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yourlokalescholar · 1 year ago

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Everything stays (but it still changes)

Chapter two

Ren is a strange man, to put it lightly.

After that first night, he’s been following Martyn around, which is normal enough: he’s been in groups before, so he understands the “strength in numbers” argument. The strange part is that he keeps wandering off then showing up again covered in blood, with a bag full of meat.

Now, in normal circumstances this might be concerning.

But to be fair, Ren was pretty up-front with his suspicious eating habits. Martyn doesn’t bring it up, but they both know there’s only one way to get red meat around the city these days.

It’s a few days after the night the two first met when they encounter one of the animals in question.

Martyn is sat on a low-hanging branch beside the river, trying to fish with little success, while Ren sits on the ground talking.

“I’m just saying dude, society’s pretty much gone by now; who says I can’t be the king?”

Martyn laughs. “I mean, I’m not gonna stop you. Still not calling you ‘your highness’, though.”

Ren starts to respond, then suddenly goes silent. Martyn glances down and sees him frozen with his head slightly raised, as if sniffing the air. Pulling his legs up, Martyn crouches defensively as he lays a hand on his hatchet.

He can’t immediately tell what Ren spotted, but after a second of tense silence he hears a twig snap. Then with no more warning, something grey darts out from a half-ruined building and barrels into Ren with a shriek.

The man lets out a shout that borders on a snarl as he goes flying backwards into the water. The creature stills, standing on the riverbank and panting heavily, giving Martyn a full view of its grotesque form.

It’s hunched over so far that its head almost touches the floor, bowed under the weight of antlers it wasn’t designed for. What’s left of its hands are planted on either side of its body, curled into fists held shut by a crust of keratin. Its body looks like someone tried to mold a human into the shape of a deer: bones stick out from places they shouldn’t be, a jumbled mess of useless parts; muscles writhe under its skin like maggots, and each of its vertebra sticks out white as pus. It screams again, and now Martyn recognises it as a sound of pain.

Not letting himself overthink any further, he leaps off the branch, hatchet held high. He lands on its back to the sound of cracking bones and snapping sinews, and it jolts as its elbows cave and its chest hits the floor. Martyn’s knees hit the concrete hard, causing him to drop his weapon with a cry. Panicking, he grabs the creature’s neck instead, wincing at the pitiful sound it makes as his fingers sink into the flesh.

The two wrestle for what must be seconds but feels like hours, until the creature throws itself into the air, knocking Martyn off its back. Just in time, he grabs the hatchet and spins to stab it into the thing’s shoulder, knocking it back just as it had been diving for his stomach. It wails but doesn’t falter when it leaps forward again, this time aiming for his neck, jagged teeth bared for Martyn’s viewing pleasure in its open maw.

Its face looks human, he realises. And it does. Its skin is the pale grey of a corpse, and stained with blood, and the nose is all but missing, but the eyes, and the fury in its expression… they’re painfully human.

And in that moment, he hesitates. If Ren wasn’t there, it would’ve killed him.

But he is, and it doesn’t.

Instead, the monster is knocked out of the air mid-tackle as Ren makes a sound that is definitely a snarl this time; if Martyn didn’t know any better, he’d think he was trying to take a bite out of its neck.

No matter how he does it, by the time Martyn has grabbed his hatchet and turned back to the fight, the monster is dead, and Ren is hunched over the body.

Panting, Martyn lets himself drop to the floor and rolls onto his back. He’s honestly embarrassed by how exhausted he is. Isn’t the apocalypse supposed to make you tougher?

“If you��re gonna eat that, could you at least cook it first?” He jokes, trying his best not to sound like he’s fighting for his life (he fails).

“I’m just catching my breath!” Ren splutters defensively. “I wouldn’t— okay, I might, but… uh, you okay my dude?”

Martyn holds out a thumbs-up, still breathing heavily, and manages to sit up. “Thank you for the assist, milord,” he says, turning to Ren and trying his best to bow while sat down.

Ren beams. “Yer welcome, laddie,” he says in possibly the worst Scottish accent Martyn has ever heard, surprising a laugh out of him.

Once his heart has mostly slowed down, Martyn clambers to his feet— or at least, he tries to. The moment he’s stood up, his vision swims, and he has to crouch down to stay standing. That is… not ideal.

“Okay, I’m not blind dude,” Ren says, sounding worried. When did he get that close? “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Martyn lets himself sink to the floor with a sigh. Ren’s hands hover by his shoulders, ready to catch him if he collapses. “When was the last time you ate?” He asks.

“I dunno, mum,” Martyn replies sarcastically. “Like, last night?” Just the thought of food makes his stomach grumble, which would be mortifying if Ren hadn’t just watched him collapse after very little physical exercise.

“Let me rephrase that,” Ren says, sitting beside him. “When was the last time you ate anything that wasn’t a sardine?”

Martyn scowls in lieu of an answer, telling Ren all he needs to know.

“Martyn, I know what you’re gonna say, and I don’t want to force you into anything, but…” Ren begins, and Martyn already knows where he’s going. “You’ve got to eat something, man. They’re not people anymore.”

Martyn sighs. “I know, I know, but… I dunno. I can’t really explain it. It just feels so… gross. Wrong, I guess.” Ren looks like he’s about to protest, but Martyn cuts him off. “I know it’s stupid. Can’t afford to be emotional in the apocalypse, right? I… I can put my health first.”

Ren looks unsure, but nods. “Good. As long as it’s your decision.” He stands and holds a hand out to Martyn, who takes it tentatively.

He manages to stand up and walk with him into the relative shelter of the building to set up camp early, and if he has to lean on Ren’s side a bit, at least the man has the tact not to mention it.

***

Ren watches Martyn closely as he eats— which, okay, doesn’t sound great. But in his defence, he looked like he was gonna drop dead a few minutes ago.

Thankfully, once the food is cooked, Martyn has no trouble getting it down him. It’s honestly impressive how quickly he eats without fangs.

Martyn looks up to see Ren staring and raises an eyebrow. “You’ve still got blood on your face, y’know.”

Ren spits on his hand and rubs his cheek, then looks down to see his fingers covered in blood. He licks it off without thinking.

“And the other side,” Martyn adds, lip twitching. Ren rubs at his other cheek, and his hand comes away with even more blood. “And aaall over your chin.”

Sighing, Ren stands. “I’ll go wash off in the river.”

It’s getting dark outside, though it’s not sunset yet. Ren looks up to see storm clouds gathering overhead and grimaces. That’s not ideal.

He starts to wash his face in the river, catching his reflection right as he’s about to leave. Jesus, is that seriously what he looks like?! He’s in dire need of a deep clean.

He strips off his clothes and washes them as best as he can, getting most of the dirt and at least a little bit of the blood off. By the time he’s done washing himself, the water runs red. When’s the last time he had a bath? He can’t believe Martyn’s been putting up with him for so long: he must smell terrible. His hair is the worst part: it’s a full-on bird’s nest up there, and he doesn’t even have a hairbrush! Eventually he decides it’s good enough, and wrings out the water until it curls enough to hide his pointed ears. Pulling a face, he puts on his still-wet clothes, opting to leave the shirt open until he dries off.

Martyn raises his eyebrows as he reenters the building (he’s digging into his second steak, but Ren doesn’t comment). “Wow. You look almost presentable!”

Ren twirls to show off his comparatively clean appearance. “I’m glad you noticed!”

He grabs a moth-eaten pillow and lies back on it, hands behind his head. “You checked the other floor for valuables yet?”

Martyn shakes his head as he swallows the last of his food. “Explored this floor a bit, though. Not much left: I think this used to be the living room, and the one next door was the kitchen, but obviously all the furniture is covered in mould and tree roots now. I did however find-“ he pulls a handful of something out of his pocket and tosses them at Ren. “-hair bobbles! For the love of god, please use them.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?!” Ren protests, internally panicking. Wearing his hair down is a huge pain, of course, but it’s the only way he can think to hide his ears. And if Martyn sees his ears, he’ll know his secret. And if Martyn knows his secret—

“I mean it looks fine now, but if you keep it down while we’re going through the woods it’s gonna get all tangled again!” Martyn says, cutting off his thoughts. “Do you really want to keep dealing with that?”

Ren pouts. “I think it looks cool.” (That’s a lie; he likes it better in a plait. This is actually infuriating for him.)

Martyn rolls his eyes. “Can you at least clip it back? It keeps falling into your face.”

“Aww, can’t bear to miss the view?” Ren winks. Martyn tries to stay deadpan, but has to turn his head to hide a laugh. Ten points to Hufflepuff! “I’ll check upstairs to see if there are any hairclips. Just for you, sweetheart.” Ren ends the sentence with finger guns, prompting a full-on cackle from Martyn.

The first floor is also pretty empty, and unfortunately, the beds are unsalvageable. He does find two pillows, though, and the mould is mostly confined to one side. Most importantly, he finds a jar of hair clips by the bathroom sink! They look like they belonged to a young child, which is probably why no one else has scavenged them, but Ren’s not picky. He finds a red one with a little crown charm on it, which he thinks is perfect and makes sure it’s on full display when he puts it in his hair, holding the worst of it back from his face. He also finds a hairbrush, which he doesn’t bring with him due to his lack of a proper bag (he should probably find one soon, now that he’s staying in this form more), but he brushes his still-wet hair until he feels suitably human again.

As he turns to go back downstairs, a crack of thunder almost makes Ren jump out of his skin. It’s almost immediately followed by the sound of torrential rain pouring onto the roof, as suddenly as the flipping of a switch. Fantastic. The ceiling seems relatively solid, but these days, “relatively solid” just means “most of the holes are pretty small”.

He comes down the stairs and tosses a pillow at Martyn, who’s lying on the floor with his hands over his face. Headshot! Martyn sighs, but doesn’t move to push it away. “You doing alright, man?” Ren asks.

“I bloody hate the rain,” comes the muffled reply. Ren snorts.

“It’s not that bad,” he says, lying near him, beside the fire. “It gives us an excuse to stay inside a bit.”

Truthfully, he mostly waits out storms in his wolf form, which isn’t picky about the weather. He remembers, before all this, hating the rain, and the cold, and thunder. Pretty much just extreme weather in general. But he’s not completely human anymore! His wolf form is fine in storms, so it makes sense that his slightly wolfish human form would be at least a little bit better with storms than he had been!

He tugs at his still-damp shirt. It’s beginning to seem rather chilly in this decrepit house. He shifts closer to the fire and pokes it with a stick, wondering if he’ll need to chop off a tree root for extra fuel.

“I mean, I guess it’s fun for a bit,” Martyn sighs. “Unless it lasts more than… what, a week? Probably less now; I swear it keeps getting shorter.”

Ren frowns and turns his head to see Martyn sitting on the pillow, staring into the fire. “What?”

“Y’know, what with the… tree roots and all that.”

“I actually don’t know, my dude. I feel like you’re pulling my leg.”

Martyn squints at him, bewildered. “What, have you never tried to join a settlement?”

“No? Like I said, I’m a lone wolf.”

For whatever reason, Martyn doesn’t seem to believe that. “Dude, I’m a lone wolf, and even I’ve joined more than one settlement; you’ve been following me around like a lost puppy since you first met me in the woods the other day!”

Ren opens his mouth to protest, pauses, then snaps it shut, huffing. He’s right, of course, but he doesn’t like feeling so transparent! It’s been, what, a week? No, less than that (it’s been a while since he tried to keep track of time— wolf-Ren isn’t great with numbers). Is he really that bad at lying?

Martyn grins at his reaction, then relents and explains. “I’ve been in two or three encampments since my home was destroyed. The first one I joined pretty much straight away— it used to be a high school, I think— and it lasted a bit over a month before the same thing that happened to everything else-“ He gestures to the roots sticking through the walls and floor. “-started happening to it. We tried to stop it, of course, but it’s like it just made nature angrier: I went to bed one night, while people were lopping off branches and tree roots and reinforcing the walls, and when I woke up there was a tree growing through the dorm. Everyone was gone by the end of that day. There… wasn’t much reason to stay, was there?” An expression crosses his face that Ren doesn’t have time to identify before it’s gone, and Martyn continues.

“The next settlement was a few weeks later, in an apartment building. I wasn’t there when it formed, so I don’t know how long it lasted exactly, but it was definitely shorter. Same thing happened, about a week after I joined. They were more prepared this time, since a few of us had come there from other settlements that had gone down, but it didn’t help. By the time I left… it wasn’t much of a settlement anymore, but they were still trying to make it work. They spent all day doing nothing but chop branches and mend buildings, and I just didn’t feel like it was worth the effort, so I just. Left.

“The last one I joined was more of an experiment than a settlement: word had gotten around by now about what happens to buildings that people try to settle down in, so they thought ‘oh, what if we start a society without buildings?’, and for some reason everyone including myself thought that was a good idea. Long story short: it didn’t work, so I left.

“I tried a few times after that to stick to one building, make a home for myself, on my own. Needless to say, it never lasted long. You can probably guess what happened.

“I’ve heard from down the grapevine that people have entirely given up on restoring society at this point, and every time someone tries it falls apart faster. I think the last one I heard about lasted around a week.”

There’s silence in the room then, as Ren takes in everything he said. The sound of rain and the steady drip of water from various leaks is all that can be heard. Then Martyn slaps his thighs suddenly, startling the brunet out of his thoughts. “Right! That was depressing! I’m going to bed.”

Ren wants to stop him, to say something reassuring, but he can’t find the words. His skills that he’d been so proud of before the world ended have withered away more than he’d thought.

“Goodnight,” is all he says as Martyn pulls out his blanket, reminding Ren how extremely cold it is. He scoots closer to the fire.

Martyn lies down with his back to Ren, leaving him alone with the rain and thunder and howling wind. He tries to pull his shirt tighter around himself, though it’s not dry yet and doesn’t help much.

He’d never heard anything about people forming settlements since society collapsed. Honestly the thought never occurred to him. How did the thought never occur to him?

He knows how. It’s the same reason no one told him about the settlements.

It’s not that he’s never in human form! It’s just… these days, when people are few and far between, and the only thing he can eat makes him nauseous if he thinks about it too hard, it’s easier to be a dumb animal. Wolf-Ren doesn’t miss being around people, or feel guilty about doing what he has to to survive. He’s still aware of his emotions in that form, but it’s like they’re dulled: all that matters to the wolf is survival, and if it doesn’t help him survive, it doesn’t matter. And maybe he’s been abusing that a little bit these past few months. When’s the last time he talked to a human, before Martyn? The days blend together when he’s a wolf.

Is being human even worth it?

This isn’t the first time he’s had this argument with himself, but it’s different now. Now he’s got something to lose. If he stays with Martyn, he risks being found out, and… not dying, no. Martyn wouldn’t kill him. But being abandoned might hurt more. He can’t stand the thought of Martyn being afraid of him.

But what about the other option? What if he left right now, before he got too attached? Turned into a wolf and never turned back? Well, he probably couldn’t stay a wolf forever, but he means it in the metaphorical sense. What if he abandoned humanity forever? Surviving would be a lot easier, but…

“Hey, Ren?” Martyn’s voice is drowsy.

Ren jolts. He looks over to see Martyn awake and on his side, facing him. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think I thanked you properly, for saving my life earlier. Thank you. Seriously.”

Ren doesn’t know how to answer that. “I- it’s nothing. Don’t mention it.”

There’s a pause before Martyn replies. When he does, it’s barely above a whisper. “I’m glad you’re here. Travelling with me, I mean. It was… quieter. Before you came.”

…but he wouldn’t have Martyn, he finishes.

Maybe that’s reason enough to stay.

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shiningdesignersreflections · 2 years ago

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Nikki: Flower and Jenny

Designer's Reflection: Flower and Jenny

Obtained: Styling Competition season 1

Rarity: SSR

Attribute: Pink/Sweet

Awakened Suit: Night and Jenny

Story - transcripts from Designer’s Reflection

Chapter 1 - Theater Invitation

Chapter 2 - Two Challenges

Chapter 3 - The Best Partner

Chapter 4 - Little Princess’ Adventure

Story - summarized

Nikki gets invited by Lolory to join the December Troupe as a volunteer! She has always been impressed with their plays and costume designs, so she is thrilled to join them.

She meets the eccentric owner of the troupe, and while he would love for her to join right away, she has to prove her skill by designing the costume for the lead character, Princess Jenny. He assures her that she will do well.

Wanting to impress the troupe, Nikki reads through the script and goes through several iterations before arriving at the final design. The next day, she presents her idea to the owner, while also acting out part of the script for a visual. He is impressed - so impressed, that he makes her the lead actor.

This is unexpected, and Nikki puts too much pressure on herself to be just as good as the others. But she has trouble getting into character since her main prop and story character buddy is a plush lamb toy. Momo offers to help by taking the toy’s place. She has an easier time playing the adventurous princess who cares about her pet lamb.

The night of the performance arrives, and Nikki is nervous yet feels ready. The play starts with Princess Jenny and her beloved lamb playing together. They encounter a candy witch, who turns the lamb into a toy. Distraught, Jenny pleads with the witch. The only way to change the witch’s mind is by bringing her three ingredients: spring water from the west, honey from the east, and a midnight rose from the north.

Princess Jenny sets off immediately and obtains the water and honey. But the rose is in a dark garden in the north, surrounded by dark, gloomy clouds that give the appearance of night. But she is determined to save her lamb whatever it takes, so she plunges in and grabs the rose.

A dark fog appears, staining her costume black. Nevertheless, she remains brave and strong as she returns to the witch with the three ingredients. The candy witch uses them to make a special candy. She says that Jenny must choose which candy is truly the witch’s.

Jenny sees through the ruse and declares, “No matter which candy I pick, you’ll still give me back my lamb!” The witch is flustered and fuming at being found out. Still, she returns the lamb to normal. But the witch isn’t done yet.

The performance ends, and everyone is impressed. Reviews pour in on Moments praising the story and the troupe, and even some applaud Nikki’s costume and efforts. She feels accomplished and proud, and she promises to do better for the next show.

Connections

-Nikki seems to like plush lamb toys a lot, since this is the second time she’s had one in a Reflection, the other time being Dream-Weaving Lamb.

-All the December Troupe plays are interconnected, and Yexiao plays the candy witch. You’ll see more of her Reflection later this year.

-The dress for Flower and Jenny features a bodice that looks like a bra outside of a top. Nikki first experiments with this kind of style in Warming Match.

-Nikki has been in a play before, and she had trouble then getting into character. Momo had to help her in Green Pastoral to cry on demand.

Fun Facts

-Nikki says in the Ark that while she is a huge fan of the troupe, she was never lucky enough to get a ticket to see a performance in person.

-There is a typo in the Index section of the Reflection info: Jenny’s name is spelled “Jean” in the item descriptions for the suit.

#nikki #shining nikki #ssr designer #december troupe #flower and jenny #pink attribute #sweet #performance #theater #lamb #princess #adventure #candy witch #costume design #momo

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mysteria157 · 11 months ago

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Chapter 16

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

Word Count: ~14.1k

CW: explicit sexual content, smut, profanity, ass slapping (lol?)

Summary: The last person you ever wanted to see pries into your life. Nanami makes a life changing decision. Your hard work finally pays off.

Notes: Thank you to all who have been supportive so far. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated but not necessary <3 Almost there! Happy reading!

Divider: @cafekitsune

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It Had To Be You Masterlist

The sound of Ulani’s shrieks had a smile curling against your lips, your stomach fluttering with joy as you looked up at her from your hands. Your daughter wrung her hands in the air, stretching her arms toward the various works of clay drying on long shelves on the wall of Rory’s studio, bouncing excitedly in the baby carrier strapped to said owner’s front as he walked about and described each piece to her.

There was a lull between classes, a three hour break that gave you time to leave the house for air and dig your hands in something.

You brought the wooden rib to the spinning clay, the hard material pressing gently to the greyish shiny mound as you made a steady tunneling design along the side. You were initially worried about the sketches of the small collection of works you prepared to make for Choso. You thought they would be too bold for him, too typical from what he probably had already made himself. But one quick glance over them and he was approving immediately, his bored expression softening and a smile pulling along his features as he listened to you talk him through your designs.

You only had a month; one week before Christmas to deliver the completed pieces to him. Your mind was moving a mile a minute, honing in on the clay in your hands as you started a rough throw.

The loud chime from Rory’s phone pulled your gaze to him briefly before you were looking back down the spinning (soon to be vase) in your hands. You hoped Ulani would have a creative streak. To have a child that would want to sit across from you, to dig their hands into clay or in paints, it filled you with a sensation that you couldn’t quite place and—.

“Y/n.”

His normally eclectic and cheerful tone was tainted somehow, bitterness and apprehension curving against the syllables of your name as they slid from his mouth. It made you pause, pulling your hands from the clay as you looked up at him and took in his serious expression. His twists were pulled up into a bun, allowing you to see every nuance on his face; brown eyes steely and frustrated, lips flickering with the beginnings of a frown.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your mother is here. She’s outside. She would…like to talk to you.”

You frowned immediately, the thought of her souring your mood—and the rest of your day—quickly. Your first reaction was to wash your hands, pluck Ulani from the carrier strapped to Rory’s chest, and leave through the back door. But the second reaction you had—unfortunately—, was to wait. To listen and think that maybe this time would be different.

It wasn’t different when she showed up at your door with painful accusations when she heard you were leaving Sendai. It wasn’t different when she sneered hurtful words across the table on Christmas. It wasn’t different on every birthday, or a report card with a B instead of an A, or even a present you had worked hard to get for Mother’s Day when you were ten.

It was never different.

But some part of you, deep down in a chasm that had been cobwebbed over and buried beneath the dirt in your chest had held hope that maybe this time would be different. Just once more.

“I’ll take Ulani to the back. If anything goes wrong, you come get me. Immediately. Okay?”

You stood up wordlessly, nodding curtly as you strolled to the row of basins along the studio wall to wash your hands. Rory threw the diaper and toy bag over his shoulder, cooing to your daughter to distract her as he made his way out of the large, empty room and leaving you alone.

You definitely weren’t presentable; black overalls and a t-shirt that you usually wore when you threw clay, your curls frizzy and piled atop of your head without a care, no earrings, no—.

No.

She would take what you gave, or leave.

No more acquiescing her.

Your heart was racing frantically in your chest, painful beats pushing the blood through your veins in thick pulses. You wiped away the sweat that had prickled on the back of your neck, bit the inside of your lip until you could taste the tinge of copper on your tongue, squared your shoulders and took a long, heaving breath.

You could do this.

Or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself as her elegant form walked into the now stiff air of the studio. Her eyes were apprehensive, genetic brown hues looking anywhere but at you as she walked closer to your standing form near the basin row. Her similar curly hair was twisted and pulled back into a low bun, simple diamond earrings in her ears, and dressed in jeans and a thick sweater—a stark contrast to her usual silks and pastels.

While you were used to her exuding rudeness and arrogance, your nose flared at the heavy smell of hesitance and unease that radiated from her instead.

It felt like minutes before she spoke, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to think of something to say. You wouldn’t be the first to talk, you wouldn’t give her that satisfaction. Ome’s words rang in your ears like a siren.

“If your mother is ever going to come around, she is going to do all the work.”

“Throwing clay?” Her voice was practically silent when she finally spoke, her words wobbly on the ends, shaky. You didn’t respond, your hands digging into the sides of your cotton overalls as your gaze stayed locked with hers. “You look…healthy.”

“What do you want?”

You couldn’t deny the satisfaction of watching her flinch from your words. Growing up, you had been on the receiving end of it time and time again.

Her mouth opened again, silence falling from the space between parted lips, brows furrowing and face coloring in shame.

“I want to apologize.” You scoffed, the reaction immediate as you shook out a humorless laugh and folded your arms across your chest, shifting your gaze to look anywhere else as you tried to ignore the anger festering in the base of your stomach. “Please just—when I showed up at your door in Sendai and said all those things…and then when I showed up here and spoke so harshly that you ended up in the hospital—well your uncle tore me to shreds. You wouldn’t even begin to comprehend what he said and—”

“Let’s hear it.” The words fell from your lips before you could stop them, courage locking the vertebrae of your spine in place and holding you up and steady as you kept your patronizing gaze on her. “What did he say?”

Eyes that you were used to seeing filled with disdain and indifference were now colored with embarrassment and guilt.

You didn’t care.

Not today.

“He said that I am a heartless bitch who never deserved nor should have been a mother. And the fact that I would put you at risk without batting an eyelash shows that I deserve to rot in hell.”

You reminded yourself to give Rory a warm hug later.

“So what changed? You felt bad?”

“I had a small heart attack.”

You bit the side of your tongue, willing yourself to keep your appearance neutral and not convey the worry that flooded your body of its own volition. You may not care for her, but you wouldn’t wish her harm.

You weren’t that heartless…but sometimes you wished you were.

“It was minor, but it scared me. When I woke up in the hospital, I realized how alone I was. You weren’t there, Rory wasn’t calling. Not even my father called. He never cared unless it was to benefit himself. And it took me fifty five fucking years and me almost dying to realize I was just like him. He raised me to work hard and that my value only came from my accomplishments and my education, the man I married, and the health and success of my kids. I believed him and followed him just to feel something from him…and I did the same to you.”

Suddenly you hated her. You hated that all of a sudden, she was ‘seeing clearly’. All of a sudden, her trauma made so much sense to her. Now it all clicked after you had already been scarred enough.

You hated her.

You didn’t but—fuck.

“I’m trying to do better. I’ll always be working on myself. And I know you will probably never forgive me or want to speak to me again. And that’s fine. I came prepared knowing that possible outcome. But I had to do it anyway. It probably won’t make up for years of how I treated you but…I was a terrible mother…and I’m so…so sorry.”

You ignored the prickle in the back of your eyes, kept your gaze steady even though your chest was shaking with unease and something else. Something else thick and heavy and pressing against your skin, digging into your lungs and narrowing your breath.

“Everything that you have done, has always made me so proud. Proud as your mother, not because of expectations. You’re a wonderful daughter, who I am proud to call my own. I hope that one day, you’ll let me be in your life again. In your daughter’s life. On your own terms, however you want. And if you don’t, that’s okay too.”

The silence was deafening, only the faint sounds of cars fluttering outside as they drove past to cast some sort of noise between the tension of you both. This was the first time in your life that she had ever apologized to you. The first time she had ever shown a flicker of remorse and guilt. The first time you had ever watched her realize the consequences of her own actions in how she chose to raise you.

You wanted to push her away, to tell her to leave and never come back or contact you again.

But you knew—deep down you knew—that you owed it to yourself and maybe even your daughter to try.

“I should get going.”

Her soft voice pulled you from your thoughts, watching in faint fascination as she smoothed her hands down her cashmere sweater and cleared her throat to dispel the awkwardness in the air.

“I’m staying with your uncle. We’ve been trying to reconnect and well—I’ll be here for a few days.”

You ignored the small flicker of hope in your chest, because it didn’t make sense to feel this way. Your mother didn’t deserve a modicum of well wishes or happiness from you and yet the thought of her reaching out again had you fighting the small voice in your head whispering finally to the attention you always craved.

Though only a few words had left your lips, you were suddenly tired. So mentally tired.

“I’ll get out of your hair.”

She offered you a soft smile, the sight pulling at your chest and preventing you from speaking further. She hesitated for a moment longer—a hand lifting as if to reach for you—but instead she tucked it against her chest and left the room without another word.

When the door chime of the studio rung in your ears, you sagged against the basin row behind you, hands reaching back to grip the edge, fingers digging into layers of dried glaze as you squeezed tighter with each beat of your heart.

Thirty years of trauma and only looking your way unless it was for her benefit and now all of a sudden, she was remorseful. If she meant it, you really wouldn’t know unless you gave her a shot.

But right now, you couldn’t think about it.

Right now, the only thoughts on your mind were getting home to take care of Ulani and vent to Kento with free hands and an angry mouth. Kento who you, surprisingly, hadn’t heard from all day.

You faltered at sight of your phone screen, blinking against the chilly November wind as you made your way to the car. You were used to a few messages from Kento throughout the day. While he offered the minimum amount of words in meetings and conversation in his workplace to get the job done, he turned to his phone to vent on any annoyances and to ask your opinion on a certain direction projects on his roster should take. You had left that life, and though marketing no longer flowed through your veins next to caffeine and exhaustion like it used to, it felt freeing to exercise your brain again with things you once embraced so readily.

But right now, you were a little mystified as you noticed only one message from him.

Kento: Hello. I know you’re at Rory’s studio right now but I’m not home and did not want you to be alarmed. I decided to go to the bakery.

Are you still there?

Kento: I am.

Be there soon.

Your heart jumped into the narrow tunnel of your throat, pumping frantically, a loud sloshing in your ears from each beat as you raced to your car and strapped Ulani in her seat.

Since Yu’s death, he had not set foot in the bakery let alone walked along the block that the establishment was built on. Through his journey of grief, he still hadn’t talked about owning the bakery or touched the deed that Yu had given him.

Kaya had done a great job keeping up with the bakery since her husband’s death. And Yu, like the beautiful soul he was, ensured his employees would still have a career in the midst of something going wrong. A fellow bakery owner from his years in culinary school happily took the extra help and Yu’s former employees were still earning a modest living.

Even in death, his kindness would never cease.

The thick curtains only showed slivers of dim light through glass windows as you peered from inside your car. Your stomach was in knots, twisting by the second as you strapped Ulani to you again and walked inside.

The bakery wasn’t big, modest and modern with hints of eclectic and outgoing tones that exuded Yu’s personality. Walls were painted a warm brown, employee of the month pictures and certificates of achievement littered a small section—polaroid pictures of families and neighbors and friends next to them.

The front register was covered with a thin white sheet, the wood counters clean and free of dust, the long glass display case empty and dark. Large chalkboard slabs behind the register on the wall had been scrubbed clean, no longer holding any remnants of Yu’s handwriting to display what goods would be available.

Before, when the bakery was open and bustling, the spaces between cabinets and the center of the small tables inside were adorned with different houseplants that grew throughout the seasons. Long Philodendrons would hang down from the ceiling and trail on the walls like vines; waxy Hoya Carnosas would adorn the tables that Yu would rotate with Peperomias of different shades and size. You remembered the large Fiddle Leaf that would sit in the corner behind the counter, curving over a table meshed against the glass windows that would always offer a warm and cozy cover for whatever lucky person happened to snag the seat. It was his pride and joy, the only plant that responded to his touch. Haibara always loved plants.

But those plants were all gone now—the corners, walls, and tables now bare.

A small part of you hoped that Kaya took them home instead of throwing them away.

Your eyes caught Kento, his tall body leaning stiffly against a wooden counter, his glasses covered gaze directed to the blank chalkboard slabs on the wall. A crisp black long sleeved button up covered muscular arms that were crossed over his chest, dark grey slacks fitting perfectly on legs that ran miles every morning before the sun rose, black expensive Chukka boots that he embellished in occasionally, and his typical silver Cartier watch graced your eyes as you took him in. Broad shoulders rose softly as he pulled the cold air in through his nose, sharp cheekbones curving his face into a somber expression.

Something must have happened.

A thick fog of unease permeated from his presence across the tiled floor of the bakery and to both you and Ulani. The feel of it made you swallow, eyes blinking back a sudden sting as you opened your mouth to say something to him.

Your daughter beat you to it, babbling happily at the sight of her father, the noise cutting through the tension in the room like a knife and wrapping around Kento like a warm blanket. He reacted immediately, his head turning to you both and a small smile curling the ends of his mouth only fractionally as he took you in.

You watched his mouth open, lips parting and twitching before closing altogether. Apprehension colored his features, the strength he had practiced using in his head before your arrival vanishing entirely upon the sight of you.

“Rough day?”

Your voice echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls and making it feel more empty than what it already was, washing over him and filling his lungs to fan flames of newfound confidence. You crossed the empty space between you both, admiring his gracefulness even in the midst of whatever inner turmoil he was going through.

Kento didn’t speak at first, his eyes flickering from yours to down at his daughter as she looked around the room.

“Before you came along, I went to Haibara for almost everything that I was frustrated about. To him, I was a grumpy old man inside of a twenty something year old body who frequently fretted about everything and everyone. But he listened to me anyway. Every day when Gojo was more insufferable than usual or when work was so grating that I felt suffocated, I rambled to him.”

“It’s hard for me to imagine you gushing like a teenager to someone,” you teased, smiling up at him as he fingered a soft lock of Ulani’s hair that poked from her beanie.

“Haibara used bribery to get me to open my mouth,” he muttered in reply, voice colored with sadness and a slight twinge of nostalgia. “This morning I already felt heavier than usual. And it just got worse as the day went along. Meetings ran annoyingly long. Our branch in Niigata is performing below benchmarks and they are pushing back on everything we suggest. To make matters worse, the lovely bento you made for me was upside down when it was time for lunch.”

“How shameful. I worked hard on that,” you goaded, clicking your tongue in fake admonishment as you began to bounce your daughter in place. The small remark seemed to do the trick, a gentle huff leaving his chest in response.

“Normally, I turn to you when I want to voice my worries. But I knew you were busy and before I could even think about it, I was pulling out my phone, texting Yu instead and hitting send. It hit me almost immediately that he’s not here.”

He cleared his throat, cheeks ruddy with embarrassment as he spoke to you. You didn’t offer any words, reading his own cues and placing a hand on his chest, your thumb stroking the fabric slowly to encourage him.

“I brushed it off the first time. But then it happened when one of the higherups asked a question that ran a meeting 15 minutes over. And again, after I put your bento back together. Three messages still delivered but no response, and my chest felt so heavy even though I knew the reason why.”

Dark blonde eyebrows furrowed in frustration, the muscle arching angrily over the curve of his odd glasses. Kento had never believed in any sort of afterlife or spiritual presence. He was ashamed, foolish to think that a friend so precious to him who was long gone could possibly send him something back.

“And that’s why you came here? To think that you could hear him in a place where he always was?” you asked him softly, keeping his attention on you and hoping to smooth the angry crease in his brow.

“It sounds asinine, doesn’t it?”

You shook your head in response, that same hand on his chest reaching up to stroke the soft skin of his face, thumb brushing over a sharp cheekbone. He relaxed into your touch, leaning more into your hand and siphoning the warmth that it brought.

Yu’s presence still bled through the walls of his bakery. Your eyes could see the plants and writing on the chalkboard through a thin veil of reminiscence. The equipment remained shiny from his years of care, the countertops held stains of hard work and wear and tear that seemed to season the dough he used to knead every night before leaving. The air, thick and cold, held echoes of his loud and boisterous yelling as you laughed at a joke with a hand on your once pregnant belly. Vivid memories flashed through your mind like an old reel; him blowing raspberries into the plump cheeks of his daughter’s face and whispering warm words of affection to his wife when he thought no one was listening.

Haibara was everywhere and yet nowhere.

“Did he answer you?” you asked, your own voice tight from the memories.

He chuckled softly from your question; the sound strained even though his shoulders relaxed from their once tense hold. He plucked Ulani from her carrier, kissing her cheek repeatedly until her gummy lips curled into a drool covered smile and her body hiccupped out a harsh giggle.

“He did.”

You didn’t pry further. Whatever words he had for his friend where for him and him alone. You knew he would tell you if you asked, but it felt wrong to do so. So, you simply smiled up at him instead, hoping your body language would convey just how satisfied you were with his progress.

The dim lights of the bakery glinted over his glasses, the tinted lenses offering you a flash of deep set eyes that hadn’t stopped tracing over you since you walked in.

He outlined your features; typical black cotton overalls and white shirt with flicks of dried clay that you wore when throwing, curls pulled up into a messy bun, smooth skin without blemish as you radiated love in his direction.

He had felt hollow all day, his chest carved out with the sharpest knife imaginable and exposed to the open air as frustration and sadness festered along the raw walls of the woundt. Just thinking about Haibara seemed to pull him so low that on days like these it was hard to even see the top of the hole in order to climb out of it.

But you offered that familiar smile, spoke to him with words that held thick layers of affection and comfort that seemed to make the hole in his chest a little less painful. You were a beacon to him, shining bright and unmoving even though the rocky waters of his grief had pressed against you time and time again. You would always be there to offer the answers he needed to hear, even if they stung a little more than usual.

You both freely gave and took from one another, balancing chaos and peace with a harmonious practice that should have taken years to build.

And right now, you were giving him everything he needed in that moment.

So, Kento took; leaning down to slant his lips against yours and leeching away the comfort he had been searching for all day and swallowing it for himself. When he pulled away and sighed against your cheek, placing another kiss on the skin there, his body felt a little less heavy than before.

Later that night, after you had vented your own frustrations about your mother and hours after Ulani had been tucked in bed, you carded your fingers through thick blonde locks while he lay on your sweaty chest. With your steady heartbeat against his ear, Kento pulled in a calming breath for the first time that day.

Just minutes before, his mouth had been hot on your skin, wringing every ounce of adoration from your body that you gave him when his tongue dipped between the crevices of your body and his hips rolled against yours. And now with your strength, he exhaled away his worries and sadness into the warm air of your bedroom, squeezing you closer to him so he could soak up your warmth.

“I wasn’t completely honest with you today.”

It was the first word he had spoken in a while; he was normally somewhat vocal when you both made love, but tonight he was quiet, content to relish in the moans you exhaled against his skin. You didn’t let your mind run away with irrationality and remained quiet, your fingers scratching a spot on his nape that relaxed him further against you.

“Meetings did run long, the Niigata branch is performing below benchmarks, and your bento did fall apart before I could enjoy it. But—well lately I’ve been thinking that…” he trailed off, the rumble of his voice into your skin falling into nothing as he lost the remaining words in his throat. You felt him swallow against you, felt his hands dig a little more into the flesh of your waist, felt his nose press more into the skin of your breast before he pulled in your scent with a deep and shaky breath. “These past few days, I’ve been thinking about fulfilling Yu’s portion of his will—opening the bakery.”

Soft patters of happiness fluttered against your ribcage. You twirled a thick lock between two fingers, ruminating words in your head before speaking.

“Is that what you asked him then? In the bakery? You asked if he thought you were ready?”

He was silent for only a moment before speaking against you. “Yes.”

Nimble fingers traced against you, swirling in no specific way as he fought the urge to swallow his words and turn away from you so he could disregard the conversation and never bring it up again.

He’d gotten this far; he could keep going. He owed it to himself to keep going.

“He told me to stop complaining about the meetings. The Niigata branch will fall in line eventually. Your lovely bento can easily be remade, and…and that yes, yes I’m ready.” His unease was front and center now that the words were out of his mouth, that painful feeling in his chest returning with an intense ebb that made him hold you tighter. “There are still some things that I need to figure out; my job, how I want things to be run, when it will open. But I have time. Plus, I want Ulani to be a few months older, so things are not as intense for us.”

You were elated, your lips pulling into a bright smile as you felt the soft tresses of his hair graze against your fingertips. It had taken him months to get to this moment, and to be honest, you thought it would have been much longer. He climbed over you, his blond tresses falling over his forehead to brush against your own.

“How does that sound?”

You admired him from above, reaching up to stroke his cheek, your thumb sliding along his bottom lip.

“I think that sounds great, Ken.”

That beacon of light shined up at him again, calling for him to come home in the warmth of your embrace where he could stay as long as he wanted.

For the final time that night, he took every morsel of your love, swallowed it down with another press of his lips against yours before he rolled inside of you for more.

***

Your commission for Choso in the weeks following became a real test for how you could balance motherhood. Before Ulani, you could spend hours in your studio, hunched over a pottery wheel or easel and throwing out piece after piece until your fingers ached from dryness and overuse.

But now, you had to throw clay in intervals, short ten minute increments with Ulani doing tummy time or playing with sensory toys on a thick pallet of blankets next to you. Kento offered a small reprieve during his lunch breaks by coming home to help out and soak in as much time with his daughter as he could.

You had to balance perfecting a small collection of works for Choso as well as take care of Ulani, and take care of yourself.

It was exhausting and a small reminder of what you could and couldn’t handle at least while your daughter was at this age.

But the results were worth it.

You relished in the pride of watching Choso smile deeply as he unwrapped a vase of your own design. It was almost as tall as you, but created with a soda firing technique that left the glaze a surprising but beautiful texture that would stand out in his home. Ten pieces to grace his home in whatever way he wanted were unwrapped bit by bit, his black painted fingernails tracing along the sides of each one in childlike fascination as he riffled through.

“These are beautiful. Truly.”

And while you were elated from his response, the check that he wrote held far too many zeros that had you blanching in shock and pushing the piece of paper back towards him. He resisted, black eyebrows pinching in confusion before pressing it more firmly into your hands, curling your fingers around it.

“Get used to this. People would pay so much to have something of yours. Cherish it.”

The smooth texture of the check in your hand felt almost imaginable between your fingers. “Choso, I don’t think I can—”

“I will not give you any less than that. Please don’t think I’m trying to be too generous. All of it is earned. You have such a gift.”

Those same words again echoed in your ears. Kento had uttered those same words as he looked at your work in your old studio in Sendai. Chiyo had spoken them to you as she admired the mural in Ulani’s nursery. Over and over, until it had become too loud and overwhelming that you didn’t have the justification to remain in denial any longer.

***

“You look so fucking good,” Ome squealed the minute she laid eyes on you. The entire day was spent throwing on every outfit you could find and feel comfortable in, trailing over your figure and fighting subconscious thoughts with every article of clothing you put on. Ulani, while an admirer of yourself, offered nothing but incoherent babbling that seemed to bring a small smile to your face in the midst of your inner turmoil.

It had taken you hours, but you could truly admit that you looked hot.

The one sleeve long black maxi dress hugged your body enough to show off your curves gained from motherhood without being too tight. The high slit up the side exposed the expanse of a smooth brown leg, your skin glowing in the light of your room as you turned to admire yourself. Your curls were tucked away and slicked back into a neat bun, the baby hairs of your edges smoothed down and curled against the skin of your hairline. Classic gold hoops adorned your ears and a double layer herringbone gold chain sat against the skin of your collarbone. You were fastening the ankle strap of your three inch chunky heels when Ome walked into your room.

Ome filled out her halter neck midi dress so well. Growing up, she was always a bit curvier than you were. She was never insecure with her body and she flaunted it when she could. The dress stopped right before her knees, dark chocolate skin strapped with stiletto heels and a gold ankle bracelet. Her 4c hair was styled into a neat high bun with two thick strands of her hair tightly braided to frame each side of her face in its own creation of bangs.

“You look fucking good,” you retorted playfully, smoothing invisible wrinkles from your dress before sitting down at your vanity.

“I know.”

You snorted against the firm glide of eyeliner, completing a classic cat eye on both sides before throwing her a glare through the mirror.

“You and Gojo are just alike, its uncanny. Is he your date tonight?” The teasing inflection in your tone earned you a heatless glare, beautiful silver eyes rolling dramatically at your jest.

“Fuck you.”

“So that’s a yes.”

Your eyes stayed locked with hers through the mirror as you ran a thin layer of gloss over your lips.

“I’ll have you know that this is our third date, so—”

“Three dates and still no pipe? Damn that’s crazy.”

You expected a biting remark in response, expected her to cuss over an insult that you would both laugh at. But Ome narrowed her eyes instead, pursing beautiful lips before she sauntered to where you sat.

“It’s funny…I’ve noticed a few things. You’ve got on a sexy ass dress, high heels, you have on your favorite perfume and you look unbelievably happy and comfortable.” Ome threw you a look. “Kento must be dicking. You. Down.”

You swatted at her as if she were an annoying pest even though the loud laughter shaking from your chest told her everything she needed to know.

“I heard my name.”

The man himself was suddenly leaning against the doorframe of your room, a beautiful brow lifted in question. You swallowed the groan as you soaked in his dark brown ribbed knit top that was loosely tucked into white slacks, short sleeves hugging his biceps perfectly. Your eyes traced along thick and veiny forearms as he crossed his arms over his chest, a well-cared for black Rolex winking at you from his wrist. His hair was parted and gelled in its usual style, but he had forgone the glasses, and his serious gaze was as intense as ever as he narrowed them playfully at you.

God if you didn’t have anywhere to go, you would be on your knees in a second.

“What have I done?”

You were quick, shooting Ome wide eyes, mouth loaded with an admonishing retort. “Ome don’t—”

��I was telling her how good she looked. She seems more happy than usual and she’s finally getting more comfortable with that new mommy body..so I assumed you’ve been putting her to sleep.”

Why did you even bother with her?

Kento hummed softly, pursing his lips as if in thought before chuckling softly to himself.

“Well I’m glad my efforts are paying off.”

You gawked, blushing furiously and barking an insult at Ome as she threw her head back and guffawed into the air.

***

Rory’s exhibits were usually lavish—at least lavish for a small town like Yoyogi. But this was another level entirely. Choso exuded his status in the ceramic world. Artists that you had grown up studying in your spare time and only dreamt of meeting were within walking distance. Waiters dressed in sleek black uniforms floated along marble floors with plates of champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres. Faint notes of classical impressionist music wafted through the air, created an atmosphere of sophistication and wealth as you took in each piece. The unease of being out of place was thick in your stomach upon your arrival, but all too quickly Kento’s presence was enough to make you forget about it all.

Because Kento, like the clingy man he was, couldn’t go five minutes without his hands on you. Familiar fingers skimmed along the slope of your exposed shoulder as you leaned over to inspect one of Choso’s monolith sculptures. A firm hand caressed the curve of your waist and the small of your back to lead you through the crowd of people when you were ready to proceed to the next pillar. Ever the soft man he was, ever the gentleman, but still always within reach.

And it was true, Kento prided himself on being a gentleman and upheld that standard every single day.

But tonight, he was slipping and since he set eyes on you in your room earlier, he was itching to get you alone.

You��d been turning heads all night and had been too happy and absorbed in your own world to notice. You smiled up at him as you explained Choso’s firing and glazing techniques. You pulled Ome and Chiyo about the room to show them your favorite pieces. The low lights against your creamy brown skin seemed to make you glow. Your perfume had his mind hazy and resisting the urge to bury his nose into your neck. With every gentle click of your heels against the floor, the black dress he had been undressing all night in his mind showed long expanses of your leg and thigh. You were the most exotic and ethereal creature in the room.

And all his.

Before you, Kento had been satisfied with his lack of jealousy. He knew his worth and what he wanted in a companion; and when the moment came, he knew that she had chosen him for a reason.

But that was before you had come storming into his life. Talented and teasing and beautiful.

So, when he caught the slimy purple eyes of a scrawny man with long blonde hair looking at your ass for a third time that night, he couldn’t deny the slight twinge of discontent that flared inside of him.

“Squeezing me a little tight there,” you spoke softly, chuckling with an uneasy gaze as Kento locked eyes with someone behind you. His hold on your hip loosened, narrow eyes blinking down in your direction before he offered a soft apology. His face was colored with a thin veil of annoyance and irritation, and while never directed at you, it was still rare to see in your presence.

“Is someone bothering you?” You made to turn around, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever seemed to put a frown on your boyfriend’s face. But instead, his hand slid against your cheek, palming the skin to stroke with his thumb and directing your gaze back to him. Expression softening but still holding a glint of anger, a small smile fell on his features.

“It’s nothing and I don’t want you thinking about anything else other than this. Choso gave you VIP tickets for his own exhibit and now you’re finally here. Enjoy it.” He ran his thumb over your eyebrows, smoothing away the sharp dip in them both to erase as much confusion from your face as possible. “As I recall, you still have five more pillars to show me.”

That did the trick. With a faux glower up at him, you laced your fingers through his and pulled him along.

Half an hour later, you were fully engrossed in a conversation with Kento when you heard Choso speaking from the front of the room. You didn’t pay too much attention, your mind elsewhere as he thanked everyone for coming, spoke about the inspiration behind this year’s collection, and listed those who had offered their unwavering support.

“This year, I wanted to add something new to my collection. An artist that I collaborated with that I hope you all will enjoy.”

The pillar next to him was covered in a black sheet. Throughout the night, your eyes had lingered on what it could have been, but you didn’t give it much thought. Choso lifted the sheet, unsheathing the contents beneath.

Kento’s hum of surprise should have been your first indication that what you were looking at wasn’t in your imagination. You blinked once, squinting and trying to recall faint memories of yourself to test your cognition and ensure you were in your right mind. The pieces looked familiar. Vaguely you remembered sketching, throwing and glazing them yourself.

But that couldn’t be. You had packed them up and given them to Choso just a week prior.

Your ears felt like cotton had been rammed inside, the faint words from Choso’s mouth and mutters from the crowd around you muffled and stuffy.

“It’s hard to find artists who understand your passion. Even harder to find those who have said passion and can convey beautiful things with nothing at all. These pieces belong to a friend that I’ve only recently made. They are not for sale, so don’t ask or berate her. But I owe these all to F/n, l/n.”

The bottom of your heels felt rooted to the spot, sinking into the marble floor as Choso’s gaze locked with yours, and the people around you turned to follow suit. He hadn’t called you. That wasn’t your work on the shiny black stone pillar. Surely you were dreaming. You were dreaming that the eyes directed at you and the soft applause garnered your way was a small snippet of something you would remember when you woke up.

Kento’s hands gently cradled your upper arms, rubbing and ushering you forward with a slight chuckle behind you. You were on autopilot as you took timid steps to stand next to Choso, beads of sweat cold on the back of your neck once with the sudden and dreadful realization that you were now the center of attention. You didn’t know what to say, your mind was still trying to keep up, heart beating hard against your ribcage, mouth dry and sticky.

You bowed softly, muttering an embarrassed and soft thank you before the room broke into applause again. Your eyes traced over your pieces as they lay in front of you, shiny and brand new and reflecting just how hard you had worked.

“I’m sorry to have put you on the spot,” Choso admitted, his voice tunneling through the dying sounds of ringing in your ears as you blinked back into the present. “I honestly didn’t plan to make a collaboration. But the minute Yuji showed me your page, I had to. I also knew that if I told you my plan, you might have created something with the goal of impressing, not being genuine.” Deep purple eyes flickered up to Kento who stood silently beside you. “I’m afraid I’ve broken her.”

You couldn’t help the chuckle that rattled from the tight confines of your chest, shaking you firmly and making you aware of the crowd that had dispersed and the lingering people who eyed your work from afar.

The path to get to this exact moment had suddenly been carved up, rooted from its spot in firm soil that you had patted down yourself and paved over with material you weren’t familiar with.

Build a small following, take on commissions until you gained your confidence, and then just hope that you would have a lucky break one day.

Clean cut and simple, even if a little modest compared to your intense disposition for hard work.

But Choso had given the order to carve up that path, pulled you to the side with a vague distraction of a commission that you thought would sit privately in his house, and then placed you back on shiny floors and only a few steps from your goal.

“Excuse me?”

The voice, deep and feminine, pulled you once again from your anxious thoughts. And when you saw her, your heart gave what felt like the millionth lurch of the night. You had studied her work alongside Choso’s and so many prolific artists in your intense years of college, had tried to make your own sketches from the sight of her pictures that she posted online, had admired her from afar all night and been too shy to introduce yourself. Yuki Tsukumo, a decade older than you with twice as much experience and classical training, stood in front of you with flowing blonde hair and a red dress that clung to a strong and lean figure.

“I hate to interrupt, but I wanted to snag you before others did. I’d love to know your process.”

Your mouth opened, then closed again, neurons in your brain misfiring and the command to speak lost in the midst.

Thumbs from Kento’s hands still on your shoulders stroked against your skin, spreading warmth with each pass.

“My love, your mouth is open, but no words are coming out.”

“R-right!” you squeaked, blushing furiously and pushing through the thick bushels of embarrassment in your chest, grabbing the small nestle of courage inside before you opened your mouth to speak.

“I don’t know what to say,” you whispered to Choso an hour later, your voice thick and heavy with overwhelming emotion.

The exhibit was still in full swing, but you’d finally been given a small morsel of time by yourself. Sweaty hands clutched a stack of business cards; Yuki Tsukumo at the top, four more famous artists beneath, and a plethora of attendees at the bottom. All with their contact information, all pressed delicately into your hands with the wish for you to contact them and set up time for a commission. All curious to know more about you, marveling at your process and inspiration, fascinated by you.

The confusion of it all had passed by the time Yuki gave you a warm hug with a promise to get lunch with you the next time she was in town. Such a trivial thing to say from someone so revered in the world that you were barely dipping your toes in.

Pale hands covered yours, the fresh black polish of Choso’s fingernails shining up at you against the dim lights in the room. He squeezed, pulsing warmth into sweaty and tingly fingers.

“Surely, you wanted to get this far?” You swallowed, your throat contracting around a painful ball of emotion in your throat that was threatening to crawl up and out of your mouth. “Everyone in this room; Yuki, the other ceramic artists who I invited, even your uncle, are all people who have worked hard to get here. I don’t entertain myself with those who boost the confidence of others of the same status, just for glorification. You are unique and I want to keep you in my little circle of unique people for as long as I can, so you come out into our world still holding pieces of yourself. There’s no need to be shy. I’m sure you have work in your own studio that you probably never thought would see the light of day. And yet here you are.”

Echoes of none too distant memories were suddenly flashing in your mind; Kento guiding you along Rory’s exhibit just months prior, listening to you gush about your uncle’s work and brushing away all attempts of Kento boosting confidence in yourself.

“Where do you think you get the trait from? You have work in your studio that could be sitting right on these pillars tonight.”

“I will say it until you begin to realize and then continue to do so; you have a gift.”

Emotion that was once bubbling in your belly, surged up into your chest, pressing against the bone of your sternum until it began to splinter, seeping through the cracks and trailing hot overwhelming waves of pride through your veins. The force of it made you pull in a deep inhale, eyes blinking rapidly to oust the faint traces of tears along your lashes.

“Thank you,” your voice was a little stronger, but you couldn’t trust yourself to say much more without bursting into tears.

So, you didn’t.

And Choso, who could see the rising flood of emotion in your eyes, brought still clasped hands to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles. His tired eyes caught Yuki far behind you, shyly admiring her form while she talked to Rory, mustering courage he had cultivated for years in her presence but never opening his mouth enough to use it. He excused himself and meandered timidly in her direction.

The hum of everyone around you settled your nerves and you used the lull in privacy to take deep-seated breaths into your lungs to shackle yourself into the present. And when you finally turned around to face out into the crowd, you fell short when a man blocked your way.

There wasn’t much to him; average height but still a little taller than you, long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail on the left side of his head, deep purple eyes that looked a little more unnerving than sincere.

He was kind with a gentle disposition despite the three faint markings beneath each eye. And as he fumbled over compliments of your work and explained how much he wished he had enough time in his busy schedule to frequent galleries, your eyes flickered past him in search of Kento so you could make your way over when this conversation was done.

Said man was already on his way, pushing down waves of indignation as the man rested a hand on your shoulder. He told himself to be calm, to focus his attention on his mother as she asked about Ulani and work, to reason that you knew exactly what you were doing.

He didn’t doubt you—would never doubt you. You didn’t need anyone to speak for you.

But the man in front of you had leered at you one too many times when you weren’t looking, had slithered his eyes over Kento’s own hand that caressed your waist. He felt unhinged responding to the frustration in his chest and hated how freely he rode with the primal urge in his veins to make sure everyone in this room knew you were his.

“There you are, love.” Kento was suddenly by your side, interrupting the man—who he found out was named Haruta Shigemo—and wrapping a muscular arm around your waist. Shigemo’s purple pupils flickered down at your waist, taking in the way Kento’s hand lay against your curves in loud but also silent exclamation that this was a battle Kento would always win unless you cast him out.

In only a few short seconds, you had taken in all you needed from their silent but heated battle with each other. You fought the urge to roll your eyes and made your way past Shigemo, muttering how nice it was to meet him before wading into the crowd toward your family and friends.

Rory had to practically shove you inside of the car when it was time to leave.

“You both are either working or taking care of your daughter, have a night to yourselves. I’ve taken care of you plenty of times when you were a baby, I can do the same for Ulani. Have a nice night, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

He kissed your cheek goodnight before you could protest any further and Ome was already leaning down to speak to you through the open window, blocking you from trying to escape.

“I’m so proud of you,” Ome whispered, raspy voice low and airy, admiring you with years of affection that only you would ever receive. “And I love you.”

“Love you too, Ome.”

“You deserve to be celebrated.” The gentle moment didn’t last for long, with a heavy clearing of her throat, she threw an elegantly arched brow in your direction. You could taste the beginnings of an inappropriate remark, loaded in her mouth with a stench that you could smell a mile away. “So, remember, whatever you can’t fit into your mouth, use your hand. Twist the wrist as you come up and—”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you hissed playfully, swatting at her through the open window.

***

The cityscape was breathtaking, with the moon shining through high clouds and a sprinkle of snow beginning to fall, all of Nakameguro had been cast into silence as it settled in for the night. Distant notes of one of Kento’s records floated about his living room, sliding against the books on his overcrowded bookshelf, dancing over the vacant and plush long sofa you used to sink into, and then over to you, wrapping around your body like the warmest blanket you could ever imagine.

You pulled in a long breath, the warm air drifting down your throat and into your lungs, expanding your chest with fluttering sensations of happiness. You were happy. So truly happy and proud of how far you’d come from your own hard work and the people who had walked into your life.

“Ulani is perfectly fine,” Kento called from the hallway, his low and always commanding voice growing closer as he made his way across the room. “Megumi says that she was amazing with him and Rory is already reading her a book before he gets her ready for bed.”

“Megumi would be the type to prefer babysitting over socializing.”

“Gojo practically raised him. Came into his life our senior year of high school. He’s the complete antithesis of Gojo. Thank god.”

You snorted, elbowing his arm when he slunk up next to you. “You should have let me speak to her.”

Kento rolled his eyes dramatically. “Darling, she has no idea what a phone is or how it works. Hearing your voice but not seeing you would only have made her cry.”

“Will you humor me for once!” You giggled up at him, smacking him on the bicep again and ignoring the way your fingers carded around muscle. “Besides, I’m a little upset with you anyway.”

You weren’t, but it was funny to see dark blonde eyebrows furrow mildly even though brown eyes flashed back at you with equal mirth.

“And what have I done to upset you?” Long fingers pressed against your necklace to smooth out the kinks, calloused fingertips dragging goosebumps along your skin.

“I saw the way you looked at Shigemo.”

“So he has a name,” he muttered, eyes focused on the movement of his fingers, ignoring the tumultuous waves of insecurity in his chest as you chuckled weakly up at him.

“My, my. Nanami Kento, Director of Strategic Partnerships, are you jealous—”

“No,” he interrupted, deep and low timbre of a voice firm and resolute. Stoic mahogany eyes commanded your attention, holding you tight with invisible hands on your hips. “I’m not a jealous man. But I am protective, especially of you.”

You couldn’t help the severity of your eyes rolling from his response.

“I don’t need you to protect me, Ken. I can take care of myself. Which, yes, I know that you understand that. But he was only being nice—”

“Nice or not,” cutting you off, voice suddenly icy and face flaring with a hint of anger before it washed away. “He did nothing but leer at you all night. Every time I saw him, his eyes couldn’t help but stare right at your ass or the way I held you. I was being protective because he made me uneasy. I should have told you when I first saw but I didn’t want to distract you from your night. I’m sorry. I truly didn’t mean to upset you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, pulling your gaze from him as you let his words sink into your skin. The furrow between his brows deepened, skin wrinkling with frustration in himself as the silence stretched further. He couldn’t look at you; being caught was embarrassing enough. So he kept his gaze on the faint shine of your necklace instead, dragging a fingertip along the unique surface.

“How can I make it up to you?” he asked, tone somber and shy.

For once when it came to sex, you could make him fluster. You could make him blush like a schoolboy and fumble over his words. You both were always in control when fucking; giving and taking every time. But he always held a sway over you that could make you relax into his words and embrace.

So you were going to enjoy this.

“I’m not so sure, Kento,” you began, jutting your chin up at him, radiating defiance as much as you could. Umber irises snapped up from your necklace, smoldering in their heated gaze as he began to taste the shift in the air. “First Pia and now this? Your offenses are stacking up. You’ll need to really show me how sorry you are.”

You should have planned this better, should have thought of your comebacks a little more thoroughly in your head before the words left your mouth. Because with just one step in your direction even though you both were already so close, your chest was constricting like a vice as you held your breath and staggered slowly back.

Cold glass against the exposed parts of your back made you gasp, the icy touch bringing a tingly rise of goosebumps up your spine. He towered over you, casting a tight cocoon of his rich cologne that was thickening from the growing heat between you both. Kento reached for you, sliding a large palm up the side of your body, dipping and rising with the map of your curves, the side of your breast, over the exposed skin of your clavicle and then to rest on the side of your neck. A rough thumb ran along the plushness of your bottom lip and then he was looking at you again, gentle affection now slowly brewing into something else.

“May I?” he asked, darting his eyes down at your lips to ask for permission.

“I…I suppose you can,” you whispered, voice small and shy. His hold on the side of your neck slid around to your nape, tightening slightly before pulling your head back to look up at him.

He didn’t speak, his presence all over you, suffocating you slowly, pulling you under a rush of waves that you knew you wouldn’t rise from for a very long time. Mingled breath of champagne from him and peppermint from your lip gloss danced between your lips, cold and electrifying as he exhaled softly into you and molded himself to you, brushing a thick tongue along your bottom lip before you granted him access. He used his hold on your neck to angle you up more toward him, opening yourself up more so that he could take and show just how much he was willing to give back. Another hand against the dip in your waist gripped firmly with a scalding touch that began to burn through the fabric of your dress.

That defiance you had culminated in only a short time as means of a joke evaporated the moment his lips pressed against yours. Because now you were falling, sighing softly into the air from the wet brush of his lips against the side of your neck and then down. Down and along the skin of your collarbone, over the tops of your breasts before he returned back to your lips, stealing what little remained in your lungs. Heavy breathing against your own, his clothed chest brushed against you as he pecked your lips once, and then again before slowly descending down to rest on his knees in front of you.

The sight of him below you, ready to worship had your heart racing, going a mile a minute in your chest and then stuttering when you felt a hot hand on the skin of your leg. He trailed it upwards, mapping out the saphenous veins just underneath your skin and brushing the high slit of your dress out of his way. A subtle squeeze on your knee and an even firmer grip into the fat of your thigh before he was throwing the exposed leg over his shoulder, opening you up to him. Your cunt fluttered beneath black panties from Kento’s transfixed gaze, blown out pupils burning through the thin layer of insecurity over you.

He pressed a soft kiss to your panty covered clit, dragged his thick tongue along the cloth, the touch electrifying enough to pull a yelp of surprise from your lips and smack hands against the cold glass pressing into your back. You felt the air of the room hit your core again, sharper this time from Kento’s act of pulling your panties to the side.

“Look at you baby, you’re dripping. You’re so wet, darling. So, so wet for me.”

Without his eyes on you, it gave you time to compose yourself through the storm of lust that had taken root inside of you. But it didn’t last long; with a firm squeeze to your thigh again, he silently commanded you. And like so many times before when you were incoherent from the touch of him, you obeyed and looked down, eyes locked with his as he licked along the slit of your pussy from entrance to clit.

The moan that left your lips was louder than you intended, eyes shutting tight instantly as pleasure shot up from the base of your spine and grasped at the back of your neck. Kento ate you out like a man starved, long and thick tongue swirling around your clit in a gentle touch before plunging between your folds to dip inside of you. You let the whine in the back of your throat free, combing a hand through thick blonde strands and tightening hard in a silent demand for more.

One finger slid into you, wet from your slick and pumping languidly with the ebb and flow of your moans; then two, then three. You loved the stretch, hated waiting so long for that final finger so they could curl against the spot inside of you that had both hands now knuckle tight in his hair. His thick tongue flicked against your clit, pulling it into his mouth before sucking hard, fingers scissoring and curling inside of you with a practiced touch that made you arch against the glass and drag your head along the surface.

He brushed against that spot in you once, and then again, and again with eyes never leaving the reactions of your body; your stomach clenching as you felt your walls squeeze his fingers, your arms beginning to shake as the familiar heat of an orgasm rose from the base of your spine. You shook out another moan, willpower to control your volume slipping entirely. You whined, higher and higher, the pleasure crawling up your skin, leaving hot searing promises of euphoria in its wake.

And with a sharp curl of his fingers and another firm suck of his mouth on your clit, your orgasm pulled from behind your belly button; your muscles pulling tight and voice shaking from your throat as you moaned his name harsh and loud into the air.

With languid licks and fingers slowing in their intensity, he worked you down from your high with the gentle caress you knew and loved. When you mustered up enough breath to swallow without struggle and finally look down at him, it was no surprise of the hunger that shot back your way. You moaned from the feel of his fingers sliding out of you and flinched when he pressed another soft kiss to your puffy pussy before he stood to tower over you again.

Your eyes stayed locked on his as you grabbed his hand, bringing slick covered fingers to your own mouth and remaining deadlocked with your gaze as you swirled your tongue around the digits and sucked his fingers clean. His exhale from the action was burning against you, long and deep with a hiss in the back of his throat as he watched the pink of your tongue dip between his fingers.

You smiled softly—teasingly as always—against his hand.

“Take me to bed.”

And that’s how you found yourself only seconds later, standing in front of his large and wide bed and shuddering from his touch as he pulled the zipper of your dress down and moved you to sit on the bed. You made to reach for your heels, completely forgotten since walking into his apartment when—

“Keep them on,” he rumbled at you, eyes caressing every inch of exposed skin as you shrugged off your bra and slid back until your head was resting on plush pillows. With hands unbuttoning his shirt, he whispered softly across the room. “You know what to do. Spread those legs for me, baby.”

Digging your teeth into you bottom lip, you followed his command, spreading your legs and digging your heels into his sheets, opening yourself up for him and pushing your panties to the side before he could ask. That familiar flare of impatience you often felt during sex licked up your chest, taking over your body so that you could reach down and begin to rub circles on your clit.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” you whined, holding in a chuckle as he fumbled with the belt and zipper of his hands and yanked them down with his boxers. In all his nakedness with corded muscle and a thin downy trail that led to a familiar thick cock hanging between his legs, you felt your pussy flutter from the sight of him, still circling your clit languidly as he crawled on the bed towards you.

“Fuck me, Ken.”

He hissed out a sharp curse, trailing wet lips up the skin of your thighs, up the twitching muscles of your stomach, a hot swipe of his tongue along the underside of your breasts before circling a nipple into his waiting mouth. The muscle, thick and wet pressed and flicked against you, a hand coming to knead and pinch your other breast to make sure nothing is without his touch. You arched against him, sighed softly into his caress, bucked your hips with every flick of his tongue against your nipple. When he alternated with an even more gentle touch, you whined for him, beckoning him to give you the throbbing cock that hung between his legs, desperate in your pleasure.

He responded to your call like always, angling muscular hips toward you. The first touch of him against you was always jarring, and you jumped for a second before he smoothed away your nerves with a velvety kiss and a hand on your hip before pushing into you slowly. The hand not on your hip reached up to cradle the side of your neck, a thumb stroking your cheek again to keep himself in check and blink through the nasty thoughts in his head as you clenched and squeezed around him. No matter how many times you had both done this, the feel of you around him had his mind scrambling for purchase in sanity.

You dug manicured fingernails into his back, whimpering in impatience and titling your hips so that he could slide further into you. The rock of his hips was sinful, and your eyes were rolling into the back of your head as he began to pick up his pace minutes later. He was so hot against you, so overwhelming and all-encompassing and here, here right now inside of you, giving you everything without having to say a word.

He knew every inch of you, every crevice, every scar, every mole and dusting of hair. But every single time you were beneath him, the beauty of you had his chest drawing tight, painful and squeezing, mind overwhelmed with the thought that this was real. From the sound of you panting and moaning into the air between you both, the feel of your fingernails digging into his back, the sight of the frizz of your hair that was still in a bun and the sheen of sweat that was beginning to form along the skin of your neck and between your breasts that bounced with each pump of him inside of you…you were—

“Beautiful,” he whispered, tilting your hips and angling his thrusts in a way that had you moaning sharply and arching into him. Your back curved up into him, panting harshly in disbelief and shuddering as he found the one spot you needed to take you to a blissful finish.

“Ken—,” you hiccupped, trying to seek purchase on his sweaty back, fingers slipping as he pulled away to sit up on his knees. Large hands on your hips pulled you softly towards him before hooking behind your knees and pushing them towards your chest. You were open, sweaty and gushing your slick around his cock, cheeks hot with embarrassment at being so exposed but mind hazy and numb with pleasure. The stroke of him in you felt more full, more splitting and he was able to curve and dip against that spongy spot with ease.

Your hands reached over your head, fingers digging into the soft fabric of his pillows to tether yourself as much as you could.

You hated how quickly you could fall apart, how quickly you could glare and challenge him but be a moaning mess only seconds later. You hated that he knew just what to do.

Fuck, you’re a terrible liar.

“You always take me so well, baby. I love looking at you like this. So fucking beautiful. The prettiest little thing I’ll ever have. That I’ll ever want.”

Burning at the base of your spine was quick to bubble to the surface, breaking past the veil from your previous orgasm and sliding over the edges of your muscles to pull them tight. Your cunt fluttered around him, spasmed with each smack of his hips against yours, the sound of skin on skin echoing in his large bedroom and each brush of his lower abdominals against your clit had you moaning tightly and arching your back to press your head into the pillows.

The sounds of his low groans between you, the sight of your knees pushed into your chest, folding you into a mating press as he fucked you hard and deep, your heels rocking limply with each thrust, it was hitting a spot in your mind and within your cunt that had you choking on a moan as vestiges of an orgasm fluttered to life in your lower belly.

“Fuck Kento—” you choked, words falling short from the tension in your stomach and lower back. He never needed you to say it out loud. He knew you, inside and out, with every thrust and bead of sweat and pitch in your sounds. A hand slid down the spread of a sweaty leg, trailing burning and heavy on your skin before a thumb began to rub circles on your clit. You moaned loud in response, unashamed of the volume. “Please.”

“I’ve got you, love,” he panted against you, slanting his lips against your panting ones, swallowing your moans before he pulled away and licked your bottom lip. “Cum for me. Let go and make a mess all over me.”

He applied a little more pressure to your clit, kept up the same tempo and between that and the feel of his cock hitting you in just the way you liked, you were curling your toes in your heels, arching your back and shouting into the air. Your orgasm snapped like a rubber band, sharp and slapping on the ends before falling into the hot lava in your belly. The tempo of his thrusts slowed, lips parted as he whispered soft praises of—That’s it. Such a good girl. Take everything you need— into the space between your lips.

You were floating, smiling loosely up at him and curving your neck to give him access to press hushed affection into your skin. Even though you were blissed out beyond belief, you could see the lust still in his eyes, blown out pupils straining from holding back his own orgasm.

Wordlessly, you pushed him away, sighing pleasantly as he slid out of you. Your limbs were heavy and begging you to slip beneath the covers and sleep; but instead you rolled onto your hands and knees, arching until your chest pressed into the sheets and smiling confidently from the sound of him behind you.

“Shit,” he hissed, praying to whomever would listen for the woman in his bed, sinful black heels, a delicious arch in her back, creamy brown legs spread, panties soaked and pushed to the side, and a wet pussy winking at him. Kento watched in disbelief as you reached between your legs to spread yourself, pulling puffy folds of your pussy apart and chuckling softly from the vacant look in his eyes.

“You’re supposed to be showing me how sorry you are,” you muttered, eyes hooded as you watched him grab the base of his cock to stave off coming before making his way to you; pressing a hand against the cleft of your ass while the other gathered your slick on his cock and he slid home.

Within minutes, the faint traces of overstimulation from your last orgasm had bled into reawakening embers of the one you were about to experience. Kento slid a hand along your skin, snapping the edge of your panties against your hip before carding through the thin layer of sweat in the dip of your spine. His thrusts were unchanging, never ceasing even as he dug fingers into your neat bun and pulled your curls loose. They cascaded over your shoulders and his fingers carded through the tresses and around your neck, sliding against your cheek and jaw and pulling you up onto your hands so he could turn your head to the side and look at him.

Blonde hair was messy and matted to his forehead, free from its gel and sophisticated part and falling over to graze the tops of his serious eyes.

He was so beautiful. Even panting and red faced and a crazed look in his eyes, he was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

“The sight of that man did make me angry,” he panted calmly against your lips. “He leered and ogled at you like he wanted to do the nastiest things. And while I was protective of you, I was never jealous. I have no reason to be. Do you know why?”

You shook your head, breaths shaking out from your lungs from the force of his thrusts. Cooling lava began to heat again from the look that he gave you.

“I have no reason to be because even if you ever gave him the chance, he would have no idea what to do.” Your pussy clenched hard around him from the implication of his words and he smiled around a groan before he slid a hot tongue along the skin of your shoulder before biting into the crease of your neck. You yelped. “He doesn’t know that you like to be talked through it, probably wouldn’t even know what to say. He doesn’t know that you need three fingers to stretch you open or that you like a tongue sliding on your skin and your ass slapped when you’re getting it just the way you want.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Your hooded eyes were wide with disbelief as you panted and whimpered against his lips. Umber irises were thin rings as he spoke, his words filled with growing filth, but his expression just as calm and loving and serene.

“Shigemo can’t handle your nails down his back or the way you squeeze just right when I’m whispering in your ear. He couldn’t handle giving you the three, four, five orgasms you deserve before he’s had his fill.” He kissed you gently, a blatant contrast to the way his hips were smacking against the back of yours. “He doesn’t know any of it. He couldn’t handle any of it. But I do…and I can. Isn’t that right, baby?” You nodded furiously, blushing in every way imaginable, bashful from his words even though he was fucking you like you were being paid for it.

Unsatisfied with your lack of verbal response, he smacked your ass, the sound loud and feel stinging and surging with heat and pleasure that had you whimpering sharply against him.

“Yes! Y-yes, Ken—fuck!”

He hummed against you, kissing the skin of your shoulder in satisfaction. “Talk to me. Tell me what I can do better, baby.”

You shook your head quickly, curly tresses brushing against your cheeks and jolting from the thrusts of the man between your legs. The lava was hot again, oozing in the pit of your belly, bubbling and boiling over and fraying your nervous system to the point that your muscles were beginning to stiffen in response.

“Nothing better. It feels so good…you feel so good. Please, Kento.”

“Who’s fucking you right now?”

“You are..!” you whimpered, your thighs beginning to shake and your pussy tightening around him from his words and thrusts.

The room was filled with the sound of skin on skin, the panting from your mouths, the whimpers and moans from your throat against his groans, and the sound of the headboard slapping against his wall. Vaguely, you thought of neighbors, but then you realized he had none and you could moan wantonly for as long as you wanted in his penthouse suite in the clouds of Nakameguro.

“Who always makes you feel this good?”

“You do—fuck, Ken!”

“Why?”

“Because you want me,” you whined, eyes filling with emotional tears and pleasure and need.

A hard thrust.

“Why, y/n.”

“Because you love me.” Another hard thrust and a squeak from your lips. “And I love you.”

“That’s my girl,” he exhaled into you, satisfaction and affection bleeding from his skin and onto your back. He guided you to arch your back again, letting you relax your cheek into the pillows before he picked up the pace inside of you with a hard grip on your hips and faint praises and kisses on your skin.

You were on fire, burning from the inside out as you crept closer and closer to coming harder than you ever had before. He had never spoken to you like this, had never teetered the line between aggression and lavish affection.

It was a foreign feeling, but you loved it.

You loved the way his teeth bit into your skin, loved the way he showered you with worship in the most outlandish way, loved the way muscular hips smacked against yours and the sound of faint moans leaving his own breath as he got closer to his end. A hand in your curls and a gentle tug made him pull your head back by your hair, arching into the sheets and bringing your growing moans into the air of his room.

You prayed to the gods that this orgasm would break the record for the most powerful that you would ever feel. There was no way you wouldn’t get there. Not when he was grabbing you just right, saying the right words, fucking you so well that you were convinced the cloudiness in your vision wasn’t tears anymore.

A harsh grunt from his lips and his fingers against your clit had your body clenching further and your fingers digging into the sheets below you.

“Cum for me, baby. Give me one more. One more for me, please and I’ll give you everything.”

You didn’t need much more encouragement. From the wet movements on your clit and the thick cock making a home inside of you, that cord of pleasure broke with little force and the waves that rushed through had you choking on a wail and shuddering to a degree that had yourself concerned. Your blood was pumping in your ears, sloshing and fast and muffling the sound of him groaning against the skin of your neck as he pumped with renewed fervor inside of you.

He was close, so close and sweaty and sloppy in his movements, balls drawing tight against him and a tingling along his skin. The feel of you tight and hot and even more wet around him made his blood boil and his lower back ache.

“Give it to me, Ken,” you turned your head and whispered against his lips, sweaty and satisfied. “Tear this pussy up and fill me to the brim.”

The nastiness of your words caught him by surprise and only catapulted him to his end, his orgasm ripping from the base of his spine as he twitched and tensed and spilled inside of you with a harsh moan and deep bite to the side of your neck. The sound of him moaning harshly faded into sighs against you, his teeth in your neck pulling away with a feel of his tongue sliding over the marks. He was shaking against your back as you relaxed into the sheets, basking in the warmth from him and the growing ache in your body.

When he could feel the air in his lungs again, and when the suddenly cold air against his sweaty skin made him shiver for a different reason, he slid out of you slowly, locking away the sound of your pleasant sigh as he did so. He sagged into the sheets, planting face first before turning his head to look at you. Your own cheek was pressed into his pillows, faint hints of eucalyptus and woodsy cologne tickling your nose as you blinked blearily at him and smiled gently.

You wanted to throw a little comment his way, a joke to make the moment weird like you usually did after sex. But just like Ome had annoyingly teased earlier today, Kento had dicked you down whole heartedly and thoroughly that you rolled your eyes from the smug look on his face.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” he mumbled against you, chest rumbling along the skin of your back. You reach down into the hot water to grab the large hand once on your thigh. Pulling it out of the water with yours, watching as droplets fell off his smooth skin and back into the tub with you both, you carded your fingers through his.

“You fucked me pretty good.”

He snorted against the skin of your shoulder, watching as you wiggled your fingers between the crevices of his own.

“Don’t be crude.”

“Compared to what you were whispering in my ear as you fucked me within an inch of my life? Don’t even.” Kento chuckled, harsh and loud, rare and treasured that made you smile from the sound. “To be honest…I’m just happy. These past few weeks. Today. I’ve never felt this much pride besides when Ulani was born.”

He was quiet, not offering a response as you turned your clasped hands back and forth, watching the cords of muscle in his forearms bunch and ripple. The mouth on your shoulder puckered into a kiss.

“I’m glad you’re happy. Every last piece of happiness is what you deserve. You’ve worked hard your entire life, and now others can finally see what your family and friends see. What I see.” Your relaxed into his chest, angling your head up to look at him. Soft brown eyes looked back down at you, endless waves of love billowing from his skin to wash over you. “Do you finally see it? When I say that you have a gift?”

That wash of emotion you felt standing in front of Choso suddenly made itself known again. But it had coiled more, grew with more memories and smiles and words from everyone around you.

“All thanks to you,” you whispered up at him and was shocked from the scoff that he gave you in reply.

“The only thing I did was give you the words you needed to hear. I made that page for you, but you could have easily deactivated it. I organized a tour at Choso’s gallery, but I did nothing to inspire him to ask you for a commission or include you in his collection….I did the same for you as you did me. Turned you in the right direction and let yourself do the rest. This has all been you.”

Your eyes fluttered from the surge of tears that began to cloud your vision, pressing into him more to siphon every ounce of affection he had to spare.

“Even still,” you whispered, voice tight and strained. “I love you.”

He pressed his lips to yours in response, pulled away to kiss your cheek, the side of your neck where he had bit into you, the wet skin of your shoulder. Damp blonde strands brushed against you as he laid his cheek on your shoulder, turning his head into you to brush his nose along the column of your neck. A deep inhale from his chest, satisfied and blissfully happy, before exhaling against you and squeezing the hand that was still intwined with yours.

“I love you too.”

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apompkwrites · 4 years ago

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reader impact || first meeting

series masterlist characters: xiao, albedo genre: fluff summary: a game has been released entitled genshin impact, consisting of otherworldly abilities relying on the basic elements of nature. the game follows the story of an interdimensional traveling twin in search of their other half. along this journey, they meet different characters that live in this world. including you. notes: have i read a few genshin impact x game character reader stories and impulsively decided to make one too? maybe. you can't prove anything. i don't know if this will be a series but we'll see :D

xiao's playthrough -

xiao, named as alatus on his streaming platform, has made himself known as a gaming streamer with an awkward personality and blunt words.

he's the type of streamer who wouldn't have a set type of game and would, instead, play whatever his viewers recommended.

valorant? sure, he'll try it out.

hitman? why not?

animal crossing? it's a complete 180 from the other games, but sure.

when one of his viewers recommended genshin impact, he was quick to say yes and search for the game.

once the game finishes downloading, he quickly begins the game.

once the opening cutscene passes, he compliments the overall aesthetic of the game, pointing out the smaller details such as the footprints made by his character and the sound their clothes make when they move.

as always, his expressions are quite monotone to a point where it seems nothing draws his attention towards the game.

one of his mods, however, knows xiao well enough to where he knows which character he would like.

they convince xiao that the game is worth sticking with towards the second half of chapter 1, act 1.

he doesn't understand but he trusts his mods so he promises to continue.

it takes a few hours, especially because of the grinding, but a few streams later he's finally made it.

after fighting a one-sided argument with cloud retainer, he immediately begins his trek to the wangshu inn. and yes, trek, he enjoys walking/gliding through the world of teyvat rather than fast traveling everywhere.

he walks up the stairs to the top floor of the inn, resting his hands in his lap as the cutscene begins.

"to the blind, everything may not be as it appears..."

xiao is normally stoic during games, even ones with scenes made to fluster the player and catch them off guard.

but not this time.

once xiao's character is faced with yours, he just stops. his chat is spamming messages, asking if he's okay and if he's actually emoting for once.

he just stares at your character for a good five minutes.

and trust me, at least half of his viewers clipped that.

"... who are they?"

that was his only question after those minutes of silence. never before had he been attached to a character within the first few minutes of meeting them. his mind is racing and all he can think about is how amazing your character design is and how nice your voice is and how cool your character is and--

oh right, he's streaming right now...

anyway, the more your conversation goes on, the more he loves your character.

you're just so sassy and snappy but he loves you either way.

once you turn away with your back towards the camera, he just stares.

he stares at the intricate tattoo on your exposed arm and the mask hanging off of your belt.

and then you're gone.

his face drops so quickly and his viewers are very quick to point it out. he grimaces once paimon starts talking and he's very tempted to just speed through her dialogue.

he just wants to see you again.

once he hears from verr goldet that you've never smiled (at least around her), he immediately turns to the camera and says, "we better make them smile in this game."

once he finds out about your favorite food, he's already asking his viewers if he's able to get the recipe for it.

the next time he gets to talk to you, his face just lights up once he sees your character standing on the balcony.

however, once his characters tell you about rex lapis's death, his heart sinks when he hears how sad your voice becomes, even if your tone is still as harsh as before.

he gets all sad again when the quest ends and he has to wait to unlock the next archon quest.

he ends the game there and decides to spend the last few minutes talking to his viewers.

"i'll stream genshin again soon."

his viewers all know it's only because he met you.

albedo's playthrough -

albedo often does art streams and the occasional science-y stream.

if he does games, he mainly uses them to admire the art/mechanics of the gameplay.

genshin impact was one of those games he decided to play on his own solely because of the beautiful scenary.

(and the opportunity to draw more characters).

he's definitely the player that cares about elemental reactions above all else. pretty much every character he uses is built for elemental damage instead of physical.

most of his genshin streams are him walking around teyvat and pointing out the scenary.

he was definitely excited for the dragonspine event because that meant a better view of teyvat!

what he wasn't prepared for, however, was the reveal of a new character: you.

he isn't too into looking at the updates for genshin on his own, so he didn't find out about who you were until his stream asked about it.

he decided to react to the newest updates live since his chat seemed excited to hear his input.

once he pulled up the latest update details, he spent a few minutes talking about the new subzero mechanic.

but once he scrolled down to the characters... OH BOY

he's able to keep his composure but he definitely spends longer talking about you.

he almost gasped when he saw you were the chief alchemist of mondstadt.

combine that with the fact that you rely on elemental damage instead of physical...

your honor, he's fallen hard.

he'll put a countdown on stream to when your character and event drops, even on his non-genshin streams.

speaking of those streams, on the week just before your event, his streams will all be based around you and the information he's seen on you.

his art streams will consist of you and how he thinks your attacks will work just based on the description (he purposely avoided all pictures of your attacks for this stream).

his science-y streams would probably be based on your element.

once your event drops, that's the only thing he'll stream until it's over.

your assistant used to be his favorite character to play as but they just never clicked. it's not like he hates your assistant, it's just he didn't immediately fall in love with them.

his party definitely has your assistant in it, though.

he would have normally taken his time to look around dragonspine and admire the new scenery, but he couldn't help but speed through it until he finally gets to see you onscreen.

once the cutscene officially introduces you in front of a canvas, he's internally panicking.

you like art too?! and science?! how perfect can you be?!?!?!

he will genuinely feel bad when he scares the hilichurls because he knows that that's what you were sketching.

"who are you? why did you alarm them?"

NOW HE FEELS EVEN WORSE

even when you tell him you've finished sketching, he wants to make it up to you :((

if he were able to, he would've lured more hilichurls to let you sketch more.

some people in his chat would probably spam him to skip your dialogue because it's so wordy, but that's the exact reason why he listens to it all.

he likes listening to your character ramble on, especially because you have a soothing voice.

anytime your character does their idle animation where you give life to something, he will always let it play. even if your dialogue is finished before the animation, he would not progress until it's completed.

once your character asks for help, he would immediately agree before you finished your sentence.

man just wants to spend more time with you.

he likes staring at the tattoo on your neck whenever the camera is close to you. he just thinks it's really pretty on you.

once your other nonplayable assistant begins talking, he'll skip through the dialogue. he doesn't care if it goes more in depth into this world's alchemy, he just wants to hear it from you.

"hmm, looks like the potion's ready. i'll try a little first."

"please don't..."

he doesn't want you to try it just in case it hurts you :(

anytime he is allowed to walk freely with you around, he'd definitely put his traveler character next to you for a few minutes and just let you two stare at each other.

someone asks him why he spends a few minutes doodling on his desk when you talk.

he shows them the notebook that he had been writing notes in. it's filled with little doodles of you and some more information you give on the world of alchemy.

for future streams the involve you, he'd set up another camera to show the notes and doodles he's making about you.

sometimes he'll spend a few minutes on a single section where the camera is focused on you just to recreate the picture in the notebook.

he absolutely loves whoever planned out the camera angles because of how cute you look in every one of them.

he definitely gets a bad vibe from rosaria when she hints at the fact that you may be using alchemy against him.

he will defend you and alchemy to his grave!

that one scene where you create a flower in front of you is one he will always treasure.

he makes sure someone clipped that moment just so he can draw that, make it a print, and put it on his wall.

since most of his viewers most likely consist of artists, he will encourage them to draw you and send him fanart. he will put them all on a wall and dedicate every picture that goes there to you.

"if i one day lose control... destroy mondstadt... as well as everything around it..."

"huh?"

"will you be there to stop me?"

"wait... no."

if people were only listening to that portion, they would still be able to hear the pout on his face.

he'll end the game there but change his stream into an impromptu art stream.

he will only be drawing you in nice situations to distract himself from the fact that there is something going on with you.

"hm? what do you mean something's wrong with (name)? i have no idea what you're talking about."

poor boy's in denial...

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #reader impact #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact xiao #genshin impact albedo #xiao x reader #albedo x reader #genshin xiao #genshin albedo #genshin impact xiao x reader #genshin impact albedo x reader #genshin xiao x reader #genshin albedo x reader

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storiesforallfandoms · 3 years ago

Text

the type you bring home to mom ~ eddie kaspbrak;it chapter two

word count: 2361

request?: no

description: in which he finally brings his girlfriend home to his over protective mother, and it goes exactly as he thought it would

pairing: teen!eddie kasprak x female!reader

warnings: swearing, overbearing mother, derogatory name calling (i guess?), basically eddie’s mom just sucking

masterlist (one, two)

note: (y/n/p) = your parents’ names

I played with the hem of my dress as I walked up to the Kaspbrak household. I was regretting my choice in wardrobe, but it was too late to change now. I knew nothing would feel right anyways, I had already changed three times before I came over.

For the first time in our year long relationship, I was meeting Eddie’s mother. We had somehow managed to keep our relationship a secret for so long that I never felt like I had to meet her, and Eddie wasn’t exactly pushing for it either. As much as he loved his mom, he also knew she was manipulative and overbearing, and he often told me how he was afraid of his mom scaring me off because of these facts.

When the news eventually got out and travelled quickly through the small town of Derry, as gossip usually does, it got to Ms. Kaspbrak in no time. She immediately demanded to meet me, and Eddie set up a dinner at his house for the occasion.

Before I could even knock on the door, it swung open to reveal my tall boyfriend smiling down at me. Any tension I had melted away as I looked up at him, into those beautiful eyes that could calm me down whenever they were on me. He took my face in his hands and pulled me to kiss him. It was such a normal action that, at first, I leaned into it happily, until I realized the circumstances of my visit and quickly pushed him away.

“She’s not here,” he said, as if reading my worried thoughts. “She’s gone out to get some stuff for dinner.”

He stepped aside to let me step into the house. It wasn’t unfamiliar territory; Eddie and I had had many rendezvous there during the rare moments when his mom wasn’t home, but it felt wrong to be there on this occasion. I just wanted it to end already, and to go home or go for a long drive with Eddie.

“Come, sit,” he said, leading me to his living room. We sat close to one another on the couch, so close that we were just barley touching. Feeling his arm brush against mine sent sparks through me.

“How worried should I be?” I asked him, trying to remain as light as possible.

He sighed and shuffled in his seat. “I wish I could tell you not at all, but...”

He trailed off so I finished his sentence for him, “But it’s your mom.”

Eddie nodded. “But it’s my mom.”

One of his arms was around my waist. I hadn’t realized that the skirt of my dress had hiked up a little until the hand around my waist started to play with the hem, his fingertips brushing against my ass. His other hand touched my leg, starting lightly on my knee and then slowly travelling up my thigh till it stopped on my inner thigh. I shivered, wanting him to go further.

Most people who knew him would never believe that Eddie Kaspbrak, the hypochondriac, fast talking, former sheltered mama’s boy, would be absolutely mind blowing in bed, and constantly handsy whenever we were alone. I hadn’t even believed it until we got together, but man, Eddie knew how to make me feel absolutely amazing.

He leaned forward to kiss my neck, his fingers tracing circles in my inner thigh. I was shivering with anticipation and whimpers were escaping my lips. I could feel Eddie’s amused smirk against my neck as he placed another kiss there and lifted his head to look at me. He kissed my lips and his hand finally made its way further up my skirt.

Our moment was interrupted by the sound of a car door slamming. I practically jumped to the other side of the couch, touching my neck in hopes that he hadn’t accidentally left hickies there.

“You’re good,” he said, understanding what I had been doing.

The front door opened and I suddenly felt paralyzed. I wasn’t sure if I should stand up or stay sat down, if I should move even further away from Eddie or stay exactly where I was. In the end, I stayed frozen like a deer in headlights as his mom rounded the corner, arms full of grocery bags.

“Oh,” she said when her eyes landed on me. “Is this...her?”

There was a slight leer to the way she said “her”, which made me want to squirm under her intense gaze.

“Mom,” Eddie said, a partial warning tone in his voice, “this is (Y/N), my girlfriend.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Kaspbrak,” I said. “Do you, um, need any help with - ”

“No,” she cut me off. “I have it. You’re early.”

“I told her this is when to get here,” Eddie defended. “You wouldn’t tell me exactly when to invite her over.”

“Well, this is hardly dinner time,” his mother huffed. “It’ll take me a while to get dinner ready.”

“I can help,” I offered again.

“No,” she said, sharply, which told me that was the end of the matter.

I shrunk down in my spot on the couch.

“Mom,” Eddie snapped again.

She glared at me before turning to her son, trying to soften her expression for him. “I’ll let you know when the food is ready. For now...stay here.”

When she disappeared into the kitchen, Eddie immediately moved to sit next to me and took my hand in his.

“I’m okay,” I assured him. “I’ll get through it. It’s just dinner then we’re done, right?”

He nodded, but I could see the worry on his face still.

A while later, Ms. Kaspbrak called to tell us dinner was ready. She had made sure to place everything so that Eddie and I were sat at the heads of the table, far apart from one another, while she was sat between us. Eddie and I shared a look before sitting in our designated spots.

Dinner started with awkward silence besides our cutlery against the plates. I tried to keep my attention on my plate, but every so often I’d glance up at the Kaspbraks to see Eddie nervously glancing between me and his mother, and his mom just glaring daggers at me. The nervousness I was feeling took away my appetite, but I felt like I had to eat everything to make a good impression, if that was even possible.

“So,” Ms. Kaspbrak said, drawing our attention to her, “(Y/N). Your parents are (Y/P/N), right?”

She already knew the answer to this question. I had grown up in Derry, where everyone knew everyone. There was a reason she was asking, and I had a feeling I already knew what that reason was.

“They are, yeah,” I responded.

“And they’re divorced, aren’t they?”

“Mom!” Eddie groaned.

“It’s just a question, Eddie,” his mom said.

“It’s okay,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t mind talking about it. That’s kind of old news anyways. They divorced when I was 10, dad moved to the next town over and mom got full custody of me.”

“That doesn’t seem like a very stable upbringing,” Ms. Kaspbrak commented. “I’m sure it’s taken such a toll on you, you must’ve decided to rebel somehow.”

Eddie put his face in his hands, officially admitting defeat on trying to stop his mother.

“Actually it wasn’t anything like that,” I said. “Mom and dad stayed pretty civil. There wasn’t any big fight or anything, just an agreement that they’re better off not being married. When dad moved he made sure to stay in constant contact, and comes to visit all the time or I’d go to visit him. Mom always made sure I had a roof over my head and food on the table. They both love me unconditionally, even if they’re not together.”

Ms. Kaspbrak sat back in her seat, a sour look on her face. “Well...regardless, it’s just not right to be raised by a single mother.”

Feeling a bit brave, I raised an eyebrow at her. “Eddie was raised by a single mother.”

“That’s different. My husband died, he didn’t decide to abandon me and Eddie.”

“My dad didn’t abandon us, he’s still very much a part of our lives.”

She ignored me and continued to eat. I looked across the table at Eddie to see him avoiding all eye contact with either of us as he pushed his food around on his plate. As if feeling my gaze, he looked up at me. I gave him a small smile to try and indicate that I wasn’t upset with him. I wanted him to know everything was going to be okay, even if I didn’t fully believe it myself.

“How many boys have you had sex with, (Y/N)?”

The question caught me off guard and I nearly choked on the food I had just put in my mouth.

“Jesus Christ, mom!” Eddie snapped.

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vein, Edward,” his mother chastised him.

“You can’t just ask something like that, mom, that’s none of your business.”

“Of course it’s my business. I need to make sure my son isn’t dating a slut. I remember you were friends with Beverly March before she moved away, and trust me, I heard all sorts of stories about her. Anyone who would hang around with her must be somewhat similar.”

The mention of the untrue bullshit that used to be spread about Bev made the anger within me bubble over. I was seeing red as I looked up at Ms. Kaspbrak, and I was ready to pounce.

“Actually, your son took my virginity, and I took his,” I told her. “And we have sex quite a lot, sometimes upstairs in his bedroom when you’re not home. Although, for someone who says he was a virgin I don’t know how much I believe it. Eddie has done things that I don’t even think the most experienced of people could do.”

If he was upset with me for saying all of this, Eddie’s face didn’t show it. He was sipping on his water, trying to hide the smug smile that broke out across his face.

Ms. Kaspbrak’s face turned blood red before she rose from the table. “Get the fuck out of my house!”

“Gladly,” I said, abandoning my dinner to quickly leave the shitty situation.

“And don’t you dare come anywhere near my son again, or else I will have the cops on you!” she threatened.

I stopped and turned back to face her. “For what? For dating your son? For showing him that there’s someone who actually cares about him without manipulating him? For finally cutting the cord that you’ve had wrapped around his neck since he was born? Ms. Kaspbrak, I understand that you’re afraid to lose your son the way you lost your husband, but being a manipulative bitch who forced him to think he had illnesses he didn’t have for years and insulting his girlfriend in front of him is not the way to keep him around. Eddie is 18 years old, he’s an adult. He can do whatever he wants, which includes dating whoever he wants and leaving this hell hole that you have the audacity to call a home. The day that you finally accept that just might be the day that Eddie finally considers you to be an actual mother.”

And with that, I decided not to overstay my welcome and left.

I was only a few feet away from Eddie’s house when I heard him calling after me. I slowed my pace just enough that he could catch up with me, but didn’t completely stop. I wanted to put as much distance between myself and the Kaspbrak house as I could.

“I’m sorry,” I sighed as he fell in step next to me.

“For what?” Eddie asked. “I should be the one apologizing to you.”

“You warned me on how she would be, and I still let her get to me,” I said. “I probably made having to live there a whole lot harder.”

“It was hard to begin with, (Y/N). Nothing could make it harder than what it was,” he told me. “What you said, it was all true. Mom needed to hear that. Doesn’t mean she liked hearing it, or that she’ll actually accept it, but she needed to hear it none the less.”

“I guess I could’ve said it nicer,” I said. “Or at least not included details of our sex life.”

Eddie awkwardly chuckled. “Yeah, could’ve done without mom knowing I’m a sex god.”

I gave him a look and playfully nudged him. “I never said you were a sex god.”

“Eddie has done things that I don’t even think the most experienced of people could do I believe were your exact words.”

“I only said that to make her more upset.”

“So you’re saying I’m bad at sex?”

I pushed him again. “Eddie!”

He laughed and put an arm around my waist. “I appreciate the compliment either way. And I hope you know how much I love you.”

I smiled up at him and leaned into his touch. “I love you, too.”

We walked in silence for a while and, before I knew it, we were at my house. We stopped and turned to face each other.

“Want to stay over tonight?” I asked. “I figure going home isn’t exactly the best option right now.”

“It’s not,” he agreed. “Will your mom be okay with it?”

“Of course she will, she loves you. She’ll probably even cover for you if your mom calls.”

“I take it back, I don’t love you. I love your mom.”

“And I take back my offer. Go sleep on the streets.”

I took off for my front door with Eddie hot on my trail. I tried to open it and lock him out before he caught up to me, but of course his long legs gave him an advantage. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me away from the door, both of our laughs ringing out through the otherwise quiet neighborhood.

#eddie kaspbrak #eddie kaspbrak imagine #eddie kaspbrak x reader #james ransone #james ransone imagine #james ransone x reader #teen!eddie kaspbrak #it chapter two #imagine #one shot #requests #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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linkspooky · 4 years ago

Photo

Eren Jaeger’s Final Words

So there are many people unimpressed with the final statement given by Eren’s character, either finding it inconsistent with the build up to this point, or too ambiguous a motivation for trampling all over the world. I’m not really here to talk about the quality of the story, whether it was good or bad, because I don’t really care. However, I think it’s fascinating what the text is trying to say about Eren’s character and his motivation.

This is why, “I don’t know, shrug” is both an answer and not an answer to why Eren did what he did in the end. For making my point in this analysis, I’ll be talking about Eren’s character from Marley on showing both the Eren that appeared before Reiner, the one that talked to Zeke, and finally the one Armin saw are all the same person.

1. And Now for Something Completely Different

Before I even begin though, let’s talk about something entirely different. My favorite episode of Doctor Who is from the 4th Doctor Era, entitled “Genesis of the Daleks” first broadcast around 1975. What makes this episode my favorite episode is both the premise, and the question it asks. If you haven’t watched Doctor Who the basic premise is the main character is a time traveler who can go everywhere and everywhen in the universe. One of his common enemies is the Daleks, a race whose goal is to kill everything else in the universe. The Time Lords order the Doctor to go back in time to the era the daleks were created, and prevent their creation in order to prevent every person they would eventually kill.

He goes do the Dalek homeworld, and meets the scientist who created them Davros. Eventually, the doctor fails enough that he’s not able to prevent their creation, but he could, wipe them out when they were just newly born children and completely innocent. The doctor decides not to kill them right then because that would be a pre-emptive genocide, and the Doctor is a pacifist. When Davros witnesses him making this choice it prompts this conversation one of my favorite in all of television. The link to the clip is here if you’re interested. [Source.]

Davros: "Now, future errors will be come victories. You have changed the future of the universe, Doctor." Doctor: "I have betrayed the future. Davros, for the last time, consider what you're doing. Stop the development of the Daleks." Davros: "Impossible. It is beyond my control. The workshops are already fully automated to produce the Dalek machines." Doctor: "It's not the machines, it's the minds of the creatures inside them. Minds that you created. They are totally evil." Davros: "Evil? No. No, I will not accept that. They are conditioned simply to survive. They can survive by becoming the dominant species. When all other life forms are suppressed, when the Daleks are the supreme rules of the universe, then you will have peace. Wars will end. They are the power not of evil, but of good." Doctor:"Davros, if you had created a virus in your laboratory, something contagious and infectious that killed on contact, a virus that would destroy all other forms of life, would you allow its use?" Davros: "It is an interesting conjecture." Doctor: "Would you do it?" Davros: "The only living thing, a microscopic organism reigning supreme... A fascinating idea. Doctor: "But, would you do it?" Davros: "Yes... yes..." [ Davros raises a hand as if holding the metaphorical capsule.]

Davros: "To hold in my hand a capsule that contains such power, to know that life and death on such a scale was my choice. To know that the tiny pressure of my thumb, enough to break the glass, would end everything... Yes, I would do it! That power would set me above the gods!

Davros’ motivations seem at first brush look one-note and evil, just another mad scientist playing god. However, what makes the conversation great is the context it takes place in. Here is the choice offered to the doctor, kill a race that he knows will go on to make war and kill innocents in the future in their infancy before they have done anything wrong, or don’t kill them and ensure the future you know will happen.

The Doctor isn’t saying that his choice is the right one. He’s not saying he’s doing good by choosing not to slaughter an innocent race. He’s saying, he can’t bring himself to make that choice. In that situation he chooses not to choose, because it would be against his pacifist believes to choose either way. Which Davros at first, takes to mean the Doctor siding with him. However, when they begin to debate it, notice how they’re not talking about what is the philosophically correct choice to do. The doctor hammers in this point, would you do it? Would you do it? After getting Davros to admit that yes, he would do it, his motivation becomes much clearer, he doesn’t actually care whether his actions result in a good thing or a bad thing, he simply wanted to be the one who got to choose.

What does Davros want? The power that surpasses a normal human being’s ability to choose. Davros himself is basically written to be pure evil, but his desire itself is a little more complex. Davros is a person lacking in agency, if you tear him away from his support system he’ll die within thirty seconds. He designs what he believes is the perfect race capable of conqueringthe universe which are reflections of him. They’re soft little squid creatures in mechanical shells which are inpenetrable. Davros himself cannot seize that power, he is inferior because he’s attached to the life support system (in his own mind), so the power he wants instead is the power to make the choice to unleash them upon the world.

If the Doctor by failing to make that impossible choice in the situation, by not wanting to even hold the capsule in his hands and have that ability to choose remains a man, then Davros chooses to throw away his humanity (which he ties to his inferiority and weakness) and becomes a god instead. To tie my long tangent which just shows how much of a geek I am back to Eren, Eren’s choice wasn’t actually about bringing a good result or a bad one at all. He simply wanted to choose. People who are lacking for agency, who feel powerless and inferior to tend to grasp for it. They try to fix external circumstances instead of internally facing what is within them, because they can’t bear to face it (hence the complex about being inferior in the first place).

People often compare Kaneki from Tokyo Ghoul to Eren because their stated motivation bears some resemblance “we were doing this all to protect our friends”, however, it’s important to grasp that Kaneki and Eren are liars and unreliable narrators both. Their stated motivation isn’t necessarily true. I don’t think the final chapter is as clear as it could have been in nailing down the finer points of this, but Eren does in fact change his stated motivation from “I was doing it all to set up you as heroes of the world” to “I would have done it anyway even if you didn’t come to stop me” to “I don’t know. I just wanted to.” So, the fact that Eren will directly lie about his motivation and try to rationalize his actions and even switch stories in the space of one conversation is at least established.

So to bring the comparison back to Kaneki, both Eren and Kaneki lie about their external motivations that they are doing this for their friends when really they act because of unacknowledged internal motivators. They are secretly selfish, while presenting their actions as some kind of great sacrifice they’re making for the sake of others. The deepest we ever dig into Kaneki’s head he makes this statement.

I’m going to do something that will make everyone love me. Good, bad, it could be anything. After that, I wanna die heroically!

Eren and Kaneki aren’t the same because they’re brave people who fight for their friends, it’s because internally they’re pathetic and unlovable. They’re so starved for agency and attention that they’ll do anything for it, and they just don’t care about the consequences for their actions. Kaneki also, later on in the manga engages in mass slaughter for once again what is a pretty bad reason. It’s not to protect someone or for the sake of someone else. It’s because he’s lonely and wants comfort.

Kaneki doesn’t care about what he’s doing or the consequences of his actions, he’s desperate and wants to do what will immediately gratify him in the moment. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing will unleash mass slaughter and have greater consequences because he’s not thinking about that.

Compare this to the doctor’s choice. The doctor knows the direct result of his actions, if he does not abort the daleks he will fail to prevent the deaths of innocent people. Knowing those consequences he says he still won’t make the choice because he believes his pacifist principles are something he won’t bend on. Kaneki, and Eren both have on principles, or no reasons. They just do whatever in the moment, and make up a reason after the fact. For Touka, For his friends, because he wanted to, because of freedom, because why not?

Kaneki and Eren can construct no good reason for their actions, and no principles behind their actions, because unlike the doctor, they don’t have a developed enough and they’re not capable of making measured choices. They steal away agency because they’ve been deprived of it, they want the feeling of power and control that comes with making the choice, but they don’t want the responsibility for it. The doctor knows if he doesn’t choose to wipe out the Daleks he’s responsible for that choice, but can’t bring himself to kill. His actions are pacifistic. However, Eren and Kaneki choose to kill in the same situation, and their actions inevitably cause the conflict to accelerate. The Doctor remains a man, Kaneki and Eren do not.

What kind of person would want to become a god anyway?

A person pathetically, incapable of feeling alright as a human being.

That’s why Kaneki and Eren make the choice to become monsters, because they’re incapable of living with themselves, or their actions as people. Either way they can’t live with it, hence why, Kaneki’s stated motivation is I’ll make everyone love me and then I’ll just die. Hence why the person who is making this statment is a childish version of him.

There is no good reason for what Eren does. That sounds like a cop-out answer after making you read all this long, but what is a good reason for killing people? This is a lot of rambling but I hope I’ve at least established that Eren’s internal reasonings make no sense, his internal mechanisms at least do. The reason he doesn’t come up with a reason is because he didn’t actually care about the result of his actions, he just wanted to be in the position to choose. He wanted absolute agency because he was denied agency like a child, and as a forever stunted child, he never grew up to realize that most people in the whole world eventually make compromises and live on with sadness instead of getting to do whatever they want.

Words that Eren was told again and again but failed to listen to. He’s not the only person that suffers in the world. He’s not the only person that’s lost people. He’s not the all-suffering protagonist of reality, he’s just one personin the greater scheme of things. However, the ability to compromise like that. To realize that other people exist besides you, that they have feelings separate from yours, that you are not the protagonist of reality is what an adult does, and what Eren can’t do. It’s easier to become god apparently, throw his whole life away as a child soldier making the ultimate sacrifice then just try growing up.

What’s the point of writing a character with such a pathetic motivvation? It’s because it’s human.

To badly misquote Jung, most people assume they are nice people when really they are in fact jerks. The reasons can be very complex, but sometimes it’s just as simple as not being able to look past your own ego and understand people feel differently than you do. Eren cannot accept other people, whether they be his friends, the comrades he’s fought with this entire time, the adults trying to guide him, he is just so incapable of accepting them that he regresses into a child making selfish demands of the world. It seems inhuman but imagine Eren in a completely different setting. What if Eren were just a shut-in? Just a teenager who didn’t leave his room. A fundamental ability to accept other people would sabotage all his other attempts to grow up and leave his room, and he’d choose to remain a child forever. The stakes are different, the situation is different, but the internal mechanisms are unmistakably human.

2. All Erens is the Same

Okay, here’s where I actually try to prove that Eren’s character arc is consistent with the story. What was revealed in 139 at all wasn’t a 180, and wasn’t a reveal that secretly Eren had good intentions all along. He never had good motivations, or selfless one. From beginning to end he was a selfish child, and his reasoning was always that of a stunted individual unable to understand the feelings of others but placing his own feelings as far more important.

What Eren does in 139 is rationalizing and changing his answer, which he has done several times before that point anyway, and is therefore consistent with his behavior up until that point. It’s important to acknowledge that Eren models himself, not after Grisha, but rather Eren Kruger. The foil to Grisha and the reaction to Grisha’s bad parenting is Zeke. The person who Eren makes similiar choices to is Kruger says the reason he picked Grisha is the eyes he possessed in childhood.

The thing about Kruger is, textually, Kruger fucking sucks. He says it himself. He claims he was doing it for the sake of helping others, and yet, all he ever felt like he was doing, was torturing people, and throwing them to the dogs. He kept saying he had good motivations, but his actions were repeated brutal violence, over and over again. He contributed more to the conflict than he helped to resolve it.

At the end of his life, Kruger says once again he doesn’t believe what he’s done has changed anything, and doesn’t believe he himself hs changed. He’s still the child with hatred in his eyes. His reason for passing it onto Grisha is because he knew Grisha wouldn’t grow up either, and would keep that inside of him. Kruger failed to grow, Grisha failed to grow, in a way that mattered, in time to make an actual change. They only ever made things worse, and that is, the model we are supposed to parallel Eren to.

Now this is at the same time that the Attack Titan’s future vision powers are shown to us. The question a lot of people are asking is if Eren had free will in his choice, or he was fated to make that choce all along. The answer is. No. Nope. Nope. Nope. Not at all. The fact that Eren was destined to do it, is yet another excuse, the like seventh change of motivation that Eren gives us. “I saw it happen in the future so I did everything I could to make it happen, but I didn’t think I had a choice this was the only way to make you guys hero,” Eren says, and then five seconds later. “I didn’t know what would happen , I probably would have done it anyway even if I knew you guys were all going to die and fail to stop me.”

Eren is once again making excuses, and avoiding all kinds of responsibility. If he is the chosen one, if his actions are controlled by fate, if he’s a god, if he’s a devil, he is not human and therefore he is not responsible. Eren wants the power to decide the fate for the world, but will do anything but accept responsibility for that choice. Eren wants to be Eren the bloody conqueror, but he’s not even self-aware enough to see himself as a bad person he can’t even own that so when confronted on his actions he reduces himself back to a child, and evades responsibility. Eren’s own motivation, his stated motivation is for no reason, however, the reasons he avoids the guilt like this are complex in their mechanisms as I wrote about above. The simple question is if Eren saw this future why did he not try to stop it? The simple answer is because he did not want to.

There are a million and one excuses Eren has for why he thought the future could be avoided, but his actions tell a different story. He didn’t lift a finger to try. He spent the next four years making rationalizations for what he eventually would do. I will now establish, Eren was actually given several oppurtunities to stop, and then he just did not stop.

In the Reiner and Eren scene while Tybur is speaking in the background, Eren is offered a choice. Quite literally, Tybur is narrating the same story that Eren wants to set up. Become the devil that tried to destroy the world, so the heroes (his friends) will defeat him. He’s given the chance to be genuine and talk things out with Reiner and what does he choose.

He chooses to accelerate. He could have stopped. Remember how Reiner was practically begging him to talk things out? Not only that but Eren sees that Reiner’s stated motivations for doing what he did were, completely fake, just rationalizations made up in the moment.

Eren is presented with the reality of who he really is, a child who hates himself, who wants to kill himself rather than take responsibility for his actions, and he chooses the narrative Tybur offers him. Rather than be hismelf, stop the story here, he chooses to move the story forward.And the conflict accelerates when they could have reconciled. Not because there was no other choice, Reiner was begging, crying, and holding Eren’s hand at the same time asking for peace and forgiveness but because Eren chose to accelerate the conflict.

Eren’s choices are always that of an accelerationist. When given the oppurtunity to stop, he chooses instead, to always make the conflict worse. That is, the result of Eren’s myriad of choices made throughout the arc. Everything is worse now, and more people are dead. Nothing good is achieved through these means because Eren wasn’t trying for good. Eren didn’t care about good results, he just wanted to be doing something. Easier to be an all powerful demon, than a powerless child which is what he sees Reiner as in the moment.

The only time I believe that Eren was putting on an act was when speaking with Mikasa and Armin. The rest of it wasn’t acts, it was just who Eren is, who he sees himself to be. The thing is most people don’t read Eren’s kind of behavior, constant masculine posturing, war mongering, accelerating the conflict, throwing himself into fighting, as childish and toxic when it is. The point of Eren’s masculinity is it’s a performance. Reiner crying and begging in front of Eren is embarrassing and pathetic yes, but it’s also how he felt in that moment, it’s a human vulnerability. Whereas, Eren’s outer persona is entirely empty of love and vulernability, of every emotion besides anger, and violence. However, because it’s empty, he just acts, empty... Great wording there I know. Eren when posturing in front of others basically has no personality. He is just guy who fights.

Eren performs the role of a ruthless soldier in front of others, because it prevents him from being vulnerable. Remember who Eren is posturing in front of, Reiner, and then later Zeke. What were they doing? They were both at the moment trying to appeal to his human side, Reiner by crying and begging for forgiveness a show of vulnerability, and Zeke by tryig to show Eren what their father did to them was wrong.

Calls for violence, posturing, warmongering and rhetoric, Eren’s every response when Zeke tries to examine his humanity. Eren insists over and over again, you see I’m not actually a human being. It was impossible for father to reach me because I was simply born that way. However, the kind of person Eren pretends to be is empty, someone incapable of feeling anything. The only way he knows how to be strong, is to simply not have feelings, to deny all human emotion and become something else and that’s just lame. We also know, that Eren himself is not like that because he contradicts his stated motivation that the only reason he killed those slavers was for the concept of freedom itself when he takes too long trying to look at Mikasa.

Eren denies himself empathy, he denies himself udnerstanding, and therefore no one will ever see his emotional wounds. That way, he can be invulenerable forever, but at the same time he denies MIkasa and Armin.

We return again to the motif of the story. It’s the same repeated image, someone tells Eren to stop, Eren says that it must not stop, the story must continue.

Both of Eren’s foils and family members,Zeke and Grisha tell Eren to stop this. That they do not want this. The whole world yells at Eren to stop, and he does not stop. Stopping would mean, accepting some measure of helplessness so Eren does not stop.

To be honest, what Eren says in 131 is far more telling than literally any of the excuses he came up with in 139 which is why I think it should be interpreted not as the final word on Eren’s character but rather, showing what his waffling actually looks like to an outside observer - not heroic at all but rather pathetic.

Eren’s childish desire to be this powerful, to stand up above everyone like a god while ignoring the suffering of the world around him - is pretty telling enough of Eren’s true motivations that he needs no further elaboration. Eren does not become god for the sake of his friends, he does not do it because he thinks it will make the world a better place, he does it because of childish delusions of grandeur and his inability to let go of his childish feelings of entitlement. The world isn’t the way he wants it to be and he can’t comrpomise with that in any way. Eren is more like a caricature of the most petty person on earth when you put it that way, but this is... a fictional story. Thematically Eren is a good example why ideals are ideals, and people are in fact, people, ulitmately very disappointing and falling short of those idealse. So once again moving past this.

Eren, you can literally just stop. Eren is basically given every choice in the world to stop, everyone else in the story tells him to, and he just doesn’t. The author does go to a painstaking extent to show that Eren in fact could have stopped. Every single time he is given the oppurtunity to stop he instead chooses to accelerate the conflict.

It is interesting to show the one time Eren actually did stop though. It wasn’t for Mikasa, it was Mikasa’s decision.

When Eren puts the decision on someone else, he can stop. Eren has feelings for Mikasa, but rather than confessing to her he makes her speak up about what her feelings are, even when everyone around him just, straight up tells him.

Why is he capable of stopping when it’s someone else’s choice? In those cases, Eren succesfully avoids responsibility. When he makes the decision to run away in the possible alternate reality he’s doing what Mikasa wanted.

The other time is when he decides to accept the result of whatever Mikasa decides. In both cases, Eren rather than accept responsibility for his actions and the results of his actions, just, puts it all on Mikasa.

Is he doing this for Mikasa’s sake? To set Mikasa up as the hero of the world? No, he can’t even face Mikasa and explain himself or his feelings. Eren makes the choices to... put the ultimate decision on Mikasa, and run away without explaining himself because, that’s easier than taking repsonsibility for his choices. Every choice Eren makes, is to either make the conflict worse, because stirring the pot makes him feel powerful and in control, or throw control away to someonee else or some other reason (predestination whatnot) because he can’t bear the responsibility of what he’s doing. He wants to kill a bunch of people, but like... he doesn’t want to feel like a bad person about it (hence the excuse, he was doing it for his friends and yet later in the same conversation him saying that if he had killed his friends and they failed he still would have done it anyway).

Therein lies the rub. Eren is not doing this for his friends, because he takes the one path that is guaranteed to take him out of their lives. He doesn’t do it for Mikasa because he does the one thing guaranteed to destroy her.

I love this girl so much, that I created this elaborate scenario where the only way she could save the world was to horribly behead me, the one family member left from her childhood after she spent her entire life trying to protect me from fear of losing her family - yeah that sounds completely insane.

It is meant to be. Eren is thinking jack all about what his friends are feeling. His feelings for Mikasa, his desire to keep her safe and away from everything else trump everything even the idea that his love might be returned. He loves at Mikasa. He’s not in love with her, he’s projecting his love upon her. “Why didn’t he just tell her about his feelings if he secretly loved her all this time?” the point was, he couldn’t. Eren’s ego isn’t developed enough to love another person, that requires actually caring about their feelings which Eren doesn’t do to well.

There’s a reason Eren and Mikasa’s connection keeps lingering back to the small kindness they showed each other as childhood,it’s because literally despite spending their entire lives growing up together, their connection hasn’t grown at all since then, because they can’t grown.

At the end of the series however, Mikasa makes the opposite coice of Eren. If Eren’s choice has been to remain a selfish child all this time, to make other people suffer rather than face his own hurt feelings. Mikasa makes the choice of selflessness, to grow up, beyond the child who loved Eren into the adult who knows that even if you love people, one day you might lose them.

Eren’s choices only ever make the conflict worse. Mikasa’s choice finally stopped the conflict that Eren kept accelerating. It didn’t save the world, it saved the world from Eren.

I think it’s important to remember that Eren didn’t see what MIkasa was going to do, that her actions were going to end up breaking the curse. He literally had no idea what was going to happena fter the massacre, all he saw was the massacre and decided to do what he could to bring it about.

“I did all of this for you guy.”

Backtracking, five seconds later, and making excuses it all would have happened anyway.

It’s the same behavior consistently shown throughout. Eren could have stopped. Eren did not stop. Afterwards, Eren wants to reconcile the guilt and believe that his motives were good, when his actions were the actions of a bad person. It’s the same as Reiner’s crying and begging after years of guilt and failure to reconcile his acitons with who he is. Eren can’t understand why he did what he did, he just knows he did it, and he can’t accept responsibility for any of it. So that’s why Eren throws the choice away.

Eren can’t understand his father’s words, because in the end, being born, living his life, growing up, falling in love, making friends, losing some of those friends, growing older, getting weaker, all of those things are things Eren doesn’t want to do. Eren begins his life with “You were born into this world, you’re free to live hwoever you want” and ends his life wishing he was never born, and that’s the utlimate tragedy of his character arc. Not that it was inevitable he would eventually do these things, but beause it wasn’t and Eren chose to do them anyway instead of choosing literally anything else. Therefore, despite claiming Mikasa and Armin as the reason behind all of his actions, they weren’t, because he was inacapable of making the simple choice to be with them and grow up with them which is all they ever wanted from him.

#eren yaeger #eren jaeger #reiner braun #grisha jaeger #zeke jaeger #attack on titan #aot meta #attack on titan meta #aot 139 #aot 139 spoilers #attack on titan spoilers #aot spoilers #snk meta #snk theory

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hezuart · 3 years ago

Note

That anaversary aizen looks absolutely fabulous, he looks like a figure skater xd.

I heard along time ago the last arc of the anime was being animated finally bc they pulled a 90s sailor moon were the last season was not either animated or dubbed untill decades later.

I recall near the end of the current 366 episodes there was an episode were the creapy demon ppl woke up in hell and we're all bitter, and there was the other guy who was like, iM cOmEiNg FoR u IChIgO, but then is never mentioned again after and I'm like,why? Why is lt there just plopted randomly into a different arc that seams unrelated.

And locking aizen up underground seems ok, but It deff won't hold, and he will. Escape, and he will kill, you either need that one spell from star, dubbed, the darkest spell of moon the undaunted, a powerfull dark spell that killed immortal beings, that came from best character, eclipsa, the queen of darkness.

We need that.

Or stick him I'm crystal like eclipsa was in star. Is there no one who could trap him in ice or crystal for all eternity.

How about throw him into the centre of a volcano trapped and caged , forverr being killed by heat?

I assume there's space travel, send I'm into a black whole, were a black whole don't fuckin care if your immortal or fat, you will die

Yes, I love anniversary Aizen. His original octopus-butterfly hollow design was ugly so I'm glad he's back to being the fashion icon he is.

Locking Aizen up underground once is one thing, doing it twice after saying he got more powerful by just sitting there, and he escaped to battle the Quincy Soul King God... is another. I think he should have escaped at the end of the Quincy arc. That is the only feasibility.

I heard the anime is coming back for the Quincy arc as well, but because of COVID its probably going to be delayed. (I'm not gonna watch it until the Rain section of the arc then I'm dipping out. I'm only here for Zangetsu)

and funny that you mention that hell scene in the manga :)

-> spoilers for the new BLEACH 73 page anniversary chapter / thoughts/critique on it

So hey you had a premonition! Syazel .... returned? And his hole is outside of his body??? for some reason???

(I didn't understand the explanation or why / how that happens and what that means for the hollow)

And my friend and I were laughing because out of ALL the things. Kubo could do in this anniversary. He gave Syazel his dick back after going to hell. That is iconic. (that's where his hole was located, and now that its not on his body ... well...) This is the funniest thing Kubo has EVER pulled. Kudos to you, sir.

The entire internet is freaking out over Ukitake being in hell. Honestly Kubo has done far worse, and we've established that Soul Society is a corrupt system that hasn't changed, so I'm not surprised he would pull something like this.

At the same time, Kubo 1. cheated his audience. 2. continues to prove me right that he cannot bring himself to kill his characters

1. Hollows who have commit murder in their human life are sent to hell. Syazel and Aaorniero are two of these hollows, and yet, when they are killed, there is NO gates of hell scene. We see them there later in the hell chapter (which was more of a promotion for the fourth movie and I didn't believe it would hold any merit)

But the same goes for Ukitake. We never see the gates of hell take him. What, was hell late? Did hell's gates get lost like an uber before picking him up? It's bull. Withholding such vital information from your audience, not showing the gates of hell when they should pick up this soul IMMEDIATELY is ... I mean its a lie. Kubo lied to his audience.

2. Now we are told powerful shinigami are sent to hell when they die. First of all that sounds like a security threat. Wouldn't shinigami want revenge for that? Or attempt to escape? Why would they still hold loyalty after being sent to a prison of eternal suffering?

Also "Yhwach and Aizen" were the only ones keeping Hell's gates closed is way too convenient and doesn't really make any sense. I feel like Aizen should have deliberately gone to hell to retrieve powerful shinigami / hollows for his army instead of keeping it /closed/.

This is definitely a Kubo-doesn't-know-what-he's-doing-and-is -making- stuff-up-as-he-goes, but it might have a pinch of merit because of previous plot lines.... but either way, there's some big plot holes here, but again, its Kubo, so I expected nothing less.

Again, he can't kill off his characters. He introduced zombification, he introduced immortality through the hougyoku, he has Orihime and Hachigen's reversal / rejection abilities. He brought back Luppi, friggen.... a character who's entire upper half of his body was incinerated. Like.... come on. No. He's dead, you can't bring him back like that. That's a cop out and just weird. You're taking away consequences and grief.

(Also Yamamoto and Unohana deserve to be in hell far over Ukitake, they've done some fcked up stuff in their pasts unlike him)

Also Kubo's favorite character is Mayuri, which.... you're allowed to have a favorite problematic character. But Keeping said character alive and bared from the consequences of abusing his daughter, murdering innocents, and experimenting on your own squad members? Nah. Nope. Kill him, Kubo. Kill this dude.

(his weird attachment to Mayuri is probably why he keeps bringing Syazel back, since Syazel is Mayuri 2.0, but Syazel is the bad guy who does face consequences for his actions while Mayuri is not)

Also, I'm certain Kazui and Orihime are going to be THRILLED that their precious husband/dad is going to hell when he dies :)

(I just... Rukia teased Ichigo about leaving Orihime at home. She teased him about having a house wife who he leaves all the chores to. Orihime had two panels. She checks on her son who promised he would be at home and sleep. Kazui fcking breaks his promise like it never mattered to him and JUMPS out the window after pretending to sleep in front of his mother. ... An 8 year old... alone... in the middle of the night.)

Orihime is abandoned. She is not invited to SS, she is not informed of what is going on, her son leaves her.... I...

Orihime is a side character. She doesn't matter anymore. She hasn't mattered for a long, long time.

A part of me is glad she had little screen time, since she tends to waste it, but another part of me is embroiled with rage.

I've even see people try to defend this. "Orihime and Ichigo can't be together ALL the time, that's an unhealthy relationship!" and I'm like guys... that's not the point. The point is Orihime is not part of Ichigo's other life. Any shinigami stuff from now on is none of her business. She's going to stay at home while Kazui and Ichigo go off and save the world. Ichigo is going to be fighting by Rukia and Renji while Orihime watches from the sidelines, or worse, doesn't even know what is going on with her husband and son. Orihime is going to be uninformed and abandoned, because she has not proven she is capable of fighting by their sides(go on, @ me. I will fight this. She's a failure.), and also because she prefers a human life over a dead one. Which is ironic, because she married a dead man. Ichigo is a shinigami, and he will be one forever. god forbid she ever meets his Zanpaktou. She would tremble in fear at the monsters her husband harbors in his soul, especially when she realizes they don't care about her and would rather see her dead. (Zangetsu would absolutely kill Orihime. Not sure about Kazui, but Orihime has not accepted Zangetsu, she does not like either of them, and the feeling is assuredly mutual.) frick now I want to make a comic about this

Also still frustrated over Zangetsu's shikai / bankai regression. Kubo once again lied to his audience. Ichigo has no bankai. How ridiculous is that? The main character of BLEACH doesn't have a bankai. Insulting.

(RIP to Chad. He doesn't exist anymore. He's just gone. No mention, no cameo. Gone.)

Kazui is a demon child. That character from the novels? Hikone? They're the same character. Literally same personality, same power level. Its worse because Kazui is a liar. He constantly goes behind his parents' backs. He can summon creepy fish and creepy eyeballs and open portals like is ANYONE aware of this? How has SS not kidnapped Ichigo's son and experimented on him / locked away his powers yet? All substitute shinigami require a reiatsu controlling / spy badge to keep them in line. Where is Kazui's? Or is he just a weird fullbringer?

I was worried Kubo was gonna try and pull a knock off Boruto but luckily he kept the focus on Ichigo and the others. But that being said, Ichika and Kazui are now just... sort of there? Kazui was kinda just.... having his own adventure that doesn't matter to the plot at hand, and Ichika had some nice characterization at first but she just hid behind her dad the whole time.

I have a feeling Kazui is gonna step in at the last minute or do some major behind the scenes thing that indirectly interferes with the main plot so no one will realize how powerful and dangerous he actually is. Its sad because Ichika is the superior character in personality and likability, but she clearly is not going to have a bigger part in this.

Ichigo having a normal life after everything still feels extremely boring and uncomfortable to me. Everyone's like 'I'm still bLEACH!" but.... BLEACH just... doesn't feel like BLEACH anymore. It hasn't for a while now.

~~~

There's two new shinigami characters. Didn't care for the girl, but the Sign Language kid who talks to animals is adorable ... however... he just reminds me of Chad, and I just... it hurts knowing Chad has essentially been deleted. Chad and Orihime are officially benched. They have chosen the human world, and Orihime has given Ichigo his spawn so she has no more use/purpose to him anymore... ////sigh

~~~

Also. This is claimed to be a new "arc". So is the BLEACH manga coming back? What is happening. I thought Kubo was tired and didn't want to do BLEACH anymore. I thought Shounen Jump cut him off. People made so many excuses for Kubo and why the past two arcs have been so badly written the past 6 years and now almost everything they've attempted to defend him with has been revoked.

BLEACH is going to continue to screw up its plot lines and characters, so Its probably best for it to stay dead but I've seen a lot of Kubo stans drooling over this content, they're desperate for BLEACH's return, but its already given out all its possible revelations. There's really nothing else to top here. It's just going to make things up as it goes along ,and I'm not really here for half-assed writing like that, especially since the damage of rushing the previous manga has already been done. Kubo and Shounen Jump are riding off a money nostalgia. None of this was planned.

Honestly though.... overall feeling of this chapter, not as bad as it could have been.

Syazel stole the spotlight, and he's my friend's favorite character, so that's all that really matters.

#bleach #bleach spoilers #spoilers #text post #anti bleach 686 #anti ichihime #ask #tite kubo #technically anti renruki too but #ichihime destroys the plot more than renruki #renruki feels like an after thought #they're only together for kazui and ichika's existence #but if these two are lacking in use if BLEACH were to continue then why have them at all #even tho ive tagged this as anti ichihime #interestingly enough there is no ichihime interaction or really mention at all in this chapter

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mochegato · 3 years ago

Text

I Can’t Fight This Feeling

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

This was supposed to be an easy job, the last thing he had to do before Talia would think he was ready and let him go on his own path. Trail the heroes back to the Guardian, steal his miraculous, wait until the heroes detransform, steal their miraculous. Lure the villain out and steal his miraculous. Child’s play. He didn’t need years of training for this.

But then they were kids. Kids who started the same age as him. Kids who weren’t being protected as they risked their lives protecting everyone else. Kids who actually cared about the people they worked with. Kids who weren’t self-righteous, condescending, assholes. Kids who deserved to have good lives. But they were kids who were sacrificing their lives for this fight and he could help with that.

Once he finished the mission, they could have their lives back. He takes their miraculous, tracks down Hawkmoth and takes his miraculous, and everything goes back to normal for them. Their lives can go back to normal, like none of this even happened. He just needed to track down Hawkmoth, but that shouldn’t be too difficult. He didn’t know what the heroes had tried already, but they were civilians.

Everything he found out about Ladybug, or rather Marinette Dupain-Cheng, indicated that she had no detective training. He had been trained by the World’s Greatest Detective and the League of Assassins. Even if the butterflies were impossible to track, he should be able to find something that would lead him to the villain. Then he takes that asshole’s miraculous, and the heroes, more specifically Marinette, could have her childhood back, what’s left of it anyway.

He just needed to get started and since he knew Marinette’s identity, that made her the weak link, so he’d start with her. He’d been hoping he could track her to the Guardian, but she hadn’t gone to him. Probably because knew she was being tailed. She hadn’t done anything definitive to show it, she was too good for that, so if he didn’t know the signs, he would have missed it. But he did know the signs, so he hadn’t missed them.

He could see the way her shoulders would tense up when he was watching her soothe to one of her classmates when they were panicking. He could see it in the way her eyes lingered around the playground just a little longer than was normal when she was babysitting. He could see it in the forced even breaths when she was feeding strays. He could see it in the way she would be in a design trance, focused on sketching, her eyes bright, and she would suddenly snap her head up, snap her book closed and head home. He could see it in the way her smile suddenly strained when she was helping a stranger.

After another few weeks of trailing her, he had finally decided it was time to take her miraculous. Instead of trailing her to the Guardian then take her miraculous, he’d take her miraculous and trail Chat Noir to the guardian. He was the second in command, therefore he was the most likely to approach the Guardian with the information and come up with a plan. Whatever plan they came up with didn’t matter, as soon as he knew where the Guardian was, it was over.

Now, he just had to come up with the perfect time to take it, without hurting her too much in the process, which was going to be a challenge no matter when he did it. There was no way she would just let him take them and while he could definitely overpower Marinette, he was hoping to do it with as little violence to her as possible. Everything he’d observed so far about her told him she would likely already feel like she failed once he took them, he definitely would have. Hopefully she reacted better to it than he would have, because back then, when he worked with Bruce, when he had a home, or thought he did, he would have gone into a deep depression. He already knew it was going to happen, but he didn’t want to make it worse. She didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve any of this.

The easiest way seemed to be to knock her out as painlessly as possible. So here he was, following her, hanging back more than a respectable distance so he wouldn’t alert her to his presence and waiting for the perfect opportunity to isolate her and use the tranquilizer dart in his pocket. And that would have been the way things went except it seems fate had a change of plans, in a way that only a crowbar to the side of the head could do. This time it wasn’t a clown wielding the crowbar, but the effects were just as devastating.

There was a somewhat sheltered part of the park Marinette was walking through, trees on either side of a narrow walkway, shielding the area from prying eyes. If she kept the direction she was going, she’d walk right through it, and that was where he’d strike. He gripped the dart tighter in his pocket, prepping himself for what he was about to do to her. He’d just picked up his pace when someone burst through an apartment building wall. Or rather, something did.

An akuma calling himself the Shusher jumped at the kids in the park, wielding a crowbar of all things, to silence all of Paris. Each hit stole a bit of volume, until it stole their life, which to Jason’s horror, he demonstrated on Marinette. She’d acted immediately, jumping in front of the kids, giving them time to run, drawing him away from the direction they ran. She’d dodged well for the first few swings, but after that, she’d grabbed his arm and kicked his kidney. If the man hadn’t been an akuma, Jason was positive he’d be on the floor, but with the magical reinforcement, the akuma didn’t even flinch. Instead, he swung hard, and with the close proximity, she didn’t have the room to dodge this time.

Jason froze at the first swing. Why did it have to be a crowbar? He couldn’t get his body to move. He couldn’t react. He couldn’t help. And he couldn’t tear his eyes away. The first hit knocked him out of his stupor. The sight was horrifying. His body finally moved, but slower than normal. It didn’t seem to respond to him like it usually did. He didn’t reach them until Marinette was already on the ground, no longer breathing.

He watched the blood seep out from under her until it had saturated the ground around her. A sickeningly satisfied smile spread across the akuma’s face as he examined Jason to see what he would do. Jason looked to the side toward the sheltered part of the park and back to the akuma. He pulled his hood over his head until the only part of him that could be seen was his glowing green eyes.

“Game on, mother fucker,” Jason growled as he sprung at the akuma, catching him around the waist and rolling toward the shielded section of the park. He let the akuma attack him, backing him up until they were fully shielded on all sides by the trees. Once he was sure nobody could see them and no cameras could record them, he leaped up and attacked the akuma with a volley of kicks and punches that would have left any normal human dead and unrecognizable within seconds.

He continued to attack the akuma until he heard the miraculous team arrive. He kept the akuma distracted while Marinette’s team found her body and took a minute to mourn. When they approached with a new found determination, he backed into the trees, effectively disappearing from the scene. The akuma switched targets quickly, more interested in taking the miraculous than continuing a pointless fight with him. Jason watched the akuma jump away and the team follow him.

The fight was long and messy without their leader there to guide them and them emotionally thrown off by her death, but Jason kept a close eye on the news coverage of it in case he had to step in. Every fiber in his being was pushing him to join the fight and tear the bastard to pieces, slowly and in the most painful ways possible. But he couldn’t do that. If he did, Talia would know what he did, that he intentionally betrayed them. He wouldn’t last the week, let alone Marinette.

And regardless of the outcome of the fight with the heroes, the man wouldn’t survive the week anyway. Jason was going to make sure of it. That thought was the only one running through his head as he watched Marinette’s lifeless body strewn out on the ground, her arms at odd angles, the bruises starting to form, the spots where the crowbar hit starting to puff up. He could no longer make out the shape of her face. Her eyes, which had always been so bright and hopeful and passionate, were now lifeless and dull.

It stole his breath away. He felt a sharp pain in his chest that wouldn’t go away, worse than if he would have taken a hit to the chest from the crowbar. Which is exactly what should have happened. He had training. He had experience. He should have been the one to jump into the fight, not Marinette. She didn’t have any of that and she jumped in to save those kids. She knew she wouldn’t be able to hold him off for long and she still did it.

And he wanted to be angry or surprised but he wasn’t either. Because he’d done his research. He’d been observing her for over a month now in and out of the suit. That’s just who she was. That’s who he was supposed to hurt. God, the idea of being the cause for her eyes to dull over hurt. But he kind of was, wasn’t he. And his plan, if he went through with it, would do it all over again.

After an eternity, a wave of pink and red ladybugs swept through the area, returning the surrounding buildings to normal. Marinette gasped back to life. She jolted up to sitting only to slump immediately after. She took a few shuttering breaths before reaching up to feel her ears. “No, no, no, no,” she started panicking and searched her surroundings.

“They’re gone,” Jason answered the unasked question.

She stared at him wide-eyed, fear lacing her eyes, quickly turning to a furious glare. He held up his hands in surrender. “It wasn’t me. It was your friend so she could fight the akuma.” She looked at him doubtfully, but nodded. She was healed after all, so the akuma must have been defeated. She kept her eyes on him and slowly urged her body to tense in preparation for whatever attack he had planned.

“Relax. I’m not going to fight you, kid. I’m not looking for a fight today… except maybe that guy with the crowbar,” he growled the last part of his sentence, his eyes wandering in the direction the fight had gone.

“No! You can’t do that,” Marinette exclaimed loudly, almost lunging at him, but collapsing back down almost instantly from the shock of movement to her system.

“Are you serious, Goody Two Shoes? He killed you. He beat you until you stopped breathing. He took your life from you with no remorse and you’re going to protect him?” Jason barked.

“It wasn’t him.” Jason scoffed at her. “I’m not saying he’s a good guy. I don’t know him. But, the akumas, they change a person, morph them, make them into someone they aren’t. It isn’t them. And I don’t want anyone dead because of me.” She met Jason’s glare with a determined one of her own for a few seconds before she looked away. “And it’s Marinette, not Kid or Goody Two Shoes.”

Jason narrowed his eyes at her and pressed his lips together in frustration. “Fine. I won’t kill him. But you need to be careful because the League of Assassins is after your jewelry. And stop telling strangers your name.”

Her eyes snapped back up to meet his. “What is the League of Assassins?” she asked cautiously. “And like you didn’t know my name already. You know it. Use it.”

“Fine,” he rolled his eyes. “And you wouldn’t believe me about the League if I told you.” He shook his head lightly, but the serious expression on his face was enough to scare Marinette.

“Try me.” Her voice held more confidence than she felt. Like she was challenging him.

“It’s a league … comprised… of assassins.”

Marinette rolled her eyes and huffed out a long suffering breath. He gave her a charming grin, maybe the first authentic, happy smile he’d given since before he died. He looked in her eyes and suddenly turned away. His smile faded to a frown. “There's a timer on this peace. They want the miraculous and they want them before you defeat Hawkmoth because they know they’ll have no way to track them once you’re not using them anymore.”

He looked back in her eyes. “They'll send somebody else as soon as I leave here. They’ll send more.”

“Someone better?” she chuckled mirthlessly.

Jason scoffed and gave her a roguish smile. “Oh Pixie, there is no one better.”

Marinette actually laughed. “Well then, I've already survived the best. I'm sure I can survive the rest,” she said defiantly. “And I told you to call me Marinette.”

Jason smiled proudly, but quickly shook it off. As long as Hawkmoth was active, they were in danger, she was in danger and he wouldn’t be able to protect her. The only way out of it was to become him. “Not unless you're willing to kill them. They're not like me. They won't walk away when they see who you are. They'll keep coming until you kill them.”

She looked at him curiously. “And who am I? Who am I to you to make you stop?”

Jason looked away, his eyes unfocused for a moment before returning to her eyes. “You're like me, like I used to be. But better. You're who I should have been, who I was supposed to be.” His head whipped around to the sound of people calling her name. “Time’s up. Good luck.”

“Wait…” she called after him. She tried to get up and go after him, but he was already gone before she could ask more questions.

Two weeks later she received an email addressed to Pixie with a clear video shot through a window of Gabriel Agreste transforming into Hawkmoth. A week later, she, Chat, and the rest of the team took him down, with video documentation of the whole thing and Officer Raincomprix as a witness. Ultimately, once they knew who to go after, it was actually extremely easy to sneak in camouflaged and immobilize him. They just needed that last piece of the puzzle.

The justice investigation was quick, as was the trial. Everyone involved was eager to get it over as quickly as possible, and with incontrovertible evidence against him, Gabriel didn’t have much of a defense to give anyway. Waking up Adrien’s mother took a bit longer, but with the help of the monks in the temple, she made a full recovery. Marinette’s memories of the previous three years, however never did.

Chapter 3

Tags:

@jasonette-july-event @jayjayspixiepop @aespades @how-to-function-properly

#maribat #jasonette #Jasonette July #Jasonette July 2021 #prompt - Game On

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alderaani · 3 years ago

Text

more than gold

summary: A lost Jedi Temple, a riddle, some literature, and feelings that Cody isn't ready to speak out loud. | AO3

note: written for @codywanweek and the alt day 5 prompt Sith/Jedi Artefact Shenanigans! sliding in on the last day with one more thing written than expected, so i’m happy with that! i’m pretty ill today so i hope it actually makes some coherent sense 😂 also if the riddle was super obvious, soz, never written one before and turns out it’s really hard.

“You know, I could have sworn I told you not to touch that,” Cody says conversationally, from where he’s splayed out on his back.

“Really? I’m sure I didn’t hear you,” Obi-Wan says, cheerful despite being crumpled in a heap. His elbow is in Cody’s gut. Cody glares at him.

The room they’re lying in is circular, stone, carved out of some Forced-damned mountain and according to Obi-wan, practically thrumming with power. The ceiling is high and vaulted, letting in slivers of light where intricate mirror systems catch the sunlight of double suns and project it deep underground. It takes on a slightly blue cast, reflecting off the huge pool of water they were lucky to not fall into. Four walkways at each cardinal point lead to a central platform, and interspersed between them are four waterfalls.

It should be serene. Except now the waterfalls are travelling backwards, and all the doors, including the one they came in by, are blocked. Cody scrambles up onto his elbows, dislodging Obi-Wan with a grunt.

“What did you do?”

Obi-Wan follows his gaze and gasps, delighted. “Now, will you look at that?”

Cody is looking. Frankly, he doesn’t trust this place enough to not keep his eye on it at all times. Obi-Wan keeps saying that this temple was built long ago, by ancient, peaceful Jedi as a place of learning, and that it won’t hurt them. After they got cut off from the rest of their men at the entrance, however, Cody thinks he could be forgiven for having his doubts.

As Obi-Wan himself proves, peace-keeping hardly rules out danger.

“Amazing,” Obi-Wan breathes, hoisting himself to his feet without a second glance, to walk back up to the plinth and stalk round it, examining the incomprehensible runes engraved there.

Cody is left to peel himself off the floor, and instead goes to prod at the barriers now sealing the exits with the end of his blaster. He tries not to look too much at Obi-Wan, at the soft sweep of his hair and the span of his shoulders. Being on their own like this is something he’s avoided, of late - not because he doesn’t enjoy it, but because he’s starting to enjoy it all too much.

He doesn’t trust the way his heart leaps when Obi-Wan smiles, when he asks him to call him ‘Obi-Wan’, when the cycle draws on and they’re up late again, companionably finishing reports and debating strategy. Or, as they had been doing until Cody got cold feet and started finding excuses, debating novels, which Obi-Wan checked out of the Temple archives and read aloud, one chapter at a time, before they turned in for the night.

He doesn’t trust himself not to ruin this by overstepping. There’s something about his general that makes him lose all control of his tongue, and puts him in danger of voicing thoughts that really he should not be having at all.

It’s agony. It’s bliss. It’s stretching him to breaking point, and this is possibly the worst situation they could have ended up in, really.

“These are made out of water,” he says over his shoulder, grunting as he tries to push his blaster through. He is, of course, unsuccessful.

“Ingenious,” Obi-Wan says. “How did they manage that, I wonder?”

Cody cuts a glance back at him, and grins, despite his exasperation.

“You’re not more worried about how we’re going to get out?”

Obi-Wan waves a hand. “I’m sure the path will reveal itself, in time. Oh, look - Cody, I think this is a puzzle!”

Cody bites back a groan. They do not have time for this. They never really had time for it, but Obi-Wan promised it would be a brief detour on their way to the capital for hyperspace lane access negotiations. He’d looked so excited by recon reports of a lost temple that Cody just hadn’t been able to say no. He’s never able to say no to Obi-Wan, even when he isn’t following orders. It’s probably his fatal flaw.

“I don’t suppose there’s an off switch? A back button?” He asks hopelessly. The Force, at least the Jedi sort, very rarely seems to work that way. Obi-Wan is always talking about moving through problems, about seeking balance and adapting to what’s around you, rather than manipulating it. It’s not Cody’s favoured approach; he was trained to leverage his environment to its maximum advantage, and finds he has little patience for anything else.

Obi-Wan snorts. “This is a defensive mechanism, I’m afraid. Judging by the architecture this was built at the height of the Sith Wars. This artefact is designed to trap us here until we understand the mechanism and progress, or until, back when the temple was occupied, someone would come and deal with the intruder.”

“That doesn’t sound very peaceful,” Cody says.

Obi-Wan shoots him an amused look, the warm, soft kind that makes heat rise from the pit of Cody’s belly right up to his ears.

“Even a pacifist may defend himself,” he says, then leans over the pedestal. “Now, how about you stop grousing and come help me with this?”

Cody rolls his eyes, but goes, slinging his blaster across his back and crossing his arms.

“And stop looming,” Obi-Wan laughs, catching one of Cody’s gloved hands and pulling it down to rest at his side. The simple touch makes Cody’s cheeks burn.

“Don’t see what help I can give you, Sir,” he says, frowning down at the characters surrounding the bright blue artefact. “I was never any good at Ithorian.”

Obi-Wan pauses, then tilts his head up. “Ah. Is that what it is?”

“I - I think so?” Cody was never any good at his language flashtraining; he never had the proper patience for it, but he can usually figure out the basics.

“No, no,” Obi-Wan muses, stroking at his beard with his free hand. “You’re quite right. Goodness me, it's been a long time since I last saw this dialect. Let’s see now…”

Cody steps back and waits, keeping his attention firmly split between their blocked exit points while Obi-Wan ponders. The slow upward movement of the waterfalls is eerie - it still makes noise, but none of it is right. Instead of the gentle patter he expects of water joining a larger pool, there’s a faint gurgling as they move further into each grate, travelling somewhere he cannot see.

Obi-Wan finishes his fifth circle round the platform, and the hand at his chin goes still. Cody stands at attention, expectant.

“It’s a riddle,” Obi-Wan says, and if possible, his delight grows. “Yes - the language is coming back to me now. Do you know, I haven’t looked at Ithorian in maybe 12 years?”

“Sir?” Cody says, tilting his head to look at the characters more closely. He doesn’t have even a passing proficiency at modern Ithorian, and presumably it’s changed a bit over the millennia. His training was focused on the basics, and only the useful bits, at that. He thinks he can make out the words for ‘ water ’, and ‘ enemy’ , both of which are either unhelpfully descriptive or frankly discouraging, but that’s about the extent of it.

“My old master - he loved prophecies. When I was a teenager I could never see the point of it, but it meant I spent a lot of time learning the old Ithorian dialects. They’re known as the most peaceful species, did you know?” Obi-Wan shakes his head. “They’ll exile anyone violent, it’s quite remarkable, really. I suppose in some sort of idealistic emulation, a lot of the early Jedi texts are written in their dialect.”

His blue eyes are keen, his laser sharp focus firmly on the podium. It gives Cody a moment to observe his clever fingers, the long line of his neck, the open delight with which he tackles this new problem. It’s a rare thing, to see him so relaxed, and Cody can’t help the fond smile that creeps up on him despite the circumstances. This almost makes it worth it, and on reflection, he’d rather an ancient temple than the last thing that had made Obi-Wan so happy; a wretched, bioluminescent fungus, which had infected half the battalion and given them hives. Their general had studied it for weeks.

Obi-Wan’s lips quirk up. Cody barely trusts himself to speak.

“I didn’t know, Sir,” Cody croaks, then pauses, fishing for something normal to say. “Didn’t we have to defend the governor’s daughter from an Ithorian bounty hunter on Ganaris-IV?”

“Well,” Obi-Wan grins. “Those exiles have to go somewhere, don’t they?”

Cody huffs a laugh and reaches up to scratch his neck at the seam of his bucket.

“Let’s just hope they didn’t all come here. What’s this riddle, then?”

Obi-Wan shifts to the side, then points at a spot on the podium. “As I said, it’s been a long time, but I think it starts here, and goes something like:

A thing to be forged, where water is thicker,

Worth more than gold, unless it’s pyrite that glitters.

An enemy of my enemy, or in hard times, in need,

Sometimes fair-weather, or in high places indeed.

What are you, traveller? ”

All of Cody’s hopes that it would be something nice and obvious, like “lightsaber” or, given what’s going on around them, “gravity”, escape from him like smoke. Jedi and their metaphors. It’s not just a quirk of Obi-Wan’s, clearly.

“Does that mean anything to you, Sir?” he asks, turning the words over in his head once, twice, then frowning when nothing comes immediately.

Obi-Wan’s brow is also furrowed, but in a leisurely, meditative manner.

“...I have some ideas, I think,” he says. “How about you, my friend?”

What does he think? He thinks that there are other sorts of puzzles he is much better suited to. Word play and idioms...what does a clone have to offer that?

Still, Obi-Wan is watching him, expectant and gentle, and he sifts back through the lines, a little more seriously this time.

“Ice, maybe?”

Obi-Wan nods, slowly. “Perhaps. Walk me through it.”

Cody swallows. “Ice is something that can be made, right? It’s not exactly forged, but…”

He trails off in uncertainty.

“Go on,” Obi-Wan says with another one of those soft, devastating smiles. It fractures all the thoughts in Cody’s head, and he has to stop, clear his throat and gather up all the pieces.

“I suppose...it’s just thicker water, isn’t it? On warm planets it’s a valuable commodity, it’s found in high places, and I suppose if you wanted snow, a freeze would be fair weather.”

Obi-Wan is rubbing his beard again, and he’s still smiling. “Fascinating. I would never have thought of that...only, I don’t think it’s quite there. That mention of pyrite is troublesome, and the ‘enemy of my enemy’, where does that fit in?”

Cody shrugs his shoulders, frustrated, and feels a hot flush creep up his neck. “Don’t know why you’re asking me, to be honest, Sir. Kamino hardly covered poetry.”

There’s a slight pause, then Obi-Wan’s hand is on his again, tugging it slowly down from where he’s crossed his arms.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he says, soft.

“Do what?” Cody’s voice is gruff.

“Dismiss yourself. You do it sometimes when we’re reading together. There is often no right and wrong answer to these things, no secret. There is only perspective, and you see things I never would, if only you would trust yourself.”

Cody looks down and away, back towards the waterfalls and their slow, glacial climb. He isn’t sure that’s true. He enjoys what Obi-Wan shares with him, what other lives he gets to touch in their books, but more than anything they convince him that, beyond war, he knows very little of anything at all. He would like to, someday.

His eyes land on Obi-Wan’s lips briefly, before he tears them away. Particular experiences he would like to know more than others.

There was one book that Obi-Wan had read early on, back when this infatuation was just setting its first tendrils into him, about a forbidden romance at the heart of the old Mandalorian court. Two heirs of rival clans battling to be together against the good approval of their noble relatives. It had been torrid, ridiculous and entirely unexpected when Obi-Wan had suggested they break up their reports with some literature.

But what it had done was give him the words to express the crawling heat in his stomach, the urge he has to reach out, to touch, to soothe, to care for. He’d known what he wanted before that, of course, in a more rudimentary manner, but it had gifted him the language of yearning.

Suddenly, a particular passage springs into his mind and he straightens.

“You don’t think it could mean ally, do you? In Beneath the Armour, Mata threatens Clan Riza by saying he has ‘allies in high places’.”

Obi-Wan pauses, and then a brilliant smile spreads over his face. “Yes, that’s it! Pyrite - Fool’s Gold; a false friend! Brilliant Cody, whatever made you think of that?”

Cody grins, even though Obi-Wan can’t see it, and doesn’t answer.

“Is that really it?”

“I think you’re very close,” Obi-Wan says. “The characters engraved into the platform...yes! Stand close to me, Commander.”

Cody does, watching curiously as Obi-Wan lifts his hands, shuts his eyes, frowns, and pushes . Six blocks that make up the platform lift, the characters on each glowing bright, lurid blue. Under their feet, something scrapes, shifts and clunks, before the platform lurches upwards, spinning gently.

There’s a thunderous gurgling sound, before all of the pool beneath drains away.

“The answer,” Obi-Wan says, slightly breathless, his hair a little out of place. “Was friend.”

“The doorways are still blocked,” Cody notes drily. The plinth with the blue orb that started this whole mess has also risen, and underneath it are a set of very wet, slimy looking steps. “I don’t suppose it’s as simple as just walking down these and getting in?”

“Likely not,” Obi-Wan agrees, then inexplicably shifts a little closer, so that they are sharing space. Cody’s heart skips a beat. “But it’s like I told you, Cody. You are far greater than what you have been given.”

Cody coughs and looks at his feet, at their boots almost toe to toe, pleasure at the praise singing low through his body.

“Now,” Obi-Wan says, too close and not close enough. “How do you feel about another puzzle?”

Cody groans, laughing, and after a moment, follows his General into the dark.

#codywanweek2021 #codywan #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #alderwrites #i would tag this jedi culture but i literally pulled this out of my ass #there is absolutely no basis in canon here #only vibes #the clone wars #star wars #codywan week 2021

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rainbowtransform · 4 years ago

Text

Neither Of Us Will Be Missed

Hello! This is a wip I’ve been trying to get done for a bit now! It’s Manhunt Dream and Dream SMP switch places, basically. :D. If you wanna read it on Ao3 it’s right here! This is the first chapter of three coming up, and I hope you guys enjoy it!

***

Dream’s fingers twitch, and he grabs the final Ender Eye, examining it. He places it into the portal, hears the age old sound of a large door finally opening, and he takes a deep breath. They’re somewhere else, he thinks. His hunters are trapped somewhere else, they won’t be here until the dragon’s dead. (And then they’d Jump back to the beginning, to the not-dead dragon and the Hunters ready for another year of pursuit and tricks and they only grow smarter).

(Dream doesn’t know why they’re all trapped in an endless cycle, but they killed him a few times, and he’d killed them, and he’d beaten the Dragon before. It never stopped, it always Jumped, and Dream never stopped running. And they never stopped chasing.)

But Dream takes a deep breath, and then jumps into the Portal.

***

“Who’s Tommy?” A man in a pig mask asks him, and Dream’s immediate response is to back up just a few steps. He bumps into a cabinet, and hears a harsh breath and a finger (maybe) touching the back of his arms before Pig Mask⸺before Techno⸺takes a step forward. “Oh, that guy⸺”

Dream pulls out his axe and holds it up to Techno. “Who the fuck’s Tommy?” Dream asks, feeling dumb as Techno’s own expression changes into a look.

What the fuck are you talking about, Dream, he’s asking. Dream doesn’t respond with one of his own, instead opting to look around while keeping Techno in sight. There’s an Enderman sitting in a boat, there’s a cabinet behind Dream with someone inside it. There’s particles all around them and there’s deep gasps coming from that area, (invisibility); there’s chests next to the Enderman, Techno’s in front of Dream, and there’s windows all around him with two doors next to Techno.

Dream holds the axe tighter, acknowledges how Techno doesn’t take his eyes off Dream’s hands and then. Just the slightest flicker to the cabinet behind him, Techno lunged forward and Dream bolts.

He manages to snag Techno’s cape, blue instead of his signature red, on his axe and Dream kicks open the doors and runs into the forest.

***

Dream covers his tracks, swipes snow over his footprints and makes new, fresher ones going in tons of directions. He breaks twigs, and branches, overturns rocks and tries to pretend to rush through something. It’ll make it more believable, but it won’t hold Techno for long. When it’s done, Dream climbs into a tree and examines the inventory that’s been given to him.

A stack and a half of steak, Netherite armor, Netherite weapons, some wood, sticks, half a stack of bread. Some iron, Enderpearls, no blaze powder, but Dream’s been given worse. He’s got a water bucket, too. And Techno’s cape, which he think he needs to put on a branch somewhere else. So, all he’s got to do is find a lava pool, and he’d be good enough for the Nether. This Hunter must be Techno (but how?) instead of his Normal ones. Dream has to be extra cautious about this. Even if the Jump resets, Dream still can get hurt, injured, and killed.

Dream makes a little place for himself in the trees, splits half of a loaf and eats it quickly. He wraps up his arm, bleeding from the fight earlier. Dream watches as the moon rises, and knows that when dawn breaks tomorrow, he’ll be up and ready to go.

Nether tomorrow, find blaze rods, make Ender Eyes, find the End Portal, fight the Dragon.

It’s a plan. It’s a plan, and it’s Dream’s plan, but he knows that there’s going to be hiccups along the way. Techno won’t let himself go down this easy, nor will he ever actually let Dream go. Techno doesn’t rest easy, and Dream knows that the whispers of Technoblade never dies aren’t just whispers.

Dream sets himself, takes a deep breath and settles down. He can go to sleep, can’t he? He’s safe for right now.

(But Techno’s looking, Dream. You aren’t safe here.)

Dream climbs higher in the tree.

***

“Where are you?” Fangs calls. “Come on, Mask. We’re not playing anymore.”

Dream holds his breath, refuses to move from his spot in the wall. The compass Fang keeps around his neck with string sticks on Dream’s skin. They’ve all got a Compass, and some of them keep it close to them (Flame keeps his in a gold chain, in the same place as Fang, while Cat and Bow keep theirs in their backpacks. They’re all back-ups, after all.)

But Dream got the compass. He stole Fang’s compass. And Fang’s alone, right now, so he can’t find Dream and if Dream doesn’t move, or make any sound he’d never find him. Fang clicks his tongue, and snarls.

“When I find you,” he promises. “I’m taking the compass back.”

“Or next Jump,” Cat says and Dream hears a quiet thump as he jumps down and peers around.

“Hey,” Fang says. “Do you mind if I borrow your compass?”

“I left mine at the Base,” Cat said. “George is brewing a bunch of potions, though. I guarantee if we go back right now, he’ll be done with them. We can come back and find him then.”

Fang hums. “I think he’ll be long gone by then.”

“But we’ll still have three more Compasses. And we’ll get yours back.”

Fang sighs. “Of course,” he says. “Where else is he going to go where we can’t follow?”

“That’s the Spirit,” Cat says.

They walk away, and Dream breathes a sigh of relief.

***

Dream wakes up an hour into the sunrise, and he bolts upward. There’s nothing there, just some clean fresh snow and Dream shivers. His hoodie’s designed to keep him warm in some rough temperatures but not in extreme cold like the fucking Arctic. On the bright side with the snow, his old tracks are now covered and Dream can go about running through the trees.

Dream moves quickly, he slides down onto a lower branch and jumps to the other trees. He weighs skipping breakfast (the other half of the bread) before his hunger gets the better of him. He’s been doing Jumps since he was sixteen, and he has done his fair share of skipping plenty of meals and fainting (and, by result, failing the Jump) so he’s already decided to not do that.

He eats the bread as he goes, and almost misses the branch. But he scrambled to grab a hold to the tree’s trunk with his (freezing) fingers, and he almost snarled. But Dream’s also learned when to be quiet and when to be bold. He holds onto Netherite things and (no doubt) Techno’s got them, too. The Jump’s all about being fair, and Dream with Netherite, even against Techno, is not fair.

Dream rights himself on the tree and takes a quick glance around again. Some snow is shaken off the trees where Dream had landed, but he shakes it off. By the time Techno comes looking in this area, Dream will already be far far away in the Nether.

Dream folds his fingers into his armpit, trying to think for just a moment. While his fingers warm up again, he’s already planned for three encounters, two deaths, and a reset.

He doesn’t want to walk through the snow, but with how the forest is growing thin, there’s no choice. He slips down, lands with a crunch sound and Dream stands. The snow’s basically covering his lower body right now and he tries to wipe it off before it melts into his jeans.

Dream takes off Techno’s cape and throws it over a high branch. That’ll at least confuse him for a second, if Techno’s smart (which he is) then Dream just bought himself about thirty seconds of escape time.

He sets off to find a lava pool, or a warmer climate at least. Dream climbs over some hills, checking for a flash of pink or a glint of something before he continues onward. But there’s nothing except the endless Arctic and some blue dye that’s been scattered around. He’s brushing the snow off his shoulders, when he notices the purplish glint of a Portal just a couple paces away from him.

Nether, Dream thinks. He’s got to find the Fortress, get some blaze rods and then get back to the same portal, in the same freakin’ Arctic. (But he can bring some lava with him, right? To keep him warm? It worked last time, when Bow and Flame were the only ones who were chasing him.

Dream steps through the Portal, hoping that the bucket of water won’t evaporate in his pack, and he goes from a freezing temperature, to overwhelming heat

***

He’s on a pathway, snaking its way toward something else, and Dream’s instantly wary. He’s shifting, ready to jump off the side of the pathway before he notices the huge lava pool that’s below him.

“Okay,” he mutters. “Then I guess we’re following the path.” He holds onto the compass around his neck and darts forward.

There’s a bunch of cobblestone and a wood bridge that’s just… it’ll burn too easy, Dream notes. But it also might help to keep Hunters off Dream’s trail. Dream pushes his way through and there’s another portal sitting right in the middle of this huge place. There’s a chest a couple steps away which Dream riffles through and ultimately thinks that it’s useless.

And he looks at the portal, sticks a hand through it and then takes it back. He really should go find the Nether Fortress. But, the portal’s also ticking his curiosity and Puffy always told Dream that he’s never satisfied.

And if this portal takes him to a different one, then he won’t have to go back to the Arctic!

So, he steps through.

***

Niki laughs and runs her fingers through Dream’s hair. “You’re just full of questions today, aren’t you duckling?”

Dream nods, and points at the bowl she’d been mixing. “What’s in it?” He questions again and Niki laughs. She’s almost twenty-one years old, and Mom and her have been together for almost a year now.

“Oh, it’s just something really quick that I’m making.” Niki says, smiling. “Some jelly tarts, maybe a pie later on. Want to help?”

Dream nods eagerly, and there’s a brief moment of: what am I meant to do? Before Niki gives him a bowl and a whisk and shows him how to mix the ingredients without making a mess of himself and the kitchen.

When Mom comes home from Foolish’s doctor appointment, there’s cooling pastries in the kitchen and two sleeping people on the couch.

***

He’s standing on a town. That’s the only way he can explain it, and he’s staring across at this huge building. It’s red and stone bricks build on top of the water itself; and Dream takes a quick step forward, eyes dark. He wonders why, exactly, it’s there.

(You can hide there, Dream. For a little bit. Techno won’t know you’re here.)

And so he breaks into a run, and slides into the house quickly and quietly. He takes a deep breath, and looks through the windows, his mask feeling plain in this colorful world. There’s a huge castle to the left of him, a quartz building to the right and right in front of him looks like a courthouse and another house that’s been abandoned.

(Hide, hide, hide, hide, they’re here. Can’t you hear the heartbeat? Let’s go.)

Dream takes off, and he hears a quick shout behind him, but it doesn’t matter. He’s got to go, and he slides to the left and runs to the castle. It’s big enough for Dream to climb the tops of it and get away from whoever’s calling his name right now.

The compass burns hot on Dream’s skin.

***

“Mom.” Dream says, lips stiff. “Mom I didn’t do it, okay? Whatever they’re saying, I didn’t do it, Mom. Mom, please.” Dream’s sixteen.

He’s scared. He doesn’t know what he’d done to deserve this, but whatever it is, it’s apparently bad enough that a Hunter’s after him. Niki is holding onto Puffy’s hands, and Foolish is crying, he’s reaching for Dream.

“‘Dream. Dream!” Foolish keeps saying, reaching for him. He wants to be hugged, and Puffy’s holding him back.

“Duckling,” Puffy says, her eyes wet. “Dream.”

And his head snaps to meet her eyes. She never calls him Dream. Niki guides Foolish further into the home, all the while he keeps looking back at Dream, and Puffy looks away, swallows, and then remeets her son’s eyes. “Dream,” she says again. “I can’t…. We can’t…”

“Mom,” Dream says again, voice breaking. “Mom, please. I didn’t, Mom.”

“No, Dream.” She says. “You’ve got a Hunter on your back. And with Foolish, we can’t. I’m sorry, duckling.”

And she closes the door, and Dream’s left with a chill right to his very bones.

“Mom,” he whispers. “Puffy…”

***

And that’s the first face he sees once he’s climbed to the top of the castle. Puffy, looking at him with her mouth open, calling his name. His hands shake, and he takes a moment to drink her in. Her hair’s the same as always, and she’s wearing Netherite. That’s weird.

Only Hunters get Netherite.

She’s not a…?

(She is, she is, she is. Stay away from me, stay away from me, stay away from me.)

***

He takes a look at the others, too. There’s a boy with bandages all over his arms, a almost-naked guy walking with him, a creeper hybrid (Warden, stay away), and⸺Cat.

(He’s not alone, but he is alone. But everyone else had Netherite except the boy does that mean they’re all Hunters? Is the boy an apprentice?)

Dream feels a tear roll down his cheek. Puffy’s his mother, sue him. Doesn’t mean he can’t miss her. Why are there so many Hunters? He jerks forward, loses his balance just slightly, and hears the creeper call up a “be careful,” and Dream shrinks back and lets loose a hiss.

The creeper hisses back and Dream bares his teeth. Cat doesn’t look like he really cares all that much, but he just calls a simple “Don’t fall. Remember what happened last time you tried to climb the castle?”

Dream says nothing back. Cat raised an eyebrow and waits, impatient and taps his foot. “You’re just not gonna say anything?” Cat calls again, and Dream edges toward the edge of the Castle’s back.

“Dream?” Cat calls again, and Dream snaps his head over.

“You don’t know my name,” he shouts finally. “You’ve never learned it. How did you find out?”

“Your name?” Cat calls. “Why wouldn’t I know it?”

“Duckling?” Puffy calls, looking worried.

Of course, Dream thinks, glancing back to Puffy. Why wouldn’t he know his name? They’ve got his mother on their side.

“Dream?” Is that⸺Bow? Flame?⸺“What’re you doing up there?”

Dream swallows. Five Hunters. God, he’s really in trouble isn’t he.

He jumps.

***

Dream is sixteen, and he’s on his own. He’s got one Hunter on his tail, and he’s killed the Hunter a million times. Dream’s been killed a million times, and he’s killed the Dragon a million times. Each time, it resets him with the Hunter to a different World and Dream doesn’t know why.

He’s Captain Cara Puffy’s kid. He’s got to survive for his brother, and for his mothers. The crystal in his pocket hums warmly. At night, Dream takes it out and he knows that it honed into his Home World, and he wonders what’ll happen if he takes it home.

The Hunters would find him and his parents, wouldn’t they? They’d hurt his family, just to get to him. And isn’t that ironic? Dream hasn’t hurt anyone.

He hasn’t. Dream doesn’t know where Wilbur and Tommy went, he doesn’t know how Technoblade managed to escape but he wasn’t involved. He wasn’t.

Foolish comes to Dream’s mind. His birthday already passed and he’s what? Ten now? Maybe older, but Dream can’t quite remember what age he is, let alone his brother. (Age didn’t matter when he was sixteen and on his parents’ doorsteps, with a Hunter closing in on time; age didn’t matter when he was almost seventeen and threw himself off a cliff because that’s better than dying to a Hunter. Age doesn’t matter when you’re on the run.)

But that hasn’t happened yet. Right now, he’s still sixteen running from One Hunter.

***

Dream rolls to a crouch, and takes off again. He’s got Technoblade, Cat, Bow, Flame, Puffy and the Warden after him. Dream keeps going, oblivious to his mother’s calls of his name and his nickname. He can't, he won’t go back. This is a trick, he thinks to himself and he looks over at the forest that’s beside him and the buildings thats in front of him.

He makes a rash decision, and runs into the woods.

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