’ll see you at our usual bus stop at 3 then? Yellow Headphones: Sure! 

—-

Beomgyu had been waiting at the bus stop for 10 minutes, it wasn’t that you were late, he was just really early, his excitement bubbling up as he checked his phone for the time again. He was nervous, but in a good way. Today was the day. The day he was meeting you outside of the usual school routine, just the two of you. And from the messages he'd gotten earlier, it was clear you were as excited as he was.

Then, as if on cue, he saw you.

You appeared in the distance, looking like a burst of sunshine in a bright yellow dress. Your hair was styled in a half ponytail, held up by a cute bow, making the whole look even more playful. Beomgyu felt his heart race as he took you in. Adorable. He couldn’t even put it into words, but his grin stretched from ear to ear. He had to force himself to stop from gushing about how cute you looked, biting his lip to keep himself from saying it out loud. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to—he just didn’t want to seem too eager.

You skipped over to him, a playful energy radiating from you, and nudged his arm. "There you are," you giggled, poking his sides, making him flinch in surprise but laugh all the same.

"You look great!" you added, eyes twinkling as you looked him up and down.

Beomgyu’s heart fluttered at the compliment. He’d styled his hair with a bit of gel, making it tousled in that effortlessly cool way. He’d chosen a simple, casual dress shirt and slacks—nothing fancy, but enough to look presentable. Enough to say, yeah, I look good. Because, well, he was Beomgyu, and he always did.

“Do I look any different from how I dress on campus?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow, trying to play it cool, though his smile betrayed his excitement.

You chuckled, crossing your arms in front of you as you assessed him. “Well, yeah. You only wear hoodies to school.”

Beomgyu couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m a hoodie guy, what can I say?”

“You’re a hoodie guy with potential,” you teased, poking his side again.

His grin widened. “Guess I’ve got to wear more than just hoodies around you then, huh?”

You shrugged playfully. “Maybe.”

Beomgyu chuckled, feeling a strange warmth spreading through him. This was nice. Really nice. He found himself staring at you, the way you carried yourself with such ease and confidence, making it impossible not to smile. He was genuinely looking forward to this.

“So, uh, what’s the plan?” he asked, wanting to make sure he didn’t come off as awkward, though he was fighting back the urge to let the conversation tumble into something that would sound way too cheesy.

“Well, I thought we could grab coffee first,” you suggested, grinning mischievously. “Then maybe take a walk around the park or something. Just… relax.”

“That sounds perfect,” Beomgyu replied, his voice a little softer than usual, but full of sincerity. He was definitely not about to complain about spending time with you.

You both fell into an easy conversation as you waited for the bus, and Beomgyu couldn’t help but steal glances at you when you weren’t looking, his heart racing in a way he wasn’t used to. Being around you felt different. He’d always been around people, but this—this felt like something he couldn’t quite put into words.

It didn’t matter, though. Today was the start of something, and he was finally okay with the fact that he was feeling it.

—

Beomgyu felt his palms starting to sweat as he sat across from you at the coffee shop. He had no idea what had gotten into him, but suddenly he was nervous. Really nervous. His usual confident demeanor was nowhere to be found, replaced by a strange fluttering in his chest. Every time you laughed, he felt a little spark, and when you looked at him with that warm smile, it was like his heart skipped a beat. It was all so much more than he had anticipated.

You were saying something about how cute the coffee shop was, but Beomgyu was only half listening. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from you—how effortlessly you moved, how you interacted with the people around you, your kindness radiating in everything you did. You said thank you to the barista, smiled at a little kid passing by, and his heart couldn’t help but swell. You were starting to feel a little too perfect, and it was making him swoon.

“So,” you said with a smile, taking a sip of your coffee, “this is a pretty cute first date, isn’t it?”

Beomgyu nearly choked on his drink. “Date? This is a date?” he blurted out, wide-eyed. His heart leaped into his throat as soon as the words left his mouth. He hadn’t even thought about it that way.

You looked up at him, your cheeks instantly turning pink. “This isn’t a date? Oh… I just assumed… this is really embarrassing,” you said, your voice trailing off as you awkwardly shifted in your seat.

Beomgyu felt a wave of panic wash over him. His brain short-circuited, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He’d been so wrapped up in the idea of spending time with you that he hadn’t even considered the possibility of this being a date—and now you were embarrassed, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

"I—I'm sorry, I didn’t—" You sputtered, your words tumbling out in a mix of embarrassment. Then, in a flustered panic, you stood up and accidentally knocked over a glass of water onto your dress. "Oh my god!" you exclaimed, your face flushing in mortification.

Beomgyu’s heart dropped. “No! This can be a—” He rushed to stand up but hesitated, unsure of what to say to make things better.

You started to gather your things, clearly upset. “You don’t have to pity me, Beomgyu. I’ve been in this situation before,” you muttered, looking away and clutching your things tightly. “I’ll just—”

"No, you don’t get it!" Beomgyu almost shouted, his voice a little more desperate than he intended. "I don’t—it's not like that. I didn’t—this can definitely be a date if you want it to be," he stammered, feeling the heat rise to his face.

You froze, your hand still gripping your bag, and turned back to look at him. The nervousness in your eyes faded slightly, replaced by a hesitant curiosity. “Really?” you asked softly, as though unsure if you should believe him. “Because you don’t have to lie—”

“I’m not,” Beomgyu replied quickly, his voice more certain now. “I’ve had the biggest crush on you. Ever since you took the bus in those big, bright yellow headphones.”

“Oh,” you whispered, your eyes widening slightly. For a moment, everything was silent except for the chatter from everyone else in the coffee shop.

Beomgyu scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, unsure of how to continue. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he couldn't look away from you. “I know this probably isn’t how we both pictured this would happen,” he admitted, his voice softening.

This time, it was you who fell silent. You didn’t know what to say, so you just stood there, frozen in place. Then your eyes flickered downward. You realized your dress was wet, a small stream of water dripping down your leg.

“Right, my dress,” you mumbled, suddenly panicked.

“Here,” Beomgyu said quickly, handing you a napkin.

“Thanks,” you replied, your voice small as you dabbed at the wet fabric.

There was a brief moment of awkward silence, the realization of what had just been said still hanging in the air. So, you both clearly had feelings for each other, but neither of you seemed to know what to do with them.

“So, uh…” You both spoke at the same time, your words overlapping, before you both chuckled nervously.

“Yeah, uh…” Beomgyu trailed off, his hands shifting uncomfortably in his lap. “This is… a lot.”

“Yeah, a little,” you agreed, your voice tinged with a mixture of laughter and embarrassment.

For a moment, neither of you spoke again. The noise around you, the clinking of coffee cups and low hum of conversations, seemed to fill the space between you, making it feel both cozy and utterly awkward at the same time.

Beomgyu was the first to break the silence, his voice quiet but sincere. “I really like you, you know?”

You smiled at him, your heart fluttering. “I like you too, Beomgyu. I really do.”

He looked at you, his eyes soft and a little shy now, but there was something else there too—hope. “Before we, I guess… become a couple…” He cringed, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how endearing he was. “I’d love to take you out on a few dates first. I’d really like to get to know you better.”

You grinned. “You’re almost too perfect, I fear.”

Beomgyu smirked playfully. “I was thinking the same thing.”

You laughed again, the sound light and easy between the two of you. It felt good—comfortable, even—and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so at ease with someone.

—

Two years had passed since that awkward coffee shop moment, and here they were again, at the same bus stop where it all began. Beomgyu and you stood side by side, hand in hand, but there was a noticeable difference now—two years of laughter, moments, and quiet affection between the two of you.

“This is ridiculous!” you exclaimed, frustration clear in your voice. “Why didn’t we think of moving somewhere else? Why do we insist on staying in this godforsaken area?!”

Beomgyu just chuckled, squeezing your hand lightly. “Baby, c’mon, this is where our roots are. Have you forgotten? Bus buddies and all that crap?”

You shot him a playful glare, rolling your eyes. “Gyu, this is getting crazy.” You gestured towards the crowded bus, which was slowly pulling away. “It’s the third one we’ve had to miss today. We’re never going to get to work on time at this rate.”

Beomgyu shrugged nonchalantly. “We could always just skip work. You know, pretend we’re working from home?” he teased.

You playfully shoved him. “Not funny,” you said with a soft laugh, though the frustration was still there. “But seriously, this is becoming a bit much. You’ve been saying for ages that we need to get out of this neighborhood.”

He took a step closer, his thumb brushing across your knuckles. “You really wanna move out of this area?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost a little hesitant.

You turned to face him, looking up into his eyes. There was a seriousness in his expression that made your heart skip a beat. “I love the memories we’ve made here, but the buses are a nightmare. And we don’t even live that far from each other anymore…” You sighed. “I don’t know. I think I might be ready for a change. Something a bit quieter. Closer to our workplaces.”

There was a brief silence as Beomgyu let the words sink in. He stood there for a moment, his hand still in yours, before a smile spread across his face. “You know,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’ve been thinking about something too…”

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. “What’s that?”

Beomgyu’s smile grew, his eyes glinting with excitement. “What if we, uh, moved into an apartment closer to work? Somewhere we could both call our place… together?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the suggestion. “What do you mean?” you asked, trying to hide the sudden rush of emotions.

“I mean…” he trailed off, his voice suddenly softer. “I know we’ve been living separate lives in our own places, but what if we took the next step? What if we moved in together, like a real couple? Maybe in an apartment just a few blocks away from our workplaces? We could make it our own… just us.”

Your breath caught in your throat as the gravity of his words settled over you. For a moment, you just stared at him, unsure if you’d heard him right.

But then, his hand gently cupped your cheek, and the sincerity in his gaze melted any doubt away. “What do you think? I’ve been saving up, and I thought… maybe it’s time. Time for us to be closer. To have our own space.”

Your heart was racing, your mind still trying to process everything Beomgyu had just said. You had dreamed about this moment, but hearing him actually say it out loud felt surreal. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” you whispered, the excitement bubbling up inside you.

“I am, if you say yes,” he replied, his voice full of sincerity, yet there was a hint of playfulness behind it.

You looked at him, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Now, how could I ever say no to that face?”

Beomgyu deadpanned, “You say no to me all the time.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. “That’s because your requests are ridiculous. We’re not having dino nuggets for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We need some variety.”

“Mayo, ketchup, ranch,” Beomgyu replied nonchalantly, as if that was a reasonable combination.

You scrunched up your nose. “That’s gross.”

“And yet, you still kiss me,” Beomgyu said with a grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't hide the smile that tugged at your lips. “Unfortunately, I do.”

“Unfortunately?” he said, his voice dropping in pitch as he wiggled his eyebrows at you. “You didn’t seem to complain last night.”

You immediately flushed, quickly shooting a look around to make sure no one was nearby. “No bed talk in a school zone, idiot,” you shot back, trying to stay serious but failing miserably.

He grinned even wider, leaning in a little closer. “There are no kids here.”

You pointed at him accusingly. “There’s one right here,” you said, laughing despite yourself.

Beomgyu threw his hands up in mock surrender, still chuckling. “Alright, alright, I’ll behave.” But his grin never faded.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the energy between the two of you so effortless, so right. It felt like two years of inside jokes, shared moments, and quiet affection were all wrapped up in this one little exchange. You took a deep breath, squeezing his hand tighter as the bus pulled up, and just before it came to a stop, you said, “So, where’s our new apartment gonna be, huh?”

“Well…call me crazy but I’ve already been looking up on some apartments for about a few weeks now and since we’re not in a rush–we’ll be working from home today, by the way,-- and we can check out this new apartment listing I saw.”

You rolled your eyes, thinking aloud, “Hm, I don’t know. Work is kinda my only time to get rid of you.”

“Get rid of me? Baby, you need me.” He said, smugly.

“Alright fine. Is it open right now?”

“The open house ends in 30 minutes we can make it in time.” Beomgyu mumbled, glancing over to his watch.

“Fine.” You grunted.

— 

The two of you made your way to the apartment Beomgyu had told you about. A laundry room, an island counter, a big enough living room to do late night acrobatics (Beomgyu does that when he’s drunk sometimes)—it almost felt too good to be true. But as you wandered through the space hand in hand, inspecting every corner, it wasn’t just good. It was perfect. The rent was within budget, and the apartment was a short walking distance from both your workplaces. It felt like everything was falling into place.

Until it wasn’t.

“No. NO!”

Both of you turned sharply toward the doorway, where Yeonjun stood with a look of pure horror on his face.

“I’m not having you two rabbits as neighbors,” he declared dramatically, crossing his arms. “I’ve already suffered enough when I stay over at Beomgyu’s place.”

“We never ask you to stay over,” Beomgyu shot back, rolling his eyes. “You choose to do it.”

Yeonjun scoffed, pointing an accusing finger at you. “It’s not my fault she runs my social media page and always posts updates late at night!”

You shrugged innocently. “Well, if we’re neighbors, we could communicate much more easily, don’t you think?”

Yeonjun narrowed his eyes. “No. Absolutely not. I can’t possibly have the world’s most annoyingly clingy couple living next door to me. It’s a nightmare scenario.”

Beomgyu sighed dramatically and stepped forward, throwing an arm around Yeonjun’s shoulders. “Yeonjunnie~,” he cooed, tilting his head and batting his eyelashes. “I love you.”

You grinned, quickly sliding to Yeonjun’s other side and clinging to his arm. “We love you~,” you added, mirroring Beomgyu’s syrupy tone.

Yeonjun looked utterly betrayed, glancing between the two of you as though you’d just sentenced him to a lifetime of torment. “I’m calling Taehyun and asking him to raise the rent,” he grumbled, attempting to shake you both off.

Beomgyu gasped, clutching his chest as if he’d been mortally wounded. “You’d betray me like this? After everything we’ve been through?”

“Everything we’ve been through? We’re only friends because this freak decided to date another freak,” Yeonjun retorted, glaring at the two of you.

“Hey!” you pouted, crossing your arms. “Don’t say that. He’s a cute little freak though, isn’t he?” you added with a grin, reaching over to pinch Beomgyu’s cheeks.

“I’m going to throw up,” Yeonjun groaned, looking genuinely pained.

“Don’t do that on my new carpet,” Beomgyu warned, straightening up and swatting your hands away.

“What do you mean, your new carpet—wait…no.” Yeonjun’s eyes widened in horror.

“Yes.” Beomgyu smirked smugly. “Hi neighbour!”

“Fuck this shit! I’m moving out,” Yeonjun declared, throwing his hands in the air and storming toward the door.

“Love you too, Yeonjunnie~,” Beomgyu called after him, laughter bubbling in his voice.

“Enjoy your new carpet,” Yeonjun shot back, slamming the door behind him.

—

Beomgyu sat cross-legged on the floor, holding a paintbrush like it was a weapon, his cheek already smeared with a streak of light blue. “Baby, stop!” he warned, narrowing his eyes at you.

“You painted my face first?!” you exclaimed, holding up your own paintbrush, dripping with pale yellow. 

Before he could react, you swiped the brush across his nose, leaving behind a bright streak. Beomgyu gasped dramatically, dropping his brush to grab yours, but you jumped up and dodged, laughing.

“Come back here!” he yelled, chasing after you around the room.

You yelped, trying to escape, but he caught you around the waist and spun you around, both of you laughing so hard you could barely breathe. “Hm, I win.” he said triumphantly, dipping his finger in paint and smearing a heart on your cheek.

“Gyu!” you squealed, trying to wriggle free, but he only held you closer, grinning at his handiwork.

“Perfect,” he declared, his face close to yours now. His grin softened as he looked at you, his hand resting on your cheek. “Okay, you’re the cutest thing I’ve ever painted.”

Your laughter faded into a warm smile, your heart fluttering. “You’re such a dork,” you whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

You looked up at him, a mischievous glint in your eyes, and dipped your hands into the blue paint. Pressing your palms gently against his lips, you smirked. “How about we make green?” you teased.

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow, dipping his fingers into the yellow paint and smearing it across your lips in retaliation. “Challenge accepted,” he said with a grin.

“We’re definitely going to get serious stomach pains from toxic paint,” you muttered, unable to hide your laugh.

He leaned in anyway, pulling you closer as his hands rested gently on your waist. His lips pressed against yours, the faint, messy blend of colors forgotten in the warmth of the kiss.

After a few more playful smears of paint and an awful lot of kisses, the two of you sat on the floor, finally taking a breather. Beomgyu pulled out a small wooden frame from one of the boxes, holding it up with a sheepish smile.

The bright yellow headphones sat perfectly preserved in the shadow box. “I thought we could hang this on the wall,” Beomgyu said softly, his voice laced with nostalgia.

You stared at it, your heart swelling with emotion. “You kept them?”

“Of course,” he murmured, his tone quieter now. “It’s cute how you gave these to me on our first anniversary, don’t you think?”

“Well, you did say the theme was memories,” you said with a small smile. “And I think meeting you is one of my favorite ones.”

“Who are you, and what have you done to my mean and sarcastic girlfriend?” Beomgyu teased, his lips twitching into a playful grin.

You rolled your eyes. “Remember how sweet you thought I was in the beginning?”

“You were sweet. For like…the first two months,” he said, feigning deep thought. “Your true colors came out right after I introduced you to Soobin.”

“Oh, trust me, I’ve been mean way before that,” you laughed. “It’s called trying to impress the cute boy I liked.”

“You should win an Oscar for that performance,” he quipped.

“Against who? You?”

“Oh, please,” he shot back with mock indignation. “I’ve never pretended. I’m 100% authentic.”

“Laid back? Remember that? You were all like maybe I am laid back.”

“I am!”

“Baby, you scream and jump around the apartment until 2 a.m. You’re a menace.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not laid back,” he said, grinning. “Just means I’m loud.”

“Very loud. You’ve been pretending to be a soft boy this entire time, haven’t you?”

“You caught me,” he admitted with a laugh, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your lips.

After a brief struggle with the frame, he finally managed to hang it up on the wall. “Tada!” he announced proudly.

The two of you stepped back to admire it, your shoulders brushing as you stood close together. Beomgyu slid an arm around your waist and kissed the top of your head. “Welcome home, baby,” he murmured, his voice warm and tender.

“Welcome home, Gyu.”

[pitchsidestories]

searching for hope II Lucy Bronze x Reader

masterlist I word count: 3426

a/n: hi, it's inspired by this request here, we hope you like it despite the heavy topic.

warnings: career ending injury, sadness, but with a fluffy ending

Suddenly, the whole Estadi Johan Cruyff fell silent when they heard your scream echoing against the walls of the Barca femeni’s home. Everyone who saw you sink to the ground after a bad tackle from your opponent turned pale.

Yes, the tackle from the other player was bad, but what was more unnerving in their eyes was the way you hold on to your knee. This was always a bad sign and something people who followed women’s football grew all too familiar with over the past years. It sends a shiver down the spine of the home fans and your beloved teammates.

It has been an ordinary league game so far, it wasn’t an important one, your team was already leading with three goals and yet you found yourself laying on the pitch. The pain your body was in felt almost unbearable.

“Hey! Don’t move!”, Lucy yelled, looking deeply worried at you while she knelt beside you, taking a hand of yours in hers. Your girlfriend normally tried to keep your relationship as private as possible, but her concern for you threw the normal behaviour out of the window.

“Lucy?”, you mumbled, the tears streaming down your face made your vision turn blurry, but you would always recognize your lover’s voice.

“They’re getting the stretcher.”, Lucy informed you calmy, from the outside the English woman might still look like her professional, tough self, but inside she was falling apart. Seeing you in this state of agony broke her heart.

“Lucy, you need to let her go, the medics are taking care of her now.”, Alexia smiled empathetically at the older player.

“I’ll come and check on you later, okay?”, your girlfriend whispered into your ear before releasing her protective grip from you with a heavy heart.

Instead of speaking you just nodded, signalizing that you heard her, as the medical staff was taking you off the pitch. Even though you closed your eyes you could feel Lucys gaze lingering on you until you were inside the ambulance. The sound of clapping hands from your team and the fans warmed your heart.

“That was bad. She was white as a ghost.”, the defender whispered, the shock of your terrible injury was written all over her.

“Don’t think about it right now, focus on the game, Lucy.”, Keira responded.

“I’m focused.”, Lucy shrugged it off.

Looking at the time, she added:” It’s only ten more minutes anyway.”

Turned out, these were the longest ten minutes in her whole career.

She never felt more relieved when the referee blew the final whistle. As fast as the English woman could she packed her things to travel to your hospital bed.

“Hey, how are you?”, Lucy asked you still out of breath.

“It hurts so much, Lucy.”, you replied in an honest tone, you hated how you sounded, so weak, normally you were known to be a woman who could handle her pain.

“I know. But it will get better.“, Lucy promised as she sat down on the side of your bed.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you shook your head: “No, they said it might end my career…“

Lucy shook her head determinedly: “They can’t know that yet! We don’t even know what it is!“

“It’s my knee.“, you said, your voice choked with tears. You took a deep breath to gather yourself before you added: “Isn’t it weird? We already worried about your knee and here we are…“

If you were not as overwhelmed with the situation, you might have laughed about the irony. You girlfriends knee had been troubling her for some time now so you had prepared for the event that she would have to retire.

What you had failed to include in your plans was the fact that injuries could happen at any time and football careers could be cut short by them.

“We’re not at the point for this conversation yet.“, Lucy replied with stubborn hopefulness.

You sighed: “I know… but I have a bad feeling…“

Lucy took your hand in hers, squeezing encouragingly: “That doesn’t have to mean anything.“

It took days of different tests and scans until you finally had your diagnosis. You had been able to tell what would follow from the look on the doctors face before he even said a word.

It got too real too fast. You were suddenly faced with the fact that your life would never be the same again, the dream that you had spend years working so hard for turned to ash right in front of you on a random Tuesday afternoon.

“Luce, could you please leave me alone for a moment?“, you begged. There were no tears yet, just emptiness.

Your girlfriend rubbed circles on your healthy knee with her thumb: “Y/n, please…“

“We just got told that I can never play again. Go!“, you shouted at her.

Lucy only frowned at you: “We can find another doctor. There’s always a way.“

“Not right now. Leave!“, you instructed her once more, this time as collected as you were capable of.

Reluctantly she got up and left the room without another word.

Only then your tears began to fall and realization set in.

Outside of your hospital room, your teammates were impatiently waiting for any news.

“What did the doctor say, Lucy?“, Mapi asked as soon as English defender stepped out. The heads of the other players snapped up immediately.

Lucy looked at Fridolina, Aitana, Ingrid and Alexia and shook her head. “He pretty much told her that her career is over. She didn’t even have the surgery yet!“

Ingrid blinked down at the bouquet of lilies in her hands, her lip trembling: “And all we got her are her favourite flowers…“

“She’ll still appreciate them.”, your girlfriend reassured her with a sad smile on her lips.

“Yes, but we didn’t thought this could be a career ending injury-“, the team captain explained, but even she was at a loss for words, nothing what the midfielder could say felt appropriate, you weren’t that old yet, and the thought of you never playing for Barca Femeni again was terrible to her.

Alexia could feel a lump in her throat as she was thinking about you, normally you’d have so many years left in the beautiful game.

“Her scream will haunt me in my dreams, it was awful.”, Fridolina confessed, biting her lip.

“This will be a hard time for her.”, Aitana whispered, visibly moved by the news about your injury as the Swede hugged her.

“As well as for Lucia.”, Mapi predicted.

“I’m fine.”, Lucy tried to comfort her teammates with her reply.

“No, we’re here for you both.”, Alexia clarified.

Your teammates stayed true to their words, whenever one of you had a bad day, they made sure that someone was there for you or Lucy.

A day before the surgery your girlfriend made sure she was at home. The defender and you were laying on the sofa, her strong arms were wrapped around you, making you feel very safe and comforted despite the rising nervousness.

“Are you ready for it, love?”, Lucy asked you attentively.

“I am ready.”, you nodded, while she was running a hand through your open hair which you knew she loved a lot.

“Maybe things will change once it’s healed.”, the older woman thought out loud, her voice full of optimism.

“Yes, maybe. But you know what we need right now?”, you changed the subject to something more light-hearted.

Smiling your girlfriend watched you while you were making two cappuccinos for both of you, with a sprinkle of hot chocolate powder on top of it. The delicious scent filled your whole living room, mirroring the peaceful atmosphere of this afternoon.

“Did you perfect your latte art while I was in training.”, Lucy rose an eyebrow in amusement.

“Possible. Narla loved it because she got a lot of milk foam in the process.”, you winked at her laughing, as the dark-haired player took a few sips from the hot drink, closing her eyes with relish.

“At least it had something positive for one of us.”, the defender smirked, meanwhile the West Highland Terrier has been taking your place, so she received her daily dose of cuddles. You could never get tired of the sight of these two, which had a huge place in your heart.  

“And you got a delicious cup of coffee at the end too.”, you reminded her. More serious you added:” Missed me at training?”

“Yeah. Everyone’s asking how you are.”, Lucy cleared her throat.

“I miss them too.“, you admitted. “They’re more than teammates, you know?“

Your girlfriend nodded slowly, in quiet understanding: “I know.“

“Of course you do. Sorry.“ Your gaze shifted towards the contents of your cup.

Lucys hand appeared on your healthy knee, rubbing light circles with her thumb. “No, I appreciate them for their support.“

You looked back and managed a slight smile: “Me too, them and you.“

The defender shrugged casually: “That’s the least thing I can do for you.“

Before you could assure her that she already did more than necessary, Narla jumped on your lap and started to lick your face.

Giggling, you pulled back: “Oh, apologies, Narla. You’re doing a great job too.“

You rewarded the little dog with some pets while Lucy laughed: “Don’t forget your biggest supporter.“

“Never,“

“I’m sure she will take good care of you after the surgery.“, Lucy joked.

You pushed any thought about the surgery away. For now, you just wanted to enjoy the calm afternoon with your two favourites.

You did not remember much about your surgery day until you woke up from anaesthesia. You were confused and tired and you heard people talking all around you. It took you a while to recognize the familiar voices.

“Luce, it’s going to be alright.“ That was Mariona.

“I can only hope so.“, you heard your girlfriend say, her voice was full of worry.

“She’s a fighter.“, Mapis voice promised in the darkness.

“She is.“

“See?“

You finally found the energy to open your eyes. Your teammates all stared back at you. Slowly blinking, you had to clear your throat. It felt disgustingly dry.

“Girls? Hi…“, you managed to say hoarsely.

Mapi smiled: “Hi.“

“Love, you’ve done it.“ Lucy carefully took your hand in hers, studying your face closely.

You frowned: “I didn’t do anything.“

“Yes, you did.“, Lucy remained stubborn.

“The doctors were working.“

You were too tired for an argument so you were grateful when Ingrid changed the subject: “How do you feel? Are you thirsty? We got water and some snacks for you.“

“I’m okay. Water sounds great right now…“, you replied truthfully and were immediately handed a glass of water by the Norwegian.

“Here you go.“

You took a sip. Your throat already felt so much better. “Thanks, Ingrid.“

“You’re welcome.“

“They didn’t say anything, right? If the surgery went well and stuff?“, Lucy interrupted. You just blinked at your girlfriend in confusion. Hadn't she just been watching you wake up?

“I’ve not spoken to them yet…“, you replied.

“That’s okay. I can do that for you. You need to rest now.“

It was only when your teammates had left and you had time to recover why Lucy was so nervous about the outcome of the surgery.

But both of your hopes were crushed several hours later in the same hospital room by a stern looking doctor. He confirmed that the recovery process would be hard and your injury would very likely end your professional career.

“Love?”, Lucy started gently.

“Yes?”, you looked up, still too shocked by the recent confirmation.

“Maybe we should let a second doctor check your knee.”, she suggested cautiously.

“Okay.”, you agreed, too exhausted to say anything more than that, while the defender kissed your hand lightly.

“Maybe there’s still a chance.”, your girlfriend more optimistically than she actually felt. But Lucy wanted to be strong for you even though the news saddened her almost as much as you.

It was after the third time you tried another doctor who was only repeating the diagnosis you heart right from the start that you exploded in front of her:” I had enough, Lucy. No more doctor visits because of it, I can’t do this anymore.”

You could see the shock on the English woman’s face. It was so unlike you to go after her like this.

“Maybe there is one out there that can fix your knee.”, your girlfriend mumbled, still too stunned about the way you reacted.

“Are you even listening to me?”, you yelled frustrated at her unshaken optimism despite the bad news.

“I am. But I’m not ready for you to end your career yet.”, Lucy declared stubbornly.

Her belief was something which ignited a little spark of hope inside you. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have said what you did next:” The recovery just begun, so maybe we should take it one step at a time.”

“Okay, fine.”, the defender agreed.

But rehab turned out to be physically and mentally tough for you and the people who loved you. On an especially hard day in the gym, you begged Mapi who was there as well to not call Lucy to pick you up. Simply because your girlfriend was already doing so much for you in everyday life.

“Why not? She can just pick you up.”, the Spaniard shrugged.

“No, she can’t see me like this.”, you frantically shook your head.

The face of your teammate softened. She paused for a moment before asking you.

“Do you really think she cares?”

“All she cares about is my comeback, Mapi. What if the doctors are right, do you think Luce would break up?”, it suddenly broke out of you, the fears which had a hold on you since the recovery started, were put into words for the first time. Before they only lived in your head.

“No. There’s no way.”, Mapi promptly answered without a second thought.

“Like whom am I when this ends?”, you continued, a sad smile appeared on your lips.

The defender stroke your back empathetically: “You’re still you. You’re more than a football player. Always remember that.”

The darkness you had felt earlier was feeling a little lighter through the kind words of your friend. It was like there was a light at the end of the tunnel, you could almost reach it with your hand.

You gently placed your hand on Mapis thigh and forced yourself to look at her: “We need to meet up for a coffee soon. I need to see something else than the gym…“

“Tell me when and where.“, your teammate replied, giving you an encouraging smile.

“I’ll.“, you said with genuine anticipation.

Excitedly, Mapi suggested: “I can bring Ingrid.“

“Sounds great.“

“We’re happy to distract you.“

You just smiled at the defender. Even though this phase of your life was not the easiest, the love and compassion you got from your teammates made it bearable.

When you got home, Lucy was already waiting for you impatiently. The expression on her face already told you everything, you needed to know. You suppressed a sigh.

“Mapi told me what you said to her earlier…“, Lucy began.

“Did she?“ It was more a statement than a question.

“Yes.“

“We were just talking.“, you tried your best to calm Lucys worries.

“You should have asked me to pick you up.“, Lucy insisted, anger mixing into her voice.

You had no energy to fight now. “It was fine. You already do so much, I don’t want to be a burden to you.“

Your girlfriend rolled her eyes: “Oh, please.“

“What?“

“Stop being like that. You know I want to help you.“

“I just told you that you’re already helping!“ You sighed with annoyance.

Lucys voice went quieter as she said: “Not in the important moments…“

“Luce…“ You bridged the gap between the two of you, unsure of what to do next.

“Just call me next time.“

“I’ll.“, you promised.

“Thanks.“

Carefully, you wrapped your arms around Lucy. She leaned into the hug, the crease between her eyebrows softening. You locked eyes with her: “I love you.“

Lucys lips moved in an attempt to reply but she was interrupted by a high-pitched whimper.

You both looked down to see Narla sitting at your feet.

“And you too of course, Narla.“, you laughed.

Lucys features finally relaxed: “Let me make you some dinner. Maybe that can save your day.“

“Yours definitely does.“, you grinned, only then realizing how hungry you were.

With a wink, your girlfriend pulled out of the hug: “I’ll make your fav.“

“Thank you.“ You kissed her cheek, full of gratefulness.

As promised, you met Mapi and Ingrid at a small café the next morning. You were chatting about your recovery and the latest team news. Ingrid was in the middle of explaining how Martas shoes had disappeared from the changing room when Mapi took a sip of coffee and started coughing.

Ingrid looked at her girlfriend in concern, stopping herself mid-setence.

“Oh my god. That coffee is awful, y/n. The one you make is so much better.“, Mapi grimaced.

“Mapi, be quiet!“, Ingrid told her girlfriend quickly. She looked around the café sheepishly in hopes that no one had heard her girlfriend slandering their coffee.

Mapi shrugged: “But it’s true.“

“Uhm thanks, I guess?”, you replied smiling amused at the Spaniards dramatics.

“She’s not wrong to be honest.”, the Norwegian admitted blushing.

“Actually, I’ve always dreamed about opening my own café, someday where Lucy could have her bar alongside.”, you confessed, your eyes looked dreamily at no one in particular.

Behind them you were daydreaming about it, you could see the welcoming, modern space, the coffee machine which everyone would spot at first sight when they entered the café, with cute different coffee cups, waiting to be filled. In the day it would serve all kinds of hot and iced drinks while in the evening your girlfriend would serve drinks.

“Oh my god, you should!”, Mapi clapped her hands excitedly. The defender was your ultimate hype woman since the injury.

“Yes, we’d never go anywhere else.”, Ingrid added grinning.

“Please! Everyone can be a coach or a pundit after retirement.”, her girlfriend basically begged you.

“I’ll think about it, okay?”, you asked them.

“Okay.”, the older woman nodded.

Step by step your daydream turned into reality over the upcoming months. As your body recovered from the big injury, the café came slowly together too. While your physical and mental wounds started to heal you felt more comfortable each day in your new role as former football player and current small business owner.

Obviously, it still hurt a little when you saw your girlfriend and teammates play, but on your private opening celebration with them you felt an inner calmness about it. You were ready for your next chapter which was still unwritten.

“Are you ready for your first customers?”, Lucy’s question took you back to the present.

“I’m ready.”, you answered, a nervous smile flitted across your face.

She pressed an encouraging kiss on your cheek, before remarking:” There they are.”

“Hi, come on in, girls.”, you waved at the entering guests cheerfully.

“Hi, this turned out so cute girls.”, Mapi noted with approval while taking everything in.

“Yes, this is so you, I love it.”, Ingrid marvelled at her surroundings.

“Thank you, I assume that you guys want two flat whites?”, hearing them praise your new project made your face lit up.

“Don’t you worry, later we’ll have some drinks to celebrate the opening properly.”, Lucy told her teammates with a cocky smile on her lips.

“We’ll stay for both. Coffee and drinks.”, the Spaniard responded happily.

“Perfect.”, you were just starting to make their coffees as slowly but surely the rest of your team was getting inside the café.

They tried to show you that their support didn’t stop because your football career has been cut short, it was still there and today you could feel it especially.

Late at night, your girlfriend and you had done the cleaning of the mess the celebration had caused. In the background slow music was playing and Lucy danced with you in the dim lit room, whispering into your ear:” I love this little life we created together.”

So did you, you searched for hope after the injury and you found it in the encouraging smiles of your friends and right here in the arms of the defender who you loved a little bit more with every passing day.

[deergravity]

Seeing as my internal rewards system has moved on to 'trans fiction' from 'queer horror audio drama podcast' I thought I should do a little roundup of everything I listened to the past few months.

A rough ranking:

Malevolent. Just squeaking into the top spot here based on 1) technical prowess (iykyk) 2) compelling characters and story and 3) they are my blorbos your honor!!! Mind boggling that Harlan Guthrie has so much chemistry with himself.

The Silt Verses. Only topped by Malevolent bc season 1 is not as polished, but it really doesn't matter. Top tier characters, amazing worldbuilding, intricate plotting and it had something to SAY about the casual violence of systems, the nature of hope, the complexity of being human in a world that tries to make us inhuman. Also, it doesn't rely on some thin recording contrivance (a framing device that has its place) and instead truly takes the mantle of audio drama without apology.

The White Vault. On the topic of framing devices, TWV has a very cool take on found footage recordings. A group of [researchers/archeologists] are sent to investigate a remote site in [Svalbard/Patagonia] and the podcast is structured as a documentarian presenting the notes, recordings and diary entries in a reconstructed timeline. My favorite element is that many of the characters don't make their notes in English, so the segments will often open with the VA speaking German, Spanish, Mandarin, Icelandic, Russian, etc etc before fading into the translation. There are miniseries between the seasons available on their patreon and they were so worth the $10 I paid to access them for a month. Reveals are slow, but worthwhile, and the mythology built for the show is highly original and intriguing.

Deviser. A one season contained story from Harlan Guthrie of Malevolent. Scifi, psychological, lots of wet awful body horror. If you're a fan of Harlan wimpering into a mic, you'll love this one.

WOE.BEGONE. Long, ongoing, and so so so far from the original premise it's hilarious, I'm ranking this higher than it maybe deserves for two factors 1) the creator and the VAs are clearly having a blast and 2) it's riding the line of taking itself serious despite a premise that invites irony poisoning without becoming too wrapped up in itself. It's fun, I think, that keeps w.bg strong.

The Magnus Archives. Should this be one up? Probably. But everyone bloody well knows tma by this point, it's good, great even! Beyoncé of horror podcasts.

I Am In Eskew. Only knocked down due to the actually godawful sound quality. Truly unsettling stories though (the one with the building architect haunts me) and a surprisingly realistic conclusion. You can see the bones of The Silt Verses here, from the same creative team.

The Magnus Protocol. Everything above this is there due to originality. As a sequel series, TMAGP will always suffer in that measure. However, I like our new cast and I do love an alternate reality. Curious to see where season 2 takes us. I'd like to kill Mr Bonzo in a fire.

The Inexplicables. Another one season story, this time from Rusty Quill, with really fun, flawed characters and no recording framing device!

Wolf 359. Storywise, great! Characters, excellent! Kicking it way to the bottom bc they just would NOT STOP referencing H***y P****r. Yes, Doug's characterization hangs on excessive reference humor, but that was one well I wish they'd left alone.

Red Valley. Knocked for HP references too (come ON british podcasters, do better) but more importantly for veering WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY too close to real life in season 3 onward. I was here for a horror sci fi story about cryogenics, not to listen to my worst climate disaster fears brought to life via hearing rich old sods try to buy their way out of consequences while the world burns and eco terrorism escalates. Too real. Not bad storytelling, just very much not fulfilling my escapism needs.

It's kinda crazy to me that anytime I mention this genre to normies in my life they say, "oh, like true crime podcasts?" And then I die inside. No dude, like radio drama. Like War of the Worlds.

Anyway, I'm off to get even less relatable by reading a zillion niche trans novels (hello Welcome to Dorley Hall, aka, what if there really was a 'trans cult' force femming dudes to undermine their masculinity? It's amazing how much yarn we can make by subverting the cis gaze.)

[a-romantics-guide-to-life]

⋆⟡˚ ཐི⋆♱ 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 ♱⋆ཋྀ ˚⟡⋆

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: billy the kid x fem witch reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’re the towns witch but everyone thinks your evil and vile, billy believes every word they say until he actually meets you; aka halloween is your time of year and billy is all for it

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: fluff, implied sex, hate, witch!reader, outlaw billy, halloween but its the wild west and they have witches (Ooooo)

𝐚/𝐧: heres my lil take on witch reader and outlaw billy who are both ousted from society, ofc witch r more than billy. hope you enjoy!

𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟-𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Everybody in town knew never, ever, to go up to the cottage just past the first few lines of trees of the forest.

The townsfolk would spook their children into shivering at night for fear of the witch who would cast a spell and curse them all. The mothers would make rotten smelling bread and give it to their children saying it was a gift from the witch. The children would gag and cry about the awful gift that was more of an evil warning.

Of course, none of this was true.

Although it was fact, most definitely not fiction, that you were a witch who indeed did live past the first lines of trees in the forest, that was only because some of your herbs and plants could only be grown in the dark. It was most definitely true that you could hex and curse but you’d never make rotten bread.

Who even claimed that witches made rotten bread?

“Mmmm baby, whatever is in that there oven smells heavenly.” Spoke the man laying naked on your bed. You laughed, pulling on a smoky robe. You run your fingers through your hair, your eyes turning stark black, purple haze swirling in the starry night of your eyes as you use your ‘evil magic’ to untangle your hair.

Billy turned, his midnight blue eyes piercing you back with his bullet-like gaze. You winked over your shoulder as he started to stand up, grabbing a pair of shorts. He trudged over to you, whisking your hair away as he kissed up your neck where a tattoo of a daffodil lay fully bloomed.

It was one of Billy’s favorite parts about you, the flower symbolizing so much to you. He knew how hard it was being a ‘witch’, being outed as a “worshiper of the devil.” He knew that your own dear mother was burned at the stake for fighting for what’s right. Billy knew that your father had taken and ran with you as far away as you could at six years old, hiding your powers away from society to protect you.

And you had hidden, for nearly ten years, you had run from everything and everyone. You fled from forest to forest, your father growing weaker and weaker. You had finally stopped running when you found the cottage, nursing your father back to health. But, your father didn’t make it, dying the first night from delirium, forgetting who you were, where you were, everything. He eventually remembered before going mad from grief of losing your mother. You vowed then and there to curse all love, after all, who could ever learn to love a witch as your father had?

Yet you held hope, the magically tattooed daffodil an ode to that hope. Hope that one day you could walk freely amongst the humans, you could love freely without the burden of consequence, that you could one day break your curse.

Billy had waltzed into your life blazing hot and hazily drunk. He had been punished by the townsfolk, being thrown into the forest for the “witch to have at him.” 

Which is when he met you. He hadn’t been afraid, raising his gun to you, his blue eyes piercing right through you. Billy had been surprised when he found out the “horrid witch” who had skin green as moss and a cackle as evil as the Devil was actually just an Angel no older than him. He had lowered his revolver, laughing out at the cruel irony of it all. 

Turns out, you weren’t the wicked one at all.

“I hope you do like it, after all, I’m a rotten witch whose rolls are most certainly revolting.” You purred, spinning in his arms to face him. He smiles lazily, a huff rolling from his lips.

“Well, it's a good thing that this outlaw ain’t any better than a witch baby. ‘Sides,” he lowers his voice, biting your ear playfully before whispering in your ear, his rough and broad hands holding your arms softly, “your pussy tastes too sweet for ya t’be rotten darlin’.”

You chuckle, your legs involuntarily squeezing shut at the memories of last night's heated dinner date.

He chuckles at your reaction, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. Billy walks over to where his discarded clothes lay, pulling up his trousers, barely buttoning his dark blue blouse before bringing his trousers straps up and to rest on his broad shoulders. He stands next to you, pouring himself a cup of coffee as you check on the cinnamon rolls you had baked in the oven.

You bend over, rotating the tray. Billy grins from behind you, slapping your barely covered ass. You yelp, nearly falling forward into the oven. He quickly grabs your hips, pulling you to his lower region. You stand up, turning to face him before hitting his chest.

“Billy, how dare you?!! Are you trying to get me killed??” You flail your arms dramatically.

“Guess those stories ‘bout witches getting pushed into ovens were true then, weren’t they darlin’?”

“Of course they are, who wouldn’t die if you pushed ‘em into a very hot metal oven?”

He turns the question in his head, “Ya ain’t wrong there darling.”

You huff, turning away from him mixing the frosting for the rolls. Billy walks up behind you, running his palms up and down your sides. He kisses the side of your neck, resting his chin on your shoulder. He starts to hum a cowboy song, you assume, the soothing baritone of his voice relaxing your body further into submission. All for this man. 

A true Angel among men, you thought. 

You could, and would never, understand how the world could ever put Billy through all that it had with no remorse. And people still hated and feared him?

He was as sweet as sugar and as loyal as a priest, he was kind and loving, so loving. You never could understand just how he had so much heart to love you as much as he did. 

Billy just couldn’t help it. You were amazing, incredible, truly ethereally out of this world. He thought you were a star who had fallen down to Earth, bringing light and warmth everywhere you went. 

“Mmmm, baby, ‘s so good.” Billy moaned as the white cream coated his lips.

“Billy, ya got a lil something on your lips.” You smile.

He chuckles, licking his lips, savoring the creamy frosting of the fresh cinnamon rolls that you and Billy had been eating. The cool October air seeping into your room as you sat at -your small round dining table, eating the warm and sweet rolls with your special tea.

You take a bite, the fresh cinnamon-y roll, the sweet cream topping cool on your tongue. You look up, meeting Billy’s eyes. His gaze soft and warm, heating the cold plain within your chest.

“....Is there something on my face?” You ask timidly, rubbing your chin to check for any dirt or grime.

“You’re beautiful,” he softly utters, your name like a prayer on his lips. 

You smile, taking another bite of your roll. He smiles as your black cat, Nyx, crawls onto your lap, purring softly. Surprisingly, Nyx had liked Billy from your first meeting till now. Nyx strutted her sassy cute butt across the table, head raised high as she lay on the table right next to where Billy’s hand lay.

He chuckles as his hand goes to stroke the princess head, Nyx letting out content purrs as Billy laughs even more, the sound resonating in your chest.

You summon your camera to capture the moment, Billy sitting with your cat, petting her softly with the softest smile ever as the sunlight streamed through the room giving Billy a halo. You smile as Billy turns to you after the flash of the camera, his nose scrunched and eyebrows furrowed together as his stark blue eyes close in an attempt to relieve his eyes of the bright flash of light.

You laugh as he slowly squints his eyes open, acclimating his baby blue eyes to the brightness of the world all while Her Royal Majesty Nyx has sat there, eyes peacefully closed with Billy’s broad hands splayed in her back.

“What was that for darlin’?”

“Oh nothing, just wanted to have something to remember this moment by.”

He growls, standing up and stalking over to you. Billy attacks your neck with loving bites and kisses while lifting you away and onto your bed. “I can think of another way to help ya remember this mama.”

You laugh as he unhooks his trouser straps while tugging your robe open to the cool air while Nyx struts her stuff out of the window and into your fields as laughter and groans fill the air of your little cottage.

Billy lay on you, his head laying on your belly while your hand softly cards through his brunet curls.

“Baby?”

“Mhmmm Billy?”

He sits up, his broad frame towering over your bare form laying on the bed. “Ya wanna go ‘to town?”

You chuckle, hoisting yourself up, pressing kisses along his shoulder to his strong neck. “Darling, you really think I, of all people, could just stroll into town?”

He sighs, “ ‘s just that, it's Halloween t’night and I thought, well,” he looks away sheepishly, his eyes looking out the window where Nyx had climbed back into the cottage,” though ya’d wanna come with me since they’ll be plenty of other witches around. All the kids been dressing up as of late, thought it’d be the perfect time for ya to finally come see what the towns been like.”

You stare at him, blinking. How long has it been since you’ve seen the town? How much could that awful place have changed?

“Billy, as much as I love that idea, I don’t think it’ll be safe. Who knows what they’ll do as soon as they realize that I ain’t dressed up as a witch but actually am one?”

“Pretty mama, my baby, lovely,” he kisses your head before resting his forehead against yours, his calloused palm holding your face softly,” y’know I won’t let anything, an’ I mean anything, take ya away from me, right?”

“Yea, of course. Not that you need to protect me, I can do that myself. Been doing that myself.” Your eyes flash midnight, mesmerizing Billy.

“Baby, lemme help you, yeah?” His balmy hands reach up, rubbing your shoulders up and down as he pulls you to him. You wrap your arms around him, taking in the musk and honey of Billy, drowning everything out with his heat.

You mumble a small “okay,” satisfying Billy.

“And as much as I love ya naked darlin’, Imma need you to cover up for the rest of the townsfolk.”

You snicker, spalling his chest before standing to get ready. You grab the darkest dress you have, to enhance your witchy vibes, and grab a purse filled with coin just in case.

You and Billy walk through the trees, carefully entering the town’s outskirts where children had already begun to collect candy and participate in party games on folks’ lawns. You smile, wrapping an arm through Billy’s, holding onto him for security of mind and body.

Billy leads you to the center of the town where all the festivities lay. Smashing pumpkin contests (which Billy entered just for you winning 1st place) and apple bobbing contests where you dunked your head in water trying to get an apple twixt your teeth (you had frightened everyone there by using your magic to stay underwater for longer). There were even axe throwing and shooting contests. Needless to say, to make you happy, Billy had entered and won each contest, bringing you back a fruit or stuffed animal each time. 

You continued on through the town, a show all about witches, highly incorrect you told Billy, playing at the theater on your path. You had even watched the poor little girl, an accused witch, ‘burned at the stake’ by the townspeople in the play. It was certainly informative to say the least.

At least you knew to steer clear of fires for a bit.

Billy took you too all his favorite spots, the big apple tree in the apple orchard, the bakery owned by a woman as sweet as his own late mother, and even where he ranched and the barn, which was open as a petting zoo, where he would frequently work.

You laughed as everybody treated you as a normal human, not some satanic heretic. You smiled as Billy took you around town, reveling in the fresh air of humans. You nearly cried when it all came to an end. 

You and Billy ended up on the dock of the local lake where all the ‘young folk’ swam, your legs dangling together in the cool water.

“Thank you, Billy.”

“For what baby?”

You turn to him, his eyes as dark and starry as the night sky that blanketed the sky. “For everything, for making me feel alive. For making me feel seen and real. For taking me out today even though it was dangerous.” You pause, smiling up at the moon, thanking your mother and father for sending down this man, this Angel, to you. “Thank you for today Billy. I had lots of fun.”

He leans down, kissing you fervently on your velvety lips. “Course baby. I’d do anything for ya, I love you.”

You look up into his eyes, kissing him lightly. “I love you too Billy.”

[mercillery]

can you please write a series of headcanons for yandere Zenon falling for a nun female reader who is a friend of sister Lily and father Orsi?

btw i really love your writing 💕❤️

WARNINGS: FEMALE READER + RELIGIOUS TOPICS + NOT PROOFREAD

NOTES: IM ALIVE GUYS I SWEAR IM ALIVE. ALSO, I DID THIS ON A WHIM SO IT MIGHT NOT BE THE BEST. SORRY AND THANK YOU.

Oh, you poor, unsuspecting soul.

You're about to hop on a roller coaster so wild and unpredictable that even the most hardcore adrenaline junkies would pause and reconsider their life choices before strapping in. Seriously, who could have predicted that someone as cold and ruthless as Zenon—yes, Zenon, the guy whose hobbies probably include brooding and looking dramatically into the distance—would ever let thoughts of anything other than his missions and duties creep into his mind?

And not just anyone, mind you, but a nun? The irony is ironing. Zenon falling for someone devoted to peace and virtue? It’s like discovering the Grim Reaper secretly volunteers at a kitten shelter on weekends. But hey, life has a funny way of throwing curveballs when you least expect them, and Zenon catching feelings might just be the curveball of the century.

Zenon's interest in you doesn't start as love—oh no, that would be too simple, too human. Instead, it begins as a fixation, a curiosity he can’t quite shake. You see, he’s drawn to your purity, your unwavering faith, and that infuriating devotion to something greater than yourself. For someone like Zenon, whose life is steeped in shadows and bloodshed, these qualities are both intriguing and utterly alien. It’s like he’s found a rare, delicate flower growing in the middle of a battlefield—something that shouldn’t exist, and yet, here it is, flourishing despite the chaos.

Your kindness and warmth are stark contrasts to the cold, brutal world Zenon knows so well. To him, you're almost like a living embodiment of everything he's not—and, frankly, everything he’s never wanted to be. Zenon is perfectly content with his dark, brooding existence; thank you very much. The idea of being anything else? Laughable. But still, there’s something about your devoted nature that tugs at him in ways he doesn't fully understand.

It’s not love—at least not yet—but there’s definitely something there, something that keeps him coming back, if only to try and figure out why someone like you exists in a world like his.

Zenon doesn’t harbor any outward disgust toward religion—he’s not the type to waste energy on something as trivial as disdain. Instead, religion just makes him tilt his head slightly, those dark, intimidating eyes narrowing as if he's trying to solve a puzzle he doesn’t really care about. He’s genuinely baffled by how someone could be so dedicated, so selfless, so utterly consumed by their devotion to something intangible. How could anyone willingly bind themselves to something as abstract as faith?

If we're being completely honest here, Zenon probably finds the whole concept of religion utterly useless. In his mind, power is the only currency that matters, and in the face of overwhelming strength, everything else—including religion—seems trivial at best. He sees religion as something that would only hold a person back, a crutch that prevents them from grasping real power. After all, why rely on divine intervention when you can take matters into your own hands?

But does he care if someone else wants to cling to their faith? Not really. Zenon’s not interested in converting anyone to his worldview; he’s too focused on his own goals for that. If people want to hold themselves back with their religious beliefs, that’s their problem, not his. He just shrugs it off, filing it away as another incomprehensible quirk of humanity that he doesn’t need to understand and thinks it just holds everyone back.

But anyway—over time, this curiosity of his starts to twist and morph into something far more dangerous—an obsession. As this obsession deepens, Zenon begins to rationalize the strange feelings he's grappling with, trying to make sense of them in a way that aligns with his dark worldview. He starts to see your innocence as something fragile, something that needs to be protected—by him and only him.

Of course, Zenon’s idea of protection isn’t exactly comforting. It's dark, suffocating, and possessive. In his mind, the only way to keep you truly safe is to isolate you from the world, to lock you away where no one else can reach you or taint your purity. This twisted logic extends to everyone around you, even those closest to you, like Sister Lily and Father Orsi.

Sure, even if they’re like your family, even if you dearly love them with every fiber of your being, and even if Zenon knows all of this—he still sees them as obstacles. And let’s be real; that’s not exactly surprising. To him, they’re not threats, just hurdles he needs to clear before claiming his prize: you. I’m not saying he’d immediately jump to murder, but it’s definitely crossed his mind. Whether he goes that far depends entirely on how much resistance they put up.

Zenon isn’t one for subtlety or long-winded schemes. He’s not going to waste time orchestrating elaborate events to make it seem like Sister Lily or Father Orsi are in danger or untrustworthy—that’s just too much work for something he could easily solve by just killing them. He’s got power, and he’s more than willing to use it to carve a quicker, more direct path to you. If they become too much of a nuisance, well, let’s just say Zenon’s not above using lethal force to clear the way. Sorry, but in his mind, it’s a simple equation: they’re in his way, and he’s not one to let anything stand between him and what he wants. Of course, if by some miracle Sister Lily and Father Orsi step aside and let him through—though let’s be real, that’s about as likely as Zenon deciding to take up knitting—they might just live to see another day.

That being said, once Zenon realizes that he’s not just obsessed with you and that his feelings run far deeper than mere fixation, well, say goodbye to your freedom. Forever.

Zenon’s first move would be to isolate you completely, cutting you off from everyone and everything you’ve ever known. He wouldn’t hesitate to threaten the lives of those around you if it meant coercing you into submission. It’s just a necessary step to secure your loyalty and your obedience. He’d present himself as your only protector, the one person who can truly keep you safe in a world filled with chaos, danger, and evil—a world that’s constantly trying to kill that innocence you have. To Zenon, this isn’t just a twisted power play; it’s an act of love. He genuinely believes that by keeping you close, by holding you tight in his suffocating grip, he’s shielding you from the darkness that he knows all too well.

And yes, Zenon is the very embodiment of that darkness, the very thing he’s supposedly protecting you from, but in his mind, that’s just more reason for you to stay with him. You’re precious, sacred even, and he can’t bear the thought of losing you—especially after what happened with Allen. Oh how much you remind him of that sunshine boy, that bright light that was snuffed out too soon. He doesn’t want to experience that pain again, that devastating loss. So he convinces himself that this is the only way, that by keeping you close, he’s protecting both you and himself from a repeat of the past.

But while Zenon is dead set on “protecting” your purity as a nun, he's also not above trying to chip away at the very core of what makes you who you are. He takes a strange satisfaction in subtly undermining your faith, poking holes in the foundations of your beliefs whenever he gets the chance. He'll challenge your views on life, death, and the morality of your God, all while weaving in his own twisted philosophy, as if trying to make you see the world through his cold, unforgiving eyes.

As much as he’s intrigued by your devotion, it also kinda grates on him. How can someone be so unwavering in the face of a world as dark and merciless as this one? He might be your self-appointed protector, but there’s a part of him that wants to see you stumble—a lot, actually. Zenon’s not satisfied with just keeping you safe; he wants to break your spirit and mold you into someone who sees the world the way he does. He’s not just after your obedience—he wants your mind, your very soul, to align with his own warped perspective.

In fact, at some point, Zenon would likely want you to abandon your faith altogether. He’d see it as a weakness, something that blinds you to the harsh realities he believes in. In his mind, your faith and ideals are naïve, a set of fragile beliefs that will only lead to your destruction if left unchecked. He sees his efforts to sway you as an act of mercy, a twisted form of salvation. To him, if you could just shed those old beliefs and embrace his darker, more “realistic” worldview, you’d be stronger for it—stronger and safer, as far as he’s concerned.

So while Zenon might claim to be protecting your purity, the truth is much more sinister. He wants to strip away everything that makes you who you are, to rebuild you in his own image, and in doing so, bind you to him in a way that goes far beyond physical control. To him, that’s the ultimate act of protection: not just guarding your body, but reshaping your very soul.

Moreover, Zenon’s icy logic and emotional detachment would make it utterly futile to try and reason with him—even if you’re usually a master at persuading others. With him, all your skills in negotiation and reasoning would hit an unyielding wall. Zenon isn't the kind of man who can be swayed by emotional appeals or logical arguments. His mind is set, and once he’s decided on something, there’s no changing it. If you ever attempted to escape or reach out for help, you’d quickly learn just how unforgiving he can be. Any act of defiance would be met with swift and brutal consequences, the kind that would make you think twice about ever trying it again.

Zenon doesn’t see you as an individual with your own thoughts, feelings, and agency. To him, you’re a precious, pure possession—something to be guarded, controlled, and kept away from the world. He might speak of love, but his version of it is suffocating, possessive, and devoid of the genuine respect and care that real love requires. Instead of being cherished as a person, you’re reduced to an object of obsession, someone whose freedom and autonomy are sacrificed on the altar of his twisted affections.

In Zenon’s mind, the endgame is crystal clear. He’s convinced that by breaking your will and dismantling the person you once were, he can rebuild you into something that aligns with his dark, twisted worldview. If you were to ever fully submit to his control, he’d see it as a victory—a validation of his power and a confirmation that his way is the only way. But here’s the thing: that victory wouldn’t bring Zenon any real peace or happiness. Despite his relentless pursuit, Zenon is a man consumed by darkness, and even if he managed to break you, he’d likely find himself staring into an abyss of his own making.

The purity and innocence that first drew Zenon to you would be gone, stripped away by his relentless need to control and reshape you. In their place would be something hollow and broken—a reflection of Zenon himself. He might have you under his thumb, but the person he was so fascinated by, the light that caught his attention, would be extinguished. And what then? Zenon is too far gone to appreciate what he’s lost, but on some level, he would likely feel the emptiness of his so-called victory.

Overall, Zenon’s pursuit of you is more than just a desire to possess; it’s a reflection of his own inner turmoil. He’s a man who, in trying to hold onto something pure, only succeeds in dragging both you and himself further into the darkness. The very thing that made you special to him—your purity—becomes a casualty of his obsession. And in trying to mold you into something that mirrors his own brokenness, Zenon only deepens his descent into the void, leaving behind nothing but the remnants of what once was and what could never be again.

[sunflowerhae]

The Flops™️

Y/n

A 22 year old professional dumb ass with a side gig in being comedic relief. Y/n is easy to understand; she loves video games, loves her cat, and loves pasta. And well..MAYBE she loves her fans too. Y/n is what you could call an “unstoppable force”. She’s going up in the online entertainment world, and has no plans on stopping soon. After having JUST passed her 4 million subscriber milestone on YouTube, y/n believes her life is just near perfect. Which is exactly why God needed to humble her, she thinks. Because WHO kicks someone out of their apartment (3 months before their lease ends, might I add) because of a “miscommunication” if not compelled to by God Himself. So, now Y/n has to move all of her things..AGAIN..to a new place…AGAIN…and pray to God (who we’ve found does NOT have a soft spot for her) that this one sticks - at least for a little bit. Everyone around y/n quickly learns that it’s not her who’s the comedic relief, but instead her life which is so ridiculous, that you can’t help but laugh.

Giselle

Giselle has two main interests. She is a fan of music, and a fan of y/n. She got the music part covered by being one of Korea’s leading superstars. AND she has the y/n part covered by being y/n’s absolute ULTIMATE best friend. When she’s not hypnotizing a whole country with her melodies, she’s dreaming of hanging out with her friends and, maybe hot Greek men. But be careful! This kitty bites, and if you poke too hard at her, you’ll understand why they say she has claws.

Winter

When winter isn’t focusing on her (some would call it) obsession with animal crossing, she’s focusing on her blossoming career in the mukbang community. If you can name it, Winter can eat it. She’s still pretty new, but she’s gaining a steady following by her charming personality and, quite frankly, insane ability to hound a plate of food faster than you can utter an insult. It of course doesn’t hurt her new following that she’s good friends with some of the most influential people of her generation, but that doesn’t mean much to her. With a laugh and bite - winter is a happy girl.

Jisung

Jisung would never call himself a streamer. Sure, he plays video games for people to watch. Sure, he gets viewer numbers up to the thousands. SURE, he makes money off it and has a weekly upload schedule. But no, Jisung would NEVER call himself a streamer. So y/n does it for him! You might think the whole “bicker like siblings” thing is an act for the camera, but that’s just the nature of these two friends. When she’s not nagging him about how much he eats and yet never goes to the gym, Jisung fills the space by laughing and bullying y/n’s gameplay choices. Some newbies are convinced they actually hate each other, but OG’s know these two love each other fiercely, the difference is they show it in their own..unique..way.

Jaemin

Ah..Jaemin. The irony of Jaemin befalls all his friends. He is, by far, the most outgoing one of the bunch. Jaemin sees a new person as a new opportunity for a friend. He laughs in the face of introverts, while also hugging them and giving them a free bag of chips. Jaemin knows just what to say, and just when to say it. And it pains them all that he’s the ONLY “normal” one of the group. Jaemin is currently studying business at SNU, hoping to one day open a cat cafe. His nonchalance towards being in the most envied and admired friend group of their country confuses Jaemins classmates. And what confuses them even more is that, when asked if he feels lucky to be friends with them, his reply is only, “those idiots? More like what crimes did I commit in my last life to be cursed to know them”. But fear not for little old Jaemin, for he is probably the sneakiest of the lot. And if you don’t know what I mean, I’m sorry, but it’s already too late for you.

Jeno

Jeno is a model. It’s really that simple. Jeno is a model - and also so much more. He’s Jaemins best friend, he’s winters boyfriend, he’s the “glue” of the group (as y/n would put it), and he’s just genuinely a nice person. If you have an issue with anything - he’s there. A leak in your roof? Call Jeno. You’re missing a final ingredient for a recipe you’ve been dying to try? Jeno will find it, or die trying! Need a shoulder to cry on after a nasty breakup? Jeno is at yours with a tissue one minute, and an undisclosed location with a gun and some rope in the next. He’s the fiercest and loyalist friend you’ll ever have; who just so happens to be a model.

GG! (Good Game!) 👾

Notes: does anybody actually read my character descriptions bc I actually think I popped off w these ngl. Also not them being a hype house lowkey (without the house part)

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| EXTRA |

<message or comment to be added to taglist; status: open>

[lorimnnn]

Hiii! May I request something for Kazan Yamaoka?

During a match at the Yamaoka Estate where Kazan sees from a distance survivor reader is gonna go to a gen that's in one of the houses but she catches herself before she steps inside. She takes her shoes off and leaves them at the door before going to the gen. Despite it being a realm different from the real world she still respects Japanese culture. And she does this every time she goes through any houses in his realm.

Idk I'm just curious how Kazan would react to this since none of the other survivors or killers (besides him maybe) respect this. But if not that's totally ok!

omg, I can't explain how much I love this request! I know it took me ages but I'm here! I'm looking to write more on Kazan because there's hardly anything on him.

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warnings: canon-typical violence and gore, life-threatening situations, swearing, i hate editing so obviously it's not edited but i'll probably go over it one day

trope summary: fluff, slow-burn

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You were the last one left. Did you know that?

It had never crossed your mind--- so no, you didn't. You had learned long ago not to care about those types of things when you were facing killers like The Oni. He was a devourer. Your teammates never stood a chance to begin with.

But you didn't know that.

The first time The Entity threw you into The Oni's world, you took off running. That's what your other teammates did, anyway. There had been a collective groan when the fog cleared and you all came to terms with where you were--- then a grim caress of fear that seemed to possess all of you. The sight of your teammates so flighty had struck you the wrong way and you weren't going to go about asking questions about it.

The primal roar in the distance said all that you needed to know.

What was this place, anyway?

It was like you'd time-travelled to Edo-era Japan. It was beautiful and antique and you'd never seen anything quite like it. But you'd always wanted to travel to Japan.

The Entity took that chance away from you.

You found yourself reminiscing over all those lost opportunities. You were never going to get them back. You should've gone even when you were sure you were going to be dirt poor afterwards. You should have taken the chance and travelled everywhere as soon as you got the money for it. You didn't even know what you were saving for. Everyone else was doing it, so you supposed you were supposed to as well. But what was the point of having so much money if you couldn't even use it to buy the things that would make you happy?

If you could go back, you would leap at the chance to travel somewhere here. But you supposed that 'here' wouldn't really exist in the real world. Not like this. Not at the peak of it's grandeur.

Ha! The irony.

Could you even call this a privilege when you were only here to die?

You heard Kate cry out in the distance. You flinched; you needed to wake up. Work on some gens. You were still running aimlessly, trying to get away---

Kate had just died, and here you were.

Admiring the scenery.

Idiot.

You'd always been little airy-fairy. Not quite there, sometimes too much in the moment, sometimes a little too far off. It meant you had a lot of delayed reactions, such as now.

Right now, you needed to be thinking of how to stay alive and keep your teammates that way, too.

So you headed for the house, running faster than ever. The doors were open and you could already see the gen.

"Quick," you muttered to yourself.

Before he catches up to you.

You hadn't seen The Oni, but you'd heard stories about him. Gruesome stories of his brutal, unforgiving nature, his mistaken dignity and honour. A true warrior who had been corrupted by his blood thirst.

You wondered how a samurai of all things learned such villainy. Weren't they all about honour? That's what you'd read in your books, at least. Now you weren't so sure.

Before entering the house with the gen in sight, you paused. You know you shouldn't of. You know that he was the last person in this hellish world deserving of respect when he was literally out killing all of you, but---

But this was different.

"It's the bare minimum," you reassured yourself. It helped comfort your warring fear that you were crazy. That you were empathising with a killer.

You took off your shoes and aligned them neatly outside before heading in and working the gen.

~

Too easy.

It was all too easy. Sometimes so much so that it got boring very quickly--- the same chase, the same screams, the same mindless fury that Entity infused him with. It wasn't as though he cared about the survivors in any way. He couldn't care less if they had families, let alone worth it personalities. But there was no more motive behind the kills. No more drive.

It was the ultimate disgrace to his honour---

But if Kazan admitted that, what would the Entity do?

It would be an insult. It would risk his life and extended existence, and there was so much he hadn't done yet. So much he was already doing that he had vowed to finish. One day the Entity would release him and he would resume his life and old purpose. Or maybe he would start all over again and honour his father better.

That was his secret hope.

You were the last survivor. He hadn't met you yet. Hadn't even heard of you, but he knew that you weren't fresh of the boat if you had eluded him so easily. You must have heard things or been smart to ask if it meant that it was your first instinct to run.

"Shoes...?" He muttered to himself.

He could hear you working on the gen. You were so diligent. So focused.

So naive--- how had you not heard him?

Well, Kazan had been taking his time with you. He didn't attempt to be quiet often. The kills were usually so quick that it didn't even matter. He was fast and they were prey and he would consume them before they even knew they were food.

But that was a thought for another day, because---

Because---

You had put your shoes outside. You had set them up neatly. It was a custom he had almost forgotten about and learned not to apply to the survivors. He never bothered to hold it against them, either. In this game of life and death, customary traditions were the last of any of their worries, even his.

And yet you had remembered.

Something dead twitched in his cold, hollow heart. It was small, but so significant that it barrelled into him--- a short breath escaped him in a husky puff.

Warmth.

He was feeling... warmth.

He looked up from your shoes. He watched you gently, the hardness receding from his gaze for that moment alone--- he observed your fixated frown, the nimble work of your fingers, the way you were still too absorbed to notice him...

Kill.

The Entity's voice startled him, even if it didn't show. It had been a while since she had spoke to him at all, and it was only at the start when he'd been summoned to this cruel arena of death.

Her voice was sharp. Cutting.

A warning.

Kill.

Was this all they were meant to do? To kill and consume, to die and be reborn, only for the cycle to continue until the end of eternity?

Could he really kill you now?

He would never admit it. Not allowed, unless he wanted to die. But the Entity's voice, it had disgusted him. It probably knew that. Somehow, even a fraction of his hesitance had amounted into something significant enough for the Entity to speak--- it knew all.

It knew he wanted to spare you, just for this small gesture.

But it knew he wouldn't.

Kazan killed you in cold blood.

He thought about you long after.

~

The Oni was said to roar when he killed. It was loud and brutal and everyone knew about it--- you became a sacrifice in his hands, and you died with honour.

Did he hate you?

Why had he killed you so silently?

One moment you had been working on the gen. The next you were dead. All you saw was a flash of a grotesque mask. It was drenched in blood but you were still able to make out the curving and elongated features of it, the bright red eyes that shone through and burned through your soul. You hadn't even had time to scream. To feel scared. He had grabbed you and killed you from behind and all you'd seen was the blur that the last seconds of living had afforded you--- in that way, you felt betrayed.

Had you insulted him by doing what you had thought would appease him?

You hadn't even intended to win his favour. That gesture had been out of respect for his culture. It had been more for you than anything.

Did he think you were shitting on his culture instead? What the fuck?

You were more angry about it than you had right to be. Jake was out doing his alone-time things in the woods when you bumped into him, kicking twigs and punching trees.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," you grumbled. Jake didn't believe you, and you were terrible at hiding things. You sighed. "I hate killers! I hate them! What the fuck!"

Jake's usually impassive face betrayed the hint of a smile. "I know."

"Why are they such heartless pains in the ass?"

"They're built that way."

"Were they not people, once upon a time?"

"Hardly." Jake shrugged. He tried to end the conversation there, but you kept following him around and eventually he was forced to sit when you clung to his sleeve. "They have inhuman backstories. So I've heard."

"And what's The Oni's?"

Jake snorted. "He's bothering you?"

"Is it that unbelievable?"

"He's not worth a backstory," Jake said. "Trust me. He's purely in it for the kill."

Somehow, that made you angrier.

You clung to Jake's sleeve harder when he tried to stand, and he looked at you, slightly irritated.

"Can I go now?"

"No," you said flatly.

"What do you want?"

You stopped. He sighed.

You let go of his sleeve and sat there, fighting tears. They fell anyway.

~

Kazan didn't understand you.

You didn't understand Kazan.

You kept unintentionally respecting him, and he kept killing you. he didn't really know how to react, actually. You were too...

Too-

Too kind.

He caught himself stalking you outside of trials. He covered it up by banging on the boundary that separated the killers from the victims and acting like he was trying to come after you. At first you were scared. He regretted scaring you.

Kazan did it again and again anyway. It had been a while since he'd felt anything. The more trials he had with you, the more things he was left to grapple with. He hated it.

He yearned for it.

So he kept seeking you out.

You were kind. A bit stupid--- how could you not see how the other survivors abused your purpose and skillset? Or did you know? Why did you let it happen if you knew?

You seemed to like the other survivors, though. He couldn't understand why.

He quickly learned that you were sentimental. Ah. That made sense. No wonder you bothered with things such as cultural customs.

Sentimental was not good. It meant emotional.

To be emotional in a place like this was to kill yourself over and over, and everyone knew it. It had established the natural order of kill or be killed. Survive or die. And yet you were there, uprooting it.

No wonder everyone borderline disliked you. You showed too much interest in doing more, being more. Connecting.

How long had it been since he'd connected?

He supposed he had Rin. His descendant. But that was a bit different, wasn't it?

"What the fuck is your problem?" You'd yelled out once. You'd startled him by coming right up to the boundary and screaming in his face--- he'd stopped trying to break it just to let you speak. "What the fuck do you want? Why do you want to kill me so bad? Are you okay? Are you good?" You paused to take a breath. You were panting, hot in the cheeks, sweat beginning to bead in your hairline. "Are you fucking okay?"

He should have been angry. Who gave you the right to talk to him in such a way?

Who?

Who gave you a right to make him feel like this?

Feel anything?

And who the fuck gave you the right to make him feel bad of all things when he caught you crying?

He wouldn't have seen them if you hadn't turned your head that slightest angle, the sun hitting the thing glaze of your tears. They were shining.

You seemed to realise you were about to fall apart the same time he did and retreated. Why were you embarrassed?

Why was he contradicting himself?

Kazan watched you run away into the woods. He growled when he saw that black haired one who often pretended to ignore you sigh to himself and then run after you.

He shouldn't have stalked the both of you as far as the barrier allowed him to. Shouldn't have hid when he heard you sobbing out loud, shouldn't have stayed hidden when that stupid survivor took you into his arms--- pretending to hate it--- and let you cry there as he battled with his red cheeks.

The next time he had a trial with Jake Park, he brutalised him again and again.

Jake didn't know why, of course. And would The Oni ever tell him?

No.

Because how would he even begin to explain what he was feeling when he didn't even know himself?

~

You'd had enough.

The Oni had made you his obsession over and over, saving you for last. It had made his kills twice as brutal and twice as painful because know you were always ready for them.

And recently he'd been coming on to you with a vengeance, like you'd done something wrong.

You were going to sort this out for once and for all. Somewhere along the way it had become incredibly personal and this undiscovered connection and had become intimate, even if it was mostly comprised of him killing you for more than just that, killing you. Somehow that alone made it all the more emotional, all the more addictive.

You couldn't run away; there was nowhere to go.

So the next time you had a chance, you went to his realm on your own. You hunted him down and yelled in his face--- he hadn't expected you, clearly.

He had been meditating in his temple and suddenly you had come flying out of nowhere.

"Why are you doing this?" You shouted. "Why do you keep doing this? I don't get it. What have I done to hurt you so personally?"

The Oni scrambled--- ungracefully-- to his feet and stood up.

"Are you seriously going to kill me again?" you wailed. "Outside of a trial of all things? I just came to talk! Because you're a bully! A mean fucking bully!"

The Oni hesitated, his hand uncurling from his katana.

"I hate you!" You yelled.

He said nothing. Of course he did.

Now you just felt embarrassed.

"I hope I never get put in a trial with you ever again!"

That prompted the Oni to take a step closer to you. You were already walking away, though, and was surprised to find the Oni close behind, trailing at a modest distance away. You walked faster. So did he.

You walked slower.

So did he.

"Go away," you mumbled, shoving your feet back into your shoes. "You make me so mad. I don't know what I've done to piss you ff this much, but I hope it's worth it!"

The Oni kept following you.

It was quickly becoming aggravating. You stopped and turned around, probably to yell at him, but seeing him just standing there made you too mad for words and you turned back around to walk. You stomped your foot and screamed at the sky.

You hated this.

It made no sense.

You jumped at the feeling of a hand curling around yours. It was big and meaty and riddled with scars and veins. It was a human hand. The Oni's hand.

And he was touching you gently, like you could break at any moment.

Like he was sorry.

But Kazan would never say it.

"...Stay," he said.

You gawked. You hadn't even realised he could talk. You'd been sure his only language was punching and letting out battle cries. Still, over the revelation, you glared at him. "Are you crazy? What if you kill me?"

"I won't."

He held your hand slightly tighter. Was that a threat?

You pulled away your hand to test it; he didn't try squeeze it harder.

Not a threat.

"Um..."

Oh.

What did you do now?

You hadn't expected this.

"Stay," he said again.

"Why?"

"For tea."

You felt like laughing. Was he serious? Was he actually genuine? For tea? He wanted you to stay for tea? Huh? What? Why-

"Yes," you said. "Okay."

You were staying for tea.

~

The Oni was... Not what you expected. He didn't say much, but when he did, it was choked and gruff like he wasn't used to talking. And maybe he wasn't.

You were skeptical the whole time, but not once did he move to hurt you. He didn't even poison the tea that he made--- hand ground and the water boiled over a fire. He showed you his every move with distinct slowness like he knew you were watching.

"Does it ever get lonely here?" You found yourself blurting. "All alone. I mean, I heard you're related to Rin. Is that true?"

All you got was a nod. You weren't sure whether that was to the first or the second question, but you ran with it.

"Do you often make tea?"

He shook his head.

"Am I annoying you?"

The Oni looked at you again--- this time sharply, and you tensed and held your breath. You weren't expect the flash of deadpan attitude in his eyes when he sighed and turned away.

"So... I'm not?"

"Drink your tea," he said.

You did.

~

You should have never come back.

But the tea...

The tea was good.

Yeah, the tea.

~

So... Kazan may like you more than he thought.

It wasn't intentional; it had just happened. You kept coming for tea, he kept listening to you babble, and he started to crave your company the second you left. You had managed to fill a gap in his chest that he hadn't even realised had been vacant to begin with.

You were just so beautiful.

It had caught him by surprise. One day you came to his realm, took off your shoes and waited for him to pour you a cup of tea and it had struck him that you were the most stunning thing to exist in all his millennia of living, and could spend a millenia more of just admiring you if you allowed. But you never did.

You always thought something was wrong when he stared at you for too long. Always took it as your cue to leave.

Kazan regretted killing you over and over again.

Maybe if he didn't, you'd be more willing to trust him again.

"Yamaoka Kazan," he said one afternoon. It had slipped out. You were in the middle of talking and then he'd just said it.

"Pardon?"

"My name."

"Oh, well if I'm right, you introduced yourself with your last name first. Out of respect, should I call you Mr Yamaoka?"

That alone sent a shudder down his spine. Kazan barely managed to hide it. The only thing stopping him was his need for you to say it again, say it more intimately. Say it like you meant it. And not his last name.

"No," he said.

You were past that. You deserved more. Deserved everything.

But selfishly, he wanted something from you first.

Hesitantly, you tried his name in your mouth. "... Kazan?"

Kazan.

Kazan.

Kazan.

Suddenly he was just a man, not a killer. A man who had lived and breathed and felt things, and now he felt them for you.

"Well, if we're on that level, my name is Y/n."

"Y/n."

You looked away from him, and he smirked beneath his mask.

It seemed he affected you just as much.

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I swear to the universe the only thing i could think of with 'you were staying for tea' was that meme from mulan like 'would you like to stay for dinner' and then the grandma yelling out 'would you like to stay forever' but it's rin

I wanna write a pt. 2 for this but would you be interested in that?

As always, please reblog!

[heiznx]

BUNDLE OF PURITY

∗༝*◦✦ and they were roommates.

BEFORE READING, woman mc, includes out of character scaramouche, triggering implications and scenes.

|| STAINED HANDS || DEAR KUNI ||

There were times Kunikuzushi stared at what view was above him and everything else, wondering if there was more than what his bare eyes could see—the blending of orange and yellow to a color that was far from the color wheel, purple and blue—and it’s all because the sun was setting.

The hues that matched his appearance were made up from the sky he would look at: dark blue shaded hair and blue eyes, much like the background shades used when nobles ask artists to paint a portrait of them.

“I must be old,” he used to think back then, for having preferred the darker shades like adults do even though he was only in his early adolescence at that time, when in fact, he only liked the hues, because they were the only ones he saw more frequently than the sun.

His perspective about that now was that he was naive.

Now and for the past years, Kunikuzsuhi wonders how he allowed himself to be so easily swayed to do something that he used to think was a burden to his work, but now he would convince himself that it was only rational of him to follow what the other says.

The light was blinding even when he placed his hand over his eyes; it was proven futile as light continued to only slip past his fingers and shone right back on his eyes.

He can feel herself getting irked by it; it was too warm for his liking.

“Where are you?” Kunikuzushi thought as he looked around the crowd of people before him; unfortunately, however, their tall structures blocked him from seeing anything, and they also fortunately blocked the sunlight from meeting his eyes. “That sick—! She’s unnecessarily stubborn! I will lose my mind!”

He dislikes having to be alone in such a place where vendors surrounding almost every corner of the area were yelling to get noticed first for their products, even though most of them were just the same—same fruits, same words, and same prices.

Though the event was yearly, there were occasions where everything just looked the same, and because of that, he didn’t feel any thrill from being beneath the pennant banners connected from house to house.

Kunukuzushi isn’t interested in the celebration, in fact, when he explained this to his companion, he can’t help but scoff; the irony was just there—everyone having to celebrate the birth of the missing child of the Empress that might’ve passed away already.

What’s more was that the Empress seemed convinced the child was alive and was searching for them now since they are supposed to be near the age for having a royal debutante.

Nobles were so irresponsible, and his companion was too forgiving.

If given the time, Kunikuzushi would want to drill in his companion’s brain about his hatred towards people, his experiences about being left, and his disgust for feeling like his companion had been taking everything lightly.

He definitely did confide to his companion about it all except the fluttering feeling that he used to feel disgusted of before meeting his companion; the way his companion thinks wasn’t one that he gets to see too often—his companion might be the only person that he knows that is objective even when having high morals.

“Kuni!” Just like that, he found his companion, who was waving towards his way and then looking side to side before his companion was the one to walk towards him instead. “I bought a calendar—!”

Kunikuzushi wasn’t born luxurious; the moment he learned that he was going to live a hard life started when he was young, when he witnessed being abandoned by a golden carriage that bore a certain crest of a noble family. Prior to that, however, there were things that he couldn't remember.

He lives in a small town, a disregarded one at that; people were cruel, and in his view, it was either he learns how to deal with it lest he gets killed at an early age.

What more was that the place was prone to rumors and there were frequent crimes happening—Kunikuzushi had been living there for two years when the nobles decided to do something about it: by simply placing guards on the place.

The place flourished and more people—kinder ones—started moving in and it became populated to the point it even gained a name: Mikage.

Kunikuzushi doesn’t expect much from it, especially when the heinous crimes still continue; he wasn’t the nicest, and there were rumors of him having a hidden identity for being reserved or closed off in society.

Were those rumors because, despite his small structure, he’s able to be as wealthy as the lower-ranking nobles? They need better proof than that; being a bartender just happens to pay well—ah, the rumors were because he’s able to hurl his fists at people who don’t follow the policies of the bar he works at.

One night while on shift, Kunikuzushi had this customer—a woman, one he hadn't seen before—sure, everyone could have the same [color] hair and [color] eyes as this woman—but this woman wasn’t from Melius or from anywhere at all.

She wasn’t wearing a corset; it was obvious from the way this woman was able to slouch on her seat, or specifically just because of the shape of her body; it was considered an undergarment, yet even without it, this woman didn’t look uncomfortable.

The maiden asked for a simple drink and then never talked, simply drinking on the corner of the seat at the counter.

It wasn’t that Kunikuzushi thought the damsel was frail, but she was definitely weak—she wouldn’t survive this place before it became Mikage.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked the maiden.

Not that he was interested in the comfort of the customer, but he doesn’t want to be removed from a place that pays well and secures his identity as an employee.

“It’s actually... colder here than I thought,” the maiden responded as her fingers fiddled with the drink, and it was there Kunikuzushi noticed he was right about the woman being a maiden—unmarried. “Oh, and how much is this drink, by the way?”

Soft spoken but not scared; the maiden didn’t stutter in his presence, not like she has a reason to be scared; as long as the maiden doesn’t defy the rules of the bar, she has nothing to worry about.

Not like the regulars, men, who started a brawl on their first time.

Kunikuzushi only realized that he wasn’t able to reply quickly to the maiden when he met her [color] eyes, looking at hers with a tint of curiosity; the maiden was waiting for his response.

“It’s on the house.”

The maiden was feminine; she has that sweet, soft voice that doesn’t have a tint of fear or uncertainty, and even her eyes don’t have a speck of judgment in them.

Even the way her eyes widened a little in surprise, a bit of warm hue rising up to her cheeks as she suddenly averted her eyes from Kunikuzushi, almost embarrassed—or the better word for it: shy.

“Thank you...” she uttered to the bartender before looking up to him again. “Just... Just so you know... I’m planning to be a regular, so you shouldn’t do this too often.”

Kunikuzushi probably hit a nerve there, but he chuckled: “Is that supposed to be a warning?”

“I was just saying...” the customer, soon-to-be regular, muttered, loud enough to be heard by Kunikuzushi, who now just noticed the calloused index finger of the maiden. “It’s just that I drink a lot.”

“Turns out, she’s not perfect,” the bartender thought as he remembered his previous thoughts. “I thought she’s a perfect bait.”

With the current society, men preferred easily manipulated wives who are soft-spoken, those who would never question their husbands, or those who indulged in their husband’s dirty fantasies.

Kunikuzushi knew that much, which was why he never bothered with romantic relationships; he can never have a good perspective on the world.

It’s not like his stained hands can even hold something so pure; the reason why the maiden stood out was because she was a beam of purity—it was quite ironic that Kunikuzushi met her at the bar, though.

How can someone who drinks a lot have such pure energy?

To be sitting there without any trace of malice or even a trace of intoxication.

Kunikuzushi didn’t know she had this kind of complexion until he came face-to-face with one; not even the clergy in the temples could ever go against this maiden.

The bartender wasn’t obligated to watch over the maiden as she left the bar after drinking; he’s not obligated to look out for her safety to make sure she arrives safely at her destination.

It was only when Kunikuzushi got to his residence that he realized how shaken up he was to meet a human like that; the maiden looked weak, and it felt worse to know the maiden was soft-spoken—possibly nice.

His emotions were mixed up; he barely met her and he’s already making assumptions about the maiden’s mannerisms, age, and delight.

He remembers what she wore: the usual dresses commoners would wear—a ruffled white top and a dark-colored skirt that should have reached all the way down to cover the ankles—but the maiden wore a skirt a few inches over her ankles.

Why did it bother him so much? Why does he remember?

He’s met children who were unaware of the meaning of many words—they count as pure humans too, but children irk him.

He didn’t even know what being pure was or what the requirements were in his mind that he needed to see in something or someone before he labeled them as such.

What made that person so different? What was this lure that kept pulling him to the maiden?

It felt disgusting, like insects crawling inside his stomach that he wanted to claw out.

That maiden wasn’t the brightest, but she wasn’t dim either—she was just that—she looked soft, kind, and everything Kunikuzushi never faced when he started living a hard life.

“That isn’t just that,” Kunikuzushi thought as he placed a hand on his mouth, having felt foul towards the thoughts of that maiden.

It was as if he couldn’t process his own feelings of envy, but Kunikuzushi would know if he was truly feeling that way after seeing people live better than he did for years—he would know, but what he was feeling earlier was not jealousy.

“Tomorrow.”

There will be tomorrow.

Another shift. A restless shift.

It wasn’t that the work of being a bartender was too much for Kunikuzushi, but he was the restless one looking forward to seeing the maiden who said that she would start being a regular just the day before.

When the door opened to the bar, there was the [color]-haired maiden; she wore the same as she did before, but it had different hues, and this time, her hair was covered with a head cloth.

“What’s with that dreadful thing on your head?” the bartender can’t hide his distaste towards the cloth that hid the length and color of the damsel’s hair.

“Being [color] is apparently too noticeable for men’s eyes,” the customer responded as she rolled her eyes and then tried to adjust her head cloth to cover even the bangs. “Oh, and I’ll get the same that I did prior.”

“It’s not my business...” the bartender had to repeat in his mind as he turned away to get her the alcoholic beverage. “Not my business.”

The beverage was quickly placed down on the table, where the maiden was pulling out papers from her leather bag and a feather with an ink bottle.

Reading and writing were things only the privileged could do, and not even Kunikuzushi was able to gain access to those; he hadn't even seen a noble’s private library in his entire life—or perhaps he did.

He watched the maiden, who apparently was literate, tap the table in search of her cup before she held onto it and took a sip—that was where her ruffled sleeves showed a bit of her, revealing a purple-ish shade wrapped around it like an accessory.

“I don’t like that,” Kunikuzushi muttered, making the damsel raise her head from the paper, confused at his words.

“Are you talking to me?” the damsel whispered, a bit confused about what the bartender was talking about. “What do you not like?”

“That,” Kunikuzushi responded, pointing at the head cloth, which made the maiden place a hand over the cloth. “Why not let it down?”

“You like [color]?”

The bartender was thrown off, and the damsel laughed at him before looking back down at her papers, not even taking off the head cloth or asking for answers.

“I do not have any preference,” Kunikuzushi snapped.

“Sure you don’t,” the other replied sarcastically.

“I was merely asking—!”

“Oh, could you get me some ice?”

“The ice is thirty-one feet down,” the bartender replied, frowning. “As I was saying—”

“So you like [color]?” the maiden teased as she looked up from the papers, revealing scribbles that the bartender could not understand. “Just say so, and I’ll let my hair down for you.”

“You are getting on my nerves,” Kunikuzushi replied with a frown, yet did not feel offended by their exchange.

Being cut off when talking was supposed to be hurtful, yet it felt more like playful banter than both of them trying to be prideful and overpower one another—Kunikuzushi liked that.

Both their schedules worked like that, with the bartender’s shift being from night to dawn and the damsel would bring her work to the bar and work at that time until both of them had to leave; the bartender noted that the damsel liked to drink while working.

[name], that’s what the damsel’s name was; the quantity of how much she drinks heavily depends on the work she does—not only does she write, she can also draw—and that was what her work was; she calls it: blueprints.

Kunikuzushi also learned where she lives and they lived beside each other; when they realized they lived beside each other, [name] started muttering around her house while working past dawn.

The artist seems to get very little sleep.

She was loved by the neighborhood; Kunikuzushi couldn’t help but ponder on the reason why he hadn’t heard of her until now.

What he thought once about the damsel was gone, as they got closer, the more it sank in that [name] wasn’t any of the things Kunikuzushi made up in his mind.

She didn’t have some hidden identity and was secretly a noble—no, she was a commoner making a living by helping and saving pennies enough to afford a drink.

[name] wasn’t being mysterious; she openly laughed at her presence and would give satisfactory answers whenever Kunikuzushi asked about the maiden’s personal life.

“I work at the underground market, they pay a lot,” she whispered that day to Kunikuzushi, who was thrown off, and she moved away from the artist.

Just after that was revealed, on the same night, Kunikuzushi also had to save her from being taken by familiar black clothed mercenaries from an underground guild because they wanted her capabilities to draw structures; Mikage flourished because of [name]’s work.

“How much more are you going to drink?” the bartender asked as he looked outside the bar, assuring himself that the ‘closed’ sign she placed outside was making the regular customers disperse.

“Enough for a gold penny,” the artist responds, her nose red as she hiccupped after—she was horrified by the incident. “Oh, yes, and take... ten gold coins in my pouch, apparently that’s how much my life was worth, and since you saved it you can have the coins.”

“You have a sarcastic mouth for someone who was just clinging and sobbing earlier,” Kunikuzushi responded before he looked away from the artist. “I prefer it this way.”

It was bad enough that [name] clung to him earlier and Kunikuzushi didn’t know how to respond; to preserve a bit more of Kunikuzushi’s dignity after having frozen up that time, it would be best for him if [name] doesn’t seek that kind of comfort from him.

The poor maiden’s source of income turned their back on her for a reason that she can’t control, which was being knowledgeable—Kunikuzushi’s not sure of the extent but if that specific guild became greedy, it must’ve been more than he currently knows.

Still, in his eyes, [name] was innocent.

“I can keep it if you don’t want it,” the artist huffed as she wiped her cheeks that had a few red splatters. “How much are your services?”

“Two gold pennies.”

“And your house tax?”

“Sixty-three sil—” the bartender had to pause in his words. “Why are you asking about my house?”

“Let me live there,” [name] sniffled. “I’ll pay your house tax and services every day. I don’t want to even be away from you for more than a meter.”

“You don’t sound serious.”

“Do you want a blood pact?”

“Are you a witch?”

“I’m very human, thank you.”

[name] was strange, because the damsel made a fuss about sleeping on the same bed with very little shame, exaggeratedly murmuring and grumbling about being scared.

The same damsel sobbing and crying earlier easily fell asleep, but that was only because she disturbed Kunikuzushi by clinging to him for comfort.

[name] made Kunikuzushi’s arm numb.

He, however, looked up to his ceiling, his mind wondering how it came to be how it was then; he was awfully disgusted at her just a few weeks back then.

Insects being in his stomach were still there and it doesn’t change the fact that he hated their existence, still wanting to claw them out yet he doesn’t move.

He thinks back to the incident earlier; [name]’s words towards the mercenaries were harmful, and though she was in clear panic, she was able to get Kunikuzushi’s attention by simply kicking his door, though weakly.

The artist wasn’t triggered by the aftermath either; she feared her situation and specifically only that, not minding if Kunikuzushi’s hands were blooded from having to save her.

He was right; [name] was weak.

But she was saved because of her quick thinking.

As the victim continued to remain asleep, being in the comfort of someone who remained as the victor over three men, he wondered if it was not a bit hypocritical of [name] to feel safe with someone who could easily overpower her?

Perhaps she felt safe because, after all, Kunikuzushi did save her, but wasn’t his strength intimidating?

Not to mention he was also a man.

The victor doesn’t know what he’s thinking as he placed a hand behind the victim’s head and cradled her; Kunikuzushi’s hand rising up to [name]’s head before he curls just enough to place his chin over her head.

It was so dangerous—to trust and to rely—yet he wished to find solace in the person in his arms as much as the damsel sees in him.

If Kunikuzushi was right about another thing, it was the fact he wasn’t envious of [name]; he felt a totally different thing.

With Kunikuzushi’s security [name] received, he wondered what it would be that he would receive from the latter.

[name] emptied her stomach, felt nauseous, and her entire body was sore the moment she woke up; she didn’t feel any better when Kunikuzushi only laughed at her for having drank a lot the night prior to drown her anxiety for almost being kidnapped.

Now feeling awake, Kunikuzushi became conscious of what he pondered about the night before—about wanting to find solace in [name].

He wasn’t sure if he was in the right mind at that night, because how can he find solace in someone who was exaggerating a cry whilst laying her head on a huge paper on the table; the exact blueprint that was the reason for last night’s incident.

“Oh fiddlesticks, I forgot my quill in my house...” she muttered before she looked back at Kunikuzushi, batting her eyelashes in his way. “P-perhaps on my behalf...”

“I’m charging you for this,” Kunikuzushi hissed his words before he headed for the door.

“You have my gratitude, short man!”

Living with [name] felt unreal, because he had never met someone nearly similar to him in a different aspect—both of them having clothes lasting for a week and having the same style but different colors.

Despite being loved by the neighborhood, even [name] had little utensils, for example: having only two clay cups for drinking, two plates for drinking and a singular bowl.

The reason for having very few items were the same as well: because it was a waste to buy something just because they are pretty—most pretty items were left unused.

Another similarity was that despite having much currency as a lower-ranking noble, both of them prefer to keep their money safely kept until for emergencies or if it’s for work.

[name] was considerably more affectionate than Kunikuzushi had thought; she liked having to act the male part of what Kunikuzushi gives, especially when they lock arms to buy ingredients.

It was like living with a witch, because [name] was simply talented. She can cook and she created the weirdest yet convenient things in Kunikuzushi house with Kunikuzushi’s permission; they have a water dispenser now, and it was clean boiled water, not simply water from the well or faucet.

There also wasn’t a day [name] forgot to pay Kunikuzushi for his services in keeping her secured in his place, but Kunikuzushi had forgotten about it until he would see a bowl filling up with gold pennies each day.

Unbeknownst to [name], when she would work at the bar at the same time shift as Kunikuzushi, when the bartender says ‘my treat,’ it actually means he’s using a gold penny that satisfies [name]’s drinking habits for a week.

Dawn was when they usually rest.

[name] propped her arm on the bed for support to look down on the person that gave her shelter as she whispers, “I realized that you go home by dawn and we sleep, right? Shouldn’t we do something about our upside down schedule?”

“Like?” Kunikuzushi asked, a brow raised while waiting for his roommate's response. “I don’t have to, but you definitely do.”

“Chamomile tea,” [name] suggested.

“What makes you think we can afford that?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Who says we can’t?” [name] asked, a small grin on her lips. “If not chamomile, perhaps a different kind of tea—it’s not like all kinds of tea are only for the high-ranking nobility, we have rights too!”

“Chamomile is the least expensive of all.”

“Just agree with me on it,” the artist muttered as she moved just a little closer to Kunikuzushi, who visibly flinched. “If chamomile tea won’t help us sleep, perhaps medicine would? Scented candles are trending nowadays but they’re not that hard to make by hand... or we can use the money for a comfortable bed, not like we have budgeting limitations.”

“A comfortable bed?” Kunikuzushi scoffed, a smirk on his lips as he placed a hand on her shoulder, pushing her away a bit to create a distance between them. “Are you implying you’re not cozy in my bed? You speak as though you don’t snore.”

“That’s because I don’t snore! You’re just accusing me of doing so!” the artist retorted as she jabbed her finger on Kunikuzushi’s collarbone. “I was murmuring! I wasn’t snoring—I was talking to myself!”

“You want to change a bed just so you’re cozy enough to snore?”

“I don’t snore!” [name] retorted before she gave up on trying to say otherwise and laid back down on the bed. “I don’t know, I thought a bed would mean we’d both be relaxing and all that... don’t you get sore too?”

“Do you?” Kunikuzushi asked, now being the one to prop his arm on the bed, making [name] tense. “I don’t.”

“Well, considering that I’m not used to heavy labor...” the artist muttered just enough to be heard. “It makes sense if it’s just me.”

“Shouldn’t you have... just suggested that you hire someone who is good at massage therapy?”

“And have someone’s hands on me? That’s an absolute no from thy,” she responded, frowning softly before she turned away from Kunikuzushi.

“To be fair, I’d hate it as well,” Kunikuzushi commented.

“And It’s not a big deal either, the next thing we know, our neighbors might send us canned goods and would be under the impression that one of us is sick.”

Kunikuzushi didn’t think much more of it as [name] reached for the blanket, and placed it over herself before turning back to Kunikuzushi with her [color] eyes blinking fast—batting her eyelashes.

“Disgusting,” Kunikuzushi muttered but kept his arms open and his heart at bay to provide more warmth for the artist.

He was getting used to the sight of his companion’s squished cheek on his arm and the coldness of her hand on his waist, or perhaps he was already used to it.

In a span of months, he got used to having someone beside him.

“You’re drinking too much,” the bartender would say and would take away [name]’s empty drink to replace it with a cup of water.

“You’re the one enabling it,” she murmured as she placed the cup of water down after drinking. “I told you to stop treating me.”

Kunikuzushi took the cup and refilled it with water as if telling the artist to drown every bit of alcohol in her mouth; surprisingly, [name] had a tolerance for the beverage she drinks every day.

He became aware that if [name] were to continue her drinking habits as she does now, she will soon grow ill—one that might be irreversible.

It was dawn and [name] continued to work on her notebook, scribbling letters that Kunikuzushi didn’t understand, not like Kunikuzushi took a peek anyways; he was busy bussing the tables.

The artist felt her perspective shift as she stumbled at first upon getting up, much to the surprise of the bartender, who stared at her with a raised brow.

“What is wrong with you...?”

“Well, I wonder what,” the artist replied sarcastically as she held onto the stool she sat on earlier. “My stomach was flooded with water.”

“Even if you drown me, you won’t emit such a reaction from me,” Kunikuzushi said as he placed the towel on the counter. “Nauseous?”

“I’ll admit to it if you carry me home,” the artist scoffed as she climbed up her stool and placed her notebook, quill, and ink back in her leather pouch.

“Since you can answer me like that, I think you can handle yourself,” the bartender said.

“Oh no! My head is in shambles! I think I will fall! Yes, I will definitely pass out in the middle of somewhere! I might get hit by a carriage—!”

“Stop exaggerating!”

“Fuck! That really hurts for real this time! Who hits you in the head when you’re having pain in the head!?”

“What even is that word!?”

It was just a week later when both of them realized it wasn’t merely soreness for having different physique; after all, [name] suddenly stumbled on multiple occasions despite no longer drinking under Kunikuzushi’s watch.

At the time of Kunikuzushi’s shift right before they left, they had an argument about [name] needing to go to a clinic to get herself checked, to which she disagreed.

Standing in the argument: [name] doesn’t want to get checked just because she doesn’t want to and it’s only a ‘minor’ thing that will disappear soon, while for Kunikuzushi it is better to be safe than sorry.

For once, [name] stayed in bed, never getting up to go to the bar to keep the bartender company; Kunikuzushi is under the impression she doesn’t understand what it was like to be cared for.

Even in bed did the artist have her back turned on him, but the relieving yet heartbreaking of that part was that Kunikuzushi, who had came home

after mulling over their argument, realized that [name] was now capable of sleeping alone.

It shouldn’t have stung this much.

“Why are you just standing there?”

“You’re taking up all the space,” Kunikuzushi replied as a reflex to defend himself from having a bit of his dignity broken.

The artist raised a brow at him, but with her half-asleep state, she rolled and felt the empty space beneath her that she noticed first before her heart dropped.

Kunikuzushi grabbed the blanket that bundled [name] just in time before she fell off the bed; he felt just a bit guilty for lying and nearly causing harm to her.

“If you want my soul out of my body, just say so!” [name] said as she moved slowly to get back to her place earlier.

She crashed on the bed on her chest before grumbling about her heart dropping and then she patted the space beside her as she turned her head, cheek resting on the pillow.

Kunikuzushi sighed, “Maybe you should consider our argument earlier.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve done my self-reflection,” her companion replied but her eyes avoided Kunikuzushi’s. “I’ll get that... saddle-goose... whatever check-up.”

“Was it necessary to swear?”

“Kunikuzushi,” she murmured as she laid on her side to face her friend. “Listen, I didn’t want to fight you earlier—”

“But we did.”

“And I’m sorry,” she murmured, her hands obviously shifting from beneath the blanket just by the sound, and her face just flushes the longer the silence goes on. “Can you not stare while I’m talking...?”

“I don’t stare,” the other responded as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “You’re just anxious.”

“Of course I am, I am confessing my crimes!” the artist huffed but she turned solemn quickly. “I... It’s just that I don’t... have currency yet. If I did follow you, I’m not... I won’t even be able to pay... your monthly rent or your services.”

For a year living with [name], Kunikuzushi had now just realized that [name] was starting to run out of money for paying Kunikuzushi’s services every single day without fail.

Not only did Kunikuzushi forget the existence of that, but he also realized

that it was [name] that pays for his rent so they could remain on the same roof—and living with her was something he personally enjoyed.

“What happened to your job?”

“Well... ever since they tried to capture me, I stopped working for them—I mean, frankly, why shall I return to them after trying to kidnap me for what I can do?” the artist said, quietly, ashamed and a bit irked. “So I tried working for nobles.”

“By Jove, nobles?” Kunikuzushi emphasized on the word.

“I wasn’t paid well,” the artist said, frowning softly. “I have it bad.”

“You think you have it bad,” the other responded as he laid on the side of his place and then pressed a finger on [name]’s forehead. “Let’s start compiling our currency together.”

“Are you asking me to marry you?”

“Be serious for once,” Kunikuzushi groaned as he covered [name]’s face with his palm, earning a muffled hum of confusion from her. “I never asked you to pay for any of that, I only charged you for asking me to get your quill from the other house.”

“The end of my bargain—”

“You’re my only friend.”

“What does that have to do with... me paying you?”

“I’m doing you a favor, just shut up and mix your pennies with mine lest we start fighting again.”

“I like you, you know?” [name]’s laughter was muffled. “It makes me a little happier that you like [color] enough to take me in even though we knew each other for months.”

“And your type?”

“Bluenettes.”

“Bluenettes?” he scoffed before he averted his gaze from [name] and then to the ceiling. “I like having you around too, but it feels weird to oddly phrase it out loud.”

“By the way, when...?” [name] asked. “When and where?”

“The clinic... I’ll just bring the person to you,” Kunikuzushi responded, chuckling a little. “Oh, and... I’ll bring that person the day after tomorrow, make some time.”

“You know you can’t just barge in the clinic and pull someone aside, right?” the artist reminded as she felt a little thrown off, it was at her expression. “It takes weeks to be called on, as far as I know at least...!”

“You can if you have connections,” Kunikuzushi said, sounding as though he was boasting with the small smirk on his lips, to which [name] scoffed. “It’s not hard to pick and find someone capable.”

“And this person turns out to be a fraud?”

“Might as well just die and never appear.”

“Someone pray for that poor unfortunate soul.”

Because of the decrease of [name]’s health, she has been staying at the house and working from home; he doesn’t allow her to drink anymore and opts to bring her something else.

She asks him to do errands for her, including delivering the ‘blueprints’ that she has to sell to nobles, buying fruits and food ingredients.

They start drinking what [name] calls: Juice—and it tastes exactly like the fruits she asks Kunikuzushi to bring home; he was convinced that it is healthy to drink.

Those errands tire Kunikuzushi, but he doesn’t complain, not when by the end of the day, there’s food on the table, their shared bowl was getting filled up, and he can just crash in the bed and sleep.

He returned at dawn after work, and usually, he would ignore anyone on the way because he doesn’t usually bother with anyone, except for the old lady fidgeting near their door.

His eyebrows furrowed because he knows her, and [name] knows her too; she would talk to the lady outside the house for an hour or two because she was nice enough to help the lady read the newspaper.

“Oh, how fortunate!” the old lady exclaimed as soon as she saw Kunikuzushi. “I wanted to read the newspapers that were handed this morning, and I was about to leave because I thought she was asleep but I heard something fall! I have tried knocking but to no avail!”

“Since when?” Kunikuzushi asked, walking to the door and knocked on it to announce his arrival as he patted his pants for his keys.

“J-just minutes prior to your arrival...”

“For Christ’s sake...” he muttered. “I don’t have the keys.”

“I-is she okay...?”

He was tired; he wanted to lay down to rest to wake up for breakfast momentarily and then rest again until nighttime, but the situation wasn’t allowing him to.

“I’ll take care of it, you can go home.”

There was this twinge of irritation for being impatient when it comes to reaching the bed, but knowing [name] was unwell and learning that there was a loud thud from inside that could be heard from outside, Kunikuzushi placed her agitation aside.

He removed the safety pin from his clothing that she kept despite not needing it all the time, but he always had it for one sole purpose: to pick the lock in case he was locked out.

Kunikuzushi left the pin on the door as he opened it slowly, both wary and worried about who or what could be on the other side, but seeing as it was empty, he fully pushed the door open.

[name]’s name left his lips as he looked at the side, no one, but on the other side, laid [name] on the table, [bright/dark] hair sprawled all-over.

His heart clenched as he immediately rushed beside [name] to observe everything better; a hand on her forehead that went down to feel the temperature on her cheek, while his other hand prepared to carry her.

He took mental notes of her feverish, unconscious state and what the situation looked like; no matter how nice [name] was to everyone, Kunikuzushi’s hatred towards everything and everyone flared up.

Instead of seeking refuge, Kunikuzushi does everything on his own.

From observing [name]’s state, making sure she had a cloth over her forehead, and then wiping the ink splatters on her calloused fingers.

It was already confirmed that she was frail, but the thought of this severity was something Kunikuzushi tried to avoid thinking; he witnessed her stumble, fall, and then get up only to laugh it off.

Why hadn’t he noticed that she was sick before he left the house?

He cleaned the dishes on her behalf while also tending to her using methods he had learned during his early days; he rested [name]’s ankles, pressing a cold item nearby, compressing it, and elevating it every few minutes.

Does he really want to keep such a frail person in his line of sight—moreover, in his life?

It hits her that he can never fight against reality if ever [name]’s drinking habits caught up to her and if this incident was the cause of that.

Kunikuzushi was in the middle of kneading [name]’s fingers with oil in his hands as an attempt to smoothen the callous on the artist’s fingers when she woke up; he can tell that she was in pain especially when she flinched every now and then.

She was aware of what Kunikuzushi was doing yet didn’t utter a word, but she did let out a breath and then looked up at the ceiling; Kunikuzushi can only assume that the reason why the patient shut her eyes so tightly was because she felt disorientated.

He wondered if the patient’s eyes were hazy with the way she squinted her eyes a little to look at her hand that was being massaged by him.

“You should wear.... a mask,” she uttered, her voice dry and quiet, but as always, it was enough to be heard, and Kunikuzushi scoffed leaving to grab a cup of water.

“If you have the time to think about that, what about explaining to me what happened first?” he asked, sitting on the bed with a cup at hand that he placed on the nearby table.

“Won’t be the better question be how I’m faring?” the patient whispered as she attempted to sit up, but ended up grunting instead of actually moving.

“Better question is: how bad is it?”

“I will... out of five... rate it three,” she whispered before she gave a glance at the cup. “Sit me up.”

He helped, he rolled her to her side, pushed her legs off the bed, and then pulls her up to sit before asking, “How’s your forehead?”

“My forehead is doing not-so great,” his companion responded before she groaned. “I want to throw up.”

“There’s a bucket on the side of the bed,” He said as he stood up to support her back while he grabbed the cup of water. “I’ll flood you again with water.”

[name]’s face scrunched up and opened her mouth to retort his words, but Kunikuzushi placed the rim of the cup on her lips and tilted it up, leaving her no choice but to drink.

She wished for mercy.

Kunikuzushi sat on the table he would dine with [name]; his eyes downcast at the lines his companion drew in order to make a living as he heard the front door close shut with a gentle click.

Close—because the person that was supposed to check up on [name] arrived hours ago just left—the procedure to know about her state took hours just to hear news that she never wanted.

His breathing was ragged.

For the past year with [name], he was able to stop delving into his thoughts, in search for definitions and reasons to reasons what he feels and why he feels in such a way.

How can he now?

He was only able to avoid it because he achieved what he wanted: to find solace in the person who invaded his thoughts, his life, his home, and almost everything he had was shared with her.

And he was going to lose her.

He was too late to prevent it.

He choked because he thought that he didn’t try hard enough. All he had to do was to just place the cup of beverage away, to have prevented her sooner, or to have saved her from having her lung infected.

The thought of having to return to an empty house without seeing a single piece of paper on the dining table was taking away bits of his sanity that he preserved from having her.

Alone was he at first, without a single utterance of complaint for being so; used to it, he lived in a house so small that if he opened the front door, all of his items would be displayed before him.

Why now?

A singular human decided to ask for a drink at the bar suddenly became someone he lived with; his memories of what even happened were foggy because all he remembered was that he spent it with her lavishly.

The brown papers did not help him either—these were the reasons why she passed out before [name]’s arrival in the first place—she overworked to contribute to their bowl of pennies.

All of those happening in front of him yet it all slipped away from his observation that he couldn’t place a stop on them until it worsened.

He felt angered by the system.

The system that cheated on [name]: the underground guild for being greedy for her talents, the nobles that paid her less, and the bowl of pennies that she felt pressured to fill.

Kunikuzushi reached for the bowl; it was just made out of clay, but it was filled with his efforts alongside [name], except she had contributed more than he did.

He hated having to look at it, because it makes him think of everything he wished he could’ve done but didn’t.

The gold penny he takes weekly to use on [name]’s drinking habits, but he never thought that if he takes and takes from the bowl, it will keep refilling itself.

If there was someone who could read [name]’s mind, Kunikuzushi wanted to know why she was so determined to fill the earthenware—to fill the bowl that could never match her worth.

Kunukuzushi’s mind blanked and he dropped it, and he immediately cursed in his mind as he successfully caught the bowl before it fell, but he couldn't stop the heavy golden pennies from falling.

The sound clearly woke the patient up because Kunikuzushi could hear her groan and shift in her sleep; that made him stand up to tend to her, however, the clay bowl in his hands broke apart and added to the noise.

“Kunikuzushi...?”

If the bowl hadn’t fallen apart, perhaps [name] could’ve continued sleeping; the patient now tries to sit up, making Kunikuzushi rush to her—he’s not ready to tell her anything.

“Go... go back to sleep,” he tried to convince her as he placed her hands on his companion’s shoulders to force her back to lying down. “It was only the bowl, I... knocked it off.”

“Are you okay?”

Kunikuzushi was surprised; his eyes glistening as he faced the same [color] orbs that he did when they first met—their life has been filled with banter and their conversations weren’t serious that [name] had to revert to her previous tone—the soft and unjudging look.

He felt like the words were at his throat, and [name] had to hold his hands with her now warm hands because of her feverish state; he wanted to scoff, brush her off, and make fun of her as usual.

How come [name] was able to see through everything so quickly? She saw it with such haste, noticed the mood, and opened about it.

The shaking of her hands must be prominent; the tremble and wobbling of his lips at the sight of someone so unaware of her situation—aware of everything, but hers.

His words were forced as he said, “Forget it, and go back to sleep.”

“Kunikuzushi, breathe,” the sickly person had to say that to someone in a better condition than her. “I’ll sleep, but I need to...”

“What are you saying?” he asked, feeling irked that he wasn’t being followed and that he was caught vulnerable. “I said go to sleep, it’s still early.”

“I-I’ll follow you,” [name] stuttered now as she tried to pick his fingers from her shoulders. “But you follow me too, you’re panicking right now, and it’s making me feel the same—your touch... is painful.”

She breathed out before continuing her words, “So breathe... I’ll be here until you’re ready... but don’t stay too close, I’m sick.”

She frustrated him; he wanted to act normal, to act as though he didn’t hear the dreadful news—he wanted to scoff and say that she wasn’t the type to get sick.

In his eyes, she had always been so smart to predict what he could potentially feel in the future based on events that already happened.

The patient’s lips thinned, perhaps because Kunukuzushi noticed it himself that his breathing didn’t calm down in the slightest and his eyes were just staring as if he wasn’t in the same place as her.

He was, but his thoughts are in shambles, because he would never know when was the next time he will ever get to have her like this, or to even be in her presence—there will never be a next time.

It was when [name] had decided to cup his cheeks that he snapped out of the thought and he wanted to be greedy, to have more, to have what was presented, and so his walls collapsed.

His breath remained trembling as he buried his face on her chest and then up to the crook of her neck, much like a cat; he lavished the feeling of his companion’s hands on the back of his neck, pulling him down to her despite his weight.

He muttered what happened; each word was forced, his lips biting back sob per syllable: the alcohol got to [name]’s lungs, and though the disease was well-known by older people who waste their lives drinking, there wasn’t a cure.

There are temporary solutions, but never a full-healing remedy.

“You’ll be okay,” the patient murmured as she brushed the blueish locks of her somber roommate.

Kunikuzushi wondered what she was thinking about when she said that; he wondered if it was a form of self-reassurance or if it truly was to reassure him that she would remain living the same even after what he heard and told her.

There will never be a part of him that will be okay.

He wanted to retort, to yell at her for even saying that, for [name] to assume that everything will be normal—to ask loudly why he’s the only one feeling so strongly about it.

[name] was trembling too.

It was the last straw before the person, who finally found solace, started to sob at the shoulder of the sick who he found solace in.

The world was so unfair to [name].

There was more he wanted to see her do; he wanted to have her talents recognized by the world, to have her name be credited to every structure she planned and drew with her hands.

It was her idea and never theirs.

Change on that day was inevitable—in Kunikuzushi and in [name] as well, after learning her time was limited yet she pretended as if it was all the same if she didn't consider that days after, she was fired from her work despite being useful.

People who lived nearby would hand [name] baskets with ‘get well soon’ cards much to their ignorance; Kunikuzushi did nothing to correct them.

He was barely home anymore; he had a fear of going to his house and seeing another bruise on [name], blood splatter on her clothes, or worse, seeing her not breathing.

He began developing self-hatred for having better immunity than [name], and for being able to do things she couldn’t do because of her situation.

It was something he was proud of, but not it turned into nothing but reasons to hate everything.

He can’t help but clench his first whenever he sees her outside the house, having to hold back from reprimanding her for being outside without anyone watching over her.

His worry was evident, and perhaps the sick [name] could notice it as well, especially when she would follow his instructions quickly without question just to ease his mind.

Kunikuzushi reverted to his previous doings; the previous rumors sparking an idea within him, because, for him, doing it was nothing if it means to keep [name] alive for another second, another day, luckily if another year.

He has to keep you alive, even if his hands, which were used to tend to her, were stained red. There may be no cure, but the temporary remedies are what he needed—he just had to afford it.

When given the time to think, he would think about [name]’s changes: she eats all three meals in the day alone, she also started leaning more to writing than drawing, and she would smile softly at her whenever he bids her bye for the day.

Medicine was only used for the fortunate and people who heal nearby Mikage, a commoner place, barely even know how to read—[name] was fortunate to be able to.

Kunikuzushi had someone ship him medicine that he saved for.

[name] was in the middle of writing when he suddenly dropped the pouch on the table, making her jolt a little and give her an innocent confused look, but her smile dropped after seeing the small globular item.

When it comes to medicine—syringes were expensive, commoners can have access to a few and nobles are available to have all—pills were the harder ones to have, they are created delicately that everyone was stingy to give them away—the royal family are the only ones to have them, including the black market.

“What’s this?” she asked as she scrambled to place the fragile items back in the pouch lest she accidentally breaks one and has to pay for it. “This... this is not part of our budget! We never talked about this...!”

Kunikuzushi was exhausted; he felt hurt to see her scramble to take care of the medicine in the pouch and tried to hand it back to him.

He can see the way his companion’s hands tremble as he placed the pouch on Kunikuzushi’s now-calloused hands; she seemed to notice this and her attention magnified on it.

“Did I mistake it...?” she whispered before she looked up to Kunikuzushi. “Are you sick? Are these yours?”

“Mine?” the other scoffed, his eyebrows furrowed and then he snatched the pouch from her. “You think—this is mine? For what even? Do I look sick to you?”

“I-I don’t want to assume!” she stuttered as she looked thrown off by her roommate’s slight aggression. “Are you hurt?”

“What?”

The more she spoke, the more he was getting agitated.

“I’m sorry for touching it,” she apologized, her mind seemed to be hazy with the way she can’t think about what she’s saying anymore. “I’ll just get fresh air! I’m sorry for touching what was yours.”

“What... are you talking about?”

His hands were clenched as he tried to understand the way she acted; [name] thought the medicine belonged to him as though all the hardship he went through for the week wasn’t all for her.

Every wall he built for the past week after learning [name]’s condition broke so quickly, because her words made it seem like she wasn’t involved in his life anymore, but mostly because [name] sounded like she was resigning to her fate.

Did she?

He opened his mouth to mock her, to tell her that she was as weak as her physique and for giving up early, but he instinctively placed a hand on his mouth because what escaped was a sob.

He is so frustrated.

As usual, [name] turned her eyes on him and immediately tried to console him without knowing why he was shedding tears in the first place: [name]. [name]. Everything was for [name].

[name], whose hands went to Kunikuzushi’s hands, arms, shoulders, neck, and then cheeks with a worried and panicked look.

[name], who Kunikuzushi wanted to tell everything to, about the self-hatred that was eating him alive since last week, and the insects that in his stomach that he learned were butterflies.

[name], who Kunikuzushi kept his burdens away from, because he’s afraid that the weight of his problems would also become hers.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry...” she muttered repeatedly as she desperately struggled to wipe Kunikuzushi’s never ending tears. “I—was I too heavy to carry? I’ll be better.”

Kunikuzushi had no idea what [name]was talking about.

She said those words as though she wasn’t neglected, like she wasn’t coldly treated, like she hasn’t eaten all three meals without him, and like she hasn’t suffered.

It seemed like [name] was insecure; Kunikuzushi had to get his bearings in order to understand her.

[name], who lost her job for being sick, and who was disposed of despite having an enormous range of talents; perhaps, while Kunikuzushi stained his hands and slaved away, [name] got insecure for never filling the new bowl.

Kunikuzushi felt his frustrations build up again; everything, as always, was in front of him but he missed it all again.

“It’s for you,” he whispered, her hands holding onto his companion’s arm. “It’s for you—I want to keep you alive.”

For someone so insecure, that immediately made [name]’s eyes stung, and now that Kunikuzushi tried to see her perspective and piece things together, he understood; [name] was pressured to fill the new bowl again.

[name] whispered, “But I have nothing to give.”

“There is so much you did,” Kunikuzushi whispered, his hands lowered down to the fabric by the damsel’s hips, his eyes glossy. “You... you are simply too humble to realize.”

“I have nothing but clothing that’s only for a week, my quill, my papers, a cup, two plates, and a broken bowl,” [name] listed all she brought in Kunikuzushi’s house from the start. “But I will believe you. I feel... reassured.”

From that, Kunikuzushi can’t help but feel relieved and he wrapped the damsel in a warm hug, but a sinking feeling now that it’s highly likely that [name] would never find out what he did to get the medicine.

He relished the feeling of the damsel, choosing to forget his deeds, and choosing to continue what he has now.

If problems were to arise, he would deal with it, but for now, he will focus on [name] and try to delve more on the feelings in his stomach—or what people say ‘heart’.

With [name]’s presence; the fact he was still there, Kunikuzushi can bear it all, all the in-coming pain for choosing not to abandon her—he doesn’t have to tear down the world that was so cruel to her yet.

His breathing was shallow when he woke up facing the ceiling of the home he built with his companion; his head pounded, not remembering what it was in his dream that caused his emotions to go wild at such a time of the night.

He felt as though his throat was parched and his eyes stung that made him rub it in order to be relieved, but when he looked at his hands, he realized that they were calloused.

For some reason, he felt suffocated, but hasn’t he felt that way ever since he found out that her time was shorter than his beloved and that he couldn’t do anything about it other than try to extend it for a little?

[name]’s time will never be longer than Kunikuzushi’s—now that he thought about her, he wondered where he was.

The thought of her was suffocating Kunikuzushi oh-so-little, but he had to find her, the one to cause him pain and solace; it was dark as well, where else was [name] supposed to be other than the bed?

He hasn’t seen her since he started recalling everything and getting sentimental; he can feel his heart race at the possibility that [name] had passed out somewhere around the house, he used that energy to get up.

The house was as empty as his stomach, since the time he reassured [name], they have been taking turns in cooking, but he supervises her, who had to hit him with the pan for doing so.

From his place in the tiny house, he caught a glance of [name] dozing off on the couch, but he quickly drank water before walking up to the couch and sitting on the armrest.

He was thrown off by what [name] wore; she was taking up all the space with her small height and white outfit—yet he feels like that's the least of his worries.

“Why are you on the couch?” he muttered as he brushed his finger over her cheekbone up to her temple to brush the stray hair aside.

The feeling of her skin and the way her hair moved felt odd; he felt his heart just kept sinking the longer he stared at the unconscious damsel.

“Don’t you think your hair is a little... brighter?” he thought as he softly frowned. “Are you awake?”

It wasn’t making sense why she was holding her breath.

[name]’s face was something Kunikuzushi memorized; the oily skin and red patches that she was insecure about was gone, and even the ‘beauty mark’ she called that was near her [part] was gone.

Those facts were alarming, which was why Kunikuzushi got off the armrest to kneel by her side on the couch to see her better than where he was sitting earlier.

“[name],” he whispered, his voice laced with a tint of fear as his fingers glided over the white outfit she wore to find the spots that made [name] squirm in the past.

[name] knows that he was sensitive to the subject of her sickness, and he knew she knew, yet it seemed like she still chose to prank him about it.

He panicked as he pressed on her skin, knowing that she’d wake up if he pressed too hard because she was someone who was easily pained.

Was [name] the sort of person to pretend to be so still and motionless to the point of not breathing?

[name] was odd; her skin, her form of lying, and the way she refused to breathe, but she had always been odd because she give and gives—and what it was she takes from Kunikizushi, she returned it all ten times more.

she was never this still; she was full of life, like when she waved at him when she was on the other side of the path—like when her teeth showed as she smiled upon the success of buying a calendar for the new year because it was only out during festivals—like in his dream.

“What dream? What festival?”

As far as he remembered, he hasn’t gone on a festival with her yet; he feels like he’s losing a part of himself whenever he started remembering memories he never wanted to remember.

“You’re being too much now,” his voice cracked unintentionally, making sure to project as much emotion as he could so [name] would understand that her prank was going too far.

[name] was so aware of Kunikuzushi’s well-being and his mental state that she would know that she crossed the line if Kunikuzushi’s tone were ever akin to begging; she would never resist in attempting to console her.

“Joke’s over, you have to take your medicine,” he said as he placed her hands on her shoulders.

Even if [name] didn’t promise forever, she promised that she would try—and that was something Kunikuzushi believed in because he saw her—taking the medicine she deemed expensive, stopping her drinking habits, and taking a lot of time to rest even if she was a workaholic.

He waited for any reaction from her, whether it’d be her stifling her laughter, her lips thinning. or waking up and apologizing—at this rate, Kunikuzushi would take any of those scenarios.

He wrapped an arm around her nape and around on her waist to gently pull her up and make her sit—now, he felt something—a line that ran from [name]’s nape and upwards.

Her back was leaning on the couch, but her head was tilted upwards, leaning on the back rest, and the way her [color] hair was away from her shoulders was when the lines Kunikuzushi felt were exposed.

The truth was already in the back of his mind, but he wasn’t like her, who accepted the pressure together with reality.

[name]’s nape and up had stitches, and her skin glimmered like silk.

He couldn’t breathe as he took the lightness of her body—he couldn’t take it; he wasn’t like her.

He could never accept this.

He’s not ready to face the truth; both his hands moved to rest on her hips that were covered by a white fabric before he buried his face on her stomach.

The fabric wasn’t something he gave to her, he had never seen it in his entire life; he would never buy damask fabric, because that fabric was used for the dead.

He cannot tell what he was thinking; his mind goes into one thought, then another, and then another all at the same time.

[name] was a liar, and Kunikuzushi was delusional—his mind—thoughts—begging for her to cut off the entire joke she was continuing for the past ten minutes.

How could [name] remain so serious while Kunikuzushi was there—touching all he can of her with his head on her chest, uncaring if her body was nearly falling off the couch because he couldn’t resist his attempts to cover up the truth?

He desperately craved for her heart as much as he avoided having a confrontation with his memories.

Was this the compensation of the royal family that ran over her with their carriage whilst in a hurry?

The memory of the festival that happened hours earlier, one he deluded to be a nightmare, the memory of how loudly he yelled after seeing [name]’s body be trampled on and how every light in her faded.

The love continuously given to him was gone, taken away by something that wasn’t related to the disease that was supposed to slowly eat [name]’s life away.

How twisted is the royal family to compensate Kunikuzushi by dressing his beloved in silk and damask? To patch up the face of her and not even put the tiniest details she used to have? How dare they even touch her in the first place?

He cried all she could that day, regret and revenge deeply rooted in him even though all of those were the opposite of what [name] had taught him.

Having lost someone he never got to confess to broke his mind, especially when after [name]’s funeral was visited by a member of the royal family.

He can’t handle the scowl on his face and the way his blood boiled quickly, but all of it dissipated quickly when he learned the reason why the royal family was at the festival.

They were looking for him: Kunikuzushi, the lost son of the royal family that the empress loved so much.

He laughed and laughed as though he was unhinged, and he laughed even if the member of the royal family looked at him as if he was non-human; he laughed even if his eyes became glossy and brimmed with tears.

Kunikuzushi, the one [name] thanked the most, was indirectly the cause of her death.

The empress knew nothing of love, because in Kunikuzushi’s eyes, what would this insignificant woman know?

Not only was she the one who bought all the blueprints [name] made and sold to the black market, she was also the one to take [name]’s ideas and make the buildings knowing well that it was never hers.

Kunikuzushi  had to be patient; he would burn the place down and have everyone by his will—he would be the opposite of everything [name] was—the only good thing recorded in history was that he gave credit to her ideas.

THIS IS HEIZNX, i actually recycled this and made it a OC kinda story, but i still made it inspired by scaramouche. i submitted it to my teacher printed formatted and everything, but there were typos like goddamn i was abt to kms and the TYPO JUST OS HAPPENED TO BE AT THE DRAMATIC PART i WAS IN TEARS. and they were lesbians when i submitted it too. im so sorry i had to make it straight, the mc was a woman in the descriptions so it changed a lot when i turn them gn... while typing this, i kinda realize this is different from stained hands though the original copy was stained hands, i think it's bc this focused more of the development in their friendship rather than getting married quickly.

[voidcat]

— a broken record

characters: aventurine/you, the ipc, original planets & characters, xianzhou alliance (mostly mentioned)

notes: 3.5k of a beast! Hello, hi, as I’ve mentioned before our mc has a prewritten history and backstory which will be revealed as the story goes on, hence the shifts of perspective you’ll come to see as you read & as I write. Second part of this chapter is an example of this. The storyline begins linear but this will be distorted as the plot goes on. Hsr characters and ipc doesn’t have full of revealed role so I’m taking creative liberties and adding planets, systems and characters when I see benefiting the story. I hope I do the characters justice and you guys enjoy this as much as I do:) love yall bye<3

songs: Too Sweet, It Will Come Back, A Dramatic Irony

i. it will come back

The corporation has its eyes everywhere; but not all those eyes belong to them.

It is a well guessed and partially accurate fact, that their arms and limbs, eyes and noses spread far and wide, recording every instance big or crucial; watching intently to plan their next move.

The IPC spreads far and wide, beyond stars and planet systems many don't even know the existence of. But as there is a price to everything, their range comes with its cost.

His heels echoing on the stone pavements, Aventurine knows of the strategists and analysts the corporation has working under them. Just because he is yet to meet one in the flesh does not make them any less real, though that’s where the rumors seem to hint at. An urban legend at best, exceptional people all in their own field, always watching, observing, recording, collecting information.

The rumors start after this part, where their loyalties lie.

It is something not many care about frankly, everyone has their reasons to work for— or under the IPC, it’s not up for others to judge why someone would willingly work for them, harvesting data for them; nobody knows for certain whether these analysts travel from one location to another, or stay stationed at certain spots for long periods of time; do they like to watch planets burn and shackled, or are they prisoners of the corporation via the extension of someone dear, with hostages and deals one’s forced on; all these questions and more nobody dares to ask around.

As people stare at him, Aventurine walks towards his target, the classy looking pub across the street, the best and most prestigious in the area, known for its delicacies and safety, or so the people of this planet think.

His outfit is the same, the flashy peacock holds his head high, a smirk adorning his face, eyelids low, he is well aware of the attention he gathers, as intended., Ggo on, keep staring, a voice inside him says.

Like anyone else in his line of job, he didn't give much thought to those rumored, but now there is a spark, and his eyes intently roam the place as he enters, hat in one hand, he keeps close to his chest.

There are signs for those wandering eyes.

Or so the people whisper about the urban legends. No one sticks out exactly yet, those kinds would not end up a myth if they stuck out like a sore thumb.

It was pretty much the same with the history of IPC and how it gets the job done, their tactics and course of action always following a system, even with the risks taken, the gambles taken into account, there was always a formula, a pattern that follows– then he decided to take a look at some records and found out interferences happened.

The why of it remains a mystery as of now, the how does not take much; they hold the information, it is up to them how many cards they lie on the table, how much they keep to themselves and how they name their price. A little rebellion as much as they can afford maybe, is it their conscious or just selfish desire, or to feel that they hold the strings above all; he is yet to find out.

Eyes on his target, he makes his way to the secluded booth, greeted with enthusiasm laced with a little fear. Not many people of this planet know of the outworlders traveling beyond stars, only those who rose to their respective ranks are given access to such information after all.

The arrival of IPC is both something that sent them into frenzy; excitement of the ‘what-if’s, fear for the worst case scenarios. They don't need to know of the fates of those erased from the maps to get that survival instinct kicking in.

Eyes lazily gazing over the marshall and the gambler, you take a sip from your drink, allowing the ambiance of the place to take over.

A delightful tune to your eyes, no hungry gaze locked on you for once, a decent cocktail by your hand and a job almost done. The planet itself isn't too advanced but more or less up-to-date with the systems surrounding itself; or the ones in charge are, which is a great deal considering certain systems and planets’ situations. Better to have some sort of an idea than to jump in blind. The gambler’s interactions seem to near its end, still managing to captivate the small crowd around himself until the very last second, flashy smiles and dazzling gestures. From the air around him and the happy but reluctant face of the marshall, you can safely assume a deal has been struck between the planet and the IPC, one can only hope it won’t bring destruction and grief with it, or that all life will cease to exist by the time that comes; with the IPC, one can never know for sure, when it is resource-rich planets they intent to use and mine.

Sweet tunes of the piano and bass remain vibrating in the air, a cello and a small set to keep up the rhythm. The little gathering dispels yet not all of them leave, scattering around the place.

He arrives by your side sooner or later, still making sure to take his time and talking with few others he must’ve seen worthy of their word or to kill time somehow. By the time the gambler sits by your side, you let your finger dance over the rim of your glass, half of the whiskey already gone, faint notes of its scent lingering in the air.

Aventurine tilts his head to the side, beginning with a line not too daring but equally natural and tame; nobody wants to scare people away within a few words, and he has plenty of time before he is expected back in the headquarters of IPC.

instead of a reply, you grace him with a smile and your fingers wrapping around your glass.

Taking your smile as a sign to keep going, he takes the seat next to you, resting his forearm on the counter. Faking a gaze at his clothes, “It seems I must've overdone it.” he says halfheartedly, in question. The voice of a man who knows all too well what he was going for, a sheepish smile that feigns innocence, fully aware of the cheap acting it’s putting on. Warming the atmosphere, creating an air of comfort and ease, friendliness and truce.

“Cannot say for sure,” you hum, “up until now you’ve had everyone’s eyes on your person,” your fingers relax around the glass, “which is more or less how the usual crowd operates, you only happen to beat the others to the quota today.”

He listens as you speak, noting how you talk in sync with the music. As primitive as the planet might be, the access to data was plenty and right under his palms, yet such small details are lost, he wonders if the music lacks lyrics or if they play it here so, just to bring out the conversations happening.

“Well, lucky me, or how else could I find myself a spot near yours truly?” he exclaims, both of you aware how cheap and easy the compliment is.

“I doubt you would have any struggles.” you say as you bring the glass to your lips, taking a small sip of the ashy drink. As true as it is, he takes a step back, filling the space with a smile instead.

Do you find him so charming that you would allow him to draw near any other way or have you noticed how he stands out among the rest as well– your spot here at the bar does not have the best of view but anyone with a slight curiosity could notice it was a certain class he had a meeting with prior. Maybe it's the difference of status you mean, that his meeting alone would be intimidating. Yet it isn’t enough of a reason to justify this possibly, this particular establishment isn’t one anyone can waltz in, hence the reason it was chosen for today’s meeting.

Humming to the melody, you take another sip. “How do you find the establishment so far?” you inquire and at your question, he chuckles. “I see, I see, I should’ve held back a little, maybe leave the hat back at home, huh?”

Only at his words you seem to notice the hat by the counter, your fingers leaving the glass to play with its rim instead, feeling the fabric and the details adorning the garment.

“I wouldn’t know.” you say, closing your eyes, “But speaking for myself, I’m quite fond of the combination so far.”

Silence falls over for a while as the music continues.

“What brings a lovely person such as yourself, alone at the end of the workweek, to a place better enjoyed with someone else?”

Unnecessarily long, his brain jabs at him, but he doesn’t care, from your reactions, you seem to enjoy the rambling and the coyness.

“Exactly what you’ve said at the end.” is your reply. Nails hitting against the glass, you draw out a melodic series of clanks. You follow the rhythm well, he notes, with recognition and following at hand, it is no difficult feat to speak in sync, allow the music to swallow and put your words into spotlight.

“Perhaps the most prestigious place around here, and a little pretentious in the eyes of some– like a certain face I happen to be avoiding, but that’s where the charm of it lies, wouldn’t you agree?” you change the topic and bring it back to where he left, giving him two options, two different roads to take.

Is it the ex that is pretentious or does he find the location as such; he has a feeling the answer to this remains ‘both’.

“The ambiance manages to be intimidating and capture a warmth to it, too.” he says, “a troublesome ex perhaps?” Why pick when you can have it all, he is willing to take it and where it’ll go, until you put down the stop sign.

“And delightful melodies all around, truly a safe haven at times.” you continue his words. “Not really, just his own person, blue hair to match his soul. It often felt like, with his own goals set in mind, ambitions and beliefs, what other people thought to be pretentious was nothing more than a misconception frankly.” you sigh.

“And yet, too much to deal with at the end of the day, hm?” Aventurine asks.

With melancholy on your face, you only close your eyes and nod with a hum.

“You remind me of him.” your words catch him off guard, a lightning bolt down his spine, he finds himself straightening up in his seat.

At his sudden reaction you hold back the chuckle that's by your lips, “with all the contrast you hold to him, relax,” until you cannot, and giggle, “it seems I’ve gotten rusty, my apologies, I was trying to–” you ramble off, unable to finish your sentence.

Cute, he thinks, and another part of him finds it impressive how despite it all, even when words seem to escape your grasp, you still manage to speak in rhythm.

A new song begins playing, with a slight change of tune and color, making Aventurine raise his head without noticing.

“Have you ever thought as if some songs– music can resemble a person?” Your question pulls him out of his bubble. With your chin resting against your fists, you stare at him with big, shiny eyes. The ‘how so?’ rests on his tongue, “It can depend on the song, and the person, I’d assume.” he plays it safe. “How do the lyrics to this one go?”

You let out a hum in sync with the music again, you must’ve heard it plenty before, or just like it to a certain degree.

“I wouldn’t know.”

You say it matter-of-factly, like a kid stating they like ice cream.

The initial surprise wears off and he allows another smile to bloom on his face, unable to rid of his furrowing brows and the confusion still lacing his beating heart.

His eyes quickly go over the place and he cannot spot a single musician in sight, just an old looking gramophone by the bar, behind the counter, jolting by itself at times, as if giving out its final performance. He could swear he saw a small batch of musicians when he entered, they must’ve taken a break perhaps.

“Whoever’s behind it must be an excellent compos–” “honey, you make this so easy.” Your words glide off with the melody, yet something about it sticks out, poking at his ears, something in his guts tell it is distorted.

Yet you keep smiling at him, almost a dreamy, singsong state to your person.

“What is it that catches your attention to the music here?” He hears you speak, eyes looking for the musicians he swears were there several system hours ago.

Swinging slightly to the melody, he knows better than to not keep someone waiting.

“How it brings out the words spoken by whom you’re speaking.” He states, like a kid answering for a pop quiz they’ve been memorizing for all week long.

“And how it drowns out anything else from the outside.” You complete for him, “that's the main reason this place is often sought out by a certain class.”

He has noticed it too, of course, every planet primitive or advanced, always have their ticks and tricks to separate classes and to feel important in their little bubbles.

Eyes finding yours, Aventurine finds your expression to be distracting, you should know better than to smile like that, naive yet sharp, pure yet knowing, holding the secrets to some sort of concept he does not even know the existence of.

He weighs whether to speak next or wait, but it seems you won’t be making any moves until his begins.

“It must’ve been difficult to compose pieces with such a certain goal set in mind though, I’d be delighted to meet the geniu–“ “Oh, how I wish we too had lyrics to accompany our songs just like yours beyond stars.” Your exclamation cuts through the air like a dagger.

What you’ve said registers a bit later than he’d prefer but his face pales before his consciousness gets to work.

“Oh but you didn’t know, did you?” Your voice tone hasn’t shifted much since the moment he has met you, but he begins to find it grating, how you seem to enjoy toying with him, to the best of your abilities.

“Not many outworlders do, none at all, if we are being frank here.”

“And why is that?” Aventurine asks you, glasses pushed to the bridge of his nose, his demeanor a tad more intrigued.

“Now that…” you begin, leaning towards him slightly, “I truly don’t know.”

Hands clasped before you, you take your eyes off him as if this is just some casual date between citizens of the same village.

“But I know what your lot says, that this is a primitive planet at best, just happened to be lucky and advance in certain areas.”

This much information at your hands, you must be among the ranks of government officials. It does not come as a surprise to Aventurine that the Marshall would bring along more than just manpower to an important meeting, determining the destiny of countless lives.

“It is only fitting that the art here has evolved to the form it once had when life was anew and the people had nothing but fire, stones and one another, walls of the caves to draw on, piles of wood to set fire to.”

He takes notice how you avoid using the word ‘devolve’, you must’ve seen something in this turn of events that makes it different to what it used to be, possibly more than just the state of your species.

Not so long after this rundown that you take your leave, still humming the same song from before, Aventurine finds himself wondering what meaning have you attributed to it— and by extension, to him?

And by the time he is back on the ship, preparing his report, his mind begins to forget about you already.

It is unlikely that fate will cross his path through this planet again, reading its name in future reports will be the most at best. The songs however, take their places at the back of his mind, playing over and over when he has just lied down to take a moment,

An interesting detail, indeed, he thinks. But the question remains: was it left out deliberately, or truly only known by the natives of the planet, unable to be reached with no interaction nor contact? Sloppy work or is something bigger at play?

Ii. a dramatic irony / l’inverno

Luofu is ever changing and eternal, as it ever was, just as its citizens are.

Yet today is not one of those days, today, your countless days of watching, noting, and occasionally drinking tea, pays off; the anomaly is on the move, and so are abominations of abundance. Posing the picture perfect threat, as they are meant to be, you wait to see how fruitful this one will turn out to be. Planting seeds often results in disappointment, for most of them require constant care. It’s the matter of collecting those that can stand on their own that enrich one’s wealth.

The anomaly that was supposed to become an abomination themselves stand between the people and the abominations of the stage, one fist clenching, other readying the makeshift weapon, eyes going back and forth, telling those they once swore to protect to stand back.

It is too early to celebrate but you think a nice dinner in Aurum Alley to treat yourself after the day comes to an end would not hurt a soul. Whispering small words on what to do and not, ‘hey didn’t we keep dental records back in the day as well?’, silently entering in and typing in the name of that lost warrior to their system… such things shouldn’t necessarily earn you a pat on the back– it’s not your fault the people have grown slow and dull with the days of peace they are born into. A tea against the artificial sunset wouldn’t hurt a soul, and it certainly won’t hurt the financial resources of the IPC though.

Your job, though what it entails is often unclear, is no rocket science as the people of the blue planet once said. It’s where and how you plant the seeds of suspicion that matters, how you goad them all the while making them feel the ideas were theirs to begin with, just a little nudge toward the right direction, no big deal there.

Focusing back on the present, you go over the expressions people seem to carry. Despite the fear in their eyes, the people watch the ex knight with hope, chests rising high because they have faith they’ll leave this place alive.

Yet something still stinks.

You have left the ‘how’ of the ex knight managing to live out like a regular knight, stranger occurrences have begun to appear at a rapid rate nowadays, got everyone in a frenzy, even the IPC, which, in and of itself is a great deal of success. With the path of Akivili under the spotlight once more, the horizon seems a little wider for you; creating discordances within the flow of events now that their attention has been divided.

You return to the scene before you and notice how the fist does not only clench but seem to hold, then you recall how the time forsaken warrior jumped right into the abominations as they picked out the innocents lying on the ground– not a distraction but a set up.

Setting up the stage before the grand finale, a knight defying time and logic, you can see in their eyes and body how the rumored impulsive nature has evolved, shifted into a new path, bringing along with it a technique unique to its time and person.

You watch as the lights go out and the show starts. It lacks the elegance it was rumored to carry but you’d not be surprised, this is something borrowed, something learned, without their old master, there is no longer a correct way of applying it yet they still play it like a violin, pull the strings and trap the abominations in, one by one, three by three, they try to attack but the knight deflects faster than them.

Then taking a pause, steadying a step back, they look back and tell the people to evacuate the space. As you watch people hurriedly go all around, desperate to help in some way, one running off to alert the authorities, your eye catches a string not shining like the rest, positioned oddly.

In the shadows, nobody sees, and it the crowd, nobody notices you moving.

Crouching down, you pick it up and place how the rest seem to be angled.

Satisfied when you see the golden, light-like shine return to it; a glance at the knight and you see them move, enduring the hits and swinging out the makeshift bow, performing like a violinist and radiating trust with every step. Nowhere near their master yet but quite on the way and more than enough.

By the time the backup arrives, the young swordmaster of ice and soldiers behind him arrive, you take your leave, pulling up your hood, you bring a hand over to your face, letting it sit and feeling the change.

The Alliance seems to be doing well under the general and from the looks of it, it will continue to do so. The nearing presence of the IPC won’t hold as serious a threat as it may to other planets.

The representatives of the company don’t seem to notice your presence as you walk past them and toward the alley.

Among their ranks employees with duller and duller senses, one might even be hopeful as to think the downfall of the corporation will begin shortly.

[ur-mousey]

Kiss Up, Bitch ~

- Class of '09 Nicole x Jecka -

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Imagine! Nicole prowling around the pool deck. Her back was on fire from the glare of the sun. People screeched around her like drowning pelicans. And beach balls spun in the air, taking shots at her temple.

She'd already dodged three.

And, she realized seven shots in that her brain didn't cast out the summer day noises, but amplified them.

Every soft whisper played on a loop -especially Ari's gay ass. She just wanted all of them to shut up. It's her shit luck that she found herself at Kylar's Poolside Extravaganza.

Ari sang I Kissed a Girl at a high-pitched chirp. She lounged on a pink sprinkle donut floaty, incapable of keeping herself upright without it.

Each word carried over the pool's lazy currents and under the blast of heavy rap music straight toward Nicole's pulsing head.

The taste of her cherry chapstick, I kissed a girl just to try it, I hope my boyfriend don't mind it.

Nicole's amounting anger might have been due to the fresh breakup, but, being tone-deaf should be a crime. Maybe it's true that gay girls can't sing.

Imagine! Nicole found irony in the last line. I hope my boyfriend don't mind it -It suited Ari. She was yet another weak-minded lesbian, now, off the streets due to Nicole's intervention. For all she cared, she did God's work.

But, Jecka saw it as immoral. Bullying should be reserved for all men prone to violence, not turning a *slur* bitch into being straight.

*she got censored*

If you're gonna backpedal on your sexuality, never claim it to begin with. You can't handle one toxic bitch, then maybe, you were never meant to handle a woman at all.

Ari will forever be dicked down. And in the middle of the night, after receiving minimal pleasure from her dozed-off boyfriend, she'll think, 'I miss that slutty whore Nicole who demeaned me but gave amazing head. I wonder if I called her up now, would she burn cigs out on my thighs and make me her toy. What a wild lesbian ride we could have.'

Imagine! Nicole shaking her head, she whispered, "What the fuck." To be frustrated over Ari came naturally and callously. She wondered as she tossed and turned in bed. Wondering where it stemmed from.

When she found the answer, she never wished to admit it aloud. Nicole found trouble making the first move herself.

And the alcohol buzzed a bright idea to the forefront of her mind. Could the opposite apply? Can she turn a straight-girl gay?

Time to fuck with Jecka. As a friend, not a lover.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Imagine! Jecka lying in the bed of a truck, snuffing her cig out on the bed of it. Her feet were lifted and parallel to the back of the seats. Her 'date' whisked away to tabletop drinking games.

It's not her's obvi -the truck. She drives a cute white mini buggy. Her steering wheel cover was made of pink tuffs that were always soft in her gripe.

Teenage boys seemed far off, yelling obscenities while daring each other to jump off the second-story balcony into the pool. Oh, how it filled the void of the cul-de-sac.

"How fucking white?" Jecka muttered to herself.

Did Kylar even invite black kids? There was Emily, Hunter, Braxton, Ari, Nicole... Yeah, everyone's white.

Imagine! Jecka nodding off while the sun fades in and out behind her closed lids. She's wearing a classic two-piece that's tied on both hips in the color sapphire blue. It wasn't a color she adorned often. The set complimented her pale fawnskin, and it brought out the pinks of her cheeks.

She should wear sapphire more often.

Jecka knew that she was stunning in pinks. She often wore millennial pink crop tees with baby blue low rises.

But never did she wear a deeper blue, the color of the ocean's depths, awaiting to drown her.

Imagine! Jecka, on the cusp of sleep, heard the call of her name. Far off at first, then beside her ear after multiple turns. A finger wrapped around her bouncy curls. Jecka stirred awake. One eye lifted to see a pair of sapphire blues. Oh, it was Nicole.

"Wakey, wakery~" Nicole purred over her. "I've been looking for you."

"Found me," Jecka hummed. She closed her eyes once more. "I don't think I wanna."

"No?" Nicole leaned closer to her best friend. She reached over Jecka to the floppy bow on her hip that kept her bottoms secured. "I could... wake you up some. Example, I could go down on you?"

Jecka squinted up, "No. What the fuck? Not interested. Let me return to sunbathing."

Imagine! Jecka waved Nicole's sexual harassment aside and settled back into a half-dreaming state. "Napping is Sunbathing to you?"

"Yeah, I get both done at once. I'm outside. Duuuuh. Wake me later if I start to get burned."

Nicole flopped onto her belly, she kicked her legs out from under her quicker than she could fathom. "Not happening, I think we should at least make out. Spice it up. This friendship is dull." Her nose brushed along Jecka's neck. She took a tentative inhale before her teeth took a steady hold that made the blonde yelp.

Her skin slotted perfectly in her jaw.

"What is wrong with you, Nicole?" The beach wave blonde squirmed her neck out of its entrapments. Jecka rolled onto her belly, face-to-face with the narcissist in question. "What needs to be spiced up is food, Nicole. If you're that horny to makeout with me, find Ari. I bet she'll loooove the attention."

Imagine! The brunette pouted at the thought. "I don't want her."

Jecka's nose turned up. "Then what? Sorry to break it to you. I'm not gay. Find Emily, she's obsessed with you. I'm kinda surprised that she never slept with a girl before so add her to the roster of virgins you've deflowered." And after the end of her little spiel, Nicole attacked.

And Jecka vaguely heard, "Kiss up, bitch."

Nicole's tongue was in her mouth, and Jecka squealed. It fit snuggly between the gap of her teeth. The tang of tequila was hot on Jecka's breath. Nicole's tongue flickered over hers, running over her teeth. A whine spilled between them. Who knew a girl's lips were this soft.

Jecka tried shoving Nicole aside to little avail. Maybe it was futile to resist sapphire eyes. Even when shut, they drowned Jecka's mind.

'Was she wearing cherry chapstick?' She thought, swimming with the waves that would surely cast her adrift.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Thank you for reading! Request rules are here! Follow my ig = lil.thoughts.xo!

[pleiades-7]

I knew which clips I wanted use for the middle of this edit, so I ended up going from there and working my way out.

I might’ve even gotten the quality to behave? We’ll see.

This isn’t a unique take, but I think a lot of the reason Tom Riddle went on to become Lord Voldemort, isn’t that he hated muggle-borns. I don’t think he hated half-bloods. Or rather, he hated them equally, and less than he grew to hate pure-bloods.

He’s far too intelligent to be blinded by the pure-blood inbred rhetoric. Perhaps before seeing the Gaunts, with the Black madness as the only example of the issues that inbreeding causes, he might’ve wanted to think himself the exception to the rule. He probably wanted to believe the evidence didn’t point to inbreeding being the cause of such drastic issues, in order to cling to some aspect of his heritage. To carry on the ideals of the only ancestor he could respect.

However, after seeing the Gaunts, and learning his father was a muggle, I can’t believe he would subscribe to the concept of blood purity. Especially as the first wizarding war came to be. Snape was a half-blood and he was the most talented, most valuable, death eater of the bunch.

I think it’s more likely that he was using pure-blood fanaticism to get what he wanted.

Which I’m going to assume, wasn’t just power. He could have always had power. He didn’t need any followers for that. It wasn’t influence he was after either. He could’ve been minister if he’d taken the long route as Tom Riddle, and he could’ve done it through brute force later in the second war. I think his real goal was to burn it all down. Everything. Everyone.

I think Tom Riddle was furious. He was orphaned, his mother too weak to survive long after giving birth to him. Something I’m sure he would go on to, in part, blame the Gaunts for. After realizing the reality they subjected her to. I think he felt robbed. Robbed of a mother, who might’ve survived if she was a little more talented. A little more beautiful. If she’d had the opportunity to learn a little more. If anyone had bothered to help her. I think he felt robbed of a heritage, absolutely disgusted with the Gaunts, and enraged with his muggle father. He believed he was superior to everyone else. For his magical ability, his magical reserves, his brilliant mind, his charm and finely honed manipulation tactics. And yet, he found himself surrounded by ruin.

Other pure-bloods, the Malfoys and the Blacks, had rich family histories. Vaults of books and knowledge and heirlooms and wealth, which the Gaunts had all squandered away. All these pure-blooded fools, less dedicated, less ambitious, less capable, less deserving, got what should have been his.

I think from the start it was always about tearing these families apart, one member at a time. I think he delighted in having them bow at his feet, the irony of his status as a half-blood is very in character for his unique sense of humor.

The families closest to him, the Malfoys, the Blacks, the Lestranges, suffer the worst consequences, continually. He had no qualms killing any pure-blood family, and so he gave them a war. He let his followers imagine they were soldiers. He could actively torture those with the mark, and kill those without. Either way, it was their destruction he was after.

He knew what a muggle war looked like. He had lived through one. The sound of bombs and the fear of everything exploding, actively drove him to create his first horcrux. And still, he never subjected the wizarding world to that. For many reasons. He didn’t need muggle weapons to get what he wanted, he was above the use of such indiscriminate methods of annihilation, and he didn’t want the whole magical community extinguished. He loved magic. He coveted magic.

Magic was the very first thing that ever brought him joy, and probably what brought him the most intense amount of joy. It was what solidified his belief in his sense of superiority. He traveled the world, to learn. To put spells and skills in his repertoire. He would’ve taught at Hogwarts if he’d been given the chance. Not because he’d enjoy teaching, but because he is a collector. Those with talent and ability, he could’ve encouraged, to his own means of course. He would’ve been surrounded by magic and potential, and he would’ve been home. The primary draw to obtaining a position as a professor, was to settle himself. To finally find that connection, if only to a place.

Hogwarts was the second thing that brought him joy. I think that using the founders heirlooms to create his horcruxes, was an action driven by the same desperation that drove an eleven year old Tom Riddle to hoard the other children’s toys. If he could not have any of his own, he would take what he imagined he was owed, what he deserved. He dug his claws into that school and had to be pried from it. After finding that he was related to a founder of the school, the belief that he had a right to it was cemented.

I think in the end, he was furious, and a lot of his actions were motivated by that rage. So many of his actions were governed by the fear he tried so hard to escape, to run from. So many of his actions came from the gnawing cavern in his chest, that demanded to be filled.

He had this need to be seen, to be unforgettable. Nothing would have ever enough.

He was seeking something he never got.

He’s so interesting. 🫠 I hope this doesn’t mischaracterize him, all discussion is welcome! Just be kind :)

[tobiasdrake]

Digimon Adventure 01x26 - Radiant Wings! Garudamon / Sora's Crest of Love

Previously on Digimon Adventure: Mimi buried herself in an escapist fantasy to get away from it all, at the expense of the people living there. But then she watched WandaVision, declared "She just like me fr", and undid it all. To apologize, she hosted karaoke night for everyone.

Both groups have found their Digivice radar blip, so it's time to meet back up with everyone.

Something about this return trip across the lake, hard to say what, seems a bit more difficult for Taichi and Jou. The swan boat's moving slow enough that Mimi and Palmon can comfortably sit up on top of it, where Agumon had to drape himself across the roof before.

Not sure why. I guess the boys are just getting tired. Plus it was visibly damaged in the TonosamaGekomon fight so that might also be a factor. Yeah, that's definitely it.

(In seriousness, she's up there because it's a two-seater. Jou's the responsible senpai, Mimi's the youngest, and Taichi's an experienced athlete. This is the correct way to divvy up the available positions on the swan.)

But with time and pedaling, the kids make it to the far shore.

Taichi: Hey, we're here! Jou: (sits back and sighs) So tired....

Taichi disembarks the boat and holds up his arms to help Her Majesty down from the roof.

Taichi: Come on, Princess. Mimi: Ugh, don't call me Princess! Taichi: Just joking around!

Though there are practical reasons for them to have divvied up the positions like this, the irony of the situation is not lost on Taichi.

Would it surprise you to know that the dub rewrote this exchange so they'd have an opportunity to be mean to Mimi about it? Because it didn't surprise me.

Tai: Come on, Mimi, get off your throne! Mimi: (scoff) I wouldn't exactly call this a throne! Tai: Yeah, well, I wouldn't call you a princess!

It starts off about the same, then Mimi's given a shallow response to provoke a comical retaliation. The punchline is Tai directly insulting her for being entitled, out of an exchange that was originally Taichi gently ribbing Mimi for the past episode's behavior and Mimi getting embarrassed and flustered about it.

Yamato's group arrives to meet the swan boat team and the two teams reunite.

Palmon: You've gotten smaller since last I saw you. Tsunomon, Motimon, & Koromon: Cut it out!

Palmon, you were there when this happened to Koromon. XD She's just being a dick.

In the dub:

Palmon: It's been so long since I've seen you! My, you've... shrunk. Tsunomon, Motimon, & Koromon: Don't rub it in!

It's a long walk to that punchline but I get where they were going with this. Palmon's quoting what was basically a stock phrase among distant relatives that kids in the target demographic have heard a thousand times. If you were twelve years old in the U.S in the 90's, this was hilarious.

I am no longer twelve years old so I don't know what they're saying now.

While Palmon savagely teases the other Partners for the consequences of Perfect-stage evolution, conversation turns to the one member of the nakama still missing: Sora, who's been floating around offering small bits of aid in each episode.

Except Koushiro's for continuity's sake, because Sora was across the lake helping Mimi while Koushiro's episode was taking place. Koushiro and Tentomon are the only pair that managed to unstick themselves from their situation without anyone's help.

Taichi: Where's Sora? Yamato: We didn't see her. Taichi: I see.... Where could she have gone? Mimi: I... I might have seen Sora-san. Group: Huh? Taichi: Where? Mimi: The Gekomon castle. But that might have been a dream....

Mimi flashes back on Sora's visit to Mimi's bedside, prompting discussion of Sora's eerie hit-and-run assistance.

Jou: So that's what happened. Koromon: Come to think of it, the voice that told me not to eat the mushrooms... I feel like it sounded a lot like Sora's. Taichi: Are you sure? Takeru: But if that's true, then why hasn't Sora-san come back to us? Yamato: It's no use thinking about it. We aren't Sora.

Yamato, Taichi, and Koushiro check their Digivices to see a new signal beeping in the distance.

Yamato: We'll have to catch her first. Taichi: This is like playing hide and seek. Koushiro: It's coming from this direction.

Taking point, the three lead the way, following their Digivices towards Sora.

In the dub, Joe is bafflingly clueless about the context of this conversation.

Joe: I think you're right. It must have been a dream. Koromon: Actually, I forgot that when I was just about to eat one of those Mushrooms of Forgetfulness when I was Agumon, I heard a voice that sounded a lot like Sora's! Tai: That's real weird! T.K.: But then, if Sora's actually close to where we are, why doesn't she come out and tell us? Matt: Maybe Sora just doesn't want to. Even worse, maybe she just can't. (Digivice signals beep) Matt: All I know is, we've gotta find her quick! Tai: It's almost like we're playing tag with her! Izzy: Come on, the signal points this way!

Original Koromon can be excused for this oversight because he's just realizing right now that the voice he heard was Sora's. Dub Agumon pegged her as Sora back at the moment it was happening, so it's kinda weird he waited this long to mention her.

Meanwhile, at Vamdemon's castle, PicoDevimon is getting the worst punishment yet. We don't even see it; We only hear four straight seconds of bloodcurdling scream before coming in on PicoDevimon falling down a flight of stairs, visibly bruised and beaten.

At last, Vamdemon emerges from silhouette.

(Oh my god, I always forget that he's blond. Why is he blond? XD I love the guy but Blond Dracula looks goofy as shit.)

Vamdemon's emergence prompts him to finally receive a rundown too. Vamdemon is a Perfect-stage Virus-type Undead Digimon. He debuted in Nightmare Soldiers, the same V-Pet that gave us Devimon, as the Perfect-stage evolution of Devimon and Bakemon.

In fact, many of the Digimon we're going to see associated with him are also Nightmare Soldiers. This arc is basically "The Chosen Children throw hands with that one specific V-Pet release."

I don't remember if I mentioned this before but his name, Vamdemon, is a portmanteau of "Vampire" and "Demon". Meanwhile, his English name Myotismon comes from the myotis genus of bats.

Vamdemon: I've grown tired of your incompetence. Narrator: Vamdemon. An exceptionally brutal and cunning Undead Digimon. His special attacks are Night Raid and Bloody Stream.

This is one of the less helpful rundowns. Thank you for just reading the attack names that were printed onscreen for me. This told me nothing.

The dub retains PicoDevimon's tortured scream, but they cut it down to about three seconds and also dial the volume way the hell down so it's easy to miss under the background music.

DemiDevimon handles Myotismon's intro.

Myotismon: Because of your stupidity, all of my evil plans have failed! DemiDevimon: Oh boy, Myotismon! How'd I ever get stuck working for this guy? And he's got all those bats! I hate bats!

The dub makes a judgment call that Vamdemon was the one coming up with all the schemes, which isn't quite the impression I've gotten. It's felt to me like Vamdemon gave PicoDevimon a task - Steal the Crests and prevent them from activating - and then set him loose to go figure out how to make that happen for himself.

The forgetfulness mushrooms demonstrated quite a bit of personal initiative. Bribing Digitamamon to drag Yamato into Jou's plight also seems unlikely to have been premeditated too far in advance, since it was a reaction to Yamato showing up like ten minutes ago. And with Vademon, he didn't so much bungle a plan as the plan was just bad from the outset.

PicoDevimon's schemes have featured a lot of improvisation and rapid adjustment to changing circumstances. So I think Myotismon owes credit where credit is due: Because of DemiDevimon's stupidity, all of his own plans have failed!

PicoDevimon: Please forgive me, Vamdemon-sama! Vamdemon: Courage. Hope. Friendship. The children's Crests have regained their light once after another. PicoDevimon: I-I'm ashamed! B-but, Vamdemon-sama, not all of the Crests have activated yet!

PicoDevimon scries up footage of Sora and Piyomon, sitting along on grass.

PicoDevimon: Like this kid. Her Crest of Love will never glow. Truth is, that's because I gave her some advice. The other six should be coming to her shortly. If we strike there-- Vamdemon: When the time comes, contact me. I will send those children straight to Hell. PicoDevimon: YES, SIR!!!

This time it's Vamdemon's turn to be unfair. My guy, the Crest of Courage was shining before PicoDevimon was even involved in this. Absolutely unfair to pin that one on him. Go take it up with Etemon.

This is, of course, case in point: PicoDevimon's having to explain the situation with Sora to Vamdemon because Vamdemon has no idea what PicoDevimon did to her. He's not involved in the "how"; He cares only that the task gets done.

In the dub:

DemiDevimon: Forgive my mistakes, Master Myotismon! I beg you! Myotismon: Courage. Hope. Friendship. The children's Crests are beginning to glow one by one! DemiDevimon: Everyone makes mistakes! Remember disco? Besides, sir, not all the children's Crests have begun to glow yet! (DemiDevimon conjures the scrying portal) DemiDevimon: That girl has the Crest of Love and it's still not glowing thanks to me! Anyway, according to my schedule, she'll be meeting up with the other children very soon! And when she does, Master Myotismon, when they are all together, that's when I'll get 'em! Myotismon: You think you can!? If you fail me again, my bats will have a new chew toy: YOU!!! DemiDevimon: Ehehehehe... I hate bats.

Goddammit, I forgot what a punching bag disco was back in the 90's. XD That got me. I know he's speaking in a broad sense about people as a whole but the way he uses it sort of implies to me that Myotismon had a disco phase. And I refuse to let that mental image go.

He was a young Devimon with parachute pants and roller skates once like, "I'm going to invent a NEW evolution all on my own, and it will be DISCODEVIMON!!!" Years later, Myotismon is just like, "We do not speak of DiscoDevimon."

Obviously, "I will send the children to Hell" wasn't making it past the censors. Though it's a bit of an odd choice to remove Vamdemon's instructions entirely, and instead assert that DemiDevimon's going to go take them all out by himself.

Also, "according to my schedule". XD He is trying so hard to sound like he still has control of things.

Meanwhile, the kids continue their search for Sora.

Wandering through the jungle as the sun begins to set.

Taichi: HEY!!! SORA!!! Koushiro: SORA-SAN!!! Jou: Hey, let's stop here for today and find a place to rest. It's too dangerous to wander around in the dark. Mimi: (collapses to her knees) I'm tired.... Yamato: But she should be somewhere around here.

Yamato checks his Digivice to confirm, and Sora's blip is practically right next to his own.

Would it surprise you to learn that the dub rewrote Jou's line so that he's just being a weenie instead of a responsible senpai? Yeah, they picked on Mimi earlier so now it's time to pick on Joe.

Tai: Soraaaaa! Izzy: SORA!!! WHERE ARE YOU!?!? Joe: Why don't we find a spot to rest for the night? Or better yet, for the next couple of weeks. My feet are killing me! Not to mention every other part of my body! Mimi: (collapses to her knees) I can't go another inch.... Matt: Hold it! I'm getting a reading on my Digivice. T.K.: Really? Well, what is it?

Matt doesn't even dignify Joe's whining with a response, instead announcing the radar blip as it it just appeared for the first time.

Also, T.K., you know what the blip is. It's been explained to you. Multiple times. What the fuck, T.K.?

Suddenly, Patamon's ears perk up.

Patamon: Huh!? Takeru: What's wrong? Patamon: I can hear something! Takeru: Eh? Maybe it's Sora-san! (low buzzing starts getting louder)

Only Patamon's giant ears can pick up the sound at first, but then it comes into focus, getting louder and louder as it approaches.

The dub doesn't really change the dialogue but they do change the timing of the buzzing, and the results are hilarious.

Patamon: Oh! What's that buzzing? (low audible buzzing starts getting louder) T.K.: I wonder if it's Sora!

Okay, T.K. ate the poison berries shortly before this scene started. XD

You know how Sora would sometimes open her mouth and the sound of a million angry hornets would emerge to signal that the end times are upon us? Or that she's just hangry? Yeah, that's probably what we're hearing.

Nope, actually, we're under attack.

Sora's really let herself go.

This hornet digimon erupts from the woods and attacks. Koromon identifies him as Flymon. The kids run for cover as Flymon makes a strafing run, raining projectile stingers down on them as he passes by.

Koushiro pops open his laptop and opens up the Digimon Analyzer, giving us the first diegetic rundown of the original.

Koushiro: I can bring up his status using the Digimon Analyzer that Gennai sent me! (Koushiro pulls up the DIgimon Analyzer screen on his laptop) Koushiro: Here it is. Flymon. An Insect Digimon. Adult-stage. He's a Virus-type. His special attack, Deadly Sting, sprays poisonous stingers. POISONOUS STINGERS!?!?

Flymon is something of a distant cousin to the Gazimon from the Etemon arc. He evolves from Gizamon, Pagumon's other branch.

Though the original just makes insect buzzing noises, Dub Flymon talks. They also cut "Deadly Sting" for obvious reasons.

Flymon: (firing) Brown Stingers! EEEEYOW!!! Izzy: Maybe this Digimon Analyzer that Gennai gave me could help us out. (Izzy pulls up the Digimon Analyzer screen on his laptop) Izzy: Here he is! Flymon. Classified as an Insect Digimon. A Virus-type. And I think we already know what his attack is - and it's not very pleasant! AND HERE HE COMES NOW!!!

No mention of his stingers being poisoned in the original. To be fair, given that they're the size of Taichi's torso and he's shooting them, we're probably in more danger of being impaled than poisoned.

Koromon and Tsunomon evolve back to their Child-stages, and the kids unload on Flymon. He's too fast for them, however, weaving around the Child-stage Digimon's attacks before coming in for another strafing run.

Out of nowhere, Birdramon appears, firing down at Flymon with Meteor Wing.

Flymon can dodge some of Birdramon's fireballs but not all of them at once. A direct hit sends his smoldering body plummeting into the forest.

Recognizing that Birdramon's presence means Sora's nearby, Taichi and Yamato bolt into the woods to give chase - With Takeru following along behind them.

Splitting up from Yamato, Taichi impressively manages to get ahead of Sora offscreen so he can emerge from the underbrush and cut her off.

This whole chase goes by for a good 20-30 seconds without any silence-destroying dialogue or jokes added by the dub.

Caught between Taichi in front and Yamato behind Sora has nowhere to run.

Taichi: Sora! Yamato: Why are you running away? Taichi: Explain yourself, Sora! Sora: ... Yamato: Sora...?

Finally, Takeru shows up with Agumon and Gabumon. None of them could keep up with even Yamato's sprint, let alone Taichi's. Takeru's gasping for breath, but he has an important question to ask.

Takeru: Sora-san, do you... hate us? Sora: Nnngh... That's not it! Piyomon: (arriving from the sky) Sora, why don't you tell them?

Fittingly, Takeru is the one who finally gets her to open up and speak, just a little. Taichi and Yamato were just being met with stone-faced silence, but she couldn't let Takeru believe something so cruel.

In the dub, Tai sounds inexplicably surprised to see her.

Tai: Sora! It's you! Matt: So why were you running away!? Tai: Enough running! Tell us what's going on! Sora: (groaning) ...mrrrr.... Matt: Sora...? T.K.: (arrives) Sora? Does this mean that... you don't like us anymore? Sora: No... Of course not. T.K.: Then what's wrong? Biyomon: (arriving from the sky) Sora, why don't you tell them?

It's a very small change but she seems a bit more conflicted in the dub. Her stone-faced silence is replaced with a vocalized groan, as if biting her tongue and wracked with indecision.

At Piyomon's urging, Sora finally comes clean about what's going on with her - And, in the process, finally explains this "Crest of Courage, Crest of Friendship" thing that PicoDevimon and Vamdemon have been talking about to the kids themselves.

She starts off choking out her words as if even trying to have this conversation is painful for her.

Sora: When Piyomon and I... left that night to look for Taichi... I... saw them... I saw PicoDevimon talking to someone. Takeru: What were they talking about? Sora: They were talking about our Crests. Taichi: The Crests? Sora: Yes. Each of our Crests has a different meaning. For instance, Taichi has the Crest of Courage. Taichi: Crest of Courage?

Taichi flashes back on Etemon's pyramid, when he found his nerve again and braved the firewall.

Taichi: Oh. That's why my Crest glowed back then! Sora: Yamato-kun has the Crest of Friendship. Yamato: Friendship? Takeru: What about mine? Sora: Takeru-kun has the Crest of Hope. Takeru: (happy) Eh!? The Crest of Hope! Sora: Koushiro-kun has the Crest of Knowledge. Jou-senpai has the Crest of Sincerity. Mimi-chan has the Crest of Purity. (sadly) And mine... is the Crest of Love. Taichi: Heh, Love fits you perfectly, Sora!

While Sora goes over these last three Crests, we see Koushiro, Jou, and Mimi crossing a creek that we had to chase Sora across earlier, trying to catch up to everyone. It's devoid of dialogue, but Koushiro hops across the stepping stones Sora used, Jou tries but slips and falls in, and Palmon pulls Mimi across on her vines to skip the creek entirely.

We've talked about most of these Crests as they came up. This is the first we're hearing of Jou's, however, since he shared his episode with Yamato.

Jou's Crest is 誠実の紋章 Seijitsu no Monshou, translated as the Crest of Sincerity. We talked last episode about Mimi's Purity, what that means from a Japanese perspective, and how it maps onto "Sincerity" in English. Now, here we are again encountering Sincerity from the opposite side.

This is not the last time that the English and Japanese scripts will use the same word for different things. So Mimi's sincere and Jou's sincere. Is this a redundancy?

I think it's easiest to grasp this distinction by thinking of it like honesty. Mimi and Jou's virtues are both forms of honesty, but they are not the same. Mimi is honest in the sense that she is true to herself, forthcoming with her feelings and thoughts and intentions. She doesn't lie or misrepresent herself; She says what she thinks and she thinks what she feels. With her, what you see is what you get.

Jou is honest in the sense of being forthright and dependable. He has a strong moral center, adheres to societal obligations, and earnestly strives to do what is expected of him. He abides by social contracts and behaves ethically within those boundaries.

Mimi is honest in her words and expression of her self, while Jou is honest in his actions and expression of social standards.

I would probably go with something like Crest of Responsibility or something than Reliability, though. The latter sounds like he's. Like. Generally successful at doing the things you need from him, when the results of his attempts to uphold his obligations aren't really the point. He doesn't always succeed in being the voice of reason or shepherding these kids in his care to safety, but he always tries.

Over in the dub, Sora for some reason feels the need to vividly describe DemiDevimon as if we all haven't met him already.

Sora: Okay. It happened the night that Biyomon and I left camp to try and find Tai. I saw a strange Digimon. He looked like a bowling ball with wings and he was talking to something in a giant bubble! T.K.: So, could you hear what he was saying? Sora: Yeah, I heard him talking about our Crests. Tai: What about them? Sora: He was saying that each of our Crests has its own special meaning. For example, Tai, yours is the Crest of Courage. Tai: The Crest of Courage? Oh! (flashback) That's right! And then the Crest started to glow! Sora: And the Crest you have, Matt, is the Crest of Friendship. Matt: Friendship.... T.K.: And mine? Sora: Yours is special, T.K. It's the Crest of Hope. T.K.: Alright! I hope we can get back home! Sora: Izzy's Crest is the Crest of Knowledge. Joe's is the Crest of Reliability.

The dub gives Gomamon a line after Joe splashes helplessly into the water during their creek crossing.

Gomamon: Thanks for being there, Joe! Sora: And Mimi's is the Crest of Sincerity. And finally, mine? Mine is the Crest of Love. Tai: Wow, the Crest of Love? That's just perfect for you, Sora.

I have no idea what Gomamon is thanking Joe for. I guess he's just trying to cheer him up.

The exposition here is mostly the same. She does call out T.K.'s Crest as special, but doesn't elaborate on what that means.

In any case, Sora fucking explodes over that last remark from Taichi, full-throated screaming at him at the top of her lungs. However, her voice sounds wounded and scared more than angry.

Sora: NO, IT DOESN'T!!! IT DOESN'T FIT ME AT ALL!!! Taichi: B-but you're always thinking about everyone-- Sora: I DON'T CARE ABOUT THEM!!! YOU DON'T... YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M LIKE SO STOP PRETENDING THAT YOU DO!!! Taichi: (stunned) .... Sora: (gasp) I'm sorry.... Taichi: Wh... What's wrong? Sora: My Crest. It won't glow. Because I don't have any love.

Just because she's been out there helping everyone, that doesn't mean she isn't going through some shit too.

From an English perspective, Sora's last line and her emotional crisis there might sound a bit unclear. We're often taught to think of love in the specific terms of the relationship between two people.

Sora! Calm down! You're 11! It's okay that you haven't found love yet! Your mind has been poisoned by children's cartoons about finding your soulmate at age 6!

But that's not what she's on about. No, we're going much deeper than that today. Her Crest is 愛情の紋章 Aijou no Monshou. Aijou is the expression of care for others. It represents tangible, demonstrable, quantifiable displays of affection, for people or animals or things.

When you snuggle your favorite stuffy on the bed, you are expressing aijou. When you pet your cat in your lap, you're expressing aijou. When you give a friend a hug because you haven't seen them in weeks, that's aijou.

Sora is saying that she is incapable of expressing affection for others. And that's just fucking tragic. It calls all the way back to her very first focus episode on File Island, when she had internal strife over how readily Mimi gave Palmon her hat. Mimi's expression of aijou freaked Sora out.

Sora has love in her heart. But she isn't comfortable showing it. This episode is going to talk about that.

The dub plays this scene verbatim.

In the original, we go to commercial here and come back to follow up on what those ominous words from Sora meant, after a brief misogyny break. The dub skips that commercial break because they have a different spot in mind. Remember that they could have put it here.

Takeru: What did you mean about not having any love? Taichi: I don't get this at all! Women are such a hassle! Yamato: (sternly) Don't make fun of her, Taichi. Taichi: I'm joking.

[Sora will Remember This]

Taichi's last line is delivered with all the dismissive emotion of "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

Seriously, Taichi. She is clearly torn up about having to talk about something that is affecting her on an intense and personal level. Now was not the time for "Ugh women amirite high five!" Complete with It Was Just A Joke disclaimer when pushed back on.

I hope Mimi gets here soon.

The dub makes no significant changes but elaborates a bit on Taichi's unhelpful misogyny.

T.K.: You love us, don't you, Sora? Tai: I don't get it. Why is it that girls always have to get so emotional when it comes to love!? Matt: (sternly) Leave her alone, Tai. Tai: I was just joking around!

"Women amirite high five!" is now "Women and their feelings amirite high five!"

Once Taichi's finished forming another memory for Sora that will haunt him if he ever asks why she went for Yamato instead, Sora recounts her confrontation with PicoDevimon.

Sora: PicoDevimon told me. (flashback) Sora: Who are you!? PicoDevimon: Well, well. You saw something that you weren't meant to see. Did you hear about the Crests? Sora: I did! PicoDevimon: You're Sora-san, aren't you? Ehehehe... The Crest of Love, eh? Sora: What's so funny about that!? PicoDevimon: I feel bad for you. You were raised without knowing any real love, so your Crest of Love will never glow.

In the dub, Sora and DemiDevimon's confrontation almost sounds like they're gossiping.

Sora: (bitterly) The Digimon thought I was funny too. (flashback) Sora: Is your name, by any chance, DemiDevimon? DemiDevimon: It sure is! And you're one of those kids, the DigiDestined. Tell me something, did you hear about the Crests? Sora: Yes. In fact, I did. DemiDevimon: Oh yeah! You're that kid Sora! Heehee heehee... (sneering) The Crest of Love! Sora: And why are you laughing about that? DemiDevimon: You just think you're so hot! But guess what! You'll never be able to make the Crest glow! NEVER!!!

Sora was walking through the woods one day, eavesdropping on vampires as you do, when suddenly DemiDevimon showed up and did some mild bullying. And that's what she's been so freaked out about this whole time.

Sora's bitter retort to Taichi goes so hard and I love it but then the actual flashback is just... Wow.

Back in the present, Sora explains what PicoDevimon meant and why it affected her so badly with another flashback.

Taichi: Don't be stupid! PicoDevimon just told you a lie. Sora: No. It wasn't a lie. It happened back when I was in Girls' Soccer Club... I was their ace striker....

Sora flashes back on a confrontation with her mom.

Sora: Please understand, mom! I have to be there! Toshiko: Please lower your voice or the flowers will wilt. Sora: Today is a really important match! Toshiko: And how do you intend to play on that leg of yours? Sora: This is....

The camera pans down to show that Sora's left leg is bandaged up.

Sora: It's nothing! Toshiko: Sit down.

Sora's soccer injury makes it difficult for her; She flinches as she folds her legs under her to bend into the traditional seiza position, kneeling down with her heels under her.

Toshiko: You can't even sit correctly because of soccer. You should quit. Sora: NO!!! I like soccer more than flowers! Toshiko: Sora! How are you even my daughter?

Sora flinches as if she's been struck. She sits there, eyes filling with tears, soaking in the hurt for a moment, before standing up, screaming, and running off.

Sora: WHY CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND!?!?

Sora sprints on her bad leg to the soccer field while the kids in the present discuss her story. Onscreen, we see that her team lost 6-3.

Taichi: Sora, your family is famous for kado, right? Sora: Yes. We're iemoto. Takeru: What does iemoto mean? Yamato: It means her mother is a master who teaches flower arranging.

Let's all thank Yamato for explaining both of those important Japanese words so that I don't have to.

Meanwhile, in the flashback, Sora arrives too late.

Sora: In the end, we lost that game. I couldn't stay in that club anymore. My mom doesn't see me as anything more than the daughter of a kado school. She thinks our reputation as iemoto is more important than I am! That's who she is!

This flashback is fucking powerful. Holy shit, there is so much going on here.

Note the careful shot composition in Sora's memory of Toshiko. Toshiko is shot in such a way as to obscure her face and instead draw attention to the flowers she's arranging. As if Sora was raised by the concept of floral arrangement, and not by a three-dimensional person.

That Sora's mother is iemoto lends a lot of important context to their argument. Sora is an only child, and it's traditional in an iemoto family for the iemoto to pass their skills and knowledge down to a child as their successor. Sora was obligated from the moment of her birth to become the next grandmaster to the Takenouchi school of floral arrangement, or whatever their school is called.

But she wants to play soccer instead. It's what she enjoys, as a three-dimensional person and not just Toshiko's Successor.

Presumably, she joined the soccer club that Taichi and Koushiro were in after losing the big game forced her to leave the girls' soccer club in disgrace.

So here we have another plot point that is thoroughly baked in Japanese culture. Good luck with this one, dub team.

Tai: That's it!? I thought it was something serious, like they were gonna stop making those stuffed bean bag animals. Besides, DemiDevimon is a liar. Sora: (silently flaps her lips for three seconds) It's true. It started back when I was on a girls' soccer team. My family owned a flower shop. It was my mom's whole life. (flashback) Sora: Please, mom! I gotta go to the soccer match! The girls are counting on me! Toshiko: Don't talk so loud, dear. The flowers are very sensitive. Sora: But this match is to win the title! Toshiko: Sora, you can't go with your knee injured like that. Sora: But mooooom! My leg's fine.... Toshiko: I'm sorry but you can't go. Sit down, we need to talk. (Sora drops into seiza, flinching in pain as she does) Toshiko: I want you to stop playing soccer and come to work at the flower shop after school. Sora: Do WHAT!? I won't stop playing to work with smelly old flowers! Toshiko: I can't believe a daughter of mine would act this way! My decision is final! Sora: (recoils, tears forming) ... WHY CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND ME!?!? (stands up and runs off) Sora V.O.: I walked around for hours. I found myself at the soccer field. The game had just finished. Taichi V.O.: What happened? Sora V.O.: We lost the game 6-3. My teammates were so depressed that they didn't even notice me when they walked by me. I felt like I let them all down. Like it was all my fault. (back to present) Sora: My mom said I had to be part of the family business. No questions. That's how she is. It's like it's the only thing that's important to her. She doesn't understand.

Okay. Yeah. I have. Uh. I have notes.

First off, this hits way different when Toshiko is a small business owner wanting to bilk her daughter for free child labor, instead of the grandmaster of a long and storied art form trying to pass down her talents and knowledge to her next of kin.

They tried, but we just don't have the same culture of ancient disciplines and centuries-long generational inheritance. Kado and ikebana can trace their roots farther back than the concept of colonizing the Americas.

They had absolutely nothing to put in place of the iemoto discussion so Sora vamps over the footage and we end up with "I wandered aimlessly for hours and then arrived at the soccer field by happenstance." Why would she do that? Why wouldn't she go to the game straightaway?

Oh, and Tai continues to be even more of a condescending misogynistic prick in this version than the original.

Still, while the nuance of Toshiko's position is inevitably and unsurprisingly lost, the heart of this scene - How Sora's falling out with Toshiko made her feel - comes through intact. We still grasp the central idea: That Sora believes she's incapable of affection because she, herself, has been unloved throughout her childhood.

Sora, in a fit of total emotional breakdown, pulls back her arm to hurl her useless Crest into the woods. Taichi, at this moment, finally steps up to help.

Or. Uh. Tries to, at least.

Sora: So... I was raised without love, AND THERE'S NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT IT!!! (Taichi grabs Sora's arm to stop her from throwing the Crest) Taichi: STOP IT, SORA!!! Sora: LET ME GO!!! Taichi: Whether it's true or not, you shouldn't believe anything PicoDevimon said.

Sora lowers her arm and doesn't throw the Crest. Instead, she breaks down completely, opening the floodgates and bawling out her emotions right there on the spot.

(Sora is so emotionally closed off that this cry is probably something she's needed for a long time.)

Taichi is, of course, completely useless in the face of Sora's raw, exposed pain.

Taichi: Hey, don't cry! Sora: (continues loudly crying) Taichi: H-Hey, Yamato, what should I do here? Yamato: If she needs to cry, then let her. Agumon: Yamato is so mature! Gabumon: Much more than Taichi, at least.

I shouldn't laugh while Sora's exposing her rawest nerves, but Agumon and Gabumon fucking taking turns dancing on the grave of Taichi's dignity got me. XD Eat shit, Goggle Boy.

In the dub, Sora quotes DemiDevimon for things he never said in this version.

Sora: That's why I know he wasn't lying when he said I grew up not knowing what love is. RAAAARGH!!! (Sora attempts to throw the Crest but Tai stops her) Tai: SORA, STOP IT!!! Sora: LET GO!!! Tai: Even if what you said is true, you shouldn't believe a word from that loser DemiDevimon! He's just a creep that's trying to hurt you! (Sora's arms fall limp and she starts bawling) Tai: Wait! Wait, don't cry, Sora!

HEY KIDS ENOUGH ABOUT THAT DO YOU WANT TO GO EAT AT MCDONALDS!?!?

Yeah, remember that commercial break we put a pin in? The dub slides it in right here. Let's talk about how cool Hot Wheels are instead of Sora's mom not loving her. They go all the way around the big wheel in the track somehow!

Have you ever had a nice, hot Toaster Strudel fresh out of the oven? Oh boy, I sure do love Toaster Strudel.

Oh, and be sure not to miss the new episode of Beast Machines. Yeah, we're gonna be airing some new Beast Machines. We all love Beast Machines, right?

Okay, back to Sora's traumatized heart shattering into a million pieces on the ground of this alien jungle we're stranded in.

Tai: Don't cry, Sora! Matt, help me out; I don't know what to do with her when she starts blubbering. Matt: Just let her go, Tai. She'll be okay. Agumon: Boy, Matt's like a real grown-up. Gabumon: Now if only he would cut his hair.

Sora, he didn't say you grew up not knowing what love is. That was the original Japanese script. In this version, he just said "Your Crest won't glow NEENER NEENER!" Sometimes I swear Sora binge-watched the subs in preparation for appearing in the dub.

Full disclosure: The second Tai opened his mouth again after the commercial, I wanted to go back to Toaster Strudel.

Agumon still gets to puff up Matt but Gabumon sinking the shot on Taichi's face is replaced by a quip about Matt's unruly hair. As if Tai's any better on that front.

Once Sora's crying has begun to slow and she's gotten out what she needed to - and once Taichi's brain has fully melted down into an ineffectual blue screen - Takeru approaches her.

Takeru: Sora-san? Thank you.

The gradual slowing of Sora's crying now halts, as she opens her eyes and looks down at Takeru.

Takeru: You're the one who told us not to eat the mushrooms, aren't you? Piyomon: We knew PicoDevimon was plotting something, so we followed him in secret. Also, when Yamato and Jou were working in Digitamamon's restaurant.... (Flashback to Sora replacing the stolen brick) Yamato: I didn't know. Taichi: You didn't have to hide from us. Piyomon: Sora wanted to be alone. But she couldn't abandon the rest of you either. Please understand. Takeru: I love you, Sora. (Platonic daisuki) Sora: Eh...? Takeru: So don't leave us again, okay? i don't like when my family-- (Takeru stops himself abruptly and is silent for a second, trying to find his words again) Takeru: ...I mean, when everyone separates. Sora: Takeru-kun... Okay. I'm sorry.

Hahaha Sora triggered Takeru's divorce trauma ISN'T THIS EPISODE SO HAPPY AND FUN? T_T We're doing character drama through the roof today.

The dub plays this scene almost entirely straight, but cuts the reference to T.K.'s parents being divorced. Though they replace his divorce trauma with stranded child trauma.

T.K.: Sora? I like you. Sora: Huh? T.K.: So please don't go away again. I don't like being away from you. (T.K. pauses for a second for no particular reason) T.K.: Haha, when you're around, I don't miss my mom as much! Sora: T.K... (voice breaking up) I'm so, so sorry!

Oh wow, that's heartbreaking in a completely different way. ISN'T THIS EPISODE SO HAPPY AND FUN? T_T I know we've all been having a great time talking about how unloved Sora is but did you know that that Takeru is 8 with divorced parents and he's been lost in hostile wilderness for months?

Maybe shows need a maximum age rating too because I have been at full-throttle WON'T SOMEBODY HELP THESE CHILDREN since the moment Sora started sharing.

Finally, the slowpokes arrive. At long last, the kids are finally all together again.

Jou: HEY!!! Taichi: (cheerful again, back in his element) Hey! What took you so long? Mimi: Jou-senpai took his time after falling in the river. Jou: Mimi-kun, you kept sitting down and complaining about how tired and hungry you were!

Unbeknownst to them, however, a stalker has been observing them from the bushes while this whole trauma unpack has been going on.

PicoDevimon: They're all here. I must inform Vamdemon right away!

No change in the dub.

Once night falls, Vamdemon's carriage emerges from his castle, carted across the sky by a wicked beast. Devidramon specifically, but we aren't introduced to them yet. At the same time, PicoDevimon decides he wants to begin the slaughter early.

PicoDevimon: Hehehe, they're all fast asleep.

He pulls out one of his Pico Darts, brandishing it at the sleeping children.

(They've been apart for so long, they forgot to set a night watch rotation. Complacency is the bane of survival.)

PicoDevimon: I'll pick off a few of them before Vamdemon arrives.

Piyomon wakes up just in time to see PicoDevimon preparing to throw his Pico Dart. She dives on top of Sora, shrieking for Sora to wake up. The syringe jabs into Piyomon's back right as Sora wakes, and she falls limp in Sora's arms.

The last time we saw DemiDevimon fight was in T.K.'s amusement park episode. There, the dub cut all footage of the Pico Darts, presumably due to obviously being syringes. So you might be wondering how they can play this scene without showing the Darts.

And the answer is they can't. DemiDevimon debuts his version of Pico Darts here, calling them Demi Darts, and most of the footage of them makes it in.

They do cut one part, and it's the moment the Dart strikes Biyomon. Instead of seeing the needle sink into her flesh, they cut away to DemiDevimon's grinning face while we hear it strike her offscreen. However, there's also a closeup shot of Sora pulling the needle out of Biyomon's back that makes it into the dub unedited.

Sora's shrieking about Piyomon wakes the rest of the kids. PicoDevimon cowers away, afraid to have to fight them all at once. But then he arrives with fucking dramatic flair.

His coffin air-dropped from his carriage, just so he can burst out of it mid-descent.

He didn't have to do it that way. He did that for the aesthetic. It's a show of intimidation. He doesn't just want the kids thinking a vampire has shown up; He wants them to know that Maximum Dracula is here for their blood.

As he touches down on the grass, he speaks in his booming yet quiet and reserved voice.

Vamdemon: Chosen Children. Sora: THAT GUY!!! That's the guy PicoDevimon was talking to! PicoDevimon: Not "that guy"! This is Vamdemon-sama! Taichi: Vamdemon? PicoDevimon: No, Vamdemon-sama! Vamdemon: Hahahahahaha... Your journey ends here. Night Raid!

Even Vamdemon's laugh is a quiet and reserved chortle. I went back and forth on how to spell it because it's closer to Hnhnhnhnhnhn but that doesn't look right as an onomatopoeia.

Taichi, at least show some proper respect to his honorific before you die. :P Notably, Taichi has an issue with that in general. It's something I've noticed but haven't talked about: Taichi doesn't use a lot of honorifics when talking to the others. Fitting his personality, he is inappropriately casual with his language choices.

A fact that is now pissing off PicoDevimon.

Vamdemon himself is a man of few words. He just shows up like, "Hey kids, killing you now," and opens fire. This is what Etemon wanted to do for his entire arc.

Meanwhile, in the dub, Myotismon is chewing scenery with his more boisterous persona.

Myotismon: MUWAHAHAHAHA!!! DIGIDESTINED!!! Your journey ends here. Sora: That's it! That's the thing DemiDevimon was talking to! DemiDevimon: He's not a thing! He's Lord Myotismon! Tai: Myotismon? DemiDevimon: That's Lord Myotismon! Myotismon: WUHUHUHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! These DigiDestined are making me feel a little... batty! Grisly Wing!

Sora calling Myotismon "THAT THING" gives me life. XD

Taking bickering over the -sama honorific and turning it into bickering over a Lordship title is pretty standard for anime dubs.

Vamdemon fires off his Night Raid, finally showing us the thing that he's been torturing PicoDevimon with.

It's a wave of pure darkness and bats.

Mochimon evolves to join the other Child-stage Digimon, and they put up an initial front line. Firing on the bats to hold back the assault. But it's not enough, and the bats breach the line, reaching the kids behind.

Seeing Mimi harassed by bats, Palmon evolves to answer quantity with quantity. Dub Palmon drops a one-liner:

Palmon: Let me try to get my point across! Needle Spray!

A million needles answer a million bats, buying the kids a moment to breathe and return fire. Specifically, a moment for Artillery Cannon Ikkakumon to return fire, sending out six Harpoon Vulcans to converge on Vamdemon.

The missiles explode on impact, obscuring Vamdemon in smoke like this is Dragon Ball. Then he emerges, seemingly unscathed, launching himself into the air.

Throwing himself into the fight for real, Vamdemon unveils his other technique: Bloody Stream.

A pair of whips, presumably made of blood, which he lashes out at the Partner Digimon. The dub calls it Crimson Lightning for obvious reasons.

(I wonder if this is a Castlevania reference? Associating Dracula with whips makes me immediately think Castlevania.)

While savaging the Digimon, Vamdemon gives off the most monotone and robotic evil laugh I've ever heard, and it's the scariest fucking thing.

Vamdemon: Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.

While Myotismon is having the time of his life.

Myotismon: Ahh HAHA Ahahahahaha!!!

As he hits the ground, Agumon declares:

Agumon: Taichi... He's strong....

But. Uh. Yeah, you're Child-stage and he's Perfect, that is not a fair assessment. The only Digimon we have that can Super-Evolve just recovered enough for Child-stage today, so we're up shit creek right now.

Once Vamdemon's finished taking apart the Partners, he advances on the children. In the back of the group, the last Digimon struggles to break free from Sora and fight.

Piyomon: I have to go... I'm the only one left.... Sora: You can't! How do you intend to fight him with your injuries!? Piyomon: Please understand, Sora. I have to go! (Piyomon starts trying to wriggle out of Sora's grasp) Sora: YOU CAN'T!!! Piyomon: LET GO!!! Sora: YOU CAN'T GO!!! Piyomon: WHY CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND!?!?

Just like that, the shoe is on the other foot. Sora's stunned by Piyomon echoing the same words she'd said to Toshiko in her flashback.

Sora: Mom... It was really about me... She was worried about me!

Whatever ambiguous injury fucked up Sora's leg, that's what the argument had really been about. Toshiko didn't want Sora playing on an injured leg, and she didn't want Sora playing at all if it was going to push her so hard that she thought playing on an injured leg was okay.

It wasn't about the fucking kado school. Sora made an ass out of u and mption. Poor mption didn't deserve that.

Over in the dub:

Biyomon: I've gotta do something to help them... Sora: Huh? Biyomon: I'm the only one left to fight Myotismon.... Sora: It's no use! You can't do anything in your condition. Biyomon: Please understand... I have to go! (Biyomon starts trying to wriggle out of Sora's grasp) Sora: No, Biyomon, you can't! You'll get hurt! I WON'T LET YOU!!! MY DECISION IS FINAL!!! Biyomon: SORA, WHY CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND!?!?!? (flashback) Sora: I always thought my mom was thinking about her flower shop, but she was really worried about me getting hurt....

Hey look, they added "My decision is final" to the flashback earlier so they could echo it here. For a dash of extra "Sora has become her mom" symbolism. I like that she absorbed that language from her mom without even realizing she was adding it to her lexicon.

Because people do that. You are the influences you surround yourself with, especially during childhood.

It's worth noting that Dub Toshiko was pushier about the flowers, though. In the original, it was Sora who brought "I don't want to flowers" into the argument. Go back and check!

What Toshiko said was "How do you intend to play on that leg of yours?" and "You can't even sit correctly because of soccer. You should quit." She never made it about kado. That was an assumption Sora leapt to. With the new context Sora provides here, it's clear that she really was just freaked out by Sora's leg injury.

(Though Sora's kneejerk assumption does imply that the pressure to become the next iemoto has been a point of contention between her and Toshiko in the past, it does not mean that Toshiko doesn't love her daughter.)

In the dub, she gave Sora the "We need to talk" and then followed up with "I want you to stop playing soccer and come to work at the flower shop after school." So it's not exactly Sora's fault that she assumed this was about the flower shop. Toshiko said as much.

This schism isn't so bad that it undercuts Sora's realization here, I think. But the difference in Toshiko's tone does affect how she comes across as a parent nonetheless, which is kind of important to the whole "Was Sora unloved?" thing.

Original Toshiko was trying to have a conversation with her daughter, only for Sora to get the wrong idea and unexpectedly explode on her. To which Toshiko reacted badly and said some shit she shouldn't have said.

Dub Toshiko was laying down commands from on high for her child to obey. Her intentions weren't so bad, turns out, but she still kinda sucks. Like. In general. Making sweeping life decisions for your child without so much as consulting them and then doubling down when they get upset about it is not good parenting. Dub Sora still isn't unloved, but her mom seems pretty domineering.

While Sora's having revelations about her mother, Piyomon breaks free and evolves into Birdramon. And then Sora gets to see her fears realized.

Birdramon's Meteor Wing glances harmlessly off of Vamdemon's cape. He retaliates, sinking his Bloody Stream into Birdramon's gut and knocking her from the air with a single shot.

Sora runs for her, screaming in sheer terror.

Sora: BIRDRAMON!!! BIRDRAMOOOOOOOOOON!!!

The dub makes this a little more on the nose.

Sora: Birdramon! Birdramon, no! I love you!

Now that she's over her internalized emotional blockage, Sora's feelings erupt and her Crest activates. Birdramon CHOU-SHINKAAAAAA!!!

Birdramon Super-Evolves into her Perfect-stage Garudamon. And then immediately ignores Vamdemon while he shits himself over his exposure to the sacred power of the holy device and Crest, now glowing inside Garudamon.

Vamdemon: W-What is that light!?

Garudamon ignores him to pick up Sora and talk to her instead. That's fair.

Garudamon: Sora, your love... I felt so much of it.Sora: (crying tears of relief) Piyomon... So cool....

While they have this moment, the narrator cuts in for the rundown. Garudamon is a Perfect-stage Vaccine-type Bird Person Digimon. Her name is a reference to the god Garuda, the king of birds in Hindu mythology.

That she's been promoted from a bird dragon to a male humanoid god who governs the domain of birds is why she looks like that.

Narrator: Garudamon. A Bird Person Digimon that evolves from Birdramon. Through justice and order, she is the guardian deity of the natural environment. Her special attack is Shadow Wing.

In the dub, Myotismon seems even more confused than Vamdemon.

Myotismon: What!? Where is that glow coming from!? (Garudamon picks up Sora) Garudamon: (growly beast voice) SOOOOORA! I CAN FEEL YOUR LOOOOOOOVE! It's making me strong! Sora: (crying tears of relief) My Crest... It glows.... Tentomon: (here now) Garudamon is the Ultimate form of Birdramon. She commands the sky and protects the earth. Her attack is a flaming bird called Wing Blade.

Sora's more interested in her Crest than Garudamon. Which is fair because Dub Garudamon became fucking terrifying holy shit. That was a choice and a half. I'd be trying to focus on literally anything else too.

Now that she's properly introduced, Garudamon turns her attention on Vamdemon.

Vamdemon: Rrgh, the Crest of Love just had to activate at the most crucial moment! Garudamon: I will protect Sora! Shadow Wing!

Her Shadow Wing takes the form of a flaming bird. Vamdemon matches with his Night Raid, resulting in a momentary tug-of-war between their dueling attacks.

But Night Raid roots Vamdemon in place while he fires it, while Shadow Wing is self-sustaining. While Vamdemon is rooted in that spot, Garudamon snatches up the kids and Partners and takes flight, leaving him behind.

In the dub, "Hey Digimon" fires up as Garudamon lets off her Wing Blade, and its upbeat positivity is absolutely tone-destroying. Like we are actively fleeing for our lives from Dracula to the tune of Don't Worry Be Happy.

When their attacks collide, the dub gives Myotismon the line:

Myotismon: I did not anticipate such strength!

Did... Did you not? You've been pretty upset each time a new Crest glowed.

Garudamon carries the kids to safety, and they unpack Sora's realization by a nice river the next morning.

Taichi: See? There was nothing to worry about. Your Crest glowed just fine. Sora: Before I knew what I was doing, I started acting like my mom. Pyokomon: Sora.... Sora: That's when I understood. My mom loved me all along. Pyokomon: I felt it too! I felt your love! Sora: I'm sorry about before. Pyokomon: I'm just glad you're back to normal! Taichi: Aww, I want Sora's love too! Jou: Taichi, you moron! Do you realize what you're saying!? Takeru: Huh? Jou-san, your face is beet red! Mimi: Jou-senpai, would you like some of my love? Jou: Huh!?

Mimi deposits various seeds into Jou's hands. I honestly can't explain this one. It's clearly meant to be a visual pun but fuck if I know what it is. The other kids clearly get it, though, and they all have a good laugh at Jou's expense.

Jou: (tired) Mimi-kun... okay.... Group: (laughs hysterically) Narrator: The children accepted Sora back into their group and their unity was stronger than ever before. However....

In the dub:

Tai: All you had to do is stop worrying about it, Sora, and you got your Crest to work! Sora: When Biyomon was in danger of getting hurt, I realized that I was acting just like my mom. Know what I realized? My mom loved me all along. Yokomon: And it was your love that helped me Digivolve, Sora. Sora: I'm glad. Yokomon: You see? You are capable of love after all. Tai: I felt something. I guess it was your love shining through! Joe: I felt something too. It made me feel uncomfortable. T.K.: Love shouldn't make you feel like that! Mimi: That's right, T.K.! I know why you felt uncomfortable, Joe. Joe: Hmm? Why? Mimi: (deposits the seeds in his hands) These were in your pocket! Joe: Oh, I guess it wasn't love. Group: (laughs hysterically) Matt V.O.: Sora joined up with us again and we were closer than ever. We finally thought things were going our way. And then....

Okay when and why was Mimi rifling through Joe's pockets? I do not understand the Japanese joke but I somehow manage to understand the English one even less.

Tai's bit here is also notably different. In the original, he's whining because he wants to feel Sora's love too - with Jou-senpai immediately calling him out on how flirtatious that sounded. Either he's intentionally hitting on Sora or he's innocently saying something that sounds like hitting on Sora. Either way, senpai doesn't like it.

In the dub, he's celebrating the fact that he did feel Sora's love shining through a similar metaphysical connection to the one she has with Piyomon. Implying exactly the sort of relationship between them that Taichi may or may not want to have with her, depending on if he's started thinking about that yet.

Suddenly, the sky darkens. Black clouds fill the air and Vamdemon's eerie "Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha." laugh emerges from them. We close this episode out on the dire words of our new villain.

Sora: That voice! Vamdemon: Chosen Children. With only seven of you, you won't be able to defeat our evil power.

Uh. Cool. Thanks for dropping by to tell us that. He's hinting at the existence of the Eighth Child, which is going to become important to this arc going forward. Not sure why he's showing up to do that, though. This cliffhanger could have been an email.

The dub overlooks the importance of the number and instead plays it as a general gloat.

Sora: I know that laugh! Myotismon: You foolish DigiDestined! The seven of you are no match for my powers! Prepare for your ultimate destruction! MUWUHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

So, no foreshadowing here. Just a more aggressive cliffhanger to really get you biting your nails about his impending attack.

Which. Uh. There is no impending attack. We'll start next episode with the kids hanging out at this river, perfectly safe. He can't attack in broad daylight like this. He really was just coming by to say "LOL No Eighth Child? Scrubs."

You salty, bro?

Assessment: Well that was an emotional fucking roller coaster. I did not remember this episode very well and for that I am ashamed, because this was fucking good. Toshiko and Sora's drama tore my heartstrings right in fucking half.

The dub certainly made some questionable choices but on the whole I'd say that this is one of their better ones. Sora's character arc is preserved as intact as they could get it despite the untranslatable cultural elements to it, and that's the heart of the episode more than anything else.

Now I'm going to go get some McDonalds and process paralyzing adult fears for a while.

[formosusiniquis]

After much delay, please welcome our longest chapter so far of my @steddiebang2024 And can I say thank you again to the fantastic, amazing, brilliant @ablogcalledrevenge and @kaspurrcat they've just been a fantastic team and this chapter especially was a killer.

The woman at the counter looks mad before he even gets in the door. He didn't call ahead, but Eddie also isn't sure how you predict bird related emergencies. Which he's pretending this is, because the alternative is that she's mad because he's accidentally violated some kind of migratory bird act and he thinks admitting that he's been hosting this bird in his closet for the length of a holiday weekend isn't going to improve her mood.

There's something familiar about her, but her name tag dubs her Robin. While he wishes he knew someone whose sense of irony was so fine tuned that she would be Robin who works at the bird sanctuary, the name isn't familiar. 

She's got a good scowl though.

Eyes framed up top by feathery bangs -- actually feathery, the short blonde bob has long tendrils of feathers floating from the back. Style choice or hazard of the job, it's cool either way. A lot more interesting than the way the tips of his fingers are always stained faintly with ink. Feathered or not, they set a nice stage for the narrowed glare they’re leveling at him.

“Hi, should I have called ahead? I've got this bird-”

“What have you done to yourself, you featherbrained dingus?”

“Um, I found him, it looked like he was being attacked by something. Do owls have predators?”

“No, but they're extraordinarily stupid. No room in their head for any brains. They get used in some Greek iconography with Athena, who's you know, beautiful and wise, and through that good marketing everyone thinks they're smart too. But they're really just instinct driven idiots who rush headlong into danger without thinking about how their actions have consequences.”

It’s hard to know what to say in the face of a speech like that. More than impassioned, Eddie feels like he’s been lectured. No, it’s more like the slimy discomfort of being in the room while a friend is getting yelled at by their parent.

Any hint of a response that Eddie would have made disappears as the bird he’s been trying to hold like it’s a strange creature from outside and not like something he’s hoping he’ll be told he could come back to adopt, wiggles from his arms. It screeches at the woman across the counter, using a tone Eddie hasn’t ever heard before. The talons on its feet scratch and scrabble against the counter she’s been leaning boredly against until they’re nose to beak.

“He’s normally not like this,” Eddie finds himself defending, even as Majesty pokes a claw into the freckled flesh of her arm.

The bird’s head spins around its neck to glare, like Eddie’s defense has somehow lost it “cool points” with the strange wildlife rescue employee. To its benefit the strange faintly feathered rehabber has a brow quirked as well. “Spend a lot of time getting to know this random avian? Had a chance to get to know all his little quirks?”

“I mean, it was very well behaved in the car.”

“I’m so sure.”

Majesty croaks, something that on a different bird he’d say sounded like “Rob” but even he knows owls can’t talk. It just serves to make it look a little more muppet-y. Like when the real cat disappears to be replaced by the animatronic anytime Salem needed to talk on Sabrina . It's unfortunate that the longer he looks the more he wonders if Dustin is right.

But surely the bird sanctuary employee would tell him if he had a fake owl.

She mutters something into the feathered crown of the bird that isn’t his. Something that sounds like it ends in ‘so fucking stupid’ but deciphering the what becomes a lot less important when she asks, “Do you want to see where he’ll be recuperating?”

“Yeah! Can I?” His fingers tap the desk in a rhythm he can’t place, nervous energy expending out of himself and into this weird liminal space. Dart had been a stray and Ma had saved Mews from the Walmart parking lot; they'd never adopted anything that hadn’t made its way to them first. He is his own third example that proves the Munson way.

Maybe all animal shelters were like this. Large empty lobbies with big desks that block off access to their single mysterious doors. Buildings that weren’t concerned with things like electricity bills, the air on high enough that it’s got every hair on Eddie’s body currently standing on end: goosebumps down his arms, the hair at the back of his neck is on end.

“Great,” she smiles. There’s something off putting about it, like the mouth that she’s got doesn’t fit right on her face. A grin cut out of a magazine and pasted on a different picture.

“Let me get him settled and I’ll come back for you.”

Read the rest on AO3

[fountainpenguin]

Riddle watches New Wish - Post #15

Work Her Magic

There is some seriously cruel irony in posting the episode where Hazel's mom clearly wants to engage with her, but can't right now because she's busy (and thus Hazel's upset about how her mom is always working) IMMEDIATELY after the double-length episode where Dev was unable to get his dad's attention whatsoever. What the heck, Hazel? Did you learn nothing?

I love Hazel's parents so much. They're adorable. Marcus being a little jealous about how his wife's always talking to her publisher / coordinator when he wants to plan a date night is fantastic.

-> Assistant, that's her role.

omfg, the title card was grown-up Hazel?? I was multi-tasking on these notes and thought that was her mom. She's ADORABLE.

What the fliiiip? I'm not sure I've ever loved a design more... This is so good. Her color scheme is the same. She's still predominantly blue and those pink bits resemble her shirt stripes, and she's still got green shoes. That's impeccable. A+ thoughtful design.

I love her... I have no 'fic ideas for her at this exact moment, but I like her a lot.

Is the silverware at this school made of wood? Wanda has a funny texture on her disguise.

Hazel is gossiping about herself with her mom at lunch. I'm bracing for Hazel to find out info she'd rather not hear, but so far everything is just Angela gushing over her. I love that.

-> She didn't have a bad word to say, only how much she loves her daughter. Pure...

Antony!! And it was indeed a hand-me-down shirt!

I have some questions about these posters.

Terrible brand name.

I enjoy how Wanda has consistently put on shades this season. I was going to make a joke back in the dinosaur episode about how she did that in the OG series too. I think it was only twice, but those scenes are some of my signature memories of her (The Musical & trying to get her son out of Crocker's house during "Fairly Old Parent").

This was Cosmo as Rice President of Pixies Inc. (to me).

omg, ceiling sprinklers. The detail! Very curious to learn more about how these environments were rendered.

Return of the Meerkat-adjacent voice! Daran Norris!

???

Date night is back on!!

"So, you're probably wondering how I got here..."

Crock to the Future

Crocker?? Huh. Can't say I'm surprised.

-> I've always headcanoned Crocker with witch genes due to the Alden Bitterroot connection. I wonder if he's aged or looks the same (In "Secret Wish," he looked the same after aging 50 years and claimed it's because he was altered to look like that even when he was 10, so it prevented further signs of aging).

-> My theory is that he'll resemble Jorgen and have a patch around his mouth. No justification for this beyond "That seems to be the style to symbolize an older character from the OG series." I still want to know if Doug Dimmadome is dead.

-> If this Crocker turns out to be Kevin, I'm gonna lose my very last marble. Doesn't look likely though due to the freckle placement in that title card. But can you IMAGINE...

Marcus only has 9 toes... Wh- Why does he have more than 8? I thought everyone had 8. Did he cut it one in half with the weedwhacker and count it separately?

The Galax Institute is celebrating its 96th annual event. If that's an in-city location, Dimmadelphia is at minimum 96 years old.

-> He's 100% meeting Crocker at this parascience convention. If he meets the Fentons with that ghost machine, that'd be great.

A.J. NAME CONFIRMATION!! ... I don't love it because I headcanoned him as Archimedes Junior and I think that's cooler than Anthony James Jr., but I'll accept it! Curse my slowness in getting my A.J.-centric multi-chapter out.

-> A.J. founded the Galax Institution at age 10 and is Marcus's hero. First of all, I love that, and second of all... good to know. I was pretty sure Dimmadelphia was still close to Dimmsdale, but it's always nice to have confirmation.

Also, I am once again asking people who have strong feelings that Chloe is a Mary Sue to give me their opinions on A.J., who ends world hunger in Season 2, works with the government at age 10, can build a time machine in 10 seconds with paperclips and string, and who apparently founded the Galax Institute as a child. They would be friends, I think.

Don't actually give me your opinions, but I do think about them a lot.

-> I'm sad my Happy Peppy Betty plotline has her moving to Brightburg instead of Dimmadelphia. It's not like I knew this was coming, but... SHE.

Angela (to me): This is my super hot husband. I love him very much and anyone who calls his interest in parascience dumb will get a high heel to the eye.

I can't believe Mark is banned from the institute. A.J., I have some questions.

Oh, there he is! Baby face...

Huh. I don't have anything to say.

I'm unclear as to why Cosmo and Wanda aren't trying to avoid the magical detectors? Why can't they just leave? I feel like this plot would work better if they'd been sleeping inside Hazel's bag.

I like how Mark, his ship, and Dark Laser's ship are in the mural.

Oh, he has aged:

I'd LOVE to see Crocker interact with A.J. I don't think we'll get that lucky, but it would be fun.

-> I've been thinking this since Episode 1, but I'm starting to seriously debate changing all the times I had Crocker say "cryptozoology" in 'fic to "parascience" instead.

I am super puzzled that A.J. went into parascience after all the time he spent with Crocker. He certainly seems to believe it (unless there's a plot twist that he just wants to give people the opportunity to discover things but he doesn't personally believe in it), but like... that's a STORY. Are we gonna talk about that?

-> This dovetails so nicely into my "Norm & A.J." AU and my head is in my hands but there is nothing I can do about it right now. help.

Oh, I didn't clock that he was a janitor here. Either I was typing and missed that or it was said off-screen. Also I enjoy him crawling without using his hands.

/blinks. Wadjet dying in Age of Mythology sound effect, is that you? Usually in shows, I just hear the donkey sound (I think it's the same one Minecraft uses). This is a surprise.

It is the same sound; I looked it up. I don't know what to do with this information.

Is Crocker going to take Hazel's bag, but open it and ignore Cosmo and Wanda on the outside?

-> Wanda, why don't you just leave? I don't understand.

Wanda: Crocker used to terrorize our last godkid. Cosmo: And before that, he WAS our godkid Roy, Viv, and Chloe awkward monkey puppeting somewhere:

I mean, Chloe was also terrorized a little, but...

Okay, so... Cosmo and Wanda have clearly explained the godparenting basics to Hazel. She's aware she'll lose her memories. But... why didn't we get to see that?

The miserable godkids plot and the memory loss haven't been explained well in this series and I'm a little surprised, seeing as that's one of the biggest pieces of worldbuilding in the OG show. Since Hazel seems to have a loving home life, I wasn't sure if either rule was still canon until Poof-Peri showed up.

Wanda: Crocker would have to cover the entire building in a butterfly net to catch us. Which is impossible! Me: /"Viral Videots" flashbacks

Oh, please give me a sequel to one of my favorite jokes in the entire series...

Eh, I'll take it. I'm disappointed Cosmo and Wanda can still float, though. Hey, you guys aren't supposed to do that!

Hazel: I wish Crocker stopped trying to reveal fairies! Wanda: Oh, we can't do that, squirt. As long as the building's covered by a butterfly net, we're powerless!

W... Wanda? What exactly are you saying? You wanna run that by me again?

I like how A.J. came prepared for Crocker to interfere so he brought a back-up award to give to Marcus, haha.

... Hm. I feel slightly unsatisfied, but I'm not sure I could put into words why. I didn't really have expectations and yet I feel confused.