#he seemed to imply he was recording but? just not going into it w intent to release it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

burnedbyshoto · 4 years ago

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the bodyguard

— Kirishima gets assigned to be the bodyguard to one of the worlds greatest idols: you. —

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pairing: bodyguard!kirishima eijirou x idol!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, brat taming, authority kink, spanking, blowjob, slapping, choking, brat taming, brat!reader, modern!au, no quirks, bodyguard!kirishima, idol!reader, PTSD portrayal, anxiety, war flashbacks, implied minor character death, drugging, alcohol consumption, size difference: kirishima is 2 feet taller than you, regardless of the reader’s original height. If you’re 6 ft congrats he’s 8 ft.

word count: 20,500

a/n: this is for the bnharem collab.... im so sorry, it’s 4:30 am and I have a plane to catch in 2 hours to get back to school. thank you jo for proofreading this for me because lol I am a mess. if the paragraph spacing did not work as I wish it does, please let me know so I can go in and edit in visible paragraph spacers!

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“I’ll be okay.”

The smell of dirt, sweat, and blood clung to the air.

The sun was setting, its blood-red shine illuminating against the destroyed earth, making the already bloodied soil even bloodier.

There was no telling if the land was quiet, if the reason why the world's silence was because the world just for this moment had gone silent, or if the earlier explosions were still ringing in his ears.

Kirishima sat wounded, his back pressed to the wall, his eyes wide, breathing erratic. He can’t move, can’t bother picking up the gun that lays abandoned by his knee as warm, sticky liquid spills onto his clothed knees and continues to soak the fabric of his jeans.

What had he done?

What in the fucking world had he done?!

BOOM!

Kirishima stills, his eyes stilling on the floor and looking at the clear moisture. He doesn’t need to touch his face to know it’s a combination of both sweat and tears.

His ears sing with white noise, the erratic beat of his heart, and his pained breathing.

“I’ll be okay,” the ghost taunts his mind.

But I’m not okay, Kirishima tries to speak, but knows with how his tongue is sitting like a thick dried sponge in his mouth, he won’t be able to speak. Pushing off the cold floor, flops onto his back, his arm flinging over his closed, shaken eyes until the ringing in his ear disappears into his alarm clock.

05:30.

Kirishima lays there for a bit more, his chest still heaving heavily with the weight of lead.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Better?

No, not yet.

Kirishima runs through breathing exercises, his chest never stopping in it’s hiccuped, broken pants as his memories continue to haunt his mind. If only he was smarter, more observant, better.

“Time to get up, time to get up, time to get up,” his phone screams with his second alarm set at 06:45. The sound does what it’s intended, jolting Kirishima out of his own head. His labored breathing shallowing just enough for his lungs to finally grasp ahold of its required function.

Today was an important day for him; he needed to be on his tiptop game, according to what Toshinori said yesterday.

I’m okay, he convinced himself as he does every morning after having this dream. Kirishima flings his arm off his eyes, the morning purple sun shining softly through his blinds. I’m okay.

Date: 4/2 Time: 08:00 Location: UA Services

“And in other news, music industries princess Y/n has been attacked by yet another round of masked perpetrators. Fortunately for the music idol, she was left unhurt but was clearly rattled. This is but the fourth attack on Y/n since three weeks ago. It’s leaving many of us fans, spectators, and civilians wondering just what is being done to ensure her safety? Y/n is reported to not have a single bodyguard to her name, wanting to quote-on-quote ‘experience her fans to the fullest’, but with these recent attacks, we can’t help but hope something is done. At least until something is done about these attackers—”

Kirishima’s eyes tore away from the screen, his lips pressed into a deep frown as he took in the story. There was deep worry about it, not only because he hated the idea of people getting hurt, but because he was a big fan of yours.

Your debut album had come out during his training camp for the military. Not only was it an instant billboard smasher breaking every standing record, but his commanding officers were obsessed with the album and played it continuously until they graduated. Most of Kirishima’s comrades came to dislike your music solely because they remember throwing up, bleeding, and suffering while you sang about love and whatnot, but Kirishima? Kirishima fell in love.

It was a bright spot in his life, and he was grateful for your music, even if it has been ten years and six albums since the training camp.

“Yo, Kiri!” a voice cheered out happily as a hand clasped onto his shoulder from behind. Kirishima held the flinch that threatened to rip through his bones. Kirishima turned to find Kaminari grinning up at him, a cup of steaming tea in one hand as he grinned brightly at his coworker. “I heard you’re finally getting a good case today!”

Kirishima found himself relaxing at the sight of his rather spontaneous friend, a warm smile easing onto his face as he raised his fist for a greeting fist bump.

“We’ll see, I know Toshi’ said it was going to be important, but he also said escorting the paranoid old lady was important,” Kirishima sighed, his smile softening a bit.

Kaminari laughed, his arm slinging around Kirishima’s shoulders as he remembered that.

The little old lady was sure that the government was out to kill her and wanted protection until her son returned from his vacation. Needless to say, Kirishima had thoroughly enjoyed his time with her, even if she was a bit scary. It was a low-risk job, and he only was paranoid by her cane, which she used to thwack his back many times as she talked about how plums extended your life.

“God, I remember subbing in for you for one hour because of your family emergency, and she was so scary! She still haunts my nightmares!” Kaminari shudders, placing the cup of his tea to his lip and taking a long, slow drink. His eyes shift over to the TV, which is still broadcasting the story of your attack. “What a bunch of bastards,” he growls, eyebrows scrunching as the news reporter ends the segment. “Thinking they can go after such a beautiful and talented idol… I’ll kill them.”

Kirishima was more than well aware of Kaminari’s plentiful budding romances. The blond man fell in love with just about any smiling woman who happened to waltz in front of him. Still, unlike most times, he found himself agreeing with him.

“It sounds really serious. I hope that she really considers some type of security team,” Kirishima inputs too, taking the teacup in his fingers with a nod of thanks. “There’re too many weirdos in Japan and in the world, I wouldn’t want to hear the news the day something bad happens.”

Kaminari hums, his face nearing Kirishima’s as he takes a small sip of the apparently black tea. His eyes scrunch, and Kirishima smiles awkwardly as the blond studies him intently.

“W-Wha—”

“You like Y/n!” Kaminari exclaims (accuses, maybe?), his arm leaving Kirishima’s shoulders as he points a finger accusingly at him. “I thought I was the only one in this department who did!”

“Don’t be an idiot, Denki,” the familiar voice of Sero responds for Kirishima. “Everyone in the world is in love with Y/n; she was voted the favorite artist of the year in our company. Everyone but Bakugou voted for her if I remember correctly.”

Kirishima looks over at his black-haired friend who is rummaging through his locker, his mouth curved into an easy, teasing smile as he looks between the bashful Kaminari and sneering Bakugou, who also seemed to just walk in.

“Her shit is basic and overrated,” Bakugou defended himself. “Nothing special and bad for your brain and ears.”

“Your go-to music playlist is fifty percent death metal and alt. rock. I don’t think you have ground to say that it’s bad for your brain and ears,” Midoriya’s snicker sounded from behind Kirishima, and he looked around to see the freckled man grinning at the snarling ash blond.

“And how does your stalker ass know that, shitnerd?!”

“‘Cause I’m a stalker, duh.”

“Oh, Bakugou-kun, Midoriya-kun! You’re both here! Todoroki-kun is looking for you!”

“I’m just saying that Y/n’s dates to all the award shows and premieres have been blond. She’s into blonds, so she would totally be into me!”

“Deku, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to kill you myself.”

“You wouldn’t even be able to protect Y/n, bro. The only thing you performed well on in the application process was the tasing part. You can’t even tase people repetitively! She’d be dead in a second.”

“Can you believe my client dropped me because I couldn’t cook a five-star meal correctly? Hello, I can make 7-11 into a five-star course; it’s not my fault they’re not refined.”

“Kirishima-kun, are you okay?”

“I deadass got into a dance competition on the way to work. That’s why I’m late, why would I lie? Of course, I had to compete; my reputation was on the line!”

“Kirishima-kun?”

“Yo, he’s not looking too hot?”

“Kirishima?!”

“Can you hear us?!”

Silence.

Kirishima found himself opening his eyes — when had he closed them? For a moment, the air turned coppery, his body feeling weak, and he thought he felt something heavy on his lap. But that wasn’t right; he was standing up, he wasn’t sitting down. Most importantly, he was in Tokyo, Japan. He was alright. He was safe.

The sweat that clung to the back of his neck was cold, clammy, and intrusive. His chest felt tight again, his hands shaking so harshly the tea's warm, dark liquid was sloshing onto the floor.

There were seven pairs of eyes on him, each a different color, each swimming with concern and other emotions. Kirishima knew his ears weren’t working right now, his face unable to meet his brain's screaming demands to smile, and he watched as their mouths moved as they questioned his sanity.

He was okay.

“Kirishima?”

Kirishima looked up, his neck craning to the side to see a tall, skinny man standing at the doorway.

Toshinori Yagi was an esteemed bodyguard, one of the best in the industry, which was saying something considering that most bodyguards went unknown and unnamed. According to Google, Toshinori gained the nickname All Might after saving multiple political and celebrity lives when the government could not. It was long after his prime, and the man had retired but has since filled as the company’s head — thus why this job was near impossible to get.

Kirishima heaved a breath, realizing that he hadn’t taken a single breath when Toshinori’s bruised eyes narrowed in his concern.

“C-Coming,” Kirishima smiled, the blood rushing to his ears mostly ignorable now, but the scorching concerned gazes of his friends feel like cinders on his shoulder.

He straightens his tie, fingers curling when he feels the cold sweat penetrating through his clothes, but Kirishima doesn’t let it show. Smiling like he does, Kirishima pushed through his friends and followed Toshinori out the door.

They walked down towards the conference rooms, rooms that held their contractors, in complete silence.

“This is an important case,” Toshinori began, his voice gentle and poorly hiding his concern. “I chose you because you are a great asset to have, Kirishima. You are strong and smart, and most importantly, are personable.”

Kirishima looked at the man, his face contorting with his anxiety. He didn’t want to be treated like glass.

“Honestly, you being so personable is why I chose you for this assignment. Todoroki-shounen was a contender at first, but he’s not much of a talker; the same goes for Bakugou-shounen. Midoriya-shounen was probably the best choice, but there’s a new assignment that asked for three, so I gave up those three,” Toshinori explained the current assignments. It both delighted Kirishima to hear that he could keep up with arguably the three most qualified workers here as it did, at times, make him feel lesser.

“Oh.”

But he was obviously not the first choice still.

“The only reason why you weren’t the first choice is because of what I walked into just now,” Toshinori interrupts Kirishima’s thoughts and words. Kirishima finds his eyes tearing away from the smooth, polished wood floor to see Toshinori stopping in front of Conference Room A, his gaze intense on him. “To be frank, I wasn’t too sure if we should have hired you all that time ago. You are excellent on the field, your skills are phenomenal. Something to be proud of, truly, but you are clearly not completely healed from your time on the force.”

“Toshinori—”

“Kirishima-shonen, I’m not saying that there’s shame in your current struggles,” Toshinori once again interrupts, his hand a soothing warmth on Kirishima’s shoulder. “I’m still not healed from my past injuries, and as many people have undoubtedly told you, it’s okay to not be okay. But you barely passed the psych evaluation and only passed your field training because you scored so phenomenally on the other things your lack of a shooting score passed you.”

Kirishima felt unable to look away from the piercing blue eyes, and the lump in his throat never tasted as bitter, as sad.

He had barely passed the admittance test.

“I just need to know, are you ready to take on this assignment?” Toshinori asks in complete seriousness. “It’s a high stake, big-name client. We do not expect anything untoward to happen, but we never know in these cases. I think highly of you, Kirishima-shonen, and if you are ready to take this on, I’ll believe you, but likewise, if you’re not, I will gladly give this to someone else.”

Kirishima swallowed, his dry tongue passing through his equally dry lips.

Without question, he was not okay, not when he nearly broke down twice in a matter of hours, but it was just a bad day. He wasn’t as shaken as he was two months ago; he was going to his mandated therapy, talking to people who could assist him. Kirishima just didn’t want to be treated like glass anymore; he wasn’t glass; he was an unbreakable force.

Steeling over his nerves and ignoring how his stomach twisted and turned, Kirishima raised his gaze to Toshinori.

“I can do it.”

A smile.

“Good.”

If Kirishima was sweating because he was on a mental slip earlier, he was now sweating because he was beyond petrified and embarrassed. His hands raised up to brush against his red spikey hair, praying to God that it didn’t look dumb. His legs bounced at a speed that was bordering insanity, but he could only hear the sound of his racing heart as he stared at your frowning form from across the table.

It was you — the Y/n, the world's biggest music idol, an absolute legend in the making.

“This is our very own Kirishima Eijirou, age twenty-eight. He has been with U.A.Services for approximately six months now and is without a doubt one of our most capable and well-serviced men,” Toshinori began the introduction to the three people on the other side of the table. Kirishima could feel a blush rising up his neck and settling into his cheeks as what he presumed to be you, your manager, and your lawyer shuffling through paperwork that was very thorough on his background. “He was enlisted in the military before joining our ranks and was honorably discharged at the age of twenty-six as First Sergeant Kirishima Eijirou due to extreme injury. He excels in negotiating, scouting, and is, as you know, a skilled close combatant and was skilled in handguns—”

“I don’t think he’ll need firearms,” you interrupt, a frown on your face in contrast to the bright smile Kirishima was so used to seeing on your face. He tensed in worry.

“Y/l/n!” your manager, Sato Kimiko, scolded.

“What? It’s true! We’ll be around my fans for the majority, if not all the time! How is that right? For him to have a firearm around defenseless, and may I add, harmless individuals?!” you argued, your eyebrows scrunching in your fury.

Kirishima felt frozen in his chair, his eyes seeking Toshinori for guidance, but found himself unable to look away from you. He knew nearly everything about you, he could admit with a proud grin that he was a super mega fan of you, and he might have, at one point, looked your height up to imagine how you would appear beside him. Kirishima had known this entire time that you were two feet shorter than him, but it hadn’t hit what that meant until he was shaking your hand when he first entered.

You were tiny.

His dick and mind really liked that, and seeing your own passion spilling out for your fans was making him fall deeper into this hole he had for you.

“You don’t have a say anymore? Do you understand? You were nearly assaulted yesterday, and we are all done waiting around for something serious to happen!” Kimiko yelled, her face contorted into a look of both frustration and fear. “Either you take this, or we all leave you. I won’t have you murdered in front of me! You’re twenty-six now, stop acting like a damn brat and grow the hell up!”

The words scorched the table, blistering heat filling the conference room as you met Kimiko’s glare.

Kirishima watched with a dropped jaw as your nostrils flared, your lips pursing, and your eyebrows furrowing with unspoken distaste and anger.

“Six months tops.”

“Uh, yes,” Toshinori interjected. “Our contracts only last up to six months for new clients, but if you find yourself wanting to extend your contract after those six months, we are very much open to negotiations.”

You nodded your head, your eyes falling back onto the booklet in your hands that exposed all the information available on Kirishima. From his likes, dislikes, to his allergies and the reason why he was discharged. Each in disturbingly deep detail to make sure all things were up on the table.

“So, you can’t shoot your gun, Kirishima-san?” you speak, your voice tight, a pleased, almost taunting tone.

Kirishima stills, embarrassment bubbling in his chest as you drop the booklet onto the table, exposing his military history to him and you.

“...no,” Kirishima answers truthfully.

The lawyer shifts from the other side of you, his eyebrows scrunching as he too comes across that piece of information.

“He won’t use firearms?” the lawyer scoffs, his semi-permanent frown deepening. “How will we know that he will keep Y/n completely safe from any sort of danger that may come her way? We’ll be paying six months for a glorified security guard? We want a bodyguard.”

“And we clearly have one,” you snap back, your eyes narrowing. “If my bodyguard isn’t Kirishima-san, I’m not getting one. I mean, isn’t that what you said earlier?”

“When we were assuming that the person Toshinori was assigning to your case was a well-rounded bodyguard. Not one that was still clearly haunted by his past.”

Fuck, that one hurt.

You scowled, your head tilting as you bared your teeth slightly, “And what? He managed to get into the best agency in all of Japan in spite of that. Sounds like he’s competent. I already told you I won’t take on a team, just one individual. I trust in Toshinori-san’s guidance and his choice in picking Kirishima-san. If you disagree, that’s too bad for you.”

“Y/n! Please stop this! You’re being ridiculous!” Kimiko huffed, slamming her own booklet down, her eyes drowning with her exhaustion. “I’m so sorry, Toshinori-san, Kirishima-san.”

“H-Hey, it’s okay!” Kirishima immediately imputed, his hands raising in a sign of retreat. “I know that Y/n has always enjoyed her independence as a solo star, and how me being involved now is imposing, especially after multiple attacks.”

Kirishima felt that his smile was a bit strained, a bit too forced, especially as your eyes hawked onto him. He felt like you were examining him, like a lab rat going through its initial trial and not knowing just what was to be expected.

“Six months?” you spoke, your gaze not leaving Kirishima’s own.

“Six months,” Kirishima agreed.

You hum, your head nodding. “Fine, six months tops unless the Lieutenant Colonel can apprehend these assholes faster.”

It had been ages since Kirishima had been called by his title, and for some reason, he found himself blushing. His mouth, for the first time this entire meeting, curled into a wolfish grin.

“You got it.”

The lawyer groaned, entirely aggravated and insulted. He stood up, “You’re asking to be murdered, Y/n. Don’t come haunting me when you end up dead and mutilated. You deserve all the shit you’re getting.”

Kirishima watched with his lips parted in a bewildered expression as the lawyer walked out of the room with a loud slam of the door.

You were unfazed, and Kimiko groaned, exhausted and embarrassed as she mumbled a weak, sullen, “I am so, so sorry, Toshinori-kun.”

“Ah, Kimiko-chan, it’s okay!” Toshinori shook his head and smiled knowingly. It wasn’t as if the long time famous bodyguard hadn’t seen his fair share of childish fights between clients. “Thank you for coming as always, and we’ll do our best to make sure that Y/n is in the best of hands.”

“Thank you… and so, the rest of the contract?”

“Ah, yes, let’s continue.”

So, the contract was discussed to full detail.

For six months, Kirishima would be attached to your side. He must always remain at most three meters away from you when there is no one around, and during fan interactions no more than one meter. He had a full say about your safety. If things got rough, you were to follow his every command. Your agency would pay for his room and lodging. He was to wear black pants and a black long-sleeved cotton tee. He would be working with every venue, every hotel, every conventions security team. He would lead them and never leave your side. He was to be awake an hour before you, rest when you were asleep so long as it was safe to do so. He was your guardian angel of sorts, and you would do nothing but adhere to him.

Most importantly, according to Kimiko, there was one thing they were hoping for: Kirishima's help and discretion. For the next six months, they would be relying on Kirishima’s support to figure out who the group behind the assault was and who the mastermind was behind it all is.

Or so the contract said.

“Y/n!” Kirishima called when the papers were signed, and the day he was set to start was printed. He will begin tomorrow. “Wait!”

You stopped at the door, Kimiko and Toshinori chatting merrily between them as they exited the conference room, Toshinori’s booming voice asking if it was true that Kimiko was attending to a near forty clients to which she bashfully admitted to. You were dressed in a creme knit long-sleeved shirt, faded ripped jeans, and a pair of nude heels. The heels were big, undoubtedly giving you inches, but you still barely got to his shoulder.

“I-I’m looking forward to looking — I mean working with you!”

You looked at him closely, your eyes dragging to the top of his toes to the tallest spike in his hair before your lips pulled into a contemplative pout. You looked back to his eyes, and you steeled over, your head tilting to the side.

“I mean no offense, Sergeant, I thank you for doing your job, but I have no intention of looking forward to working with you. I don’t want you here, so do your best to ignore the contract and realize that I am the most important person, so you will follow my demands.”

Kirishima can do nothing but stare as you turn on your heel and leave.

Well, so much for a good case.

Date: 5/2 Time: 14:00 Location: Tokyo Music Stadium

If you would have told Kirishima Eijirou that he had been working for the grand, the perfect, the fantastic music idol Y/n for a month now, two months ago, he would have laughed so hard he’d cry. Not only would he have not believed it, but he would only think of a million and two scenarios where he would go the entire day flirting.

Now a month into knowing you, of being your bodyguard on a contract for six months, Kirishima could say that of that entire thought, the only thing he had been right about was that he was, in fact, crying. Not only has he never managed to speak an entire conversation with you despite being attached to your hip seven days a week, but despite your much shorter stature, you had managed to get away from him.

You always managed to sneak away from him.

Kirishima could admit that the no more than five meters rule had been wholly and utterly demolished.

And now, Kirishima was crying, not out of joy, but of pure manly fear as he raced through the backstages of the stadium, desperate to find your short-ass anywhere.

“Go, Kirishima!” someone yelled as Kirishima whizzed past him, “Find Y/n!”

“T-Thank you!” Kirishima screamed as he continued onward, the yellow-lit concrete hallway seemingly haunting the further he went into it. The earpiece in his left ear shrilled, the telling sign he was getting a call. Putting a finger to the circle in his ear, he answered the car. “Hello?!”

“Ah, Kirishima-san!” Kimiko’s voice chirped on the other side of the line. “Wonderful to hear your voice again! I’m calling to let you know that the tour bus is parked outside of the venue now. The concert was a smashing success, and she’s come out unharmed for the past month! To make matters even better, since your arrival, there have been no more assault attempts! Oh, um, sorry, where are you guys?”

“We’re just, um!” Kirishima tried not to pant into the microphone; he was still racing ahead, his head peeking into every door and room he passed. “Y/n needed to use the restroom?!”

“Oh, wonderful. Okay! Let me know when you two are on your way over!”

“Ya, okay, bye!”

“By—”

Kirishima hung up as he crashed through the doors at the end of the hallway.

It was night out right now, the full moon reflecting down on the dirty concrete with the same intensity as the streetlamps overhead. And in the middle of a crowd of around twenty people was the person Kirishima was trying to find: you.

You were still dressed in the final costume change of your concert. Even from a distance, Kirishima could see the glitter and highlight on the tip of your nose and the curve of your cheekbones. The crowd around you was clearly not hostile. Each face was bright with broad smiles and sparkling with fresh tears, each voice high and pitchy as if they were talking with some goddess and not you.

There was a slight longing in Kirishima’s chest at the sight of you interacting with your fans, your smile was so beautiful, and he wished just for a moment that he was the one that it was directed towards. If he had met you as a fan, and only a fan, he wonders if you would look at him as you did the others. Would he see the pure joy in the depths in your eyes, the love, wonder, and pride as they asked you questions and answered your own?

He wanted to be just a fan.

“Y/n, the tour bus is here,” Kirishima finally found his voice, the tenor of his voice spreading through the narrow alleyway. “Say your goodbyes.”

He had to ignore the way you stiffened immediately, the unsolicited joy in your face breaking and becoming bleak as you met his gaze. Kirishima absolutely did not feel pressure behind his eyes when you rolled your eyes and began to say your goodbyes; he did not!

The group of fans waved goodbye as you walked backward toward Kirishima; you didn’t stop waving and continuing your parting conversations with the group until the metal doors of the stadium doors closed behind the two of you. Kirishima let out a sigh, his eyes closing for a brief moment before looking down at you. You were expressionless, eyes cold as you looked dead ahead.

“You’re not supposed to run away like that.”

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t tell me what to do, Sergeant.”

“You know I can’t do that it’s not—”

“Part of your contract. Yeah, I know, but that’s your contract, not mine.”

“Oh, okay. Um, Kimiko? ...yeah, we’re heading out now. Five minutes, till.”

And then there’s only silence.

Neither Kirishima nor you bother talking the entire walk towards the tour bus, and you ignore Kimiko’s call that your lawyer would be meeting briefly before tomorrow's fan signing event. You walk into the bus and go directly to the beds, throwing yourself into the terribly padded bunk and passing out without so much as a sound.

Kirishima sinks into his own bed, it’s too small for him, but there’s nothing he can do about it. Sleep overcomes him easily these days; he’s always way too exhausted in chasing you down like some spoiled toddler you’re behaving like to dream. But that’s okay, he thinks as the comfort of sleep begins to dig its skeleton fingers into his side, at least the exhaustion stops the night terrors.

Date: 5/3 Time: 10:00 Location: Tokyo Music Tower

Now, Kirishima knew that it was a common belief and a nearly proven theory that when you met your idols, you should never ever have your expectations high on who they are as a person. Celebrities were out of touch, cruel, rude, nearly jaded. They weren’t exactly the common folk. With people willing to forget things like them being human beings themselves or the common thread of celebrities being too rich to care, any type of famous person was cold, rude, and ruthless.

He knew that.

He also knew that you weren’t like the nearly proven theory.

You were kind, sweet, a practical angel to anyone who dared to approach you. You were the exception to the rule, an outlier to them all. You spoke politely to all your fans, domestic and foreign, and you treated each fan like the most special person in the world.

You were a good person.

But Kirishima knew, just as you reacted to any cruel person you encountered, you had an edge. Your words were as vicious as your name was known. He genuinely enjoyed watching you put assholes into place, but he sulked, knowing he was always at the receiving end of the sharp, bitter tongue of yours.

For a month and a day now, he had been the number target of your bitter words and scorching hate, but he admitted that he enjoyed it when it wasn’t directed at him, if but a little bit.

“I’m not renegotiating my contract!” you groan, your palms slamming into the depths of your eyes. “I already told you that I don’t need all that money!”

“And I’m telling you that you need to increase the wages that you pay the rest of your team instead of all those charities or else people will begin dropping you!” the lawyer countered with similar fire, his scowl angry enough that Kirishima felt like he had to tear his gaze away from this horrible battle. “You won’t be the best of the best forever, y/n, get over your stupid savior act and look over the changes!”

Kirishima looked over at you, his eyebrows pinching as he watched you fold your arms, your cheeks pushed out to a puff as you looked at the stack of papers with the title page fully covered with the word Contract of Y/n and Co. on it. Well, it seemed that the rumor of you spending your paycheck on things that weren’t you was right, how entirely manly.

“Oh fuck off,” you growl, pushing out of the chair and storming away.

Kirishima glanced over at Kimiko, who was looking pale and exhausted, undoubtedly exhausted from the past thirty-minute battle between the lawyer and the idol that neither made a single step forward nor a step back. How you had the energy to fight so passionately was beyond him. Kimiko nodded minimally, her lips parting in a sigh as Kirishima stood up and followed after her.

“The only way that brat is going to listen is by force,” the lawyer sneered, his voice fading into the room that Kirishima exited. “If that’s how she wants to play, so be it.”

Fortunately for Kirishima, he catches up to you. There are tears of fury dripping down your cheeks, and he feels unable to speak as he discovers a new layer to you.

...how interesting.

“It’s my money,” you speak, but Kirishima is unsure if those words are meant for him or for the void, the earth that you would much rather converse with than him. “I already pay them all a much greater paycheck than they should be getting considering their client pool. Why do I have to bend to their stupid will when I’m the one making the money.”

Kirishima blinks, wondering just what people might want to raise with their contracts. But, he knew you were right. By her account, Kimiko had a client list of many successful individuals, and he may not know anything about the lawyer, but if he worked with Y/n, his name must be good. Guess they weren’t like you.

“People are selfish assholes,” was the only thing that Kirishima could think of, and was something he spoke before he could stop himself.

But you stop in your storm, the anger that clouded you somewhat dissipating, clearing just enough for you to turn to him, your sharp, beautiful eyes for the first time filled with rage that was not pointed at him, and an emotion that made him think of… amusement?

“Yeah,” you agree, a half-smile cracking onto your face, and Kirishima feels his soul begin leaving his very body. “People are selfish assholes, huh?”

“Very much.”

There’s a calm, a snorted chuckle, and Kirishima finds himself stumbling further into the abyss of his feelings for you.

The next ten hours seem to pass in a blur, Kirishima feeling like he was on Cloud Nine as he stood behind you, three meters as he watched fan after fan approach you. Signatures were made, pictures were taken, and Kirishima found that he never once had to approach.

Maybe, he thinks, just perhaps, the two of you can overcome this.

Ten minutes after the official signing is done, Kirishima can’t find you, and he curses loudly into the echoing floor.

So much for change.

Date: 5/17 Time: 23:00 Location: The Parking Lot - Mt. Lady Studios

Kirishima was, for the lack of better words, completely fucking done with you.

Don’t get it wrong, he still was a complete and massive fan of yours. He would never once betray his loyalty to you and your musical career, but he was slowly starting to realize just why the lawyer was set to dying of a heart attack any time soon. Despite your early entrance to stardom and the stuff of legends, you had kept your fiery, stubborn individualism.

Kirishima thought it was absolutely hot and sexy at times, especially the times where you strut around in revealing clothes because ‘this is your body,’ or the lingerie campaign you completed two days ago as part of some fundraising event. There were significant perks to your strong handle and claim to keeping your indestructible personality, but it came back to rub them all back in the worst of ways when once again, you escaped from Kirishima’s side.

To be fair, most of the time, Kirishima was a very level headed individual; he was near impossible to rile up despite popular initial belief. I mean, he was good friends with Bakugou Katsuki, who riled up just about anyone he talked to! He needed to have steel calm emotions, or at the very least portray that he does. But even the unbreakable after tireless attempts can, at times, be broken.

It had been a hard morning.

Kirishima had woken up in a panic, the sweat of his night terror soaking through the sheets of his bed, and his head felt like lead. They had been in the tour bus for the entire day because you were going from the tip of Japan to the bottom of it, thus meaning that you couldn’t run away from him, concluding that when he went to bed that night, he was merely tired, not exhausted.

“K...Kiri...shima?” the voice whispered in his ears when he bolted from his bed and tumbled to the ground, his chest heaving in his panic as he cried.

He only slept for four hours that night, the ghost of his comrade haunting him too much for him to ever drift back to sleep. The only thing he was grateful for when he stumbled down to the hotel lobby for breakfast was that he had an attack while in his own room and not in a tour bus with ten others.

But the lack of sleep and the twisting of his guts from his still unburied memories meant that his exhaustion was dialed up larger than he thought was capable. Today was an interview day plus a miniconcert at said interview.

That meant that for an hour before your interview and two hours afterward, Kirishima lost you and had to hunt you down. You weren’t making it easy on him and had started moving with the crowd you gathered to evade him.

But today, Kirishima was exhausted.

Today, Kirishima wanted to sleep.

Today… Kirishima broke.

“Let’s go,” Kirishima spoke in a low, commanding voice. His eyes were hooded as he looked down at you, the crowd of fans parting like the red sea as he stands behind you, larger than life, imposing.

You ignore him.

“We’re leaving, now.”

“Aw, did you make that just for me?! This beading is gorgeous!”

To be fair, Kirishima isn’t really sure if he’s crying right now or if steam is protruding from his ears like some stupid cartoon. The only thing he knows is that it's been a bit longer than a month, and his client is the most perfect person in the world except to him and some lawyer. All he knows is that he has been continuously mocked, shamed, and disrespected by his client, and at this moment, with his mind and body aching with the memories of the morning, he can no longer stop the tsunami of emotions and thoughts that shove out of him.

He grabs your wrist and begins pulling you away.

“We’re leaving now, sorry to disrupt your time. Come see Y/n another day.”

Kirishima isn’t even aware of your screams, the banging of your small fist against his back as his hand encompasses your bicep easily. He walks and walks and walks until he stops, his mind slightly put back into place.

“—FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?! LET GO OF ME, SERGEANT!”

Oh, right.

He lets go of you immediately and nearly snorts at how you stumble into his back. So small, so delicate, and so completely weak.

“You want to know my problem, y/l/n?” he asks, voice eerily calm, much calmer than he actually is. “My fucking problem is that I signed onto this case with a single rule: keep you in sight and protect you. It’s simple, almost too easy, isn’t it? But easy and simple is everything that this assignment is!”

Your face contorted into a flash of anger and embarrassment, your nose scrunching as you found your footing, “And I told you that I don’t give a crap about that contract! I didn’t want it in the first place, but no one listens to me!”

Kirishima snorts, his body shifting so that he can look at you properly; your face is seething, your teeth bared and eyes wild, but Kirishima has faced worse.

“It’s not in my contract to listen to you, unfortunately,” Kirishima points out, his eyes narrowing. “I would have a better time listening to you, trying to find an agreement that worked if you used that brain of yours and figured out a way to compromise with me.”

“Compromises aren’t—”

“You think I wouldn’t?” Kirishima almost whines, his voice tight with emotions, fingers fisting in his hair, “You really fucking think that after a month and how many days of me spending stupid hours trying to find your ass, most of the time never knowing if you’re dead or not, I wouldn’t want a better solution?!”

“Like hell they’ll kill me! And if they do, I don’t fucking care!” you stubbornly insist, finger buried against the swell of your chest.

“Oh my god,” Kirishima can’t stop the bitter laugh from escaping, “you’re ridiculous.”

“I’m ridiculous?! I’m not the ridiculous one here!” you cry, your eyes bursting with unshed, bitter tears. “So what that I run away from you? Can you imagine living the past ten years of your life trying to be something that the media wants you to be? No! You can’t, Sergeant! Those times where I’m running away isn’t to be some dick, but to give me time to be me!”

“You’re a goddamn idiot!” Kirishima barks, his anger curdling in his chest like a raging fire. “If you had looked at my damn file correctly, instead of focusing on the stupid shit like me not being able to fire my gun correctly, you would be more than aware of the fact that you are one of my favorite artists!”

“Wh-”

“I am one of the best in my company! I am easy to get along with, personal, manageable, flexible even, but from the very first moment you laid eyes on me, you’ve hated me! You talk down on me, you shit on me, my job, the reason I’m here! Listen, I would fucking love to be anywhere but here right now. I have literally never hated my job before, but you just made that a reality. But the worst part of this all is the fact that you seem to think I would have kept you away, prohibited you from doing things that I already know you love! You stand there and tell me that I would try to force you to do shit you don’t want when I have merely been asking for you to take me there with you! I don’t care if I have to stand away and watch, but I want to be there! I’m supposed to be protecting you, but you’re being nothing more than a stubborn brat who refuses to see the efforts I’m trying to make, and frankly, I’m done.”

Kirishima’s chest is burning with the lack of oxygen, his eyes narrowed and filled with raging fire as he stares down at you, his neck craned so that he could be closer, more daunting, intimidating.

“Fuck o-off,” you snap suddenly, a lone tear, your voice tight and shoulders tense as you storm off.

“So predictable,” Kirishima calls after you, but it’s not filled with the previous anger he had but the sinking misery and regret.

And for a moment, it’s quiet.

Until a single name is screamed.

“SERGEANT!”

And then the all too familiar sound of a fist colliding with skin.

The anger in Kirishima’s blood evaporates immediately, and horror sinks in as he turns towards where you had stormed off. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

The parking lot is filled with an ugly yellow light that seems to set the stage for what was to come down. His footsteps crashing down against the black pavement were mute in his ears, and his eyes were focused on your limp body slung over somebody's shoulder. There was one person behind him, the other one already hopping into a van; Kirishima was the devil on their heels.

“Come on! Let’s go!” the one in the van screamed, his voice full of gruff apprehension and fear.

The van turns on.

Kirishima grunts, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he sidesteps the man who was lingering behind the one carrying you and quickly slams his shoulder into the man's sternum, knocking him out the moment he collapses onto the ground.

He lets out a roar of such, his eyes glowing with anger and a single mind track to take down the person who held you, ready to throw your unconscious body into the back of the van.

Kirishima doesn’t even know when he manages to get to the man's side, one hand on his shoulder, the other on you, and with the strength and anger of a million fighting warriors, he ripped you from his hold and sent him stumbling into the trunk. Your shallow breathing brushes against his neck, and Kirishima is hyper-aware of the cursing men who chose to abandon their unconscious comrade on the floor.

With his arms filled by your unconscious body, Kirishima can only watch the van scurry out of the lot, the license plate immediately burning into his mind.

T082-23

When the man on the floor finally wakes up, he’s in police custody, and you’re just waking up. There's a bruise on your cheek, and you begin crying immediately.

Kirishima watches from the distance, his heart aching and guilt climbing up his throat as he watches Kimiko hold you close, her arms warm and tight.

Well, shit.

So much for the month of no attacks.

Kirishima sits in a waiting room, his head relaxed against the wall as he waits for your discharge from the hospital. They suspect a concussion, and they’re running some tests right now. The police are there too, trying to get information from you on the failed kidnapping attempt as well as beginning the initial trials of interrogation of the abandoned kidnapper with a broken sternum, ruptured spleen, and three cracked ribs.

He was not surprised when the police officers came to talk to him, and he gave them the license plate.

But they also gave him an essential piece of information.

(“Well, when we asked for a motive, it seemed that it wasn’t his idea,” the detective admitted, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “His boss said that, and I quote, Y/n will end up dead and mutilated as is deserved. She deserves all the shit she has coming her way, end quote. Any ideas of who it could be”

Kirishima rubbed a hand across his face, the words striking a bit too familiarly to him, but from where. He shook his head, his eyes focusing on his bouncing knee.

“Thank you,” Kirishima said, his tone pointed in a clear indicator that this conversation was now over. The detective nodded, his frown slight as he left. The moment he was gone, Kirishima pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Kimiko? Yeah, I think we might have our first suspect.”)

For now, he was waiting for you.

An hour passed before you shuffled into the waiting room. There was a bandage on your swollen cheek, but besides the obvious attack, your eyes looked strong, and it seemed like there was no concussion.

“I should be fine,” you speak first, your jaw tensing as if it physically pained you to speak (whether it was because you hated talking to him or because of the injury, Kirishima had no idea). “I will be fine; I just need some sleep.”

Kirishima nodded, his body completely exhausted, and his mind filled with nothing but regrets on how he handled his anger earlier. He needed to apologize. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but he had definitely crossed a few too many lines.

“Should we go?”

You chewed on your lip, your eyes looking down at the white tiled floors of the hospital — so bleak, so anxiety driving.

“I actually wanted to talk before we left.”

Oh?

“Of what, if I may ask?”

Your eyes raise back up before looking away again, “the contract.”

Kirishima finds himself nodding, his hand gesturing towards the empty seat in front of him.

“Sure.”

And with a heaving sigh that sounds like you were on the verge of tears, you sit before him.

The contract was then discussed.

It was decided that you could continue to interact with fans as you wish, so long as you took Kirishima with you. He didn’t care about the long hours, the manic fans, or the impending doom of a group of people who meant business. He needed to be there.

Everything else stayed the same, but Kirishima looked at you one last time that night in the hospital, his body leaning towards you as he did his best to keep his face void of emotion and any lingering teasing.

“I’ll only accept this new negotiation on one term.”

“W-What?!” you pause, thinking. “Fine, say it.”

“From here on out, I think we should be friends, yeah? I’m on your side, after all, it’s a bit weird if we stay just acquaintances.”

The tension and horror leave your body, and Kirishima, for the first time ever, bears witness to the most relaxed, meaningful smile he has ever seen you give. It had been one hell of a shitty night, but at that very moment when the seventh turned into the eighth, Kirishima felt a new warmth flood through his chest, his heart racing at the sight of your glorious smile.

“Of course, Kirishima.”

“Oh, and y/n?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry about all that I said. It was unmanly of me and out of line.”

“It’s okay. To be fair, I was a bit of a self-absorbed brat, too.”

The next day, a picture of Kirishima holding you bridal style is trending.

Date: 6/12 Time: 19:00 Location: Hime Onsen

An Interview with Y/n | Vogue Japan 4.5 million views • Premiered 2 hours ago 874k [liked this] 12.3k [disliked this] Timestamp: 05:32 / 10:33

[Interviewer]: Now, Y/n, we must congratulate you on your latest achievement! Your latest self-titled album, ‘Y/N,’ has been nominated for a record high of twelve awards for the upcoming Japan Record Awards, which will be coming up in about a month! Tell us how you feel about this?

[You]: It was quite a surprise actually! I didn’t realize that it would have done so well in the critic's eyes to get this type of award. I am proud of myself and am excited to see all the other amazing artists and musicians who were nominated as well.

[Interviewer]: Now, your album is all about staying true to yourself, whether that be in love or war. It depicts your own highs and lows while also highlighting beautifully universal things many of us face. Without question, you have always been adamant on staying connected with your fans and keeping a simple rule: no bodyguards.

[Y/n]: Oh, (laughs) yes! That is definitely a new thing, huh?

[Interviewer]: A new thing and a beautiful thing at that, too! Look here!

[captioner notes: interviewer displays many photos of Y/n’s bodyguard, including the most famous one where he’s holding y/n after the failed kidnapped attempt]

[Interviewer]: This is a beautiful — don’t giggle! — a beautiful man, Y/n! What do you have to say for yourself?! Did you finally succumb to keeping untrue to yourself for this beautiful man?! If so, it is perfectly acceptable. By chance, is your contract with him done? I would personally love to have this man on my team.

[Y/n]: (laughing) By all means, take him! (Y/n looks behind her, her bodyguard is there) I’m kidding, I’m kidding! (pauses) No, actually, sorry. Kirishima is an outstanding bodyguard, and I have no intentions of leaving him so soon. Uh, while I did say I had no wish or intentions to have a bodyguard, obviously that was not the best solution, so I hired Kirishima. He is a wonderful addition to my team and still allows me to be authentically me, so it’s still all good.

[Interviewer]: Ah, okay, well, Kirishima-kun, if you ever need a new client, call me. But moving on, yes! Would you like to discuss the series of increasingly concerning attacks?

Kirishima stood in the softly lit hallways of a sauna.

Today was one of the last remaining days you had off, and in celebration of your upcoming award season, you had decided that it was mandatory to visit the hot springs. Everyone on your team — the backup dancers, band, and hair and makeup — were ecstatic to learn that they were being involved with it too.

This high-end resort had accommodated your entire team to receive their own private spring with an all-inclusive menu too.

It was thanks from the owner for the free PR and, of course, because they were some of your biggest fans. So, in thanks, everyone got to enjoy the springs.

Well, everyone but Kirishima, that was.

As of the past month, things between Kirishima and you had improved a lot.

With Kirishima no longer needing to run a marathon daily to find where you were, he would find himself walking at your side. He no longer felt like you hated him. There was respect and actual friendship between the two of you. You joked with him, showed him memes and TikTok, sent him snapchat streaks, and invited him to watch weird shows with you. You even complained to him about the things that annoyed you, namely Kimiko’s attention being stolen by other clients and the rude conversations you would have with the lawyer.

It made Kirishima’s chest warm up knowing that you were friends now.

A stressful month had passed into a friendlier one.

But there were some things that Kirishima would not have expected to… arise.

Namely you growing to be comfortable enough to walk around with nothing but a thin pair of panties and a large shirt. You curling into his side whenever you watched a show together in the bus, the way your lips brushed against his neck when he leaned down to hug you, or the very so not obvious teasing you would do when you changed in front of him. It was as if you were watching his every reaction, enjoying the way that his eyes horribly tore away, or the silent hitch in his throat whenever you speed his heart up.

The biggest surprise arose the night after the failed kidnapping attempt:

You had come to his room, hours after you were supposed to have fallen asleep.

Your eyes were sunken, still a bit tired, and the bruise on your cheek was looking bad. In your arms was a white binder undoubtedly filled with the introductory packet you had received at your initial meeting. Kirishima had opened the door in his sleepy state in nothing but gym shorts. He had barely started dozing off, his mind wouldn’t stop thinking of what could have happened if you hadn’t managed to scream, and so he kept tossing and turning.

Seeing you outside of his room, his head dropped down to look at you properly, and his fist rubbing at his eye fell, “Y/n?”

“Did I wake you?” you asked, your face filled with a shocked, near uncomfortable, and embarrassed expression he doesn’t recall ever seeing on you. “I’m so sorry! I’ll wait until—”

“No,” Kirishima grunts while he shakes his head, his voice raspy and dry from his lack of use. “I’ve been tossing and turning, um, what is it? Do you want to come in?”

“I-If that’s okay?”

Kirishima breathes out a bit, his shoulders relaxing as he smiles softly, “Come on, let’s talk about what’s on your mind.”

The door clicked behind your tentative steps with an echo, and Kirishima watched as you walked into the hotel room with wariness and caution.

“Would you like some tea?” Kirishima offered, picking up a shirt from his dresser and pulling it over his body. The fabric was tight against his chest and shoulders, but felt more appropriate to wear around you.

“No, I’m okay,” you politely decline.

You stood in the center of the room, unsure of where to sit, stand, or lay.

“Go ahead and make the bed,” Kirishima offered, taking the chair by the desk. “I promise it’s still clean.”

You laugh slightly, smile strained but grateful as you sit at the edge of the bed, binder resting on your lap.

“Thanks, I wouldn’t want to sit on a dirty bed,” you joke, but it sounds weak to Kirishima’s ears.

“So, what questions do you have?”

“Hm?”

“You have my portfolio,” he shrugs, leaning forward so that his forearms rest on his knees. “I have a feeling you have some questions.”

“Oh, right,” you whisper, your eyebrows scrunching as you open the binder to the first page, but your eyes are focused on the desk. “What’s the medication for?”

Kirishima turns his head to follow your gaze and comes across the yellow tinted medicine containers.

“My PTSD,” Kirishima answers honestly, his voice soft with emotion, but there was no shame in it. “My service had a difficult end.”

“That’s actually… that’s what I came to talk about,” you rush, your hands slamming the binder closed. “If you don’t want to talk about it, obviously I won’t push it! God, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s okay,” Kirishima interrupted, his smile sad, but he stood up, his body a tower in front of yours as he urged you to sit back down. “It’s okay; I don’t mind talking about it.”

“B-But what if I say something that makes it all worse?”

A pause.

“Then I’ll tell you that it’s too much.”

A nod.

“Are you… are you still experiencing a lot of symptoms?” you ask, your fingers tightening and untightening around the binder.

“Some days are worse than others,” Kirishima admits, his shoulders shrugging. “I don’t experience much anxiety while in crowds anymore; I don’t have many flashbacks to those days anymore, not since February at least. I do still get… I still get night terrors and dream of that day. It’s nowhere near as bad as the first few months after the accident, but it’s still here.”

“What happened?” you asked after a bit, morbidly curious.

The file had all the details that proved Kirishima to be a master of firearms during his entire time on the force. He was a powerful combatist, and his ranking was a clear indicator of the respect and skills he had. Still, it was the quick honorable discharge, the near year-long hospitalization, and the current inability to use a firearm that concerned you.

What had happened?

“I was involved in a grenade explosion on my last day on tour. I was the only one who managed to survive the blast,” Kirishima easily stated, his voice quiet.

“Oh my god, I… holy shit, I’m so sorry.”

“Nah, it’s all good. There were only two others around, and one of them was already dead.”

“Was that um, Major—”

“We called him Crimson Riot, actually,” Kirishima smiled, a chuckle light on his tongue as he leaned back onto the chair, nodding. “Yeah, that was him.”

“Crimson Riot,” you repeat, nodding. “Did you watch him… watch him die?”

Kirishima presses his lips tightly together, and for a moment, you’re unsure if he’s going to cry, answer you, or tell you to leave. There’s a whirlwind of emotions on your optimistic and typically jubilant bodyguard despite your asshole tendencies that make your stomach twist.

“Yes,” Kirishima finally answers, and you nod.

It’s hours into the morning before you finally depart back to your room, the horrors of Kirishima’s past still pounding into your ears. Kirishima wouldn’t notice, and neither would you, but on his shirt and yours, there’s a few drops of tears the both of you shed when you said goodnight.

Sergeant Kirishima Eijirou, while on an active warzone, had accidentally struck and killed his superior officer, his friend, his role model Crimson Riot, thinking that he was nothing more than an enemy target as he sat wounded behind a wall. He died on his lap, and as someone came to help, a grenade landed two meters away before detonating.

“K...Kiri...shima?” Crimson Riot had whispered as he fell to his knees, blood gushing and seeping through his clothes, spilling onto Kirishima’s lap. “I’ll be okay.”

For whatever reason, since that night, Kirishima felt something in him shift. He still took his medication, still had his virtual therapy sessions when he could fit them in, and even had painful night terrors of that moment, but it was becoming less frequent.

He wasn’t made of glass.

There had been more instances after the kidnapping attempt, but unlike the last times, Kirishima was prepared. He had stopped each one, keeping you safe and sound. As of one week ago, he had officially been given a firearm to keep strapped to his thigh at all times now.

It was an unfamiliar weight, one that still twisted his stomach and made him nervous, but he knew the reason why it was needed. Since the gun had been added to his gear, the attacks stopped. He was definitely not ready to be firing it anytime soon, but it had deterred the attackers for the time being.

Kirishima paused when he heard his earpiece ring, and he dropped his phone where he had been watching your interview despite being there himself.

“Talk to me,” Kirishima answered, his finger pressing the accept button.

“Kirishima!” came the distressed voice of Kimiko, “We just got a tip!”

Kirishima stilled, his eyes scanning the empty hallways that stretched throughout the private hot springs.

“I don’t know, but a person with connections with this mastermind said something about how there were two more events he was staging. Today is one of them!”

Kirishima’s eyes widened, his lips parting to answer Kimiko when instead there was a large, loud crash in the water from inside your room. He assumed the worst.

“Y/n!” Kirishima shouted, hands throwing open the sliding door and racing through the storage room, the shower, and exited out into the hot spring.

Steam curled through the wind, the white wisps of steam feeling warm and light against Kirishima’s skin, and Kirishima panicked when he couldn’t see your shadow or figure in the hot springs.

“Where is she?! Is she alright?!” Kimiko panicked, her voice panicking already. “I’ll call the—”

Kirishima turned on his heel, ready to complete a full sweep of the outdoor hot spring when he crashed into something smaller than he was… smaller, softer, and definitely the shape of a woman. Kirishima felt his entire body stiffen when his rough palms felt the undeniable feeling of wet, warm skin.

“Oh my god,” he heard you shriek. “KIRISHIMA!”

“She’s all good, Kimiko,” Kirishima stifled out, his voice tight, his head slamming backward so that his eyes were concentrated on the starry night sky.

“...sorry… uh aha! Another client of mine is calling, goodbye!” Kimiko’s apology was meek and small before she hung up.

Kirishima’s mind was racing a mile a minute, but his body was frozen, unmoving like a rock when he realized that pressing to his stomach was, without a doubt, your breasts.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“What are you doing in here, pervert?!” you splutter, your hands pressing to his stomach as you step away. “Are you a pervert or something?!”

“I, no! No! Of course not! Fuck, shit, I’m so sorry! I’ll go! There was a tip that something was going to happen right now, and there was a crash and—”

“What are you looking at?” you exclaim, squeaky frustration heavy on your tongue. “There’s nothing wrong with the sky! Look me in the eyes? Have you never been to a co-ed hot spring before?!”

“Y-Yes, sorry!” Kirishima apologized, bowing slightly in apology before he peered down. Still, his face bursted in a flame as he watched the way your jaw dropped in disbelief, the dewy wetness of the hot spring clinging to your body. You were, obviously, soaked, and Kirishima bit his tongue as hard as he could to keep the whimper from expelling past his lips when he saw the light gleaming off your breasts. But he watched your face shift between a million emotions, each one appearing too fast for him to read, too fast to register, but he saw the way a single-arm wrap around your breast and the other shoving into his stomach.

“PERVERT!”

“What?!”

“That was a test! This is my private room! I have the right to not be willing to be looked at right now!” you shrieked as Kirishima spun around, allowing you the complete privacy of his gaze.

“You told me to look at you!” he squawked. “Y-You told me, and I listened because of our contract!”

Kirishima could feel his body trembling, his mind reeling in disbelief that he definitely saw you in your entire nakedness, and if the swirling heat in his stomach had anything to say about it, he liked it. Fuck.

There was a soft laugh and the sound of sloshing water as you probably (he wouldn’t know because he wasn’t looking) reentered the spring.

“I know, I was teasing,” you sing, and he can tell the water is gliding around your body. “Turn around, Kiri, let’s talk.”

“Haha, um, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” Kirishima admits, although sitting in this steam-filled space with just you sounds so very nice.

“Why not?” you asked, voice sounding a bit upset.

“I’m supposed to be outside, doing my job?”

“Augh, but these private springs are so boring alone,” your voice whines; the water sloshes, and Kirishima winces at the slight throb on his tongue as he continues to look at not your direction. “Turn around, Kiri.”

Not too long ago, you had taken to calling him Kiri, a subtle change, a not unusual nickname people gave him. But just because it was you, his stomach flipped and twisted, and now with the image of your tits in mind, his dick throbbed.

Gulping, Kirishima turned, his gaze bashfully looking down at you before glancing away. You were chest-deep in the hot springs, tendrils of your wet hair sticking to your neck. Was he dead? Maybe dreaming?

No, his dreams were never like this.

“Do you want to come in?” you continued to ask, your body moving towards him in the water until you reached the edge of the pool, arms testing into the black rocks. “You’re the only one not in one, and since I hate being in these alone, I figured you’d like to join.”

Kirishima wanted to join. More than anything, he wanted to take his clothes off and jump into the springs with you, for you, but that would be unprofessional. Entirely and utterly unprofessional.

“Please?” you ask softly, pleadingly, and Kirishima makes the mistake of locking his gaze with yours.

“...fine, but I’ll be on the other side of the spring,” he concedes, his steps near clumsy and oafish as he stumbles backward to the shower and closet.

“Such a gentleman pervert,” you tease, fingers curling as you wave at him until Kirishima finally closes the door behind him.

The empty room is nearly deafening in its silence and the future as Kirishima slumps against the sliding door, excited apprehension rippling through every cell of his skin as a smile spreads across his face. He walks to the storage room, and despite it being a private room, there were two closets. The closet not already occupying your clothes had the things needed for him, and thankfully, it fit.

He undressed slowly, folding his clothes and placing them into the cubbies. Fully naked, he approached the showers, and under the lukewarm showerhead, he cleaned his body of any grime, dirt, and sweat.

Feeling refreshed and clean, Kirishima began his descent to the hot spring, his heart hammering when his fingers grabbed the handle of the door.

“I’m coming in,” he announced, a healthy amount of fear, excitement, and heat drumming through him.

“I’ll keep my virgin eyes away from your body, don’t worry,” came your slow tease, and Kirishima snorted softly.

Kirishima stepped back out to the hot spring.

Just like the first time, the entrance to the spring was warm, the steam seeming thicker than last time, clouding the outdoor room and his sight. You were at the furthest out part of the pool, your back towards them as you worked your fingers through your scalp.

Discarding his slippers at the edge, Kirishima climbed into the pool.

The pool only went as far as his thigh, and he sank into the warm water. It felt wonderful on his body, relaxing his muscles just enough for him to wonder when was the last time he had managed to visit a hot spring.

“I’m in,” Kirishima said, his arms rising up out of the water, resting onto the black stone. “You can turn around now.”

“God, took you long enough,” you tease, your body twisting so that you were facing him again.

To Kirishima’s complete and utter surprise, you stilled, eyes dragging up and down his exposed chest, eyes locked on the series of tattoos all over his right pectoral, and trailed down his right arm. His lips felt dry as your eyes shifted back to his face, to his arm, and back to him. The smile on your face felt weak, but it sent a spiral of dizzying heat through Kirishima when he noticed the hushed lust.

For a while, the two of you remained at opposite ends of the hot spring. Eyes closed, hummed melodies passing through the song. You asked Kirishima about how he felt, if his medication was due for refills, if therapy was okay (he was doing better, a refill was due in two weeks, and therapy was going the same). He asked you about your relationship with Kimiko, with the lawyer, and if you had any real friends within the music industry (Kimiko was like an older cousin to you, the lawyer was a pain to deal with at times, and surprisingly, you did meet some genuine friends). You questioned how his friends were doing, if he had any contact with them despite their busy schedules.

So Kirishima found himself retelling stories of his coworkers turned close friends. Each story he told left both of you with sore stomachs from laughter, and tears at the corner of your eyes from laughing too hard.

“Was the tip story true?” you asked once the quiet overcame and grew old. You shift through the water, getting a bit closer to Kirishima.

Kirishima coughed, suddenly feeling a tad bit shy about his posture, but decided to keep from moving.

“You honestly think I would have barged into here just because I wanted to see you?”

Truthfully, had Kirishima been a man without morals, chivalry, or disrespect for you, he would have. Definitely would have.

“Let a girl dream,” you smile, like a luring siren as you wander closer by just a step. “It would go against everything I know about you, but it’s fun to tease.”

“You’re a bigger brat than I thought you would be,” Kirishima smiles back, trying his best to not show the way goosebumps were bursting against his skin, his eyes locked on yours, trying to not get distracted by the way your wet skin made his mind spin.

“I don’t think I’m a brat,” you counter, getting close enough that he could feel the currents of the water with your movement. But you were far enough that Kirishima felt like pointing out the fact you disregarded his keep apart rule would be a mistake. “How am I a brat?”

The sound of the water rippling through the springs along with the growing noises of the bugs began a melody around the two of you, and all Kirishima could do was stare at the way you blinked your eyes slowly — like a feline stalking a prey.

“A lot of ways, really,” Kirishima breathes, his heart rising up to his throat as he felt your hands gingerly place themselves on his knees.

“Yeah?” you ask, parting through his naked legs, and Kirishima felt his breathing stop when your exposed chest pressed against his. Your lips were ghosting so far from his but tantalizingly close enough that he felt drunk off your sweet breath. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Kirishima sucked in air, his arms resisting movement, and his eyes glanced down at the way your mouth was millimeters from his. His dick was very much interested in what he could do about it, and when your hands grazed up his thigh and onto his chest, Kirishima could feel something rumble in his chest.

He moved to eliminate the space, but there was a crash in the following spring, pushing you away from him long before he could claim your mouth.

“FUCK!” the person in the opposite spring screamed, and Kirishima’s eyes closed in his muted annoyance as you sighed.

His eyes dropped to the water, giving you the privacy to rise out of the water and make your way over to the wall.

“Jenny, are you okay?” you called.

“Give me a warning the next time you try fucking your hot bodyguard in the middle of a private onsen!”

“We weren’t fucking you prude!”

And with that, Kirishima took this as his embarrassed cue to leave.

He stood at the entrance of your private spring for about twenty minutes, entirely uncomfortable with the still hard dick in his pants, rubbing and chaffing against his jeans as he stood there. Eventually, you exited the hot spring, face glowing from the steam and eyes avoiding his gaze as you walked back to your room. Your robe was tight on your body, the hair on the nape of your neck pressed to your skin.

Kirishima sighed as he watched you enter your room, your smile short as you nodded a simple goodnight before letting the door slam shut behind you.

Rubbing his face, Kirishima listened to the voices in his intercom talk about how nothing had happened tonight. An attempted unwelcome visitor tried to get into your room, but they had stopped him. They didn’t fight, but they had run away the moment they caught on to the fact that they weren’t exactly authentic.

Kirishima sighed as he slumped into his room, collapsing on the too small bed as he found himself looking at the ceiling in deep concentration.

What was he going to do now?

That was undeniably sexual, his still semi-hard dick damning evidence to the known fact that he wanted you. By god did he want you. Wanted you beneath him, over him, splitting yourself down onto his cock while you gripped your arms and legs around him, fucking down onto his driving cock.

Kirishima groaned low in his chest, guilt blooming in the back of his throat as his palm rubbed his pulsing cock.

Bad, Kirishima, bad.

“Kirishima-san?” a voice broke through his earpiece, and Kirishima nearly jumped out of his skin. “Are you there?”

“Hi Kimiko,” Kirishima sighed, his dick deflating instantly. “Everything all right?”

“Ah, yes! Sorry about earlier, the false tip and the sudden abandonment!” Kimiko embarrassingly apologized. “My client was ringing for the fourth time, and while I care deeply for y/n, I had to take it!”

“Mm, no worries, Kimiko,” Kirishima smiled politely despite the lack of visual contact. “How can I help you?”

“Ah, yes,” Kimiko asserted, her tone changing from apology to one of formality. “So, about the visitor incident I’m sure you were brought attention to, it seems that the vehicle they came in was with the driver's plate: T082-23. Does that sound familiar?”

“Not currently,” Kirishima sighed, his body stretching into a sitting up position. “Does it to you?”

“No…” Kimiko admitted, and Kirishima could feel the worried frown on her face. “Well, I just wanted to call and give you that information. It was passed along to me, and they mentioned they hadn’t told you. And since I was going to give you the schedule for the upcoming JRA’s award day, I figured I’d let you know!”

“No problem! Let’s go over the schedule now?”

“Yes! I have a client meeting in America right after this! Can you believe it? An American celebrity wants my help?!”

“That sounds amazing, Kimiko!”

“Okay, so this is how the day’s going to go!”

Date: 7/10 Time: 18:00 Location: Tokyo Hotel Room 101

Kirishima watched as an entire team was getting you dressed up.

Two people were doing your hair, three people doing your nails, one person doing your makeup, and five getting one of your three outfits for the night ready.

According to you, as you had strutted around in these outfits nearly two weeks ago were your red carpet and beginning of the award show outfit, your performance outfit, and of course, the after-party outfit. Each one was different, yet when adorned on your body was a perfect replica of who you were.

Most importantly, the two of you had decided to ignore every single instance of tremendous sexual energy and desire that basically leaked from both of your pores. It was for the best to ignore it. There was no point in pursuing it, especially when there was a known hunt for you, and Kirishima was the last line of defense between you and whoever it was.

Whoever it was, pfft.

Kirishima was willing to bet on who it was already.

Since the night of the initial kidnapping that finally closed the gap between you and Kirishima, there was something that the caught criminal said that stuck with him.

Everything you had coming your way, you deserved, he had said in bitter spite.

The interesting thing was that it was the lawyer who had said that, multiple times at that. The lawyer seemed to have everything to fuel him to rage against you. Everything you said or tried, the lawyer was on your heel, barking at you that it was wrong. Kirishima had also seen the contracts between you and the lawyer, and the amount that he was paid to be your attorney was not large at all.

The mass majority of the funds you earned were always funneled towards charities and organizations you trusted to help people in need — in fact, it was almost 80% of your total earnings. A meek, barely larger than 20% was split between you, your lawyer, Kimiko, your music crew, and any other unforeseen expenses. The lawyer was also in a situation where he was not in demand with clients, and if you weren’t heeding his expensive tag, he needed a new contract with you.

A contract he was always demanding to discuss with you that you denied to change.

Attacks tended to happen days after you and the lawyer tumbled, not enough to rouse suspicion if you weren’t looking, but Kirishima was. He just needed damning evidence now.

Something.

Anything.

And for some reason, his gut was screaming at him that something big was going to happen tonight, that tonight was going to be the last attack—the one to end everything.

So he had told everyone about it. Kimiko, the security at the JRA’s, even you. It made him nervous.

It made his hand sweat, the gun strapped to his thigh feeling like hot iron as he stood about as you laughed with your makeup crew.

Kirishima swore, promised, and vowed he would protect you.

He was going to.

And when the gold dress was tied to your body, fitting you beautifully, Kirishima found himself unable to look away like strands of your hair framed your temples.

“What do you think, Kiri? Will I be on the Best Dressed List?” you asked, tearing Kirishima’s attention away from the bodice and skirt of the dress. Your eyes were bright, hopeful, yearning for a positive reaction from him.

“How could you not be?” Kirishima admitted, his grin toothy, and he shifted against the wall.

“You’ll make me blush,” you grin back, eyes batting just a bit as you clasp your hands together. It takes everything in Kirishima to keep from striding across the space between the two of you and kissing you silly. “Are we ready to go?”

Kirishima wet his lips, unwillingly tearing his gaze from you, and whispers into the intercom.

“Ready to move out?”

“We’re all clear.”

Straightening back up, Kirishima smiled at you, his head motioning towards the door.

“Alright, y/n, let’s see you make some history?”

“Damn right I will.”

Kirishima smiled as he exited first, carving the path for you.

Paparazzi were on you immediately, the lights flashing and terribly bright as he helped you through the throngs of them. His hand pressed to your back as they screamed demands, most of which you complied with until Kirishima stated that you would be late. You, unfortunately, couldn’t be late to the awards show.

Ushering you into the limousine, Kirishima follows in shortly after you, scrunching up in his seat as he sits opposite of you. However, your typical light and bright demeanor are gone; instead, you seem almost anxious as you open your handbag.

“You okay there?” Kirishima asks as he realizes you pulled out a distinctly obvious metal flask.

“Awards make me nervous,” you painfully admit; you're weakly smiling as you knock back a shot of the drink. “I hate winning and losing; the alcohol makes me less… of a wreck. Do you want some? I think it’s apple soju, I don’t know, a good luck gift from Kimiko.”

Kirishima grins, his eyes rolling as he decides to decline the drink. “Sorry, love, I think that I need to be completely sober for today.”

You scrunch your nose, obviously displeased, “Lame, who shows up to these awards sober?”

“Me,” Kirishima laughed, his head tilting back and scraping against the ceiling of the limousine.

“Such a prude, sober, pervert,” you sigh, taking yet another swig before putting the flask back into your bag.

“Such a brat.”

Just like every previous instance, your eyes seem to glow in glee at that name, your lips curling into a pleased smirk as you shrug. It's a sight that makes Kirishima’s mouth dry and heart racing. Fuck, he should not be thinking about fucking you in the limousine right now.

But before the heat in the limousine could simmer to one of undeniable boiling, you had arrived.

Kirishima cleared his throat, sending a quick wink your way as he exited the car first. The first stop was for him to join the lineup to guide you through all the different photo and interview sessions. No one wanted pictures of him emerging from the limo after all.

There's a moment where after Kirishima closes the door, your eyes filled with worry and excitement as he winked goodbye, that things changed. He stood up, his eyes already scanning the area for anything suspicious, when he saw the all too familiar van.

T082-23.

His eyes widened, his head looking around for anyone else, but there was no one to help. No one could do anything as the car continued to drive away, disappearing from Kirishima’s line of sight. His heart hammered in his chest, and his hands instinctively went to his thigh. He had his firearm… he had it.

With nothing but a quick report to the head of security via his com, Kirishima pushed on ahead, waiting for your descent down the red carpet.

When you eventually emerged from the limousine, Kirishima found that at this moment, the entire world faded away as a gloved hand assisted you out of the vehicle. You were elegant, stunning, a realistic vibrant portrait within his world of greys. As you took photos for the cameras, he was by your side a few strides away as you talked to reporters.

You really came to life right now.

You were beautiful.

“For all the pain in the world that she is, she’s quite charming from a distance, huh?” a voice spoke to his side, and Kirishima froze. His eyes widened completely when he noticed that standing beside him was none other than the lawyer.

The lawyer was dressed in a nice suit, glasses perched on his nose, and for the first time Kirishima had seen, the scowl was not quite so hard.

He was here.

Every warning bell sounded in Kirishima’s head.

This was the man he was so sure was the reason behind your every attack. A man fueled by insufficient funding, a need for a new contract that would never be approved without your signature.

“What are you doing here?” Kirishima asked, subtlety never being something he was ever good with. “I’ve never seen you anywhere except to argue with Y/n about contracts. This doesn’t seem like the appropriate time to be discussing it.”

“Kimiko wanted me to give her a new contract proposal to give to y/n. However, to be fair, it’s quite easy for anything to come down to an argument with y/n,” he shrugs, and Kirishima watches a cloud of emotions pass between the man’s eyes. “At least between her and me, we’ve never gotten along, but I suppose that’s how it is for any type of family who works together.”

Wait.

“What?! Family member?!”

“Yes, I know it’s strange to believe. I am quite ugly, and she is not, but we’re family.”

Kirishima’s mind was racing now. It didn’t make sense. If he was family, why would he be in such pursuit of potentially murdering you? If you were family, he was sure that you would help out? If he needed a raise like he thought, wouldn’t you have helped?

There was no way you wouldn’t.

Was he wrong?

Who was it?

“Kiri!” your voice broke into his mind and tore him back to reality. You waved at him, then passed a stuck-out tongue to the lawyer in a teasing fashion. “Let’s go in?”

Kirishima looked over at the lawyer who greeted a woman, who was also walking down the red carpet, a celebrity he could name no less, with a warm kiss.

Oh fuck.

He needed to call Kimiko; he was so very wrong.

You had won two awards so far, and at this very moment, Kirishima was being ushered back to his seat in the audience as you were being escorted to the main stage to perform your latest song. You had removed your gold dress for a black, sleek gown. Your lipstick changed to a dark red, and your hands trembled in the white lace gloves you wore.

“Oh, Kiri,” you wheezed almost, your hands shaking as the announcers on stage were announcing the last awards before your performance. “I’m getting nervous. What if I mess up or sing off-key? I’d be the laughing stock!”

Kirishima laughed gently, his hands easily encompassing your waist as he stilled your frantic moves. “Y/l/n y/n, if there is anything I know for sure about you is that you are one hell of a singer and a performer. The awards you’re nominated for tonight speak for themselves! You never fail at your performances, and even if you somehow manage to sing off-key, I’m sure that no one would notice! Your biggest fan in the world won’t notice, at least.”

Not more than seven days ago, when you had cried about the impending nerves of being an artist, Kirishima had come to claim the title of being your biggest fan in the world. It had made you chuckle through your tears before coming near a hysterical laugh as the two of you held each other close.

“You’re a nut, Kirishima Eijirou,” you laugh, hands resting on his lower ribs, but your smile was bright, warm. You paused a bit, fingers pulling at the fabric of his shirt. “I’ll sing just for you then, but I think I should take another swig of that soju.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Could you tell that Takeyama is completely drunk off her ass?”

“...she’s drunk?!”

“Exactly, I’ll be fine,” you breathe, taking a new smaller flask from the purse Kirishima was holding for you and taking the final swig. Your face contorts at the bitter liquid. “Ew, Kimiko really fucked me over with this one. Why is it blue?! Have you ever seen blue apple soju?!”

“No?” Kirishima startled, his eyes looking at the indeed splash of blue liquid tainting a small part of your gloves. “Who gave you that one? What happened with the other flask of yours?”

“Oh, Kimiko sent it along after I lost my other one; it’s her own flask,” you said before the backstage crew whisked you away to begin your set, and without you, Kirishima was sent to the audience.

Kirishima felt trapped as he was ushered into his seat, his eyes scanning the entire audience for something suspicious, a familiar face perhaps. His broad shoulders continued to bump into his neighbors, their disgruntled noises doing nothing to stop his worry.

“And now, Y/n,” came the strong voice of the male announcer, and the light dimmed.

Kirishima watched as the spotlight came down upon you, a golden halo of colors against your darkened gown as the instrumentals began to play in the background. And he saw you take a step forward, the building motifs suddenly silencing when you finally sang the first note.

Despite the panic arising in Kirishima, the unknown of who was behind it all, what was going to happen, he stilled at the unmatched strength and ambiance of your voice.

You sang as you did at every stage, to every audience.

There was a reason why you were considered a legend.

And then, with one last sound, one last melody, and your hand holding your microphone dropped. Your chest heaving, tears falling down your face, and the roar of the audience was silent. You looked through the audience, unable to see, but for some reason, you just knew where Kirishima was.

You smile.

But as the looming sounds begin to fill your ear again, you find that the world is hazy.

You swallow, eyes unfocused as you bowed, hurrying to leave the stage.

Kirishima watched as you took a final stumbling step off the stage, something he felt was going to be written off as you stepped on your dress. But his mind whirled.

The lawyer felt like a setup; the contracts made no sense, the blue soju.

How were they related?

What connected them?

“Oh, fuck,” Kirishima whispered, horrified, and immediately his finger pressed to his earpiece. “Find Y/n! Now!”

Kirishima was racing through the back of the venue, the announcers' voices still ringing through the dirty, bleak hallways. You had just won but was written off as being somewhere backstage; after all, the show must go on.

Voices screamed in his earpiece, each declining to have found you. No one had seen you after you stepped off the stage. No one knew who had taken you.

Kirishima noticed the doors closing at the end of the hallway, and with a dreading sense of doom, Kirishima removed the gun from his harness. And with the devil on his heels, he ran.

Kirishima panted as he looked before him.

You were passed out, draped limp, confused, and woozy against Kimiko’s body, and two men knocked unconscious beside them. To anyone else, it looked as if Kimiko had saved you, some guardian angel within this world, but if Kirishima’s gut meant anything, he knew better.

“Kirishima-san!’ Kimiko squeaked as Kirishima raised his gun, his body tense, unwilling to take a chance on her. “I don’t know what those two were doing! I was saving her, I swear!”

“Don’t do this, Kimiko,” Kirishima whispered, his head shaking. “I figured it out.”

There was a shift in Kimiko’s face at that; the scared unknowing hero melted into one of anger, resentment, one of someone who knew they had been outed.

“So, you figured it out,” she bitterly spoke, her arms that were supporting you from behind revealing to be a firearm of your own. “I didn’t expect you to.”

“I can’t say I figured out your reasoning; honestly, it doesn’t make sense to me, but I felt like it was you,” Kirishima carefully states, his heart roaring at the implied danger of the firearm against your chin. “Don’t do anything stupid, Kimiko.”

Kimiko stares, her lips forming a small o before changing into one of a large, near unattached grin.

“Anything stupid? If anyone is doing anything stupid, it's this selfish prick!” Kimiko spits, her arms tightening around you, making you whimper ever so gently in pain. “She thinks she’s so great, so rich, so smart! Just because she wastes most of her money on stupid shit like charity! Everyone thinks working for her is a dream, but they’re all blind idiots!”

Kirishima’s eyes widen as he notices the glazed, unfocused of your eyes as you shift your attention over to him. Were you listening?

“What’s wrong with the contract?” he asks, a small attempt to diffuse the situation.

“The fact she pays me next to nothing, and yet she works me half to death!”

“You have multiple clients, don’t you?” Kirishima splutters, unsure as to what was wrong. “Why is this one contract so important you wanted to frame her lawyer?!”

Kimiko laughs; it’s pitchy, almost hysterical as she bends over, your body slumping further onto the floor. “That was a lie! All a fucking lie! Do you know that I knew no one when I first started? Y/n is a name everyone wants. I don’t need to do anything to get her things! The world wants her! But the other clients? None of them stayed, none of them wanted me past a month! The salary was okay when she was a snot-nosed brat, but ten years later?! NO! She won’t fucking listen. She never fucking listens to anything but herself! So she has the option to give me the eighty percent, or fucking die here!”

Suddenly the gun in Kirishima’s hand feels like a ton, the skin on the back of his neck crawling and slicking with sweat.

“You know how much those charities mean to her,” Kirishima whispers. “She won’t do it.”

Kimiko trembles for a second, her arm holding the firearm lowering as she looks at the wall, shaking.

“Oh my god… you’re right,” Kimiko realizes, horror and uncertainty flashing across her face. “I guess… she has to die, oh my god, she has to die.”

At that moment, the world slowed down, and Kirishima swore he could see the atoms, the electricity flowing through the space between them. Kimiko’s arm holding the gun raising back up to your temple, her smile detached, horrific yet gleeful.

His body trembled as he doubted himself, his mind unsure if the finger on the trigger was going to be strong enough to fire away. Could he do it?

Was he ready?

Actually ready?

Save her, his past whispered.

Save her, his nightmares screamed.

Save her, his heart yelled.

Kirishima raised his arm, his focus blaring, his past just for a moment, forgotten.

BANG!

“The effects of the rohypnol have already worn out. Thankfully she wasn’t given a whole pill. If she experiences any nausea or throws up, please bring her back, should anything else happen, she’ll be okay.”

The words of the doctor rang in Kirishima’s ears. For tonight, they were going to be discharging you to him. Thankfully, it was all happening in Tokyo, so Kirishima’s apartment was near, and if Bakugou was true to his word, it was clean.

With the help of hospital security, he had managed to get your tuxedo concealed body into a car, and the two of you rode off to his apartment. You’ve been silent the entire time, eyes downcasted as you sit pressed to his side, feeling like a small child compared to him. You knew that he was much larger than you, a near two feet taller, but this felt unmatched.

Kirishima’s jacket was warm around you, it’s sheer largeness another dress on your body, and despite the horrific turn of events, you were feeling warm. You couldn’t remember much of what transpired after stumbling off stage, but you did remember Kirishima bursting through the doors, a look of anger and fear blistering off his person in such a way that made you whimper when you remembered.

You remembered the onsen basically every night, cursing your stupid makeup team for interrupting a night that definitely would have ended with you fucking Kirishima. You cursed yourself for being a coward and not just saying fuck it and fucking him afterward despite the brief awkwardness.

He wanted you, it was clear as day, and you wanted him as well.

Tonight.

“Sorry about how small my apartment is, or if it’s messy, I don’t actually know if my friends have been keeping up with it,” Kirishima apologized, guiding you into the apartment by the small of your back. “You’ll be safe here tonight, and I promise we can get back to your own place tomorrow!”

“Oh, don’t apologize, it’s okay,” you smile, feeling flushed as you cross the entryway to the apartment. His apartment, despite not being home in so long, is clean. The halls aren’t messy, and a hint of lavender is saturated to the air. The dim hallway lights were barely bright enough to cause you to squint as it was dark out. “Thank you for having me tonight, especially after everything.”

At the hospital, you had been given a pair of sweats and a cotton t-shirt. The change in outfit from your event dress was definitely needed, and even though you were sure your makeup was streaked down your face, you felt good hidden in the depths of Kirishima’s jacket.

“Are you hungry?” Kirishima asked, handing over his guest slippers, which you gratefully accepted. “I might have some microwaveable food leftover.”

“Ramen doesn’t sound too bad,” you admit as Kirishima unbuttons the first few buttons on his white dress shirt. You were instantly captivated by the movement, your eyes shifting back to his face when he began to walk off towards the kitchen.

Kirishima talked warmly, keeping the conversation going merrily and bright throughout the entire time in the kitchen. He undoubtedly knew you weren’t entirely okay, and at moments like this, you were entirely grateful for his sweet personality.

To be fair, you knew that you had been quite unfair to Kirishima in the beginning. Looking back at the first entire month of knowing him, you were horrified and impressed that Kirishima didn’t demand to be dropped. You had been selfish, stubborn, a bottom line brat, and he took it day after day. It wasn’t that you disliked him back then; hell, you had been in a near state of delirium when he entered the door during your first meeting because you had no idea such huge men existed to the caliber of his hotness.

But you resisted and might have been harsher than needed.

It was okay now; after all, if he was genuinely bitter about that entire month still, the onsen said otherwise.

It didn’t take long for your stomach to be filled with warm broth, soft boiled eggs, and ramen noodles. Kirishima did, in fact, have ramen, fresh eggs, and some vegetables. In a grand act of preparing you the most sufficient dinner he could, Kirishima presented this under budget ramen and laughed when you said it was terrific.

But it was growing late.

The two of you still sat at his table that was full of a card game, your empty ramen bowls, and cups of water. The clock on the oven read 23:38, and the city lights were slowly dying.

“Are you ready for bed?” Kirishima eventually asked you.

You looked up from your joined hands; your fingers had been playing with his thick and long fingers for some time now. The apartment grew steadily quieter as you studied and attempted to memorize each callous and scar on his hands. They were definitely marked and nicked, the sign of the warrior he once was.

“Depends on the bed,” you tease, lips rising into a small smile as you compare your much tinier hands than his. Your fingertips barely passed the edge of his palm. “What does a big guy like you sleep in? A twin? Tatami mat?”

Kirishima laughed, his hands twisting in yours, wrapping it around so that he raised your hands up to press a kiss to the center of your palms.

“A futon, brat,” Kirishima explained, his smile small but sharp with his humor. “Let’s get you to bed?”

You frown.

“Where will you be sleeping then?”

“My couch is just fine.”

“I’m sure your stuffing in a trash bag had holes in it.”

“That’s okay,” Kirishima laughed, standing up and quickly taking you to your feet as well. “It’s just for a night, I’ll live.”

Your face warmed immediately as he guided you down the hallway of his apartment before finally coming into what was definitely his room.

Kirishima’s scent was faint in this room, cinnamon, wood, and warm spices. It made your eyes flutter as you observed his room from the entryway as he began to set up the room.

His eye for interior decoration was quite… different. You smiled brightly as you glanced around; the diverse and rather boyish decorations around the room warmed your heart. It seemed exactly like what you would think of for Kirishima.

“Well, that’s all!” Kirishima exclaimed, his hands landing on his hips in triumph as he looked around. “The bathroom is the next door over, and I’ll leave a toothbrush out for you. I also left out a new t-shirt of mine if you want to change!”

You nod some more, watching as Kirishima seems unsure of what to do next. He looks around, coughs a bit before nodding.

“Okay, I’ll be leaving—”

“Um, can we talk?” you interrupt, arms wrapping around your body. “I have some things I want to say.”

“Oh, sure!”

“You can sit,” you say, motioning toward the bed. “I have a few things to get off my chest.”

Kirishima pauses for a bit, his eyes looking you over before he eventually nods, and he sits down. The bed slightly creaks under his weight, and you feel your body warm-up at the sound. You want to hear the bed creak more, to rock under the weight of you and him pressed against the sheets as you cried his name.

“What is it?” he asks gently, observing you.

“I just…” you huff, words failing you, your tongue feeling heavy. “I wanted to say thank you for saving me.”

“It was my job to do that,” Kirishima smiled warmly, his arms crossing again.

He was relaxed.

“I mean, I can’t even begin to believe that it was Kimiko who was behind all that, even though we know it was… I know it was,” you trail off, shivering slightly as you remember your ex-managers demented laugh in your ear. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Nothing would’ve happened to you,” Kirishima spoke with finality. “I promised to myself at the first meeting I was going to protect you, hell the entire world would. You’re not going to be taken down by pathetic people like that, not you.”

“Really?”

“One hundred percent.”

“I feel like I should repay you in some way, though,” you rub the back of your neck, eyes fluttering just the slightest bit flirtatious. Kirishima looked at you with full mooned eyes, his arms unfolding and his palms resting onto the bedspread.

“You repay me plenty already,” came his whispered answer, so quiet, so pure you almost smiled. “You don’t have to do anything.”

Your tongue pushes past your lip, wetting the drying skin as you take a step toward him. The shoulders of the jacket slowly fall from your own shoulders, pooling just above your elbows as you stop before him, hands resting daintily on his broad shoulders.

“And what if I want something?” you ask, finding yourself stemming with energy as his legs part, allowing you closer access to him.

You step in closer and closer until your outer thighs are ghosting against the inner part of his.

“I think it’s in our contract for me to do everything that you request if I remember correctly,” Kirishima whispers, his bright clear red eyes turning a burnt shade: dark and ever consuming.

“And if I want you to finish what you started over at the onsen?” you press, fingers curling against the muscles of his shoulders before locking behind his neck.

His nose was brushing against yours, cold yet burning against your own skin.

“I’ll gladly show you what I wanted to do that night,” he grunts, eyes deadly, and for the first time, his hands held your waist.

You took a second to recover, your skin sparking with the electricity of his touch, and you suppressed a shiver as you opened your eyes.

“Do it,” you cement your fates, “coward.”

And just like that, in a movement so euphoric, Kirishima’s mouth crashed against yours.

His mouth was hot, dangerous against yours -- a live wire sparking with uncontrollable energy and heat as your mouths danced. Hot puffs of air were passed between your mouths, your fingers shaking with an undeniable release of tension and want.

The kiss was sloppy, desperate, so needy with unspoken frantic determination to fuck each other until the other could no longer move.

Kirishima’s hand removed the jacket from your arms, letting the expensive material fall onto the floor with a heavy thud. Despite the lack of warmth the clothing provided, the feeling of Kirishima’s hands rubbing against your bare arms sent your mind spiraling.

“Get on the bed,” Kirishima commands against your mouth. “Let me fuck you.”

The words were nearly embarrassingly desperate, but the tone of his voice spoke of the absolute domination he wished to assert on you. He wanted you in one exact way, and you had a feeling you knew what it was. But if he had been paying attention, Kirishima should already know that getting you to listen was not easy.

“No,” you grin against his mouth.

Kirishima pulls away instantly, his lips red and swollen as he replays your word in his head. He looks frazzled, absolutely delirious already at the simple, passion-filled makeout. As soon as his eyes clear away the fog, your grin drops, and instead, you look at him with fierce determination and defiance.

“No?” he repeats.

“No,” you confirm.

Your chest feels light, your head spinning as the hands on your waist tighten, and his eyes flash dangerously. The tip of his tongue pushes past his lips before quickly disappearing again.

“Of course, you’re a brat in bed too, such a fucking princess,” Kirishima shakes his head, but his mouth curving into a shark-like grin.

Menacing, promising, sending chilling shivers down your spine.

The world spins faster than you can keep up, your mouth opening to shriek as Kirishima easily lifts you up, and has you lying against his lap.

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret, princess,” Kirishima begins, his large fingers hooking into the waistband of the sweats you have on and the panties you’re wearing. “My princess gets rewards for being good. If she can behave properly, she gets to be fucked with dick, her pussy gets to be fucked just the way she pleases.”

You can’t help but stifle a moan that threatens to spill out with his words and the way his hands move down the curve of your ass, exposing the naked skin to him. The waistband of both your panties and sweats stay high up your thighs, and it’s almost embarrassing to know you’re still so clothed despite what’s to come.

“And just what does the Sergeant do to bad girls?” you ask, unable to keep your tongue down, your hips rolling against his lap in undeserved friction.

Unexpectedly, abruptly, a hand comes down harshly onto your bare ass.

The contact is rough, stinging against your ass as you cry out in slight pain.

The hand not currently rubbing a warning circle into your ass twists the hair at the top of your head, lifting your head up so that your ear could near his mouth.

“Bad girls get punishments. They get what I want to give them. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Holy shit,” you whimper, heat flaring between your thighs at the thought of Kirishima doing anything to you regardless of if you were good or bad. You rut your ass back against his hand, longing for a heavier touch, a plea for something more.

“What does the princess want?”

“Nothing,” you bite, and the crashing smack of another spank has you moaning loudly at the stinging pleasure-filled pain.

“You moaning like a whore at a simple spank says otherwise,” Kirishima chuckles darkly, his fingers pinching your stinging ass as your body bucks against him. He spanks you again, again, and again. Each slap is intentful, powerful, wanting to get you to admit what you want, and you cry against your hands each time, your eyes fluttering as the pain feels good.

“Of course, a slut like you would be getting off on this,” Kirishima seems amused, his thick finger pressing to the slit of your cunt, spreading your dripping essence against your cunt. He presses against your entrance with just the tip of his finger, and you shriek in a sound for more, your hips jerking backward to get his finger into you, to fuck you with those thick fingers to do something about the growing desperate heat.

“Kirishima!” you scream, your body sweating and twisting on his lap, desperate to find some way to get him to finger fuck you.

“Ah, there we go,” he sighs in delight as his fingers swirl at your entrance, increasing the teasing and making your mind spin. “Tell me what you want, brat.”

“You!” you wail, two of his fingers carting between your wet, sloppy heated lips. They graze your clit, stimulating you further as you can do nothing but instinctively jerk against his hold, trying to get him to give you the needed pleasure to build up to an orgasm. “I want you to fuck me so good! Please, Sergeant, please, I want you to fuck me until I can’t remember anything but your name.”

“But you haven’t proven to be a good princess,” Kirishima tuts, his hands disappearing from your pussy despite your crying pleas. His hand grabs your ass, though, massaging the abused skin, grasping it tightly.

You moan, embarrassed at the sensation of his massive hand easily cupping your ass cheek, your fingers fisting into the fabric of his pants as you shake your head.

“Are you going to prove that you’re good?” he asks you, his tone like that of a parent chastising a child. “Gonna prove to me that you can be good?”

You shake pathetically against his legs, but you can’t keep yourself from shaking your head. You can’t prove to him that you would be.

“I can’t!” you whimper loudly, your body twisting on his lap to look up at him, your eyes filled with tears and pleading need. Kirishima looked down at you with lust filled eyes and an undeniable need to be followed.

“You can’t?” he repeats, his head tilting, eyes narrowing, and his fingers dug into your ass. “Or you won’t?”

You tremble on top of him, unable to answer because you weren’t ready to hand over the reins just yet. You didn’t want to submit so fast, you wanted to make his own head dizzy with need but the stubbornness to continue punishing you the way he was promising.

“I won’t,” you gasp, eyes fluttering at the way he finally drops your head.

You gasp loudly as you find him shoving you off his lap, and with your panties and sweats sitting so awkwardly high on your legs, you find yourself tumbling off his lap and onto the floor.

“Guess if you don’t want to behave, I’ll treat you like some fucking pussy pocket and dispose of you once I’m done,” Kirishima easily breathes, and you look up at the now standing man as he tears his shirt off.

Your mouth waters, your cunt throbbing at the sight of the rippling muscles and dark lines of his tattoos on his upper body. You watch fascinated, like one does to a masterpiece, as he undresses until he’s in nothing but his socks. And at the sight of his dick, you can feel at once all the blood in your flushed face drop directly into your throbbing cunt.

He was fucking enormous, his girth barely fitting into his hand, and the angry red head spilled its precum against his abs. A black happy trail connecting Kirishima’s abs to his vein throbbing cock.

Holy fuck, he could quickly kill you with that.

Kirishima doesn’t ask any questions as he watches your awkwardly dressed state of a body on the floor. His head is tilted upwards, a small pleased smile on his face as he looks down on you, his hand slowly, leisurely fisting his cock as you can do nothing but stare.

You make some insane noise at the back of your throat at this sight, your thighs trembling with need, and you're pushing off your side, your ass burning, and your balance off as you open your mouth, offering all you could to him.

And thankfully, Kirishima allows it.

He’s much too tall for you to suck him off on your knees, so he sits back down onto the bed, letting you scamper between his legs, mouth open wide like some needy pet.

“Such a good little slut,” Kirishima sighs, sinking his cock into your wet, hot mouth. “Such a fucking cockwhore, all it took was a single glance for you to lose your will.”

You whine against his dick, your jaw tight with the stretch, your tongue lapping so desperately around the cock that was no more than halfway in yet couldn’t go in any further.

“Suck me right, and I’ll reward you by fucking that pretty little pussy of yours,” Kirishima grunts, his fingers pressing into the side of your neck as he ruts his hips up into your mouth, shoving his cock even further into your mouth. “And don’t you dare look away from me while you suck me off.”

It feels like fire.

His cock driving down your throat hurts, the taste of his salty pre-cum slathering all over your tongue and dripping out of your mouth with the saliva you can’t control. His cock hits the back of your throat, and you continue to bob your head, continue to fuck him with your throat as animalistic, praiseworthy noises begin spilling from Kirishima’s mouth.

You whimper at the sight of his head dipping back, and you nearly whine when he shoves the fingers he had gathered your juices on into his mouth. He moans at the contact and with his pleasure with your actions so obvious as you choke against his girth. That was hot, holy fuck, you wanted him to fuck you, please fuck you.

Your eyes close as he begins to fuck faster into your mouth, his delight in hearing you choke around him his driving force. Tears start pouring from your eyes despite your best efforts, your throat and inner thighs burning with lust and need as Kirishima groans, his cock twitching deep in your throat.

Slap!

“Hey!”

Slap!

You gag harshly as your cheeks sting with his heavy slap, your teeth grazing underneath his cock, right against a thick, twisting vein.

“Did I tell you to close your eyes?” Kirishima practically growls, his hands grasping the back of your neck, the other one slapping you across the face yet again. “No. I said… fuck… I said, keep your eyes on me!”

Tears weep down your face, your eyes struggling to keep focus on him as he continued to fuck deep and intensely into your mouth, shoving himself further into you until you could feel his thighs grazing your chin. Oxygen wasn’t flowing anymore; your gags and chokes the only time the burning element could manage to flow through you, but Kirishima doesn’t seem to care. He seems to delight in the way you are, despite it all, are moaning and looking at him in a pleading way for more.

More, you plead.

And he delivers.

Kirishima pulls his still hard, not yet cummed, dick out of your mouth and stands.

You splutter with the sudden intake of oxygen to your lungs, burning you from the inside out as you splutter on the ground.

“W-What’s going on?” you hoarsely stammer, your jaw and throat aching from its prolonged abuse. “E-Ei?”

However, Kirishima seems dead set on getting you naked, and you squeal in flustered excitement as he rips the shirt off of you and his mouth pressing against yours again. His mouth crashes against yours, and you moan into his mouth immediately.

His tongue curls into your mouth and your tongues press and rub against each other. Each passing second growing more desperate, needier, more intense as your clothes are ripped one by one off your body.

“Holy fuck, I’ve wanted you for so long,” Kirishima nearly whines, his mouth trailing down your neck, biting and sucking against every centimeter of skin he passed. “Wanted to fuck you against the wall, in my bed, and now I get to do that.”

“Please, please, fuck me, please,” you beg, your voice bordering a wail as your arms wrap around his neck, letting him lift you up off the floor. Despite you being so much smaller than him that when he held you to him, your cunt wasn’t pressed to his angry leaking cock, you continued to desperately roll your hips against his abs, the friction welcomed and easing the building pressure. It was an action conveying just what you wanted. “I need you in me, Sergeant!”

“Just cuz… holy fuck,” Kirishima breathes ragged, his body twisting around, and you cried when the cold sheets pressed into your back. “Imma fuck you, Imma… god, just fucking watch.”

Your head thrashed back onto the pillow as Kirishima’s teeth sunk into your collarbone, then captured your sensitive nipples, his fingers dancing against your clit and teasing your center.

“Now!” you cry, fingers digging into his shoulder. “Put it in!”

This time, Kirishima didn’t need to be told twice.

His larger body was suddenly pressed entirely against yours, dwarfing you immediately as your arms wrapped around his back as his cock slammed into you. You screamed at the sudden intrusion, your pussy stretched beyond its typical limits by his girth, his size, his power.

Your cunt throbbed around him, your face buried within his pecs as you, despite the searing pain, shove your hips up towards him. Fucking into him, sucking him further into you.

“Holy shit,” Kirishima groans, “you’re amazing.”

“Talk less, fuck me more!” you screech, your body spasming, twitching so hard from the splitting pleasure and the lava pit in your stomach, and Kirishima does that exactly.

His hips begin to meet yours in equaled power, slamming into you so that the bed creaked beneath you. He fucked you until he had to hold a hand on your hip so you could stay there, and you kept a hand on the wall to continue to push yourself down onto his cock.

You screamed with pleasure, cried for more, Kirishima’s shark-like smirk getting bolder, darker, hotter with every slam of his hips until his tattooed right arm shot down. His hand wrapped around your throat, choking you.

“You’re so loud, princess,” Kirishima moans, clearly liking your loud noises, “but you’re going to wake everyone in Tokyo.”

His hand around your throat is enough to have your legs trembling around his waist, your choked and muffled moans and splutters drowning out even more as he pressed a kiss onto you. He kissed you, licking your mouth, and devouring your every word and thought. Your core twisted, tightened, and burned. It throbbed and clenched with it’s impending orgasm, and your body began to tense to the heavens as his cock throbbed deep within you.

“Who saved you?”

“E-Ei did,” you garble.

“Who’s fucking you?”

“E-Ei is!”

“Who’s going to fucking cum when I tell her to?”

“Me! Fuck, me!”

Kirishima laughs, his arms wrapping around your waist, and in one final, fleeting burst of strength, fucks into you with his own power, needs, and desire, and you can only take it. “Cum, princess,” he whispered almost sweetly against the top of your head, and it was all over. Your teeth sink into his chest as you scream, a blinding white light erupting through your vision as you cum around his cock.

Kirishima whimpers, his cock still pushing deep into your cunt, until you can feel the warm spill of his seed in your womb.

He collapses to the side of you, taking you with him so that you were resting on his sweaty chest.

“Holy shit,” Kirishima whispered after a bit, your body already warm and too lethargic to notice the star-like tone to his voice. “That was fucking… holy shit.”

“Does this mean you like me?” you half tease, half wonder.

There’s a pause, a silence, and you wonder if maybe he had fallen asleep.

But he didn’t.

“I’ve been in love with you for some time now, I think,” he admits, his hand beginning to rub small circles into your back.

You find that despite the exhaustion, warmth floods your cheeks.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I guess we’re going to have to discuss a more… permanent and maybe different contract tomorrow morning, huh?”

Kirishima chuckles, and you find yourself smiling into his chest.

“I think we do.”

#kirishima x reader #kirishima smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha

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thedannyfinn · 4 years ago

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The Story of Absolute Power, Deceit, and Manipulation

This is going to be quite an interesting read for many. I encourage bookmarking and taking breaks. It is out of the request of those involved to bring awareness of the patterns of manipulation, deceit, and absolute power that I delve into my knowledge on this subject as supported by the words of Ashley Purdy, backed by my own experiences and opinions. This will be a very important lesson for many younger musicians as well. This is in part based on my own personal experiences, opinions, and recollection. The sources of the information that will be detailed in this post will be coming from myself alone as an individual and my personal observations with supporting relevant media links.

An Anonymous Warning

This story starts way back in 2012. I remember distinctly researching Black Veil Brides and the making of, when I came across a blog post from a third party detailing the band’s relocation to Los Angeles and its creation from a business perspective. This post which I cannot recall the source platform, nor whom had posted it, to my knowledge had been removed shortly after I had read it. In the post it detailed a young Andy Sixx, around the age of 16, visiting Los Angeles, most likely for acting / modeling where he first met Ashley Purdy. It was said that Andy and Ashley had remained in communication throughout Andy’s return home to Cincinnati, OH. Roughly two years later, shortly after turning 18 and relocating to Los Angeles, Andy had what was said to be a second run in with Ashley Purdy, who was around 31 at the time (yes, nearly twice Andy’s age). The Knives And Pens music video was already out and it had amassed an iconic acclaim overnight. During this time Ashley had used his tactics to manipulate the young Andy into signing away half of the rights to the name Black Veil Brides in a contract that he, and I would presume to be an attorney, had created behind the backs of the others involved. However, in this contract it was said that Ashley had made it so Black Veil were run more so like a business than a band, giving 50% of the creative direction and rights to the band name and brand as a whole to Ashley, but most importantly in this reallocation of power, it had made it near impossible for Andy Biersack to remove Ashley Purdy as a co-business owner for the band, regardless of circumstances. It was also said that this contract had a duration that was indefinite. What this means is that Ashley and Andy were both in equal power meaning no matter what, one could not remove the other and this contract would never expire. This contract were most likely signed by a young and naive Andy with false promises that Ashley had many resources that would help the band grow. At first I had considered this to be some strange fanfic from an anonymous source, nonetheless I had read this post myself and had always kept it in the back of my mind, questioning what level of validity it held.

Intent To Steal

In an interview (2014) with Ashley Purdy, he discusses how Andy Sixx and the Black Veil Brides already had debuted the Knives and Pens music video in 2009 (which had launched Andy and Sandra Alva into international fame nearly overnight) before Ashley had found out about Andy and the Black Veil Brides. Ashley discusses seeing an ad (most likely craigslist) where Andy had listed his influences and was looking to recruit more members. Here Ashley had noticed them being along similar to his and has verbatim said “I was actually looking to STEAL players from there to put in my band, you know?” His intentions most likely had changed into intent to infiltrate once he saw the success tied to Andy as a frontman as he admitted in this interview that he liked Andy as a frontman and was going to continue in the direction Andy and Black Veil Brides were currently on. In a conversation with an outside and anonymous individual whom was living with some of those involved at the time, I personally was told “Ashley didn’t play anything, it was just a given that he were to be in the band someway or another.” Another anonymous individual who was present around this time confirms this to be true.

The Victimizing Narrative of a Manipulator

Let’s fast forward to 2019. At the end of the year we see shockingly that Ashley Purdy and the Black Veil Brides have separated in a mutual agreement. It was said that this was beneficial for both parties and it was a positive thing. However, shortly after in the beginning of 2020 we start to see words from Ashley Purdy in an AltPress article saying “Technically, I didn’t leave; I’m just not in the band anymore. I have to talk in those terms right now” and “Black Veil Brides is a corporate business, and there are legal rules,” he explains. “It’s like a divorce, and we are working it all out.” What we know from this is that the terms of the separation are not yet 100% agreed upon and settled, however implying that there are legal rules and “having to talk in those terms” implies that there is indeed a nondisclosure agreement between the parties of Ashley Purdy and the Black Veil Brides. With that being said, he 100% admittedly shared that he was removed from the group as to be supported from the next time he goes on record with the press.

Following said AltPress article, we had seen a more honest article with the words of Ashley Purdy saying “I guess I can say this because it is the truth. On Feb. 26 [at] 1 p.m., I still currently own half of Black Veil Brides right now. The realization is like it’s a corporate buyout. It’s like me and Andy [Biersack] — 50% each. And they still have to compensate me for them wanting me to depart. But that hasn’t happened yet. And we’re still in negotiations about what that is. I don’t know how to approach it because it’s not finalized yet.” This right here is huge. This 100% backs the warning message that I had come across in 2012 in regards to a 50/50 corporate ownership split between Ashley Purdy and Andy Biersack. Here he also further admits. that not only was he removed from the group, but they actually wanted him to depart which in my opinion implies intent before the 2019 actions. This new narrative is 100% against the initial statements of a mutual parting by both parties and seems to be a direct violation of a rumored NDA as implied by Ashley and it also appears to be a blatant attempt of assuming the role of victim against Black Veil to any interested in the split.

Non-Disclosure / Non-Defamation Clause

During a controversial Crowdcast that Ashley Purdy had done himself on March 26, 2020 titled “Spring Fling” at the minute mark 31:59 Ashley discloses “It’s not like it’s a non-disclosure, it’s just a non-defamation clause..” Which both fall under the non-disparagement umbrella and are similar with a stark exception of non-defamation clauses protecting the entire history of the relationships in any way that could make either party look in any way negative. What this means is that in short, Andy nor anyone else in the band could make a single comment that would in any way show a lack of support of Ashley Purdy at any point in the entire relationship between Ashley Purdy and Black Veil Brides, regardless of validity. I would bet the one whom would want such a clause in place would be Ashley, protecting himself from Black Veil exposing him for his manipulative and deceitful ways which is assumed to have started since his days of first involvement.

At this point the truths according to statements made by Ashley Purdy goes as follows:

There had been a 50/50 split contract between Andy and Ashley

Black Veil had wanted Ashley out of the band

There is a NDA in place regarding the separation

There is a non-defamation clause regarding the relationship

Black Veil Memebers / Crew cannot legally comment in any way that would make Ashley look bad

Breaking The NDA / Non-Defamation Clause

Based on my own knowledge backed by research, in a similar scenario when a NDA or Non-Defamation Clause is broken, one party seeks grounds for lawsuit for the entire capital of the brand of the other party. What this means is that if Black Veil or any member of the Black Veil Brides Brand were to breach the NDA by sharing details of the separation or by making any statements that make Ashley Purdy appear in a negative light, whether true or false, Ashley Purdy would attempt to assume any and all financial capital of the brand and destroy the entire band as an entity. The band would completely cease to exist and Ashley would be in a financially advantages position to ruin the lives of all members under the Black Veil Brides umbrella, suing them for damages and voiding all future gains of profit from each member of involvement as well. This is what happens in cases similar to these where previous business owners insert on separation agreements of non-disclosure / non-defamation and when they are breached it is essentially a “Hail Mary” to reclaim future and previous profits made by the entire brand.

Ashley’s Intent to Manipulate, Groom, Profit

Now, at the time of the contract agreement as supported by the acknowledgement of its existence by Ashley’s statements in the press articles supplied above, it’s safe to assume that this contract were put in place back when the band first started their involvement with Ashley. Ashley would have been 31 years old and Andy would have been 18 at the time where the creative direction of the band would legally rest between two parties for the first time in the band’s history. As proud of a person as Andy is, I can’t help to believe wholeheartedly that Andy as a teen was persuaded and manipulated into signing away half of the rights of the name Black Veil Brides to a man nearly double his age. This is how corporate splits typically occur as to restrict of the brand at its sole genesis, the name. By extension, one could assume that this manipulation had stemmed back from Andy’s first rumored run in with Ashley back at the age of 16 years old. If you had been following this band for awhile, you would have seen an extremely different atmosphere of the band in its early days in regards to the relationship of Andy and Ashley from its later days. I follow this up later with my own personal experiences as I had toured with them multiple times. The TLDR is I never once saw Ashley in the same room as a single other member of the band to my own observation, and it had appeared to me that the majority of the band were not even on speaking terms, nor wanted to associate with Ashley in the slightest and it would not have shocked me if that had been the case for awhile. My first time touring with them was in 2014, which suggests the dichotomy between Andy and Ashley had become apparent in the years prior.

What a 50/50 split means is that no matter what, there would be no way for Andy to remove Ashley at all unless there were some discovered loophole. Andy had committed legally and indefinitely that even if the two parties had hated each other completely, it would be near impossible for Andy to reclaim 100% of the rights to the brand Black Veil Brides and rid the project of Ashley. I strongly speculate based on tonality in interviews, live performances etc that there was a specific time where the manipulation and deceit of a teenaged Andy Biersack had turned into a matrimonial nightmare with no means of an end. It is of my opinion that I trace the flip of naivety to suffering back in 2012. At this time it has become extremely rare to find interviews shared between Andy and Ashley both. Also, this is the time that it had appeared obvious that Andy was severely suffering from a multitude of psychologically destructive antics. Now I by NO means am implying that Andy at this time was a weak person, I am insinuating that he however was another human being who is victim of manipulation, abuse, and with no escape has found himself in a world of suffering.

Andy Black- a Project Born Under Pressured Circumstances

With the assumed unescapable borderline abusive relationship between Andy Biersack and Ashley Purdy, this would be the complete explanation for the existence of the side project, Andy Black and the side projects of the other members of the band. If Andy refused to continue working with Ashley Purdy, he could assume his own project and if the members were reliant on Andy to perform as Black Veil Brides the other members of the band hopefully would share the same ability without conflict of interest.

Why Was Ashley Not Removed?

This is highly speculative however, with an ownership balance of 50/50 split over the name Black Veil Brides, the only events by which Andy could separate ways from Ashley would be if Andy were to surrender all current and future financial capital of the brand and ownership of the name to Ashley, find a loophole to default ownership back to Andy, or drive the entire brand into bankruptcy along with an indefinite hiatus and find a means of separation. What the last event means is that if there were no current capital (money in the bank) that the band possessed and no speculated future profits by means of indefinite hiatus, Ashley could not sue to take what isn’t there. It’s my guess that this is exactly what had happened and that the band cared so much to remove Ashley that they had driven themselves financially bankrupt. My guess is that the band assumed indefinite hiatus, had absolutely no capital or perhaps was even in debt, had no speculative future profit, and it was on its last leg that a strategy or loophole was discovered that provided means of creating a case for separation where the band would most likely refuse to be active and Ashley would no longer have any income unless he were removed from the band, where the band would then continue and Ashley would be entitled to a cut of profits and for future profits. This is directly supported by Ashley saying “And they still have to compensate me for them wanting me to depart.”

I Am Your Boss

With a 50/50 split of power between Ashley and Andy, this event would then place Ashley and Andy both to be the literal bosses of every single member in the band and every single member of crew as well. Management, Tour Managers, Security Guards, Performing Members, etc all are employed by those in power of the band; Ashley and Andy. What this means is that at any time, Ashley could fire any given member under the Black Veil Brides employment umbrella on the spot at any point with the exception of Andy. This is very important to note as per one of the victim’s case having taken place on the last tour that the band had ever performed in alongside Ashley Purdy. His claims against a proven 17 year old minor walking off of the tour bus late at night that he assumed complete ownership of, were as follows:

There are many issues with this statement. Having toured with them, it is 100% false that Tour Managers and Security guards hold responsibility over band members for checking identification of the guests that the band members bring from the crowd, to back stage, and thusly on to the bus.

Even if in some arrangement Ashley claims that responsibility rests on the shoulders of Mr. Y**** (Andy’s long term personal security from threats of physical harm) and Mr. S******* (The tour manager of the resurrection tour whom held responsibility of resources, travel arrangements, finances etc) The Tour Manager and Security would be in employment positions UNDER Ashley Purdy, meaning they could be fired at any point for any reason and it would be absolutely likely that they would be removed on the spot had there been any confrontation at all for any reason. Based on this, I am absolutely confident that this deranged imposition of power would be held over the heads of all employees under Ashley Purdy which would speak as to the complete avoidance and disassociation that I had personally payed observation to on the multiple tours I had shared with Black Veil.

Another point of error in this statement, is that at this time Andy, head of Security Mr. Y**** and the Tour Manager Mr. S******* had all lived on a completely separate bus from Ashley Purdy at all times during this tour and all tours around this time. It would be extremely unlikely for Ashley Purdy to cross paths with any of these individuals with the exception of the show and sound check alone.

My Experiences

Below are a collection of experiences I had witnessed firsthand along with some backstory on my involvement and where the grounds for my opinions and speculation can be based on. I had only witnessed one event with Ashley that I consider to be inappropriate that took place before 3 years of hiatus from the band before they embarked on one final tour in 2018, the last tour before Ashley was removed from the band.

Black Mass Tour 2014

This is where my personal observations begin take place. I had been touring for a few years in many different roles and in 2014 I was invited to join alongside Black Veil brides mid-tour. When I had joined the tour, I was never approached to sign a NDA because the tour was already in progress, henceforth why I am able to come forth with my own observations.

During this tour I spent many nights hanging out with various members of Black Veil with the exception of Ashley Purdy. Every night that we had gone out to bars, clubs, restaurants etc several of us would formulate a plan before our early morning bus call (often 4:00 am). Often we would make a group event out of it and invite several other musicians from other bands and/or friends. However, I remember finding it odd that Ashley never once came up in conversation and never was present at a single night out which is why I don’t have many shared experiences between Ashley and myself. Most of the nights I spent socially out at bars with Jinxx and CC heading out with some friends from another band. Some nights Andy had joined us along with a few other crew members where we would sit at a table in a quiet bar or hang out in the front lounge of the bus and often talk about wrestling and/or movies. Or he and I would talk outside the bus late at night, in the venue about Batman, Misfits etc. It was quite clear that Andy was not drinking often at this time and neither was Jake due to health reasons. I remember whenever I were with Jake it was always just for one drink of vodka as it was a “healthier” option to whisky and we never got more than a social buzz to help with out anxiety / social awkwardness. It was also my impression that Ashley would be off doing his own thing away from everybody before the show, and it was almost as if he had vanished after every show until bus call. Honestly, I had never seen anyone in the band talk to or about Ashley at all. It had seemed to me as though no one in the band had associated with him in the slightest bit and they didn’t seem to be on speaking terms at all aside from business obviously. It also would not surprise me if this had been the case for awhile. The only time this tour that I had ever seen Ashley present with any other members was on Thanksgiving day where we had all gone to Hometown Buffet (lol) where Ashley sat away from Andy and Jake near the other end of the table with crew and band members between himself and Andy.

Los Vegas, NV 10/30/14 The first night that I had gone out with other members of Black Veil where Andy, Myself, CC, Jinxx and I believe Jake all went to the Foundation Room with the band’s merchandise manager, various crew members, most other musicians on the tour, and a few friends of the band as well. While we were there, Ashley was somewhere else completely on what he considers to be a “Spring Break” when he tweeted a picture of himself sucking on the chest of a girl at another bar and appeared to be on a multitude of different substances. We had taken an entire group photo where Ashley is not present which I believe was taken on a friend to the band’s phone by another friend whom is a video director.

Houston, TX 12/11/14 I watched this entire show side-stage. Earlier this Day Ashley was running around in his black boxer brief underwear mid afternoon clearly wasted throwing around a football. I was quite interested in how he were going to be able to perform. As the show were about to start, I stood side stage with Mr R**** (another musician present, not to drag you in my boy) when during the show, Ashley appeared immensely disheveled and sported stubble, no makeup, and a trucker hat and was having troubles walking about the stage. Throughout the show he slowly stumbled around, often missing his own bass when strumming. Early on my parter side stage pointed at Ashley and exclaimed “DUDE HE DOESN’T EVEN LOOK LIKE HE’S PLAYING!” by which I responded with a mere glare out of the corner of my eye. He then responded with “I know, I just wanted to see if you knew.”

Throughout this entire show Andy clearly was frustrated with Ashley and if I remember correctly, at one point Andy brought a barstool from side stage and sat in it during the performance, clearly frustrated. Towards the resolve of the show, Ashley could barely stand up on his own, where Andy held him upright for a moment.

Warped Tour 2015 - Second To Last Black Veil Tour Ever

I had caught a flight out last minute to start Warped Tour and was living with another band at the start. I believe, because of this I had also not been approached to sign an NDA. There was not one night that I recall Andy, Jake or Ashley in attendance to the Warped Tour BBQ, an event that happened every few evenings after the tour was broken down. Later on during the tour, it was 08-02 at the Denver show where the Warped Tour “Prom” was to be held. This is simply another Warped Tour BBQ except with a bit more festivities as usual and having a “date” is somewhat of a normal event.

It was this night where I was on another bus that Ashley was not living on where some important events occurred. I was inside the bathroom on the bus and our singer Zero was in the back lounge. The bus would have appeared empty and quiet to any outsiders. It was extremely unlikely that you would ever see any Black Veil crew member or band members on the bus unless I had brought CC on the bus to hang out with and play Superfight, a card game similar to Cards Against Humanity that Zero and I commonly played with other musicians. I was walking out of the bathroom when I saw Ashley walking on with two girls immediately making a reach for the alcohol on the bus until I had stepped in his way. Zero (whom was quietly working on his Macbook Pro in the back lounge) noticed the event and walked up to the front quickly. Zero who is bigger and older than I had yelled at Ashley to get off the bus and told me to stay back. It is my opinion that Ashley was attempting to sneak behind the backs of his own band and crew at this point.

Later that night I had heard from one of my crew guys that the girls were under the age of 21 and that Ashley had gotten in some serious trouble and the girls were sent home. There were only 4 days remaining on this tour.

This was also the second to last tour that Black Veil Brides had ever done. Between the dates of Warped Tour 2015 and today, Black Veil Brides had only embarked on The Resurrection Tour which had lasted a total of less than 5 months which is where the event’s regarding a minor on Ashley’s bus had taken place, very shortly before his removal from the band.

Closing Statement:

I consider this to be the most complete and detailed composition of relevant events and experiences and I truly believe this has been made in attempt to educate to the best of my ability. I have not posted here besides the typical share from IG in quite some time. This post by no means has been created with any aforementioned dialogue to any involved and is a collective of my sole efforts as an individual and my ability to research and speculate based on my own experiences. I believe with my given perspective, this is most accurate and I hope this can be referred to with intent to answer many questions regarding this troubling subject. I truly wish the best for all parties and victims along with the families affected by this decade long reign of manipulation and abuse. I hope the internal struggle of many that I’m seeing on various socials can be absolved. It is my intent that this will be my last public statement regarding these events and I truly hope I’ve done right by those I am attempting to answer to and have not belittled nor offended any in any way.

Suicide Prevention 800-273-8255

Substance Abuse/Mental Health Helpline 1-800-662-4357

Sexual Assault Hotline 800-656-4673

Domestic Violence Hotline 800−799−7233

Crisis Text Line: Text HELLO to 741741

Thank you kindly for reading my post. Feel free to redirect / share as necessary.

Danny Finn

#black veil brides #ashley purdy #andy biersack #andy sixx #bvb #andybvb #andy black #resurrection tour #black mass tour #warped tour

400 notes · View notes

honeydots · 5 years ago

Note

200. “He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it.” ~~ This has some Vibes and I kinda like them so? I'd like 2 humbly request your take on this w/ shukita or akeshu if it's ok to ask for!! -- dorky-arsene (a sideblog)

“He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it”

Hello no I didn’t forget about these I am just slower than a little baby turtle!!!!! Anyway

Summary: Goro’s new job leads him to discover that dealing with both a crush and an idiot while flipping burgers is, unarguably, the worst turn his life could’ve taken.

cw: sexual themes (+p5r spoilers)

(ao3 link)

“Hello! Would you like to try our Big Bang Special Combo Shot-Straight-Through Promotional Meal for ‘Thy Father of Corruption 2: The Daughter of Rejection’ for ¥850?”

Goro wanted to quit.

You need this job. You need this job. He’d repeat to himself each time a customer decided they were feeling peckish. You will have no money if you quit and then you will have no home and then you will drop out of college and then you will die.

He’d left the police department after graduating. With his past plans of an 18-year life expectancy having slipped down the drain, he hardly had a reason to stay. High school had been an uphill battle with cases of murder and robbery breathing down his neck, and he’d hesitated to even make an attempt at trying to juggle his priorities in university. Dropping the detective gig meant dropping the media attention, too, which gave him breathing room he certainly knew he needed, but never really had.

The problem was, after three years of fading out of fame and living off his savings, he realized this wouldn’t stretch as far as he’d predicted. He hadn’t accounted nearly enough for the expenses that came with the unwelcome enforcement of trying to live as a proper human being. His bank account was growing meager. If he wanted to keep living (which was arguable) in the way that he was (which he did) he’d need an income. Almost anything would do, as long as it would bend and break to his schedule.

And, all things considered, he technically had connections here. And ever since… that, the pay had actually increased to a respectable amount. The management had rehired, retrained, and improved. It was fast food, but it was livable. Nothing shameful about being livable.

And god fucking dammit he had already done three interviews with no hires and he needed food other than half-cooked ramen noodles and bread slices.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?”

That didn’t mean he didn’t loathe every minute.

It was bad enough that he had a job at Big Bang Burger. And, bad enough that he’d been desperate to get it. It was bad enough that he had to bring in his homework like some anguished used-to-be honors student now getting barely passing marks. And christ, it was bad enough each time a customer would walk in, a hamburger-shaped icepick would slam itself into his frontal lobe, forever ingraining the memory of his premeditated brain murder of the former CEO of this very restaurant.

All of that, and he couldn’t stress this more, was bad enough. It was entirely shitty all around. Completely awful, and damming, and humbling, though he hated to admit it. He’d like to say it couldn’t get any worse. That this was the end of the line, get off the train before it turns around, don’t get stuck in the never ending cycle of beef patties and sesame seed buns.

But, god, of all the coworkers.

“Ya know,” said Sakamoto, leaning down on the front counter after their customer had left, “I dunno if clenching your teeth like you’ve got peanut butter stuck in there counts as ‘service with a smile.’”

Sakamoto Ryuji. The boy who had the opposite of a filter, and more like a megaphone spewing recordings of every profanity in the Japanese language. He, who had walked in on Goro’s second day and loudly declared, ‘I thought I smelled something, what’s this a-hole doing here?’ Really, who else could he tolerate spending eight-hour shifts with; greasy stoves, piss poor customers, and the ruthless scent of lysol on tile included?

Ah, right. Anyone else.

Goro pressed his lips together. “Hm. Well you know, I was almost certain that elbows on the counter was a fireable offense.”

Sakamoto snatched himself up in a second, elbows up high. He hung there and looked around the empty restaurant.

He pouted. “Not cool, dude. That’s only when there’s customers.”

Goro raised his eyebrows. He was really just going to stand there? He looked like an idiot, or a chicken. A hybrid that, if anyone could pull off, would be him. He was making a great show of it, too.

Sakamoto narrowed his eyes. “Unless you’re a snitch.”

Goro spoke in his most syrupy sweet voice. “Are you implying then, that your job is in my hands? An entertaining thought, Sakamoto.” If it were only that simple to really get him fired. Unfortunately, their manager seemed to love his enthusiasm. Every moment he spent enthusiastically mopping floors and singing into the handle was a moment Goro could’ve been writing soliloquies of his growing and newfound hatred for Carly Rae Jepsen.

Sakamoto folded his arms in a huff. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, man! Look at that fake-ass smile.” He shook his head. “And I get customer service blows and stuff, but you use it for everything. Lighten up dude! Take a break.”

Sakamoto said things with such confidence, such surety. It made his teeth grind.

“I’d prefer to keep my job,” Goro said, and gave him the sweet smile Sakamoto was arguing against. “Though, if you’d like to pay my rent for me, you’re more than welcome.”

He acted like he hadn’t even heard him.“Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re so gloomy all the time, your face just doesn’t know how to work it. Look it, check me out.” Sakamoto pointed his thumb at himself and flashed a toothy smile. “Just like that! All natural, bro. It’s easy. Come on, you really try it this time.”

Goro very clearly did not. He stared with his most obsolete and ‘stop-trying-to-have-a-conversation-with-me’ look he could muster. He’d communicate it telepathically, if given the chance.

“That doesn’t look like trying to me,” Sakamoto said expectantly.

Couldn’t they just sit in silence and wait for their fabrication of getting-along time when the next inevitable customer came in? “Perhaps, and please let me know if this is too complicated, I simply have no intention of trying, because I don’t believe there’s anything to fix.”

“Nah, that’s not it,” replied Sakamoto, as if he was being thoughtful.

Another reason why he was completely obnoxious was because the longer they knew each other, the less that Goro’s flawless stone faced looks worked. Sakamoto kept spewing hot air. He’d gained some kind of tolerance, and it was tedious to work around.

Sakamoto leaned back down, previous elbow warnings forgotten. “I bet you’re the kinda guy who’s super ticklish, so you act all boring so no one suspects it.”

“I’m not,” Goro snapped.

“Quick reply there, buddy.”

Goro didn’t answer to that. He didn’t owe it to him. This was pointless; why did Sakamoto find such pleasure in talking about pointless things?

He slouched further down. “So it’s silent treatment now. You’re checking all the boxes over here.” He waved his finger through the air. “Check, n’ check, n’, check.”

Goro was getting a headache. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Betcha you’re super ticklish. And like, one of those cry-laughers.”

“Sakamoto, did you hear what I just said.”

He stretched up from his position on the counter. “Like if I poke you in the side, I bet it would make ya jump.”

“Do not.” He could just try it. Goro would bend his finger back so far it’d break. He wondered if that would be a viable option to get him to stop talking sometime.

“Didn’t say I was gonna.” He rested his arms behind his neck. “You’re just proving my point more, though.”

Sakamoto was annoyingly stubborn at times. Once he found a niche with Goro, he’d hack his way in and grab on like a tick. Bother him like it was his last chance he’d ever get, as if they didn’t work shifts together four times a week. He was bound to get lyme disease at this rate.

Goro felt like a very frustrated pair of tweezers.“Can we talk about anything else, please?”

Sakamoto went quiet. He was just looking at him now. Goro tensed up. Was he really going to try and poke him? He meant it, he’d break his hand.

“Ya know, there is something I wanna talk to you about,” he said.

Goro did not like the sound of that. “Oh really.” He tried to sound like he was just told he was about to be given a lecture on the intricacies and details of lentil soup. Which, perhaps could be more interesting than whatever topic Sakamoto was about to pull out of his ass.

Sakamoto sniffed. “Yup. It’s about Akira.”

Oh, he really didn’t like where this was going. “Sakamoto, I—”

“When’re ya gonna like, confess.”

Goro visibly winced. Dammit. He knew he’d bring this up one day. He was absolutely infuriated Sakamoto knew about that, and he hadn’t even told him. He’d been making guesses and Goro had been just tired enough during his shift to let a hint of a sigh out, and Sakamoto had taken that to new heights. Another example of conversations being had that Goro would’ve just about died to get out of.

Sakamoto was still staring at him. Didn’t he have anything better to do? Goro knew they didn’t at this good for nothing job, but what was so hard about just acting like you’re busy. You’re pretending then, at least, and that’s something.

“Well, dude?” asked Sakamoto.

Any conversation is better than that one.

Mother of fuck.

“I…” Goro started, adjusting a piece of his hair, “I suppose I am a little ticklish.”

Sakamoto’s face lit up. “Dude, for real? Called it,” he said triumphantly. Had Goro not known him as well as he did, he’d think the divergence in conversation was a trick to get him to admit he was a bit… touchy. But he did know him, and he wasn’t one for games like that.

“Most people are, it shouldn’t be a surprise. It’s skin sensitivity, nothing more.”

Sakamoto shrugged. “Still funny you admitted to it.”

Sure. Very hilarious. Yet another fact Sakamoto now knows about him that he’d really have rather not shared under any circumstance.

“Satisfied, now?” Goro asked, but it wasn’t really a question. He didn’t plan on expanding, this was embarrassing enough as it was.

“Nope,” he replied, “cause that’s great and all, but I really gotta know the game plan.” He leaned in close to Goro, and he in turn leaned farther away.

“There’s no ‘game plan,’ Sakamoto. Please don’t get so close to me.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry.” He moved back, obviously not finished. “Come on, though, you gotta have something.” And back down on the counter he slouched.

‘Something,’ he’d said. Yes, and that something was to keep his mouth shut and go about his life keeping each and every one of those mortifying feelings to himself. It was humiliating enough that Sakamoto knew. Telling Akira? He didn’t even want to imagine it. He’d rather face Okumura-san herself and ask her to buy one of their Shot-Straight-Through combo meals.

“There’s nothing. And I don’t plan there to be anything. And, it’s not really much of your business, is it?” Goro could feel himself growing irritated.

Sakamoto melted further into the counter. “I just don’t get why you’re not gonna ask him out if you like him. You might as well, man, it’ll be fine.”

What simple ways of thinking. Do this, get that in return. Black and white, and right and wrong. Spill your fleeting moment of vulnerability and try not to think about the extensive hole of commitment you’re burying yourself in. One turn of phrase, one word, one misplaced breath to Akira would forever rupture the sorry excuse of acquaintanceship they’d been flip flopping through for the past three years. Akira was a blank slate and simultaneously the person he knew best. He knew him, but didn’t really, and he could never tell what he was thinking. Suddenly he was gambling again, and this time it came entirely unwelcome. Risks you face before death and risks that you’ll keep living through no matter the outcome tasted different. One was tangy and sweet and thrilling, the other was bitter shit. Not to mention that Akira was too kind to him for his own good. He couldn’t even tell what was a lie.

But, Sakamoto didn’t need to know all that. “You say that like there’s nothing to consider. As if I’ve never even given this thought. You do not belong in my head, Sakamoto. And I do not need to give you, an obvious outsider on the entire dilemma, any sort of justification for why I’m going to continue to abstain on something as trivial as a confession.”

Sakamoto huffed at him. “What if I said that I gua-ran-tee he’s not gonna say no to you.”

Goro was already sick of this. What, had Sakamoto expected his heart to skip? His pulse to rise? That just the very thought of mutual feelings would send him into some flustered mess? Please. He told the tingling feeling going up through his legs and down his arms and up the back of his neck to shut the fuck up.

He couldn’t stay quiet for long. Sakamoto could and would get ideas. “Then why doesn’t he just tell me that himself? Why are you playing wingman for him?”

“Cause he’s not gonna say anything cause he’s got to be worried that he’s gonna freak you and your crazy attachment issues out!”

Of course, there it was. The blind bet. Sakamoto’s one-way thinking at it again, and Goro would not have it. “I’m not going to start playing some game with him about the complexities of whatever idea of consent he has in his head. I don’t need his sympathy, and I am certainly not looking for it. I don’t have time for something messy and half-assed. I don’t want that, and surely he doesn’t, either. If he feels any way about me, he’d ought to tell me, because then maybe we’d find some kind of leeway. But I will not let him sit there and wait for me to make the first move, like a key element in his plan. This is not some teenage romance, and I am not a caricature of his love life. He can wait patiently all he’d like, but I’m perfectly content as I am now.”

Sakamoto seemed a little stunned.

“Man, he’s just…” He trailed off. They sat in silence.

So ways still existed to get Sakamoto to stop rambling on. He was sure he’d regret saying this later, for a multitude of reasons. He didn’t hate Sakamoto, even saying dislike felt strong, but he always talked about things that Goro had no interest nor inclination to discuss. Maybe silence was for the best between them, for now.

“He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it. That’s all it is, dude,” said Sakamoto.

Goro inhaled. So he wasn’t done, then. “Love… is an entirely different conversation.”

“Okay, fine, you want me to say he ‘like-likes’ you like some fifth grader? Cause he does.”

Goro didn’t reply. He’d made his point.

“He isn’t playing one of your weirdo mind games,” Sakamoto continued. “I think you’re thinking too hard about this. He’s just a guy. He just wants to make sure you’re all comfortable and shit. Cause it’s not like we don’t all know the bullshit that was goin’ on for you.”

“I am not looking for his pity.” A fine thing to say while working at a Big Bang Burger in a bright yellow shirt and starred apron. It didn’t matter. He didn’t wear this with pride, per say, but he wouldn’t ask someone to feel sorry for him.

He didn’t exactly want to be seen, either. Especially not Akira, but of course he’d make habits of visiting. That was just like him, and it was just like his pity, too.

Sakamoto looked frustrated. “He ain’t pitying you, man! He’s tryin’ to respect you! He knows you got things to go through on your own and he’s trying to give you space and everything.”

Goro clicked his tongue. “If you know that’s his tactic, why are you trying to pressure me into this?”

“Cause I don’t care, dude!” Sakamoto said, and then stopped himself, and promptly looked very guilty. “Well, okay. I do care. Like, I do. But sometimes…” He looked like he was trying to pick his words out carefully. He had an idea, just no way to form it.

He settled. “Sometimes, you just gotta get laid, man.”

At this point, Goro found himself shocked that he wasn’t banging his own head against the counter.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re twenty one years old! Dude, I know you haven’t gotten any,” Sakamoto argued. “Your gay ass with emotional problems? Get outta here.”

“This is not—”

Sakamoto put his hands up nonshalontly. “And like, yeah, no judgey stuff, take your time if you gotta. But have you considered it? Tell me. I betcha you haven’t.”

Goro opened his mouth, expecting to reply with an incredibly well thought out ‘fuck off,’ but the automatic doors slid open, and suddenly Goro was all smiles and greetings, so what came out instead was, “Hello! Welcome to Big Bang Burger! Would you—ah.”

Sakamoto snorted loudly, and Goro wanted to kick him so bad.

And actually, what was stopping him? Sakamoto had earned this, and it’s not like this customer would care.

Because, who else could’ve been just about summoned by the trouble than Kurusu Akira himself; strolling in so casually through the doors, like he hadn’t just become the most unpleasant topic of conversation Goro had ever had with Sakamoto. Speak of the devil was an understatement, or perhaps he was the devil himself.

“What the eff, man!”

“Hey you two,” said Akira, hands in his pockets and clearly bagless. He didn’t even register Goro’s kick, like that was just some normal occurrence. Somehow, that made him angrier.

“Yo,” said Sakamoto, recovering annoyingly quickly. Goro wondered if he should’ve considered breaking his finger.

Sakamoto reached out to Akira for a fist bump. “You don’t have the cat with ya?”

Akira bumped him back. “Nope. Just me today.”

“Sweet,” Sakamoto replied, a smile growing wide. Goro hated the look. It was the hungriest and most dastardly shit-eating grin he’d ever seen him dare to make. So, knowing Sakamoto and his terrible poker face, he had thought up some idiotic ploy.

“What’s up with you?” Akira asked, and thank god it wasn’t directed at Goro. Sakamoto’s obviousness did not go unnoticed.

“Oh nothin’, nothin’,” said Sakamoto, entirely conspicuously, “I gotta go, though, grind never stops. Super secret stuff in the back.”

Goro glared at him. So now he would pretend to be busy?

“Burger secrets,” Akira said, and Ryuji gave him a finger gun in reply. He walked off without a word, but apparently felt the inclination to jerk his head back at Goro, as if he didn’t know what he was doing.

He sighed. No amount of alone time would ever compel Goro to confess at a Big Bang Burger, of all places. At least Akira tended to be a little more bearable in conversation. He hoped he’d be an in and out customer. “Can I get you anything?”

Akira looked at him for a moment. “You look flustered.”

Goro felt himself twitch. He wasn’t flustered, like some preteen who can’t hear the word genital without bursting into laughter. If anything, Sakamoto had caught him off guard with his stupidity. He obviously was not one to be so affected by such a topic. He was an adult, and a professional. He would again not think about the fact he was wearing an orange visor right now.

“I’m positive that isn’t a menu item,” he replied, keeping his pleasant smile plastered on, keeping any stray annoyance from showing.

Akira examined him closer. “Do you have a fever or something? You look red.”

Goro drummed his fingers against the counter impatiently. What was he supposed to say? Sorry, Akira, Sakamoto just decided to kindly push the image of you railing me as a form of twisted therapy into the forefront of my consciousness. Would you like any drinks?

“I’m fine. I’m not the type to go to work sick,” he decided on instead.

“Really?” He didn’t seem convinced.

Goro folded his arms. “While living in a society where health is determined by the trust of the majority, I have no plans to spread my germs to an unsuspecting businessman, in that I expect the same from him.”

Akira considered that for a moment. “So you’re embarrassed, then.”

Goro’s expression turned sour. He was not in the mood for a debate. “Everyone seems to be presuming things today, have I missed a memo?”

Akira didn’t miss a beat. “Ryuji said something?”

Goro dragged his fingernails into his palm. He was hardly being that obvious, he wasn’t a bumbling idiot who couldn’t keep a straight face. Akira was just acutely good at reading people, (namely, reading him) and it drove Goro up the wall. It was unfair, for one thing, since Akira continued to maintain blank expressions in the face of clowns and hookers, keeping his inner thoughts kept behind lock and key. And, as of more recently, he was the one person Goro really desperately wanted to hide every wandering emotion from possible. Just his luck, fall for the bastard who analyzes people as a side job for his savior-complex living.

This was making him more frustrated. “Would you just order?”

Akira looked at the menu, but Goro knew it was bullshit. He ordered the same thing every time— a shake and a burger, no tomatoes. He certainly already knew what he wanted, but was just causing trouble in the meantime. What an annoyance. Goro punched it in, and made no moves to go and cook. If Sakamoto was going to have his “business” in the back, then he could stay there and do his job.

“Sit over there, we’ll bring it to you when it’s done,” he said, and Akira silently obliged. He gave a small smile before he turned, leaving Goro completely alone with his thoughts as he sat at his table and scrolled through his phone.

He couldn’t believe the timing of Sakamoto’s distasteful comment to Akira’s unseasonable entrance. Things always seemed to fall into place with Goro, just not the right places. The right place, but a little down, and to the left, the left, he said. He wished Sakamoto would mind his own business, let him quietly pine until his untimely death; which kept getting put off, might he add.

Sakamoto emerged from the back end of the restaurant. He was holding the bag of presumably Akira’s food, and his shake. He waved them enthusiastically.

“Go on, dude,” he smirked.

Goro was blunt. “No.” He’d pissed him off enough today. He wasn’t going to walk over there and serve the food. Sakamoto’s little idea of love, romance and marriage in a burger joint would have to wait. Ideally, it would get itself stuck in wet concrete, and drown way down under where no one could see it and where the light of day would never reach.

Sakamoto seemed to catch his drift. “Jeez, fine. Huffy, huffy.”

He walked over to Akira with a spring in his step, and they started chatting idly. Goro couldn’t hear. In all honesty, he was trying to tune them out. His headache was growing worse. Pounding in his head, every light too bright and repetitive music blurring together his thoughts. And of course there was the elephant in the room, who was whispering to him Sakamoto’s crude suggestions, and the irritating notion that maybe he was right, just a little bit.

He needed to get himself together. He was acting like some horny teenager. Get fucked, you raunchy elephant.

Sakamoto left to let him eat, and made a show of going back to the other end of the restaurant, all while wiggling his eyebrows at Goro. In turn, Goro made a show of rolling his eyes and planting himself facing away from Akira. It made Sakamoto laugh, for whatever reason, and Goro just ignored him.

He watched the door idly and tried to relax. He’d been clenching his teeth, and his jaw ached. He tried to focus to get his headache to fade into obscurity. He couldn’t find much to concentrate on, was his issue. Other than the obvious, which he would ignore without remorse. He wanted to go home. No lights too bright there, no sloppily cleaned windows, and especially no crush (the word left a bad taste in his mouth. Boy who has left him emotionally compromised after giving him no reason to deny he had worth in the world and keeps him up at night thinking about the way he really tried to will him back into existence when he could, god, have anything else in the world, and he wanted him. Was that a better option?) sitting out of view, chewing quietly and doing absolutely nothing to draw so much attention to himself. At home he could drown it all out in a cold bath, and let himself think of nothing but his numbing toes and pruning fingers.

“Hey, catch,” Akira said, suddenly there and startling Goro out of his bathlike daydream. He tossed something onto the counter. Goro did not catch it.

It was a napkin, all folded up in a careful way. It didn’t hold the shape well, but the intention was pretty clear. “Um. A crane?”

“Yup. Present for you.” he started, rubbing his neck, and he had the nerve to look bashful. “I got bored.”

Goro hadn’t noticed him making it. Which, alright, did make sense, he was purposefully keeping his neck away from that entire half of the restaurant. “Sorry we aren’t quite the height of entertainment here.” Goro lightly touched its head. He didn’t know Akira knew how to make these. “Well, thank you, I guess.”

Akira pushed his glasses further up his nose. “You’re welcome to name him.”

“I think that I won’t.”

“That can be pretty trendy, too,” he replied. “I’ve gotta go. Class. Tell Ryuji I say bye.”

“Bye, dude!” Sakamoto shouted from the back. There was that tiresome enthusiasm again.

It made Akira smile.“Nevermind, then. See you.”

Goro just barely lifted his hand by the wrist to wave. “Bye.”

Akira turned, gave him a small trill of his fingers, and left. Sakamoto did not return to his exit, and Goro savored the moment. It was just him and the crane, now.

It was pretty shoddy. Unfolding, and barely standing up on its own. Cheap paper napkins were not the ideal material for origami, it seemed. He watched it slowly fall apart, wings losing shape and the head relaxing into its neck. Akira had hardly stayed long, so that meant he was probably pretty good at this sort of thing. He wouldn’t have guessed.

…He thought about how it might look on proper paper. The creases sharp and crisp, the ends pointed and still. What would Akira’s hands look like while they worked? He could hear the sounds of the folding, and the wedging, clean paper being bent and rippled. Delicate fingers, working through, meticulously checking every last inch. Sometimes a pinch, just where it’s needed. And then finished, folded tight, wrapped together in itself. Very quick work, with the touch of a hand.

“The heck is that?” Sakamoto said, getting an actual jump out of Goro.

“What?” he gasped, and took a second to collect his thoughts. At work. Sakamoto came back. In a Big Bang Burger. Headache present. Good fucking god. “It’s just…” He pressed his fingers into the side of his temple “It’s a paper crane. Akira made it.”

Sakamoto let that sink in.“You tellin me you were just sitting here staring at the thing Akira made you?”

“I wasn’t,” Goro replied, trying desperately to catch his breath as casually as possible.

“Uh, you literally were.” Sakamoto got uncomfortably close to him again. Goro physically moved away, because now was not the time.

It didn’t deter Sakamoto whatsoever. He put his hands on his hips and gave an annoying grin. “Bro, you gotta tell him… You’ve obviously got it preeetty bad.”

Goro was fed up with this. This conversation needed to end, or he thought he might explode. “I don’t ‘have it bad,’ Sakamoto, stop bringing this up.”

Sakamoto smirked at him. “You so do though, is the thing.”

“I don’t. Leave me alone.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and kept his mouth shut. He was acting so haughty, like he’d won the argument. Which, he hadn’t, for the record.

That stupid crane. All it’d done was make things worse. And what was it even doing? Sitting here crumbling away into uselessly folded paper. A cheap napkin made of other recycled cheap napkins. Clean and crisp paper was a long sought after dream, a fantasy and nothing more.

You know, this was just it, really. This is what he meant. Akira would try and fold him up and he’d inevitably fall back down. He didn’t know just what fantastic method he’d try, but it wouldn’t matter— he was made of what he was made of, and nothing would hold him up. Trying was pointless, risking for naught, it would be better for everyone if he stayed just how he was and didn’t overstay his use.

He would not fit into Akira’s plans or his pities. He couldn’t.

“…Bruh. What does that even mean.”

Ah? “What?“ No. He had not said that out loud. Sakamoto did not just hear all that nonsense.

Sakamoto was giving him a funny look. “You’re not a napkin, man.”

God, shit. Shit shit shit. “I— I know that, this is just—“ The unpleasant feeling of blood rushing to his face was just as intolerable as it was unpreventable.

“For real? Cause you sure sounded like you were calling yourself a napkin.”

Absolutely unbelievable. How unruly was he that he’d just spouted all that like it was nothing? He couldn’t believe he had to explain himself now, but letting him get ideas was undeniably worse. “It’s supposed to be… symbolic, Sakamoto.”

He could practically see the gears turning in his head. That wasn’t something difficult to understand, you dunce. Every second of this humiliating scene felt like a knife turning in his back.

“Why does your brain work in such effed up ways. You gotta work on that,” Sakamoto said, not letting up his judgemental look.

He crossed his arms, trying to make his mortification appear like annoyance. “Don’t you start with me. As if you ever have something useful to say. At least I’m— I’m thinking, here.”

That riled him up a bit. “I’m thinkin’! I almost flunked literature so maybe I’m not so good at this analysis stuff, but you know what? Hear me out.” Goro did not want to hear him out. He continued despite that. “I get it, you got your problems. But I really don’t think you callin’ yourself some shitty crane is fair, you know? Like, you’re a whole guy.”

He did not appreciate how genuine Sakamoto was acting. It was odd, and it felt awkward coming from him. He didn’t want to feel guilty for being rude to him earlier, either. Just another topic to bother him to sleep.

Sakamoto went on. “Gahhh, it feels weird sayin’ this but like, you’re not a napkin, okay! And Akira doesn’t think so either. You’re more… complicated. Napkins don’t pay taxes or anything.”

Ah, alright. So it was mostly bullshit. He could ease the guilt away in one fell swoop.

Goro’s disinterest seemed to show itself well to Sakamoto. “Just, okay. Lemme get my thoughts here. You gotta like… be your own first step. I didn’t get my own shit sorted out until I actually tried to. And I’m not sayin it’s easy to do. But Imma tell you right now your first step is gonna be to stop thinking you’re a napkin or a bucket or a plate of green beans or whatever else you come up with. And I mean it, man.”

Goro knew he had things to say to that. He had thought out replies and phrases that Sakamoto would need more headspace to begin to understand. But none of them came to him. So he decided to stay threateningly quiet.

It was well received. “Okay okay, you’re gettin’ mad, I can tell. I’m gonna take my break,” Sakamoto relented, and turned on his heel. “I ain’t really trying to tell ya what to do but give it a thinking about, alright? ‘Least for Akira’s sake,” he said over his shoulder, and left Goro almost more alone than before.

It wasn’t even Akira’s sake Goro was worried about. Not in the way Sakamoto seemed to think. And he didn’t need to be told he wasn’t some inanimate object, he wasn’t that out of mind.

Any sort of sensible argument would have to come to him after the fact, apparently. To tell him this wouldn’t be a “first step,” more like a hundredth. How many paces did crawling out of the hole he’d buried himself in count for? How many miles had he gone by now, barefoot and bleeding all the way.

Such a stupid conversation. Needless, too, since for whatever reason his filter decided to leave him to fend for himself. Just another addition to this embarrassing excuse of a shift today.

The paper crane sat still on the counter, though it hardly resembled one anymore. He almost felt bad. He had his typical pit in his stomach, but nothing exactly to pinpoint it on. Was he wallowing in that much self-loathing?

Perhaps.

Goro adamantly refused to have any more dramatic revelations at his part time job, so any introspections would have to come later.

He put the crumpled crane in his pocket. It was certainly not going to be a crane once he took it out again, but he didn’t really know what else to do with it. Throwing it away felt wrong, to him. Though he wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to do with it when he got home.

Akira hadn’t given this to him in hopes of causing some mental anguish. Or at least, he assumed so. Sakamoto had said he didn’t play mind games, but if not those, what was he doing? It felt better to know it was a game, in that way there was something about Akira’s mystery of a consciousness he could pry through.

Was he reading into things? For sure. Reading too deeply into anything had been a talent of his for as long as he could remember. It had saved his life before, many times and in the most difficult of times.

This crane wasn’t life threatening, but it felt like it was. Not in the thrilling way, but in the shitty way.

His shift was over soon. Which reminded him, Sakamoto had surely already taken his break. He was a dip, but Goro preferred his own thoughts to any conversation they’d had today. And that was saying something, since getting out of his own head was a much needed relief that he’d take almost any chance he got.

He was overthinking, and there was nothing he could do about it. He would continue to overthink until someone stole his brain and dunked it in acid. Where was the enjoyment otherwise? It was all he knew how to do.

And even he didn’t overthink this— if Akira had given this to him in earnest and in playfulness, and if Sakamoto hadn’t been overtly pulling his leg through their shifts today. There wasn’t even anything remarkable about it. If there was a chance that maybe things were just okay, and getting better, and he wasn’t a living metaphor for a tissue. Oh just, say he invited him out for coffee, and Akira surprised him with a new little creation, less spur of the moment and made something almost sweet. He’d never drop his pride so low as to ask for a lesson, but if he did, maybe he could learn to make something, too. And maybe he wouldn’t hate every moment of it, and maybe he’d like getting so close, and maybe he’d appreciate the mistakes as much as the praises.

…Hm.

That was just a fantasy, of course. And surely, nothing was all that great about it. Anything could go wrong in any number of ways, his own interventions just one category.

Maybe it was the headache, or the dragging on shift, or the terrible lights, or the distant humming of his coworker, but Goro must’ve been caught off guard today. Because otherwise, why else would he have thought, not long and not convincingly, but still a thought as present as can be, that maybe, despite everything.

It could be nice. Just for a little bit. Maybe that didn’t sound quite so bad.

Not so bad at all.

#it is shuake btw!#thank u for requesting this sorry i took ages #i hope you’ll enjoy it...... and sorry if youve been avoiding spoilers!!!#i know the games out but i also know not everyone has seen all the Content #but i will leave it at that #also its 6k cause i just dont know how to stop talking #my fics #my p5 fics #ask #dorky-arsene

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gothamslimpestwrist · 4 years ago

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s1e2 selina kyle

killcount:

“doug” the childsnatcher: “soldier” (homeless guy)

oswald cobblepot: douchebag college bro from the car, probably the other douchebag college bro as well.

jim gordon: quillan’s janitor

“patti” the childsnatcher: cat scratch fever dude w/ no eyes

episode total: 5 total count: 12

the dark knight rises: shit is clearly fucked in gotham. crime families are ruling the city, yes, but honestly that’s the least of it; look at the police force. we see that bo, the first responder, is late to the scene of the crime because he takes protection money from a local restaurant & gave them first priority (in other words, he’s a crooked bitch demanding a racket, AND it gets in the way of him actually doing his job). the cops are pretty much, explicitly, just an extension of the mob at this point.

interestingly, we also see the start of an exploration of the wayne’s corruption; falcone refers to “the wayne empire,” mirroring the way they talk about the crime families And Also setting the waynes up as, like, a picture of the wealthy elite taken to a whole ‘nother level. gotham is the last modern vestige of the city state--and that is the wayne empire. who takes the crown now that the emperor and empress are dead?

in OTHER news, the waynes really fucked bruce over. the murder itself was the lynching pin, causing him to jump over the fucking edge, so to speak, but he is Just A Little Boy! he is so troubled! he’s self harming and alfred yells at him and HITS HIM for being stupid, he’s listening to loud music and drawing fucked up shit, he’s both burned himself and is apparently cutting, and alfred, seeing all of this, refuses to get the boy who saw his parents shot a therapist, because the waynes told him to essentially let bruce raise himself. “the children are thoroughbreds,” basically.

quoth barbara (thinking about essen shushing the child snatcher case in fear of bad press): “i can’t believe the system is so corrupt.” quoth jim (thinking about how he was yelled at for not beating a perp, thinking about the cop/mob connection that demanded he kill a man to prove his loyalty, thinking...): “you have no idea.”

oh! and jim tells bruce the kids need more than money to keep them safe.

sliding scale of barbara kean’s sanity: she seems to be doing alright, but she’s troubled by jim’s troubles. also, this episode sets up some shit that will lead to irreparable damage later on; jim, even when he’s telling her things, isn’t telling her everything. she knows it. she hates it. he specifically hasn’t told her about oswald, which gives her reason to believe he’s a murderer pretty soon. plus, what she does w/ the information he does give her about his work (go straight to the press) gives him immediate reason to start trusting her less... and so they spiral.

sliding scale of ed nygma’s sanity: he’s a little bit more of a lurker this episode. creeps outside the captain’s office until someone notices him, lingers inside until everyone in the room makes it obvious he’s not welcome. he’s trying his best, but he’s not... very... “well liked,” shall we say.

continuity: montoya and allen are looking into the murder of oswald cobblepot. he was their snitch, after all. so that’s problems... many things are subtly set up in this episode: falcone and fish discuss maroni and his anticipated power play (adding another piece to the political chessboard of this season), the atp drug the child snatchers use is established to have been developed for arkham asylum, which is also established to have been closed for the past 15 years AND to have recently been in the works for a reopening, specifically by thomas and martha wayne. and that’s all just offhanded discussion. also related to the atp, when ed is listing the only three places that still stock it, it’s quillan pharma, drakatech (?)... and welzyn, which isn’t relevant at all to THIS episode (quillan’s the one dealing with the childsnatchers) but WILL become relevant to everyone in a few episodes, when welzyn manufactures viper. oh, and naturally the identity of the man the childsnatchers are working for: the dollmaker. hm!! on a lighter note, harvey’s ex-white knight tendencies that we explore in spirit of the goat are foreshadowed here; essen accuses him of leaking the child snatchers story to the press, w/ the reasoning that he’d done it before. after jim & barbara established that it was the right thing to do....

parallels: jim & selina meet in this episode. they are... The Same™. (look, i’ll come back to it later, but even tho my parallel in the pilot was btwn selina and oswald, and even tho they’re the two that are the villain counterparts to our heroes, jim and SELINA are the matched set.) also, this is the episode where fish expresses the wish that penguin wasn’t dead (because she wants him to suffer), but also she tells jim & harvey that she knew it was a mistake to order them killed as soon as she did it. so that means something?

neither here nor there, but gertrud tells montoya & allen how elegant and well dressed oswald is, and bruce comments on the orphans’ scruffy appearances and buys them new clothes... we love a dandy, i guess.

characterization: we meet some irrelevant street kids that selina knew; zeb, smoke, and mackey (corey in the house). i’m basically using the characterization tab as fanfic reference so i might as well record that.

lazlo, fish’s lover, is relevant, in that falcone beats him to get to her. it definitely does affect her, though she says she only keeps him around for exercise. maybe more b/c of falcone’s threat and the fear of what it implies, though.

and gertrud! ozzie’s mom. everyone connected to oswald, even outside (maybe even especially outside) of his mob connections, is a little twisted. she’s no different; she’s clearly a bit out of her head, she mistrusts the police (which i guess we’re supposed to think is suss, though really...Fair and Just), she’s got that almost creepy codependency with oswald while not really knowing what’s going on there. (other examples: elijah, oswald’s gothic horror father, martin, oswald’s lowkey homicidal son, edward, oswald’s fascist dog, jim, oswald’s corrupt boyfriend...) she also seems to think oswald has run off with some painted lady (actually, she says painted slut), which might be indicative of her experiences w/ van dahl and some unstable jealousy more than it is of oswald, who’s... you know.

in other news, jim is all over the map here. he stops harvey beating mackey (and later, quillan, after they’ve already gotten info out of him) and protests that they should leak the story to the press, but he also seems content to keep his mouth shut until barbara takes doing good upon herself. he adapts to the mob shit pretty quick, but expresses disgust w/ the corruption in the system. he gets off on the wrong foot w/ mayor james because he disagrees with locking up the kids w/o a trial, but he doesn’t... step in... either. we see this willingness to compromise and bend the knee that means he’ll never be the hero gotham deserves.

also, not to be a jim apologist on main or anything (ha, ha), but he’s just so... brainwashed. all this, & he still tells alfred that being a cop, which has thus far caused him nothing but pain & misery, is the “best job in the world.” because he thinks he’s helping people. (and he likes getting to feel like a hero... so where do the misguided good intentions stop and the selfish motives begin?) he also kills a man for the first time on screen this episode because for all its examinations of dirty cops... gotham is still, at the end of the day, Copaganda. in an actual moment of me drinking I Love Jim Gordon juice, jim is the one who advocates for bruce going to therapy, and tries to convince him to go personally, even when jim himself is too emotionally stunted for it to help him.

also, backstory: harvey pegs his love life, saying, “high school sweetheart, then a bunch of hoes (read: eduardo dorrance) overseas only made you sad... and then there’s barbara.” he also calls jim a monkey riding a race horse; jim’s face is really good @ that. i misinterpreted the line about high school sweethearts back in the day to mean that barb was jim’s highschool sweetheart. this is on account of auditory processing disorder and also general dumbassery. anyway, the point is that jim is a boring, predictable bitch! whom i love.

...in terms of characterization from the episode that i don’t agree with, i can’t really see oswald writing all the shit that they had on his conspiracy board, lmfao. “crybaby brucie,” “gordon=STOOGE,” & so forth. i pretend i do not see it.

#gotham #text post #meta #jim gordon #season one #selina kyle

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knoxhq · 4 years ago

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► ( rudy pankow & cis male ) according to the school’s records, knox drury is a 22-YEAR-OLD senior studying political science, and he lives over in moriarty. he is a gemini, so that must be why others describe him as dignified, humorous, cowardly and naive. when i see him, i’m reminded of walking into class an hour late with sunglasses on, the feeling of anticipation as you wait for a firework to fully blossom, the sound of party music leaking through the walls of a bathroom. ( gibby, 20, they/them, est. ) ◄

hello everyone !! so i won’t even lie to u guys, i am NERVOUS and it’s literally only bc this is the first group i’ve joined in so long like dfdhkjsfjad the last group i was in was almost a year ago but i ended up having to leave due to personal reasons and didn’t get to write so like !!! idk i’m excited !! anyways w that in mind, pls bARE with me bc i have like one (1) braincell and i forgot how to write intros. anyways enough of me rambling, lemme give you knox !!

also this is a bad intro pls dont judge me im trying 2 like. rewrite what i had b4 the storm took it out n like, i lost the braincell

basics.

full name: knox hale drury.

nicknames: drury.

age: twenty two.

gender and pronouns: cis male and he/him

sexual & romantic orientations: bisexual, biromantic, femme leaning.

major: political science.

housing: moriarty.

backstory.

triggers: implied bullying, police and incarceration ( dw i didn’t make him jj 2.0 ).

nobody gets to pick their beginnings. it’s something that people tell knox all the time, hell, it’s plastered in every stupid coming of age movie, book, film, everything he’s ever seen. you don’t pick who your born into, you don’t pick who you get to be. and to an extent, he does think that this is true but he can’t help but wonder if maybe, if people could pick, if they’d pick differently. because he knows he certainly would pick differently.

it’s not that he even came from a bad home - hell no, he had the most loving family ever. his mother was a saint, a warm sensation bubbling up in his chest when he thinks about her warm cookies or the way she tried to still tuck him in even as a teenager. his father had his flaws, we all do, but he was a good and honest man. hardworking, he showed knox what that stupid american dream is that everyone likes to preach about.

no, it had nothing to do with them but rather the overall opinion on him and his family. see, the drury’s weren’t well liked - they were seen as lowlives and as shady, the kind of people who you’d only go to if you wanted to get stabbed in the back. generations of drury’s fit this narrative but no, his father was determined to change that. and so was he, even if nobody around him seemed to want to give him a chance.

knox would go throughout school with this name attached to him like a dagger to his throat - whisperings in the hallway of, “oh, my mom said the drury boy might be steal things if you let him over,” and other random, rude remarks. of course, the people that get close to him know better - they see him for who he really is.

that person is knox. he’s a golden light, often more selfless than the rich pricks who run that small town. he’d give his jacket or umbrella to people even if they didn’t ask if it just so happened to be raining outside, and despite the fact that his family didn’t have a lot, he’d still go out of his way to try to give when he could.

he eventually graduated high school - one of the top people in his class due to his father’s encouragement, and after a lot of debate, settled on attending haddon university - miles away from that sweet, small little hometown he knew, but a fresh start where he didn’t have to work for anything. he could just go in being him, with nobody attaching a new narrative to him. it was what he wanted, what he dreamed of.

and he loved it. his first semester there was memorable as he found himself surrounded by new friends and people he even considered family. back home, however, things were slipping.

the drury family was never rich, ever by any means, but business was low. nobody wanted to go there, fearing that his father was just as shady as his grandfather. as things got worse, his father had to resort to other needs - stealing, lying about taxes, and doing everything he could to try to make it by.

it finally caught up to him when knox came home for spring break - red and blue lights flashing outside as loud noises went on throughout the house, until finally someone swung knox’s door open and briefly blinded him with a flashlight, demanding to know where his father was. by the time knox got a grasp on the situation, his father was being rushed off in the back of a cop car.

he plead guilty almost immediately and for the next few months, knox did school from home to stay with his mother. it was then that he switched his major from what had initially been just a vague, business degree to political science in hopes of going into law after getting that degree - a way of changing things, of helping people so they never got to that point.

for now though, he’s gone back to haddon’s campus where he study’s away and occasionally finds himself slipping and partying, glasses always covering his eyes as he slinks back class, getting almost nO sleep every night.

study.

so i need u to know right now... knox is baby, FDSHJDFSHAJK

like he’s not by any means like he’s kinda a gross dude like, absolutely randomly burps n is like lol oops n shit, very little manners, will grab clothes off of the floor to put them on kind of man BUT LIKE as a whole ?? he means very well FDSJFAHJ he’s very gentle and will sit there and admire flowers on a bush and then get mad if u pick one bc ur hurting it like. he’s baby.

he also is very loyal to the ppl he’s friends w tbh like. damn he will never leave ur side

that also makes him kinda... super, actually, naive. you see, while knox is incredibly loyal, he often finds himself ignoring signs of toxicity for the sake of preserving a friendship - he fights for people who won’t fight for him, he lets people back in too easily, he just. he sees the good in everyone, even if there isn’t any good.

regardless, he’s not easy to just... manipulate to an extent. while he’ll fall for you being innocent, you can’t ever try to make him think he’s something he’s not - he knows his intentions and he knows they’re usually pure and he’s not gonna fold for anyone if it comes down to him or them.

bt like again he’s baby

like i dont think he ever gets mad but damn when he does its probs scary as shit like bc he nEVER gets mad !!! hes like. a golden retriever ig

if u cannot tell im trying really hard not to make him too much like jj bc i realize that might be a big thing ppl do n i dont think jj is baby bt like. knox? knox is baby DSFHJKFDHKJ

he’s just. idk. he’s very protective and cares about his friends a lot and will walk you home even if you went to HIS place and like is always ready to give you a jacket if it’s raining and he’s just lowkey a big, kinda dumb at times, teddy bear and i think that’s valid tyvm

wanted connections.

friends. — please. knox will lOVE ur muses just let him be their friend tyvm plus he’s a bit of a social butterfly now and i think he’d honestly have a lot of friends.

best friend. — i’m gonna keep this to one muse bc idk i think it’d be really cute if knox got to have his own like, ride or die where they care abt him as much as he cares about them and they’re always there for each other and like !!! that’s cute !!! also found family trope bc i think that is.. again, kyoot, ty

frienemies. — so these are always like, super fun to plot out and i think there’s a lot to work w here... like give me ppl who are happy that knox is loyal and would defend them but would push knox to the side n not do the same for him... also friendships where knox fucked up ?? where knox, despite his goodness, couldn’t keep his mouth shut and revealed a secret to their friend group bc u see he can kinda be a gossip fsjfdaskj. idk there’s a lot u can do n i’d love to brainstorm!

enemies. — pls. like. we can brainstorm this too so i dont just ramble but pLEASE?? please.

flings. — honestly romantic ships are not the point of rps but romantic flings and stuff can be really fun to plot and i love getting soft about them so like ?? idk dude lets fling it up n have muses date for two weeks n then break up like thats swexi, dramatic, 10/10

exes. — i mean this is kind of like flings but i have an idea... give me an ex of knox’s who really was like. everything knox wanted. hell, the two had a really good relationship - they were in love and etc etc gushy details but they ended up breaking up bc they just. they weren’t meant to be! as sad as it is like it was as simple as that! and then the angst comes in after they break up bc god they still love each other so much but they just aren’t meant to be and they see them with other people and oh it just hurts but like, bonus points if they manage to become good friends even after this !! (sidenote, idk i wouldn’t want this to be a full ship tht gets back together bc idk i think there’s a bittersweetness in stuff like this n its just. like. its ok !!! idk !!! )

roommates. — and they were roomates- fdshjkfdsahjk

other things. — honestly these are half assed plots but i’m down for anything !!! i’m still fleshing out knox a lil too bc i really did make him on the spot so pls bare w me :)

#had:intro #bullying tw #police tw #arrest tw #incarceration tw #again i did nOT make him jj dont worry dfsahjfd #also this intro is bad pls do not look at me #alcohol mention

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ladyoutlier · 5 years ago

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A Demon’s Demons

In which Crowley recounts the Fall.

[Read on AO3] | [Chapter 1]

Chapter 2: How to Fall

There is good reason that the majority of religious folk picture Heaven as an airy, cloudy plane with Pearly Gates and sunny 72 degrees Fahrenheit weather. This is because, in the beginning, Heaven was just that. The sleek, angular office building it became only developed as such to match the growth of humanity. Before there were humans, there was nothing except the natural world, and that’s what Heaven mimicked. Or rather, the natural world mimicked it.

It was in this warm wonderland where only peace existed that a certain redheaded angel found himself wondering quite a bit. Much of which he didn’t keep to himself because there was no reason to, and secrecy was still a foreign concept. So word around Heaven spread about a curious angel that wouldn’t stop asking questions, and not just any questions but prying ones. Questions he very much didn’t need to be asking that involved one very much unheard of word: why.

Such a word implied knowing rather than accepting, and most angels didn’t understand the point of that. In fact, it seemed a rather bad thing to be asking. To demand the inner workings of anything seemed absurd. That was for God to know and share at Her own leisure. To make the effort to find out on one’s own instead of waiting for Her to grant the knowledge—well, some would go as far to say that it was simply unangelic.

However, there was one angel that took particular interest upon hearing these rumors. An angel the red-haired one knew by the name of Lucifer who had been around since before almost everyone else. Although age was little more than an arbitrary system of ranking, an audience with an angel of Lucifer’s caliber was not to be ignored. And plus, the redhead had spoken to him quite a few times before.

In the times he had talked to him, Lucifer had seemed like less of a stickler for the rules than most other angels which made the red-haired angel rather fond of him. So the angel met with him one day out on the cloud fields far from were the rest liked to congregate. Most of Heaven looked the same despite the odd gazebo here and there, but this spot was so far out that the clouds lacked their puffiness and laid rather flat. Perhaps, it should have been a gloomy day considering, but there were none of those up in Heaven.

The redhead had showed up last to the meeting, having chose to walk to the destination rather than fly. He was not unlike any other angel with his pure white wings that stretched from his back. He easily could have flown like Lucifer had done, but he enjoyed being late to the party.

Lucifer, with a smirk on his face, didn’t seem that bothered by the delay. Perhaps this was because time still had no real purpose even though the Archangels insisted otherwise. Or perhaps, it was just a quirk unique to Lucifer to not seem bothered by such trivialities. Either way, the redhead respected his relaxed reaction.

“Glad you decided to join me,” Lucifer began. “Word on the grapevine is that you’re seeking answers? I can help with that, especially for an angel like you. You’re a real go getter.”

The redhead crossed his arms and flicked his wings about. “So you’re not going to tell me to bugger off like everyone else has done so far?”

“Course not. What’s the harm in a few questions? God made you curious in nature, so how could it be wrong?”

“Pfft, all the others seem to think it is. Say I’m questioning God. Big no no. Personally, I don’t think I’m questioning God at all. Rather just showing an interest in what She’s doing.”

It was never dark in Heaven, but it was also not always bright. Although, the sun in the sky wasn’t the actually sun—that one was still being made—the sun of Heaven still set, only to quickly rise before darkness could take over. Such a sunset was happening now, and the whites of Heaven took a more pink tone.

“Would it really be so bad if you were questioning God? Why does She deserve to be free from judgement?”

“Woah, Lucifer, I wouldn’t go that far. I just want to know why She’s doing what She’s doing.”

“But why would you be interested in that if it wasn’t to form an opinion on the rightness of Her actions?” Lucifer leaned toward the other angel. His wing wrapped around the redhead, subtly pulling him closer.

“W—well, you see, I want to know so I can better help Her be successful in whatever end game She has planned for all this.”

“I don’t think God needs any help with that. Her plan is ineffable. It will come into existence with or without you knowing the details. Based on that previous descriptor, likely without. No, you want answers for other reasons.”

Really, the angel didn’t know why he sought answers. He was just pulled towards them. Had been since day one. He didn’t have any intent behind it at all. Simply, he just wanted to know to know.

“Look, if you’re just going to tell me off for asking like everyone else has, I’ll just be on my way. Have a few more star systems to make.”

The angel made a move to leave, but Lucifer loosely grabbed his wrist, pulling him back.

“I’m asking questions too. In fact, darling, there’s quite a few of us thinking the same things as you. With so many of us, the Almighty will have no choice but to listen.”

“So what, you wanna go in demanding answers?”

“That’s a way of wording it, yes. If we’re successful, we’ll have a lot more than answers.” Lucifer’s grip reached further up the redhead’s arm.

“And what might that be?”

“A voice.”

“Please elaborate.”

“Let’s just say we won’t have the issue of being ignored after that.”

“Uh huh.”

“We’ll get you the answers to your questions. Not a secret will be left in all of God’s creation that you won’t know.” Lucifer’s grip softened as he used his thumb to rub the redhead’s arm in a rather comforting manner. “All I ask is that you stand by my side when we go collecting those answers for you.”

“Course,” the redhead answered without much thought. “Whenever you do that, I’ll be right there. Want to hear the words from the source. Not through a game of telephone.”

“Lovely,” Lucifer replied, releasing the angel and taking flight. “It was a real pleasure talking to you, *******.”

The sunset reached its lowest point. The pinks had become reds. As Lucifer flew off, his wings looked much too dark to be white. If the redheaded angel named ******* took the time to look at his own, he’d notice they didn’t look so bright either. But that had to be just the light. All angels had white wings after all.

In a quick moment, the sun would begin to rise again, climbing from where it had just sank instead of appearing on the other side of the horizon. It would be a new day, but it would be backwards from the day before it, and very different than all the ones before that.

At some point in the re-telling, Crowley sprawled himself out on the couch he had been sitting at, and Aziraphale had miracled himself a cup of tea. The tea leaves at the bottom of the cup signified a reading that either his true love was closer than he thought or that a major life hurdle would be overcome by looking inside. Whichever one was accurate didn’t matter. Tea leaf readings were a load of poppycock. If his horoscope had said one of these things, now that would be a different story.

“So you were one of the first to be smooth talked by the Devil?” Aziraphale asked, setting aside his cup.

“Eh, wouldn’t say that. He had most of his army by that point.”

“But those were angels that agreed with him.”

“And I agreed with what he told me.” Crowley sat up against the arm of the couch.

“Yes, but I can’t help but feel as though your case is different.”

“Because you know me. Because you heard me tell it.”

“No, because you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t have malicious intent whatsoever.”

The demon sneered. “Didn’t you say you were going to be judgement free?”

“I’m hardly judging you. I’m defending you.”

“It’s still a judgement even if you think it’s in the positive direction.”

“Crowley, what you told me hardly seems like an issue to, um, Fall over. You had a conversation with Lucifer where he was being purposefully concealing. Where are you at fault?”

“Look, that’s not all of it. That was just the start of it all. Just allow me a moment to deal with revisiting these blasts to the past before I tell the rest, would ya? It’s… straining.”

“Oh, yes. Quite sorry. I’ll give you a moment.”

“I know you don’t have any age old trauma to dig up, but I’ll tell you, it’s not a fun thing to disturb.” Crowley rubbed his temples with one hand and a bottle of brandy appeared in his other. “Oh, I told you this was going to be a real mess.”

“More for you than me I’m afraid, dear.”

“Yeah, well that’s better than the alternative.” He took a swig from the bottle and offered it to Aziraphale, who took it after a moment of consideration. “You don’t have any reason to deserve to feel like shit.”

“I’m not convinced that there’s a reason that you should deserve to either.”

“Fine. You know what? Fine. Give me that back.” He took the bottle back and downed far more that a few shots worth. “I’ll just tell you now since you’re so impatient.”

“Crowley, I didn’t mean that at all.”

“No. Can’t stand having you not understand. Worse than me just telling it. So I’m just going to do that so you can stop acting like I’m so innocent.”

The Civil War of Heaven took place on a day that was shaping up to be just like all the ones before it. Angels went about business as normal, taking records that would eventually evolve into complicated paperwork in the far future. There was talk and laughter and something that would come to be known as peace. It was a word that had never been needed because it was a state that never changed. There was always peace. Existence was peace. There was no need for both terms. But on this day, existence was no longer that, so with the birth of havok also came the birth of peace even though the term would never take precedence in Heaven again.

******* had met with Lucifer earlier that day. When he casually strode into their meeting spot, he had been surprised by quite a few more angels being there than just Lucifer. Quite the gaggle of them were there. Another redhead. One with black hair. One with blonde. And one that was about a foot shorter than the rest of them. That one stood closest to Lucifer.

The air felt strange. There was a tingle to it, and all the other angels seemed to feel it as well. No one seemed capable of standing still. In fact, they all seemed rather eager for something. The calming nature of Heaven had taken a rather electric tone.

“Today’s the day, *******,” Lucifer said as the redhead approached. “Today Heaven takes a turn for the better.”

“It’s just some questions,” the redhead replied. “Don’t know if it’s that big of a deal.”

“Oh, it’s far more than questions. It’s a call for justice. To stand on equal grounds with God. To show we deserve to know as much as Her.”

“That seems a bit more extreme than what we talked about.” ******* took a step back. “I just want to know what the point of those humans She’s making is. Things like that. She just does things and has us do things without a clear purpose. Why am I throwing creation dust into the sky? What’s the point of that?”

“All great things to ask. She keeps us in the dark because She doesn’t think we deserve to know. She is above us, so only She can hold the answers. For Her to share, we’ll have to prove otherwise.”

“Look, I thought this was just going to be a nice little appointment with the Almighty. You’d use the favoritism She has for you to put in some good words for me, and maybe I’d come out a bit more knowledgeable. Really, wasn’t expecting all this.”

“You already gave me your word, *******. Said you’d be by my side through this. We are stronger together. The others can’t quiet all of us. She can’t quiet us.”

“That’s nice and all, but I’m not looking to cause any trouble.”

“Trouble?”

“Stir up anything. Cause drama. That kind of stuff on a small scale, I’m all for. But this looks like something way too serious for me. You lot are not going to be having such a good time by the end of all this.”

“You’re one of us whether you accept that now or later. An angel’s word holds a lot of weight. I imagine you’re no exception to that.” Lucifer stared the redhead in the eyes—eyes that wouldn’t look like that for much longer. “But I understand your concern. Voicing an opposing opinion to what’s accepted is scary. This isn’t some little issue like when Sandalphon accidentally turned the charming little mosquito into a buzzing bloodsucker. This is two sides of a coin. But half of Heaven stands behind me. There’s no need to be afraid. The voice of half of Heaven isn’t something to berate.”

“Berating seems like the least of the worries.”

“Here. How about this? You promised me that you’d be at my side when we went to get you the answers you seek. Do that for me. Join us as we go to confront the others. Once we’re there, you can decide whose side you’ll stand on. That way you stay true to your word.”

******* chewed on his lip, contemplating Lucifer’s suggestion. He had given his word. That much was true. Frankly, he wasn’t that bothered about fulfilling it. He didn’t value that kind of stuff as much as other angels did. He understood that someone could feel like swinging one way, and then the next day, have changed their mind to something else.

Still, Lucifer was a bad bridge to burn. And if half of Heaven stood behind him, that was half of Heaven that wouldn’t be too fond of ******* if he did back out. And it was just a walk. Lucifer had left him with his choice. If things went south, he could always jump ship.

“Fine,” the redhead replied. “That sounds fair enough.”

The center of Heaven was where everyone liked to congregate. It was a nice spot to meet up with other angels because no matter where anyone was, the hike to the center wasn’t that long of a walk. As such, this is where ******* and Lucifer headed, followed by an army of angels that continued to grow in numbers as they marched.

Word spread fast, and when they reached Heaven’s center, the majority of the other half of Heaven was already there. The events of Heaven tended to be on the rather mild side. Announcements of a new creature coming into existence or of a new continent on Earth finally being finished. Just words. Actions did not happen in Heaven. But then again, this wasn’t a normal day in Heaven.

“What’s going on here?” asked an Archangel whose name the redhead knew this day but would not the next.

“We’ve come to be heard,” Lucifer replied. “We’re tired of living beneath God, and shall no longer do so. She may have spawned all creation, but why must that mean that She is better than all of it?”

The Archangel took a sharp breath and straightened up. “Lucifer, is that what you really think? That God finds Herself superior than us all? All that She does is for Her creations. She lives to serve us as much as we live to serve Her.”

“I see why you would believe that, Archangel. Your position alone puts you closer to Her than any of us. But your words simply aren’t true. She could make us as equals to Her. Grant us the power to do as She does. Share with us the secrets of the universe. And yet, She chooses not to for She believes only She alone deserves the title of God.”

The Archangel turned to the redhead. “You, *******, do you believe this as well? Is this where your questions have led? To you standing here against God?”

The redhead cringed. “Against God is a rather harsh judgement.”

“But one that is completely accurate,” the Archangel continued. He turned back to Lucifer before ******* could further clarify. “I can’t let you continue on. Not with an army of angels that aren’t willing to compromise. Disband them and let us talk. I’m sure you can see the greater good still.”

“No. I believe it is too late for that.”

As the words left Lucifer’s mouth, he produced a dagger from his robe. The blade burned, not with fire that the redhead would later see on a sword in Eden but with fire that was much more angry. He plunged the dagger into the Archangel’s chest, twisting the weapon as it went in.

A horrible gurgle escaped the throat of the Archangel as he fell to the ground. His being quickly dispersed into a million glowing orbs. The Archangel was gone, and a new word had been invented. Murder.

Another word quickly followed that one. Revenge. One half of Heaven leapt upon the other. Angels of both sides pulling their own weapons into existence. They didn’t burn with the flames of Lucifer’s dagger. Where he got such a fire, nobody knew. But every other angel’s weapons glowed with flame nonetheless.

Robes were torn and celestial bodies were injured. Brother and sister were pitted against one another. The shorter angel that had walked with them, leapt at those that were at the Archangel’s side. War was not invented on Earth by humans, but rather up in Heaven by angels. Some took to the skies in airborne combat, swooping down to the fights below to take strikes. Some quickly fell and found the fights of many, trampling them.

The redhead didn’t engage, but rather stood staring at the chaos that had broken out in front of him. Everyone knew everyone in Heaven. There wasn’t a faceless angel in the crowd. Now was the time to pick a side, but the redhead didn’t. Merely he watched it all play out, unable to move one way or the other. How could one choose between two sides of the same family?

The fight raged on, and ******* found himself pushed to the side and down to the ground. In a battle of this caliber, no one had time to consider the angel that wasn’t fighting. Whether there were any other casualties than the Archangel, the redhead didn’t know. The only thing that was clear, was that a great deal of those on the ground right now were in a great deal of pain. The Archangel would have been a much needed help.

A sudden change overtook the battleground. The light grew dim in Heaven although the sun was still high in the sky. God had made Her presence known even though She didn’t take form. All fighting immediately stopped.

The clouds of Heaven became wispy, becoming little more than water vapor in air, and Lucifer’s army could no longer stand on them. The condemned angels sank through the floor of Heaven while the rest looked on from Above. They were not smug or arrogant in appearance, but rather wore expressions of pity and exhaustion. They hadn’t wanted to fight their brothers and sisters, but it was too late for that now. There was grieving to be had. God had stepped in as referee, and Lucifer’s army was no longer welcome.

******* watched as they slipped away. He had stood—or well laid—in the middle the whole fight, not taking up arms against angel on either side. He could’ve fought if he wanted too, or at least, he wanted to believe that. It was simply that he couldn’t choose whose side to join. He didn’t want to choose a side. He wanted to be on both—to have the best of each side—but now here he was. His inaction had decided for him. He was left in Heaven while Lucifer and his half of angels slipped away to somewhere else. And that wasn’t something he felt all that good about.

That thought only lasted a moment before the redhead found himself sinking in the very cloud he now stood on as well. His eyes grew wide, and he scrambled to pull himself up, but he only grabbed fists of air.

Why him? He hadn’t done anything? Just let things happen without his input. Had his few talks with Lucifer incriminated him by association? Was it his inborn curiosity? His failure to stand on God’s side? None of that meant he was on Lucifer’s!

Even still, he was asking questions—the very stupid thing that had got him in this situation. He couldn’t just accept God’s punishment. He had to question it too. Maybe that’s the real reason he was here.

This tangled mess of thoughts didn’t last long as the redhead Fell through the clouds and started his saunter downward that really wasn’t a saunter at all but an alarmingly fast tumble with wind cutting his face. The light of Heaven faded above him along with all the warmth it had, replaced by the burning of his wings and the hollowing of his chest. The angel named ******* was dead, and now all that was left was a demon who was equally bad at sticking to one side.

“There. Now you get it?” Crowley asked, gesturing in the air. “Hardly all in the right, am I? Just stood there when Lucifer murked an Archangel, and didn’t even fight against him or anyone else when the brawl broke out.”

“I can’t say any of that changes my opinion,” Aziraphale replied.

“And why not? How do you falsely justify that?”

“For starters, dear, I couldn’t bare to pick up arms against any angel during that spat as well.”

“W—wait. You were there?”

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I have been? All of Heaven was there.”

“I, um—I guess I always figured you didn’t exist yet at that point.”

Aziraphale’s face scrunched up, and he fell back against his chair. “Really? Why would you think a thing like that?”

“Well, because I didn’t recognize you in Eden. Don’t think I would’ve ever forgotten a face like yours.” Crowley, realizing what he just said, quickly jumped to the next sentence. “A—and you seemed less than competent with that sword. Swinging it about. And then by the time I got to you, you didn’t even have it anymore. Didn’t seem like a thing an angel that lived through that would’ve done.”

“I suppose that’s a logical deduction to have made,” Aziraphale replied rather mindlessly. He was still more than caught up on the first part of what Crowley said.

A short silence followed, teetering on the side of awkward, before Aziraphale spoke again. “Crowley, do you think this perhaps has nothing to do with God’s forgiveness but rather with your forgiveness for yourself?”

Crowley let out a laugh that sounded a bit too forced. “No. I didn’t make myself Fall, did I? God did that all on Her own.”

“Yes, but even just from the way you’ve been talking about it now, you seem quite guilty about it. And as you described it, you were the last one to Fall.”

“I fail to see how either of those things are relevant to one another.”

“Perhaps, you felt like you deserved to be punished, so God entertained your wish.”

“If that’s the case, that’s a pretty cruel thing to do. Not really a crime fit the punishment type scenario.” Crowley stood up. “Hardly the actions of a God that’s supposed to be all kind and loving. Feel regret? Well, maybe you won’t if every atom of your being is on fire. Can’t feel much other than that at all!”

“This is the same God that instigated the whole Noah’s Ark situation,” Aziraphale replied.

“If I didn’t know any better, angel, I’d say it sounds like you’re talking poorly about the Almighty.”

“I’m allowed my opinions as long I have faith in God’s Plan. I’m merely stating that the stipulations for your Fall might have been different than the others’ amongst Lucifer’s ranks.”

“So what’s that mean then, Aziraphale? How’s that supposed to solve the whole Sin problem?”

“Well, it gives us a goal. You need to move on from that whole ordeal, so it no longer weighs you down.”

“Uh huh.”

“Crowley, please. Don’t shut yourself off to this. Just humor me.”

“Oh, I do find this very humorous.” Despite saying that, Crowley wasn’t laughing at all. “Really didn’t think me telling you that whole story would result in you trying to fix me.”

“I’m not trying to fix you. You’re perfectly fine the way you are.” Aziraphale eyes widened for a moment as those words tumbled out. “I, um, just want to help you be happier. And in doing that, perhaps it solves the Sins problem.”

“This isn’t something I just snap my fingers and get over, y’know,” Crowley replied, trying very hard to not read too much into the first part of what Aziraphale had said. “Spend over six thousand years attempting that, and, well, haven’t made that much progress.”

“The difference is that now you have me helping you.”

“Not to downplay your abilities or anything, but I’m not sure having you on the team changes all that much.”

“It most certainly does. Just in this evening I’ve gotten you to talk all about your, uh, issues and view them through a new light. I will say, I’m not exactly sure how to handle the whole moving on process, but I’m sure if we put our heads together, we could formulate a plan.”

“You brainstorm all you want. I’m going to sleep on it. That is if you don’t plan on leaving this room. Had some of my best ideas sleeping.” Crowley smothered a throw pillow over his face.

“Yes, I suppose it is getting rather late, and considering the more than exciting evening we’ve had, I don’t blame you for being tired. I, on the other hand, much prefer to think in full consciousness although I will remain in here.”

“Lovely.” The reply came out quite muffled from beneath the pillow. “‘G’night, angel.”

“Sleep well, Crowley.”

The lamp on Aziraphale’s desk dimmed to the brightness of a nightlight. Still, Crowley rolled towards the back of the couch away from it. A few long moments passed before Aziraphale caught himself staring at the sleeping demon. He had found himself thinking his own questions, and not all of them related to solving the Sins dilemma.

The angel turned towards the contents on his desk. It’s not like anything there would aid him. He greatly doubted his books on philosophy and human history would hold the key to demonic therapy. This problem was going to require some good old fashioned brainpower. But at least when turned to his desk, he could focus on the task at hand.

He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. Although it made the softest of taps in the otherwise silent room, Crowley didn’t seem all that bothered by it. In fact, if he wasn’t curled into the back of the couch, the faintest of smiles may have been visible on his face.

As the evening grew to an end in this Soho bookshop, something much more horrific was occurring elsewhere. In a hallway in the depths of Hell in the room belonging to a certain exiled demon, the wall linking it to an adjacent room burst open. As bricks hit the floor and dust filled the air, the dark spirits of the cell next door flooded into the abandoned room.

Sins may have been wild and chaotic, but they also knew how to critically think. The door from which Crowley’s Sins had been released had remained open as Beezlebub and Dagon returned to the levels of Hell above. In was a small act neither of them had thought much of. But to the Sins that had been desperate to escape since before the dawn of humanity, it was quite the opportunity.

A door boarded up with a hundred planks and a thousand locks might have been enough to contain them, but a thin wall connecting their cells was not. So the Sins of many other demons began to pour out of the room Beezlebub and Dagon had opened, and set to work on freeing those still barred on the other side of the hallway. Pandora’s box had been opened, and now, more demons than just Crowley were going to pay for it.

[Chapter 3]

#Good Omens #Gomens #Ineffable Husbands #my writing

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somuchbetterthanthat · 6 years ago

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EPISODE 4 - Pageturner

I’m sorry but Gerard is called “Jared” in this episode, I can’t hear “Gerard” at all. Also it’s kind of funny how he is this mysterious figure for so long, even dangerous? But then we get to know Gerry and :-(

I know, I know, this is a jon/martin investigation, but it’s fun to relisten those episodes, okay.

Anyway:

“Martin couldn’t find any records of “ex-altioria” as a title in existant catalogues of esoteric or similar litterature, so I assigned Sasha to double-check. Still nothing.”

SUPPLEMENT

- Our first mention of Martin doing research! And there’s nothing, nothing more telling than “so I assigned Sasha to double-check”. Jon truly does not believe Martin capable at all, does he? I could still go on and scream BUT W H Y JON, but since we already know we won’t have the answer, let’s move on.

It makes me really sad about Martin, to be honest; at this point, if he’s got a crush, he’s got a crush over a man who, for all intent and purposes, just - does not esteem him at all for whatever reason.

Which implies that - first, Martin is definitely the guy who’s been crushing on people being a little bit mean/dismissive of him, and to be honest that wouldn’t surprise me because clearly he’s got Issues with a mother that hates him, and parents definitely lead us later in life to be attracted to certain type of people, whether very obviously or not.

But also, I genuinely think that there must be something that Martin sees in Jon beyond what WE hear from Jon, you know? Has he maybe seen Jon vulnerable at some point? Has Jon had one those moments where he suddenly seems aware of people and gets caring and warm/soft? (Which I think, would be enough to sustain a crush - yes that person is GENERALLY a cold, pretentious prick, but that One Time they Show they Could Be Kind to Me and the contrast was enough to make me want to marry them)

(..not saying it’s healthy though)

Or, or, really, Jon and Martin meet the day Jon screamed because there was a spider over his desk and Martin found it adorable that this impressive, stern man was terrified of such a little spider and Jon could never forgive Martin for cooing at the thing and gently let it out by the window. Martin is left with a crush and Jon with an irrational dislike of Martin.

#jon and martin in canon #the magnus archives #tma ramblings

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tempestuousheinousbitch · 6 years ago

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( brie larson, cisfemale, she/her, 27 ) — have you seen [ BOBBI MOORE ] around shermer? i hear they’re INDIVIDUALISTIC, but can also be TEMPESTUOUS A HEINOUS BITCH. they remind me of [ KAT STRATFORD from 10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU ], but it might just be me. last i saw them, they were working as a(n) [ JOURNALIST ].

GENERAL

FULL NAME: Roberta Jolene Moore NICKNAME(S): Bobbi, Bobbi Jo AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 27, 01/16/1992 OCCUPATION: Journalist GENDER: Cisfemale PRONOUNS: She/Her HOMETOWN: Seattle, Washington CURRENT RESIDENCE: Shermer, Illinois POSITIVE TRAITS: Individualistic, Eloquent, Organized, Purposeful NEGATIVE TRAITS: Tempestuous, Shrewish, Cynical, Scornful

BIOGRAPHY

non-consensual tw, implied rape tw

there is no greater comfort than the pitter patter of the rain. she loves it - craves it when it’s not around. perhaps that’s a result of growing up in washington state. rain was a constant in her youth, as well as douglas firs peaking out over silvery mist and slate colored skies. yes, it does rain in shermer, but illinois rainfall couldn’t compete with the damp autumns of the pacific northwest. it’s the one thing bobbi misses most as she sits before her laptop, bemoaning the writer’s block that’s keeping her page blank, a room temp cup of black coffee and a deap vally record all but forgotten to the blonde. if only it rained a little more the midwest.

roberta jolene moore was born the eldest of two daughters to an obstetrician and an aspiring writer. but let’s get one thing clear - her name is bobbi. she’ll murder you if you call her roberta. no one calls her roberta. not since the day her mom up and left the family without so much as an explanation. whoever roberta moore was died as the tail lights of her mom’s 1971 corola vanished into the horizon. it would be a few more hours before her dad or younger sister woke up to the news, but bobbi had already witnessed it. she supposed that was a day that a lot changed for her. all of those childlike qualities that little girls so naturally possess seemed to vanish over night. dad was going to need someone to look out for him, and her little sister was going to be in desperate need of a strong female presence. so bobbi filled the gaps that their mother’s departure left. she became a homemaker and a nurturer, a shoulder for her hysterical father and naive sister to lean on, and she became the backbone of a family that had suddenly lost their foundation.

of course this wasn’t the event that lead to the shrewish woman she is often condemned for today. no, maternal abandonment wasn’t going to be the thing that broke her. naturally, it was junior high. bobbi wasn’t exactly the most pretty thing around. like most ninth graders, she was a little awkward looking and experiencing the pains of puberty and acne. but she wasn’t bad looking either - at least, not to the class stud. for whatever reason they dated. probably because bobbi was a much different girl back then. she was someone who wanted to be accepted and who wanted to belong. which made it easy to get her to do what he wanted. all it took was some sweet words and enough wine coolers to cause bobbi moore to lose all inhibitions. she doesn’t remember much from that night. she remembers the music and the laughter of the party, and the first taste of alcohol. the rest was a blur, and her next clear memory was the following morning, laying naked and alone in the guest bedroom of her boyfriend’s house. it was easy to piece together what happened - she got drunk and she lost her virginity at the tender age of fourteen. something switched off for her in that moment, a feeling of discomfort. when her friends had written off the experience as “something she wanted” and “something teenagers all do”, she tried to write it off as all being okay. but of course, when her ‘doting’ boyfriend dumped her shortly after, the humiliation was enough to change bobbi. never again would she let other people’s expectations decide what she was going to do, and never again would she trust anyone else’s intentions with her.

that was the beginning to the bobbi moore evolution, though she isn’t one to admit it. it’s no one’s business why she’s the way she is or what lead to her being such a ‘heinous bitch’. she doesn’t really feel like she owes anyone explanations for the kind of person she is. she’s bobbi moore - shrewd investigative journalist, tempestuous ‘feminazi’ writer, abrasive and aggressively assertive liberal, whatever. she kind of just lets people say what they want to say. to correct them would mean that she cares about her reputation and in the immortal words of joan jett, she “ doesn’t give a damn about her bad reputation. ” if being the town shrew is the only way to keep people at arm’s length, then bobbi is all for it. or people who aren’t worth her time - if you’ve got even an ounce of originality and aren’t a walking and talking cliche then you just might be one of her close circle, the few people in shermer she actually likes socializing with and being associated with. it’s a wonder if there’s anyone that can tame her.

seems unlikely.

MISC

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Pansexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Panromantic LANGUAGES: English FAMILY: Walter Moore (father), Mrs. Moore (mother, estranged), Becky Moore (sister) PETS: a Husky named Ruth Bader Ginsbark and a Golden Retriever named Rosie The Retrieveter ZODIAC SIGN: Capricorn MBTI: ISTJ AESTHETIC: black coffee forgotten and cooled to room temperature; female musicians and feminist bands in vinyl only ( of course ); loose typewriter keys in her pockets; cracked brown leather jackets, vintage band tees; makeup-less face and messy buns; chipped black nail polish; coexist bumper sticker on a beat up 63 dodge dart; reading glasses sitting on the button of her nose, a finger shaped smudge on the right lens; concert ticket stubs, bleached shells, creased poetry slam programs, and scraps of old writing in a trinket box long forgotten in the far corner of the closet; freckles that only come out with the sun, sideways smirks and a mischievous twinkle in dark chocolate eyes; leather bound notebooks e v e r y w h e r e, blue ink stains on hands; long empty hours staring at pages and willing words to appear; nights spent alone and welcoming the solitude

WANTED CONNECTIONS

the brat pack - a close knit crew of like-minded individuals who rise above the regulars of shermer society. popular isn’t a word commonly used for this group and very likely would never be used. they’re the outcasts of society who dare to speak up for themselves and their beliefs. and bobbi loves how they challenge each other to think beyond themselves and the proverbial box which cages much of the “small minded simpletons of shermer society”. jesse shah, open

the vapid one - the epitome of what bobbi hates the most in most people. the white knight of the status quo, the personification of banality, a loathsome creature of society who coasts the mainstream and has made a happy place there. they’re very unlikely to contain an original thought, and it bothers bobbi to no end. yet she’s ardently fascinated with this cliche and despite her best efforts cannot seem to stay away. heather mcnamara

the contender - unlike the vapid one, the contender is someone that bobbi doesn’t just loath for being just another cog in society’s machine - she despises them for the way they unapologetically flaunt it in her face. these two are always at war, constantly bemoaning the other’s existence and arguing over every stupid little thing they can think of. they could probably start a heated debate over the state of the weather if they wanted to - these two can never see eye to eye, and it’s better to steer clear of them when they’re in close proximity to one another. that is, unless you want to witness the pair butting heads again. open

more to come. i’m too lazy to think of anything else ahfiehapfheiapfhea

#* i’m your hell i’m your dream i’m nothing in between ( about. )#shermerintro #I hate this one more than I hate luca’s #ajdjchshhxhws

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otomeshistarlight-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Okay, so. This is a thing. I knew as soon as I saw the dark yokai set last night that I needed to write for all one of them and I got the idea for this scenario from a friend. It features slightly dubious consent, but not really, and just generally extreme sexual imagery so tread with caution. If the Supernatural fandom can write about human dicks knotting then so can I, dammit. <_<;

Yokai Ichimatsu x reader smut below!

The old, decaying wood splintered and groaned in protest as I forced the door open and sunlight poured into the temple for the first time in many years. Poking my head inside, I cautiously glanced around before taking a tentative step over the threshold. I immediately had to duck under an unusually large spider web hanging down from the rafters and I blanched, surreptitiously swiping a hand over my clothes. There was no telling how many bugs and assorted creepy crawlies I was disturbing but I'd come too far to back out now.

I usually wasn't one to fall for haunted destination hoaxes but this shrine in particular had piqued my interest after stumbling upon multiple accounts regarding its authenticity on the internet. It seemed that gender, age, race, ethnicity and religious background, or lack thereof, played no part in determining who experienced unusual phenomena within these walls. Apparently whatever spirits were haunting the area were equal opportunists and I would have immediately ruled the whole thing out as a fake if it weren't for the veritable goldmines of evidence I'd found in abundance. Audio recordings, photographs, even full on video footage was floating around in the ether for anyone who searched hard enough for it and, to my chagrin, it all looked to be genuine. I'd decided in a moment of hubris to track the place down and see for myself whether the stories were true but so far I was getting a whole lot of nothing.

Waving some of the swirling dust away from my face, I squinted through the murky shroud of darkness to regard the bronze cast Buddha statue on the far wall. It was covered in a thick layer of grime and filth, effectively tarnishing whatever brilliance it may have once possessed. Frowning, I turned away from the idol and glanced up towards the ceiling to see if I could catch a glimpse of anything hiding in the rafters. Every blurry image of the apparition in question seemed to capture a fluffy tail of sorts which I was keeping a watchful eye for. I didn't see anything though, and I heaved a sigh as I stepped further into the temple.

The floorboards creaked loudly under my footsteps and I felt a noted spike in anxiety when I realized it almost sounded like someone was trailing behind me. I laughed at myself for being so jumpy as I paused in the center of the room to glance back at the open doorway, somewhat relieved to see that I was completely alone. All those stories were getting to me, amping up my expectations, and I silently scolded myself for being so impressionable. I'd allow myself to be scared when something really happened but until that time, I was determined to remain calm and level headed. A true sign of a serious paranormal investigator.

Feeling quite snobbish in my resolve, I turned my nose to the air and began making my way towards the back wall. There was a door tucked off to one side and I made a bee line for it, hopeful that I'd find what I was looking for in the next room. I was halfway to my destination when a cool breeze blew in from the doorway, carrying with it the smell of spring, and I shivered as it washed over my body like a bucket of ice water. I didn't remember it being that cold outside but, I tried to reason, it was quite a bit more chilly within the abandoned shrine so it really wasn't -

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

I nearly jumped right out of my skin at the sound of an unexpected voice and my camera fell onto the floor with a loud clatter as I spun around. Wide eyed, I searched for the source but I didn't see anyone. No matter which dark corner I looked at, there was no doubt in my mind that I was alone. Unless …

Heart pounding wildly inside my chest, I lift my head to regard the ceiling and dread settles within my stomach when I realized that I still didn't see anyone. Was I completely losing my mind? I know I'd heard someone else's voice, rich and smooth in its taunting lilt, but where was he?

“You're not too bright are you?”

Whipping around, my breath caught in my throat when I found the mysterious man casually lounging across the Buddha's shoulder like some sort of deranged parrot. But maybe calling him a man would be incorrect, as the ears standing upright out of his mess of dark hair and the multiple tails sprouting out of his backside would seem to imply. Perhaps more alarming was the unnatural red of his eyes and I felt my pulse flat line for a split second. It was obvious what I was looking at, the extra furry appendages were a dead give away, but now that I'd found what I was looking for I just couldn't seem to comprehend it. Was this really an evil spirit – and a powerful fox demon at that? He just looked like an overly dramatic cosplayer for crying out loud!

A tense moment of silence claimed the room as I stared at him in outright shock and, scoffing at my reaction, he shook his head. “How do you expect to find any ghosts if you're too stupid to even hold onto your camera? Isn't that what you came here for?”

I involuntarily jerked at the bark in his voice and darted my gaze down at the floor, only giving myself a brief moment to consider my next move. Diving onto the ground, my trembling hands fumbled with the fallen piece of technology which I nearly dropped in my sweat slicked haste before pointing it up at the statue. My finger was already wildly mashing the button and the sound of the shutter seemed incredibly loud inside the ancient building but, much to my surprise, he was no longer there. A cold sweat erupted across my skin as I wildly searched for him, twisting my head this way and that.

“W-where are you?” I demanded, standing upright and cursing myself for the falter in my voice. This couldn't be happening, dammit!

The sharp pinprick of claws suddenly danced across my jaw, as if materializing right out of thin air, and my heart leaped up into my throat with a start. I barely dared to breathe let alone move as the elegant hand traced an almost loving line across my neck before long fingers curled underneath my chin. Tilting my head back at a vulnerable angle, he set his sights just a pinch lower and the sensation of him squeezing my throat in a barely concealed threat made me gasp. It was only then that I felt his body press up behind me out of the darkness with a soft, barely there flutter of his robes.

“Don't worry,” He purred as he nuzzled the side of my head in some fallacious show of affection. “I'm not going anywhere until I've had my fun with you.”

A shudder raced down my spine, lighting every nerve on fire, but I forced myself to remain still. I had a sneaking suspicion that those talons of his were real and I didn't want to think about how easily he could tear my throat out with them. “What do you mean?” I asked in a quiet voice.

Humming almost thoughtfully, the kitsune pressed even closer so I could feel the hard weight of his body molding over mine before he delivered a punishing nip to the outer shell of my ear. I yelped in response, heat rushing to my face, but he merely laughed and almost casually docked his chin over my shoulder.

“I just think that this could end up being mutually beneficial for the both of us. After all, its not every day that such a cute ghost hunter wanders into my home.”

He lived here? In this dilapidated shrine?

Brows furrowing, I mentally chastised myself for focusing on the wrong things and took a breath with every intention of telling him exactly where he could shove that offer. But then his hand on my neck took an abrupt turn south, grabbing my breast in a tight grip, and all that came out was a startled mewl. I jumped in surprise and dropped my camera so I could snatch at his wrist but the unmistakable strength in just his forearm gave me pause. There was no longer any doubt in my mind concerning what this man was and I found it surprisingly difficult to comprehend that.

“What do you say? If you have some fun with me, I'll let you take as many pictures as you want. I'll even pose for you if you'd like.” He said, the sultry tone in his words sending an unexpected wave of heat crashing down to pool within the pit of my stomach.

Despite my trepidation regarding the entire situation, I couldn't seem to deny the way my body was reacting to him and apparently he noticed it as well. With a breathy little laugh, he started to grope me through my shirt with an undisguised confidence that left me a little weak in the knees. Something in the back of my mind, something primal, was screaming at me to give in to his desires but I somehow managed to retain just enough wherewithal to keep my wits about me. I was wary and I didn't hide that in my body language or in my tone.

“Do I have a choice?” I asked with evident suspicion.

“Of course.” He breathed against my neck. “I'm not some vulgar oni who would take you against your will. You can say no, but you won't get any photographs.”

My fingers tightened around his wrist in a fruitless attempt to ground myself. I was falling under his spell faster than I could register and my reservations were slipping away just as quickly. “You won't kill me? Or maim me? Just sex?”

His body shook against mine with laughter as he abandoned my breast in favor of curling his fingers under my chin again, dragging my powerless hand along for the ride. “I wont hurt you. Not like that,” He assured me, almost sickeningly sweet and it sounded wrong in his deep voice. “But I can't promise that by the end of this you won't be a desperate little cock slut. You've never experienced anything like what I have to give and I can't deny that I've broken a few girls in my time. Mentally, that is.”

The dangerous whisper of his last few words left me trembling in his arms and I was entirely complacent when he turned my head to look back at him over my shoulder. Mischievous crimson eyes found mine, practically boring into my very soul, and I inadvertently found myself melting against him. I wanted – needed that dark promise he was offering me and I wordlessly nodded my head as if in a stupor.

A menacing smirk curled his lips, stretching from almost ear to ear and showing off a gleaming glint of razor sharp teeth. My pulse pounded wildly as he slowly turned me around to face him, giving me ample opportunity to change my mind. I didn't want to though. I knew that without a doubt when both of his hands settled on my shoulders. Maybe it was a trick, some sort of kitsune magic that he was using to alter my perception of reality, but in that moment I honestly did not care. Even if it was only a small taste, I craved the sweet oblivion of release that he was offering me.

“Have you ever worshiped a god before?” He asked me lightly, almost casually, and when I shook my head he snickered with fiendish delight. His fingers tightened on my shoulders, exerting just enough pressure to drop me down onto my knees without resistance. “Then allow me to demonstrate, and do pay attention. I have a feeling that this wont be the only time you'll need this particular set of skills.”

Confusion danced through my mind for a mere second but that all vanished without a trace when he reached up to shrug out of his black cloak. The multitude of tails protruding out of his backside twitched and bristled as he threw the garment onto the floor carelessly, looking for all the world like palms swaying in the wind. The milky white flesh of his shoulders seemed to glow in the dim light and the jet black color of his clothes only accentuated his translucent pallor. I stared at him from my spot on the floor, completely transfixed by his ethereal beauty which was not at all diminished by the aura of danger radiating off of him. The paradox was almost sensual in its own way and I gulped dryly when he reached to undo the sash around his waist.

“We'll start with the basics.” He said conversationally and the sadistic amusement of his expression was not lost on me.

I couldn't bring myself to really care though and when the obi came away entirely, allowing his pants to slide down around his thighs in a rumpled mess, I leaned forward eagerly. His cock was mostly soft but a faint twitch from the hardening organ told me without words that he was looking forward to this just as much as I suddenly was. Scooting closer, I practically thrummed with excitement and my tongue darted out to wet my lips as I braced my hands on the floorboards. My eyes were dilated and trained on his genitals with a laser precision and he didn't seem to miss that as he snickered in amusement.

“Good girl,” He said on a slow exhale, the anticipation in his voice ringing inside my ears. “Now show me what you're capable of.”

That was all the prompting I needed and I swooped in to catch the head between my lips. He twitched inside my mouth, growing just that little bit more firm as I suckled on the tip and the salty taste of precum nearly drove me right over the edge into madness. Hastily worrying the meat of his foreskin with my teeth, I tried to suck yet more of that delicious fluid out of him and I opened my mouth wide to gulp down the rest of him when none was forthcoming. My thoughts were consumed with white noise as I hungrily slobbered all over his cock until it was standing to full attention against my tongue. Electricity consumed my core, setting everything ablaze, when I realized just how thick it was now that he'd grown completely erect and I came up off him with a flustered gasp.

I immediately ducked down and latched my lips around his ballsack, greedily sucking his testes and swirling them with my tongue. A pleased sound filtered through the air as his hand found the top of my head, sharp nails scraping against my scalp in a deceptively soothing touch. I didn't need his encouragement though and I brought my hands up to brace against his meaty legs as I released his balls with an audible pop. Tilting my head back at an almost uncomfortable angle, I pressed my face up into the space between his thighs so I could lap voraciously at his taint before stretching my tongue out to tease his asshole.

The demon tensed slightly in response but he immediately shifted his feet further apart, spreading his legs for me so I could really get up in there. A desperate groan rolled off my tongue as I shoved my mouth up against him and his balls pressed heavy against my nose, threatening to suffocate me with their silky soft weight. I took a gasping breath and flicked my tongue over the tight ring of muscle again, circling it with a taunting slowness before giving it a good suck.

“My, my, you're even more eager than I'd given you credit for.” He groaned as he titled his pelvis so that he was practically sitting on my face, his hand shoving me up against his ass a little tighter. “I wasn't expecting such a perverted little thing to wander into my clutches of her own free will. How does that taste?”

When I tried to answer him, all that came out was some muffled sounds and he gave my head a jostle to further prompt me. I tried again but it was no use with his thighs smothering me and the coppery taste of his asshole overwhelming my tongue. Realizing that it was useless in this position, he pulled me back with a grunt and fisted my hair in a tight grip so he could give me a demanding jerk.

“Well?”

“Good!” I blurted out, gasping in the fresh air as I stared blearily up at his face. “It tastes good, sir!”

Expression twisting up in vicious glee, he brought his free hand down to caress my cheek in a mockingly sweet gesture which I found myself gratefully leaning into. “I'm so glad to hear that, my pet. Since you're doing so well, I'll tell you my name but you have to promise that you wont stop screaming it until your throat is raw. Deal ~?”

I quickly nodded at that, squirming against the overwhelming liquid desire drenching my cunt. “I will! I promise!”

He laughed cruelly at my eager response before standing upright, slowly releasing me so that his fingers tangled and knotted my hair as they slid through it. “Excellent. Then you may call me 'Ichimatsu-sama' to your hearts content. Now turn around and present yourself to me.”

My mind stuttered over itself for a brief moment while I tried to figure out what he wanted me to do but then the demon lifted a single finger to draw a lazy circle in the air, and I immediately understood. Practically tripping over myself in my haste, I spun around so that my back was to him and jerkily yanked my pants down around my knees before fumbling with my shirt. I only managed to get the top and my bra bunched up under my chin when the need became too great to bear any longer and I left it like that, dropping down into a prone position on the floorboards. My chest pressed flush against the grimy wood, I bent my legs and arched my back so that I was completely exposed to his devious gaze and I immediately caught the sound of a bemused chuckle over the pounding blood in my ears.

“What a perfect little pussy you have,” He murmured seconds before I felt a single clawed finger trace a taunting path down the length of my slit. Breath catching, I went ramrod stiff as anticipation rocked me down to the very core and I jutted my ass up a little higher in response. “And look at how wet you already are. Are you really enjoy this that much?”

“Yes, Ichimatsu-sama! I am!” Very nearly wailing, I started to squirm in desperation. All I could think about was that thick cock of his breaking me in half and I could hardly stand the wait any longer. If he didn't follow through on his earlier promise soon I was going to lose my mind.

The sound of rustling caught my attention and I jumped when he reached out to take two big handfuls of my ass, kneading it for a moment before spreading me wide. A needy moan tore out of my throat as I squirmed towards him, blindly seeking out the delicious friction I so badly needed at that moment. Ichimatsu snickered, apparently quite amused with this turn of events, and I felt him lean closer to nuzzle my slick labia with his nose. A short moment later, his tongue flicked out to worm its way between my folds and draw tight circles around my clit, making me jerk at the sensation, but it wasn't enough. Something like that could never be enough.

“Please!” I cried out, practically sobbing as I dug my nails into the floor. “Please, Ichimatsu-sama! I can't! I need it right now – I need you!”

Suddenly sounding incredibly tense, he groaned against me and rose up to finally position himself. I felt delirious with relief as I braced myself, spreading my knees a little further apart to give him better access and the first push against my entrance made me choke in overwhelming need. Ichimatsu seemed intent on drawing this out for as long as possible though and he took his time swiping the head up and down along my slit, pausing just long enough to tease my twitching hole before aiming a little lower and applying an exquisite amount of pressure to my clitoris. I could barely see straight let alone think clearly while he drew my aching need to the very breaking point and when, at last, he started to slowly slide up into me I had to blink away the grateful tears.

“O-oh, god!”

The intense burn of his cock spreading me wide left me shaking like a leaf as he worked his way inside one excruciating inch at a time. I could barely breathe by the time he bottomed out inside of me, settling for a short moment so my straining walls could accommodate the unexpected girth. Ichimatsu leaned over me then, draping his body over mine so that his clawed hands were planted firmly on either side of my head and the pressure from this position made me writhe under him. A dark, throaty chuckle shifted my hair as he dipped his mouth close to my ear and traced a taunting path over the cartilage with his tongue.

“I already told you my name,” He whispered hotly and I groaned when his cock twitched inside me with a quick flex of muscle. “Don't forget to use it, unless you want to irritate me that is.”

I nodded numbly as my body clenched down around him and a soft, keening moan rolled off my tongue. Snickering, Ichimatsu arched his pelvis away from me so he could pull out until just the tip remained sitting heavy within my body. I felt him tense above me, the muscles in his arms straining against the skin as he readied himself to slam back in, and all I could manage was a trembling inhale before he brutally sheathed himself right down to the hilt. A strangled grunt forced its way up my throat and for a split second all I could see was stars while my body heaved at the rough intrusion. But he was apparently done with the slow and steady technique before it had even begun, wildly thrusting at a breakneck pace that jostled me. My wailing voice rose in the air to join the deafening sound of skin slapping skin as he pounded me with wild abandon, grunting softly from the effort.

“Come on. Say it.” He said between thrusts, punctuating his words with a particularly hard snap of his hips. “Say my name. Let me hear you, little human. Tell me how good it feels!”

“Uwaa – aah! I-it feels … nngh, aah-amazing, Ichimatsu-sama! Thank you!”

Breathless, chortling laughter filtered down from above to reverberate inside my ears. I was so lost in the moment, screaming out meaningless gibberish while he continued to mercilessly ram his cock into my pussy, that at first I didn't even notice a tickling sensation on my thigh. I couldn't ignore it any longer when it became more demanding and I realized it was the soft fur of one of his tails brushing over my hip. It was such a drastically different feeling compared to the rough fucking he was giving me that I squirmed, trying to escape it, but he was relentless. The fluffy appendage snaked its way up the length of my body and wiggled itself under my breast where it traced feather light touches around my areola. I gasped in shock at the strangely delicate gesture and arched against the floor, nearly snapping my back in half from how hard I was rutting up into him.

“Hiii- Ichimatsu-sama!”

“Keep going,” He groaned when I clenched tight around his cock and he immediately doubled down on his efforts. “Don't even think about finishing before me! You'll get your reward soon enough!”

Choking in ecstasy, my fingers scrabbled uselessly against the wood floorboards but he just kept going. Over and over again, his dick slammed down right to the base and I could feel the quickly mounting pleasure becoming unbearable. I was vaguely aware of hot drool dribbling down my chin to splatter on the ground but I didn't care. I was far too lost within the euphoric daze of ecstasy to even wipe it away and it was almost too much for my body to handle. He was going to completely ruin me at this rate and somehow I just didn't see a problem with that.

“I … I -aaah! I'm gonna' cuuuum!”

“No you're not!” Ichimatsu snarled, suddenly viciously aggressive as he shoved his face against the side of my neck to take a warning nip at my pulse. My eyes widened in blind surprise and I shook when my impending orgasm inched even closer to the edge, threatening to shove me over at any given second.

Biting my lip, I tried to focus my mind on stopping the inevitable even though I knew it was a fight I'd lose soon enough. But I was determined to ride this out to the very end and I squeezed my contracting muscles in a last ditch effort to stave it off, desperately gasping at the effort. Then, as if out of nowhere, something decidedly bulbous slammed into my pussy from behind and I cried out as it forced its way inside of me. Ichimatsu didn't so much as pause though and, if I wasn't imagining things, he seemed to actually put more force into his thrusts so that he was slamming into me with all of his body weight. The force rocked both of us and on some level I realized that he was forcing that swelling muscle into me despite my body groaning in protest and trying to keep it out.

“Wah-what … I-Ichima – aaah!”

The demon snorted in amusement and pressed the flat of his tongue against my cheek, swiping a sizzling hot line up to my brow in a taunting manner. “Heh. Are you surprised? I am a fox, you know?”

I stammered helplessly underneath him, completely at his mercy while Ichimatsu continued to shove that pulsating knot into my aching cunt regardless of how big it seemed to grow. And it felt massive from my perspective, threatening to rip me right in two but it toed the line between pleasure and pain so well that I found myself screaming out for more. My brain was quickly shutting down and the only thing I could focus on was the overwhelming heat of my squelching pussy as he plunged into it relentlessly.

Suddenly gasping on a stuttering inhale, Ichimatsu let out a wild, animalistic snarl and rammed into me so hard that I collapsed against the floor with a helpless squawk. He immediately fell on top of me not even a second later and the force of his weight was the last push he needed to squeeze his pounding knot into my cunt, effectively locking us together for the foreseeable future. White hot flames erupted throughout every single nerve ending as it settled inside of me and all the hair on my body stood on end when it shoved up against my g-spot so tightly that my heart skipped a beat. I managed to drag in one final, haggard breath that shifted the tight bundle of nerves just right and a hoarse scream erupted from my mouth as an uncontrollable orgasm rocked me. I twitched and writhed below him, wildly crying out in pleasure, but every little movement just made that burning hot knot press up into me even harder. It was practically milking me as one orgasm bled seamlessly into the next, my muscles contracting frantically around Ichimatsu's thick cock. The sensation of him spilling wave after wave of semen against my cervix only helped draw it out even longer and my eyes rolled back into my head in pure, unadulterated ecstasy.

It seemed like many minutes had passed before the endless shock waves finally started to ebb into something less mind numbing but I was too far gone to notice. He shifted above me, the action rubbing his pulsating cock against my g-spot once again, and I devolved into a fresh spasm of wild twitching on the floor. My pussy had never felt so incredibly stuffed in all my life and the only thing keeping the copious amounts of semen inside was that knot plugging me up. Which, I guessed was sort of the point, but it felt like I would burst at any given second and I groaned weakly in response.

“Well?” Ichimatsu gently prodded, lifting his hand to pat my hair in an almost demeaning manner. “How was that? Think it was worth holding out for?”

Slowly nodding, I sucked in a shuddering breath only to wince when it almost threw me into another convulsing orgasm. I couldn't seem to find my voice but I was certain it would be raspy and unintelligible anyway so I merely left it at that, growing still under him once again. Ichimatsu clicked his tongue in response and settled against my back with his chin tucked over my head.

“You know,” He said slowly, almost thoughtfully. “It'll be dark out if you don't recover soon and you'll never be able to find your way back down the mountain. You're welcome to stay the night with me if you'd like -”

“Yes.” I croaked, surprising both of us.

I hesitated before continuing, trying in vain to clear my throat while I reconsidered this decision. There was no going back though, I already knew that. I'd tasted some forbidden fruit, a taboo indulgence that I'd certainly never forget, and everything else would only pale in comparison. I'd made a mistake by agreeing to this but it was too late to think about that now. I just knew without a doubt that nothing could ever come close to bringing me the amount of pleasure he had and I was resigned to that fate. It was the only option, really.

So, with a weak smile, I turned to glance at him over my shoulder and his ears swiveled forward with undisguised interested. “Please, Ichimatsu-sama … won't you fuck me again?”

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antoine-roquentin · 6 years ago

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In November, Gorsuch delivered the keynote address at the Federalist Society’s annual black-tie dinner, which took place in Washington’s Union Station. Among the conservative VIPs in attendance were Jeff Sessions and Scott Pruitt, Republican senators Ben Sasse and John Cornyn — who would later have Gorsuch to his home for dinner — and Justice Alito. Gorsuch warmed up the room, like a hype man for himself. “Tonight I can report: A person can be both a publicly committed originalist and textualist and be confirmed to the Supreme Court!” And: “Originalism has regained its place, and textualism has triumphed, and neither is going anywhere on my watch!”

Gorsuch was right to note the remarkable rise of these ideas since the Federalist Society’s founding in 1982. Robert Bork, a famously disastrous Supreme Court nominee, was laughed out of his confirmation hearing in 1987 for suggesting the Constitution should be read as it was in the 1780s. Thirty years later, there’s nothing more basic than a conservative judge who swears by the original intent of the Framers. According to one study, the incidence of the word originalism in law-review articles has risen from 15 between 1980 and 1984 to 2,351 between 2010 and 2014.

And yet, Gorsuch complained, his work was still being maligned by liberal elites. He began to call out his haters. “Some pundits have expressed bewilderment that I ask questions at oral argument about the text of our statutes,” he said. “I want to take a poll. I want to know what you think. Should I keep talking about the text and original meaning of the Constitution?” This was like asking Skynyrd fans if they wanted to hear “Free Bird.” A few minutes later, he brought up a critical article from the Harvard Law Review, referring obliquely to “some folks up in Cambridge,” as if he hadn’t once been one of them. “Does anyone else find it curious that daring to ask questions about the status quo is apparently illegitimate, while defending the status quo seems just fine?” Pause for claps. “Oh, well. I think we should just go ahead and ask the questions anyway. Whaddaya say?”

Tonally, the speech seemed a tad … aggressive. “It could have used a little bit of, I don’t know, self-deprecating humor,” says one Federalist Society member who attended. But if the evening felt at times like a campaign rally, that was by design. The point of the Federalist Society is to make room for conservative jurisprudence — and that means, in part, finding ways for right-wing judges to let their hair down. (No transcript of Gorsuch’s speech was made available, but I obtained a recording from someone who attended.) There is a concept known as judicial drift — or “the Greenhouse effect,” after the Times writer. “You get these good conservative justices, they move to D.C., they get on the Court, D.C. is a liberal area, the media is liberal, they want approval, start tempering their conservatism, and drift to the left,” explains Amanda Hollis-Brusky, a Pomona College political scientist. “What the Federalist Society has done has created a competing judicial audience, so these justices and judges don’t need to seek the applause of the liberal, Establishment media.” If they stay true to this constituency, they get celebrated, invited to more conferences. If they go off the reservation, they get roasted. Which helps explain why Roberts fled to Malta for two weeks — “It’s an impregnable fortress island,” he joked — after upholding Obamacare’s individual mandate in 2012.

In the same way that tea-party — and now Trumpian — politics have become indistinguishable from mainstream Republicanism, the Federalist Society has come to occupy the dead center of conservative judicial thought. The paradigm shift started in 2005, when George W. Bush nominated his friend Harriet Miers, the White House counsel, to the Supreme Court. Conservatives had already been burned when Bush’s father nominated the moderate liberal David Souter, who was friendly with the White House chief of staff. The Federalists revolted, Bush pulled the Miers nomination, and he nominated the far-right Alito instead. When it came time to choose Scalia’s successor, no revolt was necessary. “Because of the force of the Federalist Society,” Hollis-Brusky says, “Trump was just taking orders.”

The infrastructure built up by the Federalist Society — and the Heritage Foundation, and the Judicial Crisis Network — is designed not just to breed elite conservative lawyers but elite conservative lawyers in the flame-throwing mold of Scalia. “One of [Scalia’s] functions was to provide a line for the larger conservative community to latch on to both in oral arguments and in opinions,” says University of Baltimore Law School professor Garrett Epps. “He was always very sure to dominate the op-eds with something and go way over the edge.” While his caustic dissents alienated colleagues — and may have undermined his own influence on the Court — they became, over time, a canonical body of work around which the conservative legal movement would rally. Among the conservative justices, Roberts and Kennedy now occupy the ideological center of the Court; Thomas and Alito, while reliably right wing, aren’t rock stars. That leaves Gorsuch — and Gorsuch knows it.

A few weeks before his Federalist Society speech, Gorsuch heard a case with major political implications. The justices would rule on the electoral maps Wisconsin Republicans were accused of gerrymandering for partisan gain. Gorsuch’s seat is located on the far side of the Supreme Court bench, next to Sonia Sotomayor’s. It is not a young court, and Gorsuch’s fresh-scrubbed look stands out. Ginsburg is visible mainly from the scrunchie that peeks out over her seat. Thomas reclines at impossibly low angles and often appears unconscious. Gorsuch, eyes wide, hair gelled, has the bearing of a man who sleeps well at night.

Toward the end of the case, Gorsuch jumped in to grill Paul Smith, the lawyer arguing against Wisconsin’s maps, implying the Court had little business getting involved at all. “Maybe we can just for a second talk about the arcane matter of the Constitution,” he tut-tutted. “Where exactly do we get the authority to revise state legislative lines?” A moment later, Ginsburg piped up with a sharp rejoinder: “Where did ‘one person, one vote’ come from?” (Answer: the 14th Amendment.) Gorsuch then tried again. “Do you see any impediment to Congress acting in this area?” he asked Smith. “Other than the fact that politicians are never going to fix gerrymandering?” Smith replied. “They like gerrymandering.” The audience in the gallery cracked up, and Gorsuch stopped talking. “It was ‘Welcome to the NFL, rookie,’ ” says Epps. “My 1Ls could answer that.”

This mirrored an immigration case that took place the day before. “I look at the text of the Constitution — always a good place to start — and the Due Process Clause speaks of the loss of life, liberty, or property,” he intoned. “When the law runs out and the judges cannot say what the law is, they don’t make it up. Right?” And that in turn echoed a moment from his very first oral argument, when he asked a lawyer if they could explore “the plain words of the statute” together. When the lawyer replied that he wasn’t asking the Court to break new ground in interpreting the law in question, Gorsuch interjected, “No, just to continue to make it up.”

Delivering civics lessons from the bench has turned out to be Gorsuch’s signature move. “He showed up and started speaking a lot at arguments and, quite frankly, said a number of condescending and stupid things to his colleagues,” says a recent Supreme Court clerk. Compared to Scalia, who terrorized lawyers during oral arguments, Gorsuch is mild. But if Scalia’s defining trait was snark, Gorsuch’s might be smarm. Take his habit of asking lawyers to “help” him with some aspect of a case he evidently finds obvious. He’s done this in 15 different cases.

Behind the shtick, Gorsuch is performing a conservative virtue signal. In his 2016 paean to Scalia, Gorsuch called for judges “to apply the law as it is,” not to decide cases based on “moral convictions” or “policy consequences.” In theory, this gets to the heart of his predecessor’s narrow jurisprudence. In practice, it can be difficult to argue, credibly, that the answer to every single Court case is obvious from the words of a statute, or the Constitution, or the thesaurus, or whatever. Gorsuch doesn’t have Scalia’s dexterity. “It’s almost like a kid trying on his dad’s suit, and it’s just too big for him,” says David Lat, the founder of the legal website Above the Law. Or as Rick Hasen, a professor at UC Irvine’s law school, puts it, “He’s Scalia without the spontaneous wit and charm.”

The textualist monomania seems to grate especially on Ginsburg, who was famously close with Scalia. In January, after a Gorsuch dissent called out the “absurdities” of her reasoning in an otherwise deadly case about legal filing deadlines, she cheekily responded in a footnote, writing that Gorsuch’s tendentious reading of the case “conjures up absurdities” of its own. In April, she wrote a terse one-paragraph dissent critiquing Gorsuch’s “wooden” reading of a law, and in her blistering dissent in May’s big workers-rights case, she called his opinion “egregiously wrong,” invoking the infamous 1905 anti-labor decision Lochner v. New York.

The pro-Gorsuch crowd thinks the anti-Gorsuch crowd is being hysterical. “He seems to trigger a very intense reaction on the left,” says National Review legal writer Ed Whelan. “I don’t think it’s easily explicable by objective fact. Our president can disrupt and derange people in a lot of ways. I think a lot of people are deflecting their hostility toward Trump onto Gorsuch.”

Perhaps. But talk of intra-Court feuding doesn’t seem outlandish. Last fall, veteran CNN Court correspondent Joan Biskupic reported on an emerging rift between Roberts and Gorsuch. Later, NPR’s Totenberg said it was Justice Elena Kagan who was taking Gorsuch to task in the justices’ twice-weekly conferences. “With Elena Kagan and the chief justice, you have this sense that they’re playing the long game,” says Amy Howe, a Supreme Court beat reporter who publishes on Scotusblog. Both dissent less frequently than their colleagues and strive behind the scenes for consensus.

And yet the Court has published opinions this term at a historically sluggish pace. Some speculate that’s because Kennedy is flagging and will soon retire. But it might also be because an intransigent Gorsuch is gumming up the works. Like a gunner in a 1L lecture hall, Gorsuch strives to make himself heard. In his first 30 cases, Gorsuch dissented six times; Roberts, by comparison, dissented once. (“Media speculation suggesting Justice Gorsuch isn’t getting along with his colleagues is ridiculous,” says Jamil Jaffer, who clerked for Gorsuch last term. “Of course, the justices are going to disagree on the law, but it never gets personal.”)

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goteamanalysis · 7 years ago

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Hello, Could you please do an analysis of Kurosaki Makoto? Thanks ^w^

Canon Information for this Character

To recruit him you must have:-In Inazuma Eleven GO–Item: Nekketsu Coach no Oshie–3 players: Amase from his team along with two kids from unknown schools Nasu and Hikoushi

-In Inazuma Eleven GO Chrono Stone–Topic: Round Table handed down (found in Arthur’s Castle)–Record: Keshin Family (use Keshin 100 times)–Item: Holy Road Directory (get from a battle at the Holy Road parking lot)–You must meet Kurosaki! (at the Holy Road parking lot)

Game Description:-Japan: “The footballer with the perfect emotional strength and body technique. He’s exactly "a heaven-sent child of god of soccer”.“-Europe: "A perfect football player in mind, body and technique. Truly blessed.”

Additional Info:

-He is a SEED and a 2nd year.

-He can use Bakunetsu Storm

Popular Fan ThoriesIt is speculated that Ishido, himself, taught Kurosaki how to use his Keshin and Bakunetsu Storm.

Incidentally, his trainer Saginuma Osamu can also learn Ballista Shot, but it’s unclear if this intentionally implies Kurosaki learned the move from him.

He bears similarities to Aphrodi in being based off a God and being a tall, effeminate final boss character.

AppearanceHe is consistently associated with Gods/Titans, as is his entire team. This can be related to how ethereal his design is: having very fair skin, slanted pretty eyes, and thick lashes. His hair is also very long and portrayed as soft and flowing. He is extremely petite and is described as having a “very feminine and delicate” design. A notable characteristic is the white headband he wears, it most likely functions as a sweat band (a type of headband designs to soak up sweat when practicing or playing sports that is later removed and washed).

His nose is lower and given more definition on his face. This is supposed to make him look mature and like his features are starting to fill out more. The visual effect of this tactic makes him feel like a bigger opponent for Raimon bc he seems like he would be older than them, therefore more experienced and more powerful.

Following that, in Japan ‘hana ga takai’ (lit. nose is long) is a compliment given to people with prominent noses, which implies something along the lines of ‘noble nose’ or ‘stylish nose’. Most Japanese naturally have “low noses” (low at the nasal bridge) and may feel that this is an ‘unstylish’ feature.

His shoulders are small but his chest is wide, making his small waist seem to take a dip inward. His lower half seems to be even to the width of his chest, making him seem more even in shape. This is also to exemplify him (visually) as a well-balanced (therefore stronger) opponent.

Name MeaningHis given name “Makoto” means true, pure or just, which could allude to him being a truly perfect soccer player ‘in mind, body and spirit’.

PersonalityHe speaks very formally and is generally very polite.

The amount of other players that you have to recruit before him could be implications of him being a very social person who likes to be surrounded by friends/comrades.

The topic of the Round Table is needed to recruit him in Chrono Stone which implies an interest he has in Romance or even his qualifications to be a knight during the King Aurthur arc of the series.

He is described as having “perfect emotion strength” which could hint to him being very strong willed and level headed.

He is a great sportsman, being focused and enthusiastic about playing in the finals regardless of the scores. He also faces Tenma before the match and is very respectful despite the revolution and what Tenma is fighting for.

Popular Tropes Associated with this CharacterPure Is Not Good: In Japanese Media, this trope is likely rooted in the philosophical concept of “Makoto”, which loosely means "pure (heart/mind/soul/motives)”. It basically means a mind free of distractions, unnecessary thoughts, doubts, or fallacies and is mostly used in context of hard work, loyalty, determination, and intense emotion. “Makoto”, while considered a “good” thing, is not limited to good intentions. Their dedication is “pure”; their goals, not so much.

This trope is solely for “pure of heart” where purity does not necessarily denote goodness.

#Kurosaki Makoto #Character Analysis #Inazuma Eleven GO #Mod Yoza #Mod Araceli #eterna09

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gabriel-gabdiel · 4 years ago

Text

【Draft】 Keit-AI! Tomoyuki x Seiko Chapter 22: The Dream Is Dead

Don’t let your dreams be dreams. DO IT!

The rest of the chapters of my original story based on a plot from 4chan are available here. Enjoy.

"You're doing what to impress Seiko?" asked AU Seiko Okamoto over the phone, the strength of her disbelief and incredulity able to travel across dimensions through the volume of her voice. "I mean, the other me?"

Tomoyuki Yamamoto couldn't believe that he revealed what he'd been up to so soon.

Especially after he kept his other plan—ruining Kazuhito Sugata's harem to force a resolution between the "Will they? Won't they?" relationship status between him and his universe's Seiko Okamoto—a secret from her.

But this time this was different. He had to tell her this. Because it was kind of her "fault" why he had to do this in the first place.

Her careless kindness struck his heart almost as hard as when he first fell in love with her other self, when she rescued him from his own bullies.

He tried explaining himself again. "I joined the Literature Club so that I can be more... creative. I want a creative outlet, Amazon Queen."

Dammit. Why was it that he couldn't convey into words what he was thinking?

"B-But what about your job at the convenience store?"

"It's not like I'm the manager or anything. I'm just a clerk. I can manage my time just fine even with after-school club activities."

"I... I didn't realize you were a writer, Cherry Boy," said the Amazon Queen quietly. "Well? Was the other me impressed at least?"

He shrugged even though Seiko couldn't see him do so over the phone. "She's still treating me like normal. She even congratulated me."

Seiko's treatment of him was certainly a nice change of pace from all the teasing he got from her because of Akira's recently exposed catfishing shenanigans.

"W-Wait, why would you even need to impress me? Also, how is that supposed to impress me? I mean, the other me!" said AU Seiko, which puzzled Tomoyuki himself. Why did she seem upset by all this?

Clearing his throat, he continued. "...I want to keep up with you," he said, practically repeating what he said to Megumi Minagata, the childhood friend of Seiko Okamoto and Kazuhito Sugata.

"...Are you an idiot?" she finally said after a minute of silence.

"HEY! Who are you calling an idiot? BAKA! (STUPID!)" he almost yelped in defense of himself, confused by the Amazon Queen's reaction.

What was going on? Why couldn't she understand him and why he was doing this?

"H-Hey, watch your... mouth, AU Cherry Boy!" she said, grasping for words like she'd grasp for flotsam from being swept up the rapids of her own turmoil. "I'm not picking a fight here!"

"Well, neither am I! But you called me an idiot first!" was the Cherry Boy's petulant response.

"Look, I called to thank you for helping me deal with both my Cherry Boy and Miku-chan. Again. As usual. I-I... only wanted to help you get AU Me the way you helped me with my Miku-chan. B-But... now you don't even seem to care about wooing the other me! Have you already given up on me? I mean, O-Okamoto S-Seiko? Jeez, that felt weird to say."

"I-It's not that... Y-You don't understand," he said, deflating like a balloon with a prolonged sigh. Lowering his guard down. "I'm doing this for me but I'm doing this for you too. I mean, for S-Seiko... Okamoto. For her too. You know what I mean."

She sighed long and hard herself. "No, Cherry Boy. No, I don't."

Why couldn't she understand that she was out of his league and that he didn't deserve her?

That he needed to be within her league or at least reaching towards it to feel confident about wooing her?

Or at least the other her that he could actually reach?

***

Keit-AI! Tomoyuki x Seiko

An Anime-Inspired Original Story from 4chan's /a/ Board by Abdiel

Original Idea by Hataki.

The other shoe drops.

Disclaimer: This work may reference copyrighted material, the use of which has not always been specifically authorized by the copyright owner. It is believed that this constitutes a fair use of any such copyrighted material as provided for in section 107 of the US Copyright Law. All copyrighted material referred to in this work belongs to their respective owners. All rights reserved.

***

Chapter 22: The Dream Is Dead

***

Back at the Maehara High cafeteria...

Class 2C Representative Aya Fubuki continued what felt like a police interrogation to Tomoyuki's ears.

"Why did you join the Literature Club?" she asked.

"Er... why do you ask?" he said in return.

"It'd be a shame if all that progress you made with Seiko-chan were to end up wasted because you were too busy with your li'l club and all." Aya smirked with half-lidded eyes, sipping daintily on her drink. "Consider me your devil's advocate."

'I consider you Satan herself! Ugh. Why is everyone nipping at my heels about wooing Seiko-chan? They should mind their own business. Even AU Seiko-chan,' Yamamoto thought with an inward scowl hidden behind a forced smile.

Did the 2C Class Rep still have a chip on her shoulder over the infamous Cherry Boy because of the bad first impression she got from him?

'First AU Seiko, now Fubuki. Yet just literally last year, people were also making fun of me for being too desperate in getting a girlfriend and being too clingy towards girls. Jeez, make up your damn minds!'

Deep down, a voice inside the Cherry Boy asked, 'Did you give up on wooing Okamoto Seiko after seeing how much in love with Sugata Kazuhito she is, like Fubuki is implying?'

The name of that voice? Insecurity.

He nonetheless answered both his insecurity and Aya,

"It's not a li'l club and I didn't join it for shits and giggles. I love movies. I also love writing and reading stories. Or watching them on the big screen. I kind of want to write one of my own, if I could. You know, because it's my dream to do so."

"And he's actually pretty good at writing too. Even our club advisor is impressed by his works," said Miku Machida in his defense.

Tomoyuki was half-flattered but also half-unsure of the sincerity of the praise. Not because Miku was a dishonest person but instead because she was probably just being nice. Nice to a fault, perhaps.

Her niceness was what led him to also chase after her during their first year, only for him to get friendzoned hard by her.

Lesson learned. A nice girl wasn't just nice to a particular boy because she liked him. She was nice to him because she was nice to everyone.

"Come to think of it, isn't the Literature Club supposed to be a book club where you just read books all day? Like it's the Library Club or something?" asked Yukari Goto with a finger on her lip and a head tilt to the side.

"W-ell, technically we are, but ever since Miss Kitamura became our club advisor, we started making essays and creative writing projects too," Machida explained.

"Oh, is that so?" said Yukari, who now had her arms spread like a restless child mimicking an airplane's wingspan, her body tilting from side to side.

'What the hell is this goofball doing?' thought Tomoyuki as he just stared at Goto.

"Why don't you write a love story about Seiko-chan then, Yamamoto-kun? Or maybe even dedicate a poem? Make good use of your talents," Aya kept pressing the issue. "Actually, it seems like you've been avoiding her more and more lately. Would you rather spend time with Miku-chan instead? If you chase two rabbits you'll lose them both."

"W-What are you saying, Aya-chan?" stuttered the glasses-wearing class rep. She probably still remembered the Cherry Boy's embarrassing fake love confession to her that he did in order to help Fubuki save face from her own failed love confession to Kazuhito.

Come to think of it, he kind of was avoiding Seiko though. He still couldn't look her in the eye after they were both photographed by Akira in such a compromising, suggestive position. In a love hotel of all places, at that.

There was also the time when the Amazon Queen acted angry (perhaps jealous?) when she heard the recording of his fake confession to Miku. Also recently, Okamoto told him that he always found a way to say the right things to her.

The last one made his pulse quicken and cheeks flush red in remembrance.

He then told himself to not be presumptuous about Okamoto's reaction the same way he used to overthink Machida's embarrassed reactions towards him, when in fact the mousy nerd was merely being either friendly with him of scared of him and his desperation for a girlfriend.

Nevertheless, he countered, "I don't want to be clingy around Okamoto. I learned my lesson the last time."

Fubuki chuckled, crossed her arms, and smirked. "You're not just using this club thing as an excuse to run away from her, are you? You coward. She intimidated you so bad back in that Sports Fest volleyball tournament that you don't feel worthy of being in her presence. Am I right?"

She actually hit the nail right on the head. No that he'd ever admit it to her face.

"Well, thank you for filling me in on my intentions, Fubuki!" he answered, standing... or rather, sitting... his ground. "Besides, I don't want to be called her stalker or anything by overstaying my welcome when I'm around her. You should know what that's like, right?"

'Or maybe it's much harder winning over a version of Seiko-chan that isn't already in love with you? Or rather, another version of you!' his own insecurity further needled. Like a pinprick to his heart.

"Hey," Aya's brows furrowed, grabbing the edges of the table and looking like she was about to rise from her seat. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Hey, you two! Don't fight!" said Yukari with her hands raised up in seeming surrender. "You just made up recently so don't ruin it!"

"WE'RE NOT FIGHTING!" Tomoyuki and Aya chorused in a way that belied their denial.

Fubuki took a deep breath and sighed. "I'm not trying to pick a fight."

Yamamoto himself exhaled, sinking back down on his seat. "Neither am I."

Even after their misunderstanding regarding the rumors of them dating was cleared (he actually dated Aya's brother in disguise, not her), he and Aya still couldn't see eye-to-eye. It must be a personality clash then.

Regardless, he looked Aya in the eye and said, "I'm not running away either. I won't lose this fight the way I helped our class lose the volleyball finals at the sports fest. Understand?"

"Hey, I won an event there!" said Yukari in remembrance. "We were first place in the three-legged race, right? Aya-chan?"

"Fine. If it's really your dream to make movies or write stories or whatever, good on you," Fubuki relented, which made Goto remark, "Oh, I'm being ignored, huh?"

The 2C Class Rep then teased, "A certain little bird told me that you're much more romantic that people give you credit for, so I expected more from you when it came to Seiko-chan. I hear you're quite the gentleman when you try your hardest. You do your research and try to learn more about a woman's likes and interests even if you yourself have zero interest in those hobbies. You're very dedicated."

"GEH!" Tomoyuki yelped and pointed but the words he intended to say got caught in his throat lest he incriminated himself, his other hand covering his agape mouth.

Aya was talking about her snitch of a crossdressing brother, Akira, wasn't she?

Yamamoto didn't want to reveal or confirm that Akira catfished him to more people. He had no answer to that one.

However, apparently the same Akira had already confessed his crime of catfishing Yamamoto by pretending to be his own big sister to his own big sister! He even told her all the dates they went on! The long talks they had! The embarrassing things he told her, er, him!

'Don't make such a happy face,' he thought, not said, to the giggling Class 2C Rep, whose hand covered her own mouth. 'You're enjoying this too much, Fubuki! You're swaying so much that you might hit the table with your shin, you sadist!'

"Jeez, stop teasing Cherry-kun, Aya-chan!" said Goto with a pout and a wagging finger. "If you keep doing that I'll get mad!"

"Oh, and what will happen when you get mad?" Aya asked with an eyebrow raised. "Will you whip your twin ponytails back and forth and hit my face with it?"

Tomoyuki then thought, 'Oh, so she did that stupid technique before on someone else, huh?'

"Then I'll... I'll... I'll cry!" said Yukari.

"You don't say. Sure you will. And water is wet," remarked Fubuki to the crybaby, nonplussed.

"Actually," began Machida, unable to help herself, "Water isn't wet. Wetness is a description of our experience of water; what happens to us when we come into contact with water in such a way that it impinges on our state of being. We, or our possessions, 'get wet'. Not water."

"...." said everyone.

"...What?" the bespectacled girl asked with a double blink.

"How can water not be wet?!" said Aya. "It's water! It's surrounded by water. Anything that's surrounded by water, even water, is wet! You've been hanging out with Yukari-chan too much, Miku-chan! Next you'll say the sky isn't blue!"

"Not at sunset, dawn, or night. Or when it's rainy. The sky doesn't even have one particular color," pointed out Yukari matter-of-factly.

"Case in point!" said Aya. "You're both insane!"

'What is this conversation even?' thought Yamamoto.

Goto's eyes welled up.

"DON'T ACTUALLY CRY! Jeez," said Aya.

"You're being mean, Aya-chan! Aren't we supposed to be best friends?" said Yukari.

Fubuki raised an eyebrow at Yukari. "Wait, wait, wait. Since when were we ever best friends? Don't decide that on your own!"

"We aren't?" a tearful Goto asked. "B-But you keep fetching me at the front gates of the school! I always keep waiting for you at the same time every day since we're beeest fweeends!"

"You're not supposed to wait for me around that time! You're supposed to get to class on time!" Fubuki scolded, hitting the twin-tailed girl square on the noggin with a karate chop across the table.

"Owie! Aya-chaan! That hurt!" cried the klutz.

"Besides, it's not as if I was waiting for you at the gates every day! I was just doing my job to prevent delinquency in our class like a good iincho (class representative)!"

'What a tsundere,' thought Yamamoto.

***

Well, that was an interesting lunchtime.

Yamamoto walked back to class, leaving behind Machida to chat away with her friends from Class 2C, Fubuki and Goto, about whether water really was wet or whether the sky really was blue.

Seriously, she managed to bring up some good points.

As usual, in the background, he expected shenanigans afoot with the Official Class 2B Couple of Seiko Okamoto and Kazuhito Sugata, bickering about whatever.

With him not any closer to breaking the Golden Pair apart.

"DT-kun! DT-KUN!" he heard Seiko yell. Huh. Must be a new nickname she gave Sugata. They had all sorts of pet names for each other by then. Amazon Queen. Yankee. Furyou (Delinquent). Okama (Effeminate Gay Man).

Actually, the two of them both called each other okama for different reasons. Kazuhito was called that as an insult to his manhood. Seiko was called that to imply she was practically a man in a dress.

They weren't exactly politically correct, after all.

Meanwhile, Tomoyuki's half-baked harem elimination plan had ended up in shambles too. He got assaulted by Sugata himself after doing a fake confession to prevent a real confession by Aya.

He then wasted time with Aya's crossdressing brother that didn't even have anything to do with the harem plan. For selfish, personal reasons.

Maybe he had given up on Seiko by joining the Literature Club after all. Perhaps deep down in his heart, he realized he really didn't deserve Okamoto, as Aya claimed he thought.

Perhaps talking to another version of Okamoto and helping her end up with the other version of himself was as good as it would get for him. At least there was one dimension where the two of them would end up together.

He then felt the world blur around him as something grabbed hold of his collar and jerked him towards the stairs.

The next thing he knew, he was backed into a corner, with Seiko Okamoto of all people having her hand slammed on the same wall, right beside his face, cornering him and keeping him from escaping.

Wow. She was such an ikemen (hunk). Or at least the girl version of such. An Alpha Female.

If the genders were reversed, this situation of theirs would totally look like the cover to a girl's romance manga. Or if both genders were male, then it'd totally look like one of those yaoi (boy's love) manga that Machida read in secret.

"DT-kun! I've been calling you all this time!" said the tall, pony-tailed tomboy that had been running in his mind. "I haven't been seeing you around lately. Something up?"

"D-DT-kun...?" he stuttered. 'Wait, I'm DT-kun?!' he also thought to himself.

"No, no. Not DDT-kun. You're not giving out DDTs like Jake 'The Snake' Roberts, after all! R.I.P. to him, by the way. It's your new nickname! DT-kun!" she explained, which somehow confused him more, thus defeating the purpose of her explanation.

He vaguely remembered AU Seiko also telling him that the front facelock or inverted headlock driver was innovated by a western wrestler from the Eighties. The seeming acronym didn't actually stand for anything specific, but it was named after a pesticide.

"What does DT mean anyway? Dimension Transfer?" he then asked, half-joking and half-bewildered.

"No, no. It's doutei (virgin)!"

He almost face-faulted to the ground after hearing that. "That's just another way of saying Cherry Boy! Amazon Queen no baka (You stupid Amazon Queen)!"

Seiko then burst out laughing, with tears in her eyes. She was in stitches, leaning on the wall and clutching her stomach in laughter.

"You sure are proud of your joke," he said.

"I-It's the best!" she said, wiping the tears at the corners of her eyes.

Oh God, she was so cute.

"Oh, by the way, I wasn't able to give you a gift for your birthday a few weeks ago," said Seiko. "What do you want for your birthday?"

"You already gave me a lunch date," he pointed out.

"We do that every lunch except as of late," she refuted. "That doesn't count."

Agh. Wasn't that the most "Seiko" thing he heard her say or do. Aside from cluelessly handing him the best present he could possibly get in an offhanded manner, of course. Just ask him what he wanted.

He remembered that he gave her the impression that he wanted a date from her for his birthday. Maybe he should cash in that rain check?

No, no. He shouldn't push his luck. He actually hoped she forgot all about it since it sounded skeevy in retrospect. What sort of creep would ask their crush for a date as their birthday gift?

He then figured out what to answer. "Give me something you like."

"Huh. But you're not remotely interested in sports things. What would you want with sneakers or a boxing DVD?" she asked after considering his response for a minute or two.

He smiled and shrugged at her. "I guess, but I want to know more about you and a gift you like will tell me more about you."

Seiko's cheeks flushed before she smacked Tomoyuki upside the head.

"OW! HEY! What was that for?"

"Stop acting so corny, DT-kun! Jeez!" she said, leaving in a huff back to their classroom.

"Fine, I'm corny! But just call me Cherry Boy instead! That's somehow less embarrassing that Doutei-kun!" he called out after her.

"FINE! You're Cherry Boy again!" she called out as she retreated from him with her long ponytail sashaying from behind her, not bothering to look back at him again.

Normally, he'd interpret her reaction as her being mad, but he knew better now. Okamoto actually found his answer charming or even romantic. He got the answer straight from the source, after all.

He already tried out his "pick-up line" on AU Seiko when she herself asked straightforwardly what he wanted for a birthday gift before getting creative about it.

She also told him to stop being so corny but she actually loved it.

Nonetheless, he felt guilty for knowing what to say to her question in advance though. He'd already had a speculative or conjectural discussion with AU Seiko about what she would've done had she not figured out what Tomoyuki wanted for his birthday.

These other-dimensional shenanigans were a bit unfair, really. Like getting the answer key to a test and scoring high not by hard work but by cheating.

"DT-kun, huh?" he murmured to himself before wishing he could smack himself upside the head. 'DT-kun is so much cooler a nickname than Cherry Boy! Most people don't even know what it means till you ask! Why did I tell her to call me Cherry Boy instead? Stupid!'

After dismissal time though, she ended up giving him an MMA DVD collection. It was Fedor Emelianenko's greatest hits, with his fight against Brock Lesnar as the main attraction.

How very "Seiko" of her to do so. Oh, and she said she wasn't sure if her sneakers could fit his feet.

Huh. Maybe AU Seiko would appreciate the video clips he could record from this gift he got.

***

The first few days of working at the Literature Club went great for Tomoyuki. Swimmingly well. No complaints.

It reminded him of the happier days of his youth, before he got into a fight with his junior and got socked in the face by him for his troubles.

Or before he embarrassed himself on stage by crying multiple times as a kid when he was asked to recite a poem or play the role of a tiger for a school play. But never mind his childhood trauma.

Actually, he was like a kid "scenario writer" back in the day.

Whenever he had playmates in school, he would "direct" and make stories with them so that when they played pretend as superheroes, ninjas, samurais, pirates, monsters, or whatever else, they could depend on him to set up some sort of scene.

It was through such things that he got his first pieces of praise, which to an attention-starved, socially awkward kid with few friends was like an oasis in the desert.

Because it was one of the few things he was praised for as a child, he started becoming really interested in making up stories in his head or continuing stories from television shows he watched so that even after it had long concluded, he could have the show continue in his mind.

He'd made and lost friends from writing and making stories or proposing ideas for movies. So much so that when he hit puberty, he abandoned such childish dreams yet longed for a Hollywood-style romance with the way he unrealistically chased and wooed over girls using clichés found in romantic comedies.

Or at least in retrospect, that was what he viewed had happened. He wasn't so self-aware when he got rejected over and over by girls one after the other through his clingy, disgusting ways.

However, once he stopped being the newbie of the class and Miss Kitamura took her kid gloves off and became more critical of his writing, it was when his doubts started to surface.

Little things started to happen that chipped away at his fragile ego. Trivial issues by themselves but they stuck out in his mind all the same.

For example, when making a simple short story about a millionaire playboy falling for an ordinary secretary (something straight out of a romance novel, even), even though he wrote with the correct structure in mind, he still got criticized.

"The story is fine, Yamamoto-kun," Miss Kitamura said, "But isn't it a bit... heavy in the middle? Your pacing needs work. A story, even a short story, should have proper structure. We discussed this in class, remember?"

"But I followed the structure," Yamamoto said. It's Thesis, Antithesis, and Synthesis, right?"

"Whoa. When did I teach you that?" she asked.

"...I-I learned it from the Internet," he admitted. "It's the structure Hollywood movies use. I mean, even foreign literature uses it. It's universal. Isn't it the same for Japan?"

"No, no. It's not supposed to be a three-act structure like in overseas works. Here in Asia, such as Japan, China, and Korea, it's supposed to be Kishotenketsu, or the four-act structure."

'Kishotenketsu?' he thought to himself. If Machida were here with him, she'd joke that it sounded like a special attack in shonen (boy's) manga like Dragon Ball or something. Then she'd explain what it meant.

"Ki is the introduction. Sho is the development. Ten is the twist. Ketsu is the conclusion. It's Kishotenketsu altogether," Miss Kitamura herself broke down the individual meaning of each character. "You're missing the Sho and Ten parts, mixing it up with the Ki."

He scratched the back of his head and shook his head, his eyebrows furrowed. "But isn't that the same thing, sensei?" he argued. "Just bring Ki and Sho together, Ten will serve as the Antithesis or conflict then Ketsu is the Synthesis or conclusion."

"But it's not exactly the same, Yamamoto-kun," insisted his club advisor. "The third act of a Kishotenketsu story is a complication but not a conflict. You must watch a lot of western films to follow their structure by heart, but the Hollywood audience is used to central conflicts that are supposed to be defeated every time. Sho isn't a conflict but a twist. Do you understand?"

"A story without conflict? I never even heard of it!" he complained. "All stories have conflicts! Life is defined by conflicts and resolving them!"

Kitamura riposted, "Hmmm? But you more than any student here have watched all sorts of movies. Surely you've gotten to see the same conflict-free structure in Japanese media."

"But we've covered western books and stories, so it's okay to mix it up and use their structures, right? If Shakespeare and Hemingway can use it, why not students, even if they're Japanese?"

He was about to go on a rant about how rejecting western influence and culture was what kept Japan from technologically progressing during its isolationist period, but his teacher popped his ballooning ego with pinprick precision.

"It's okay to use it, but you're not exactly Shakespeare or Hemingway... Right, Yamamoto-kun? Please use what's been taught to you. You can experiment on other forms later if you want once you get control of your stories' pacing."

"But...!" he said before trailing off, his shoulders slumping down before he bowed at his teacher altogether. "Yes'm. Thank you for the feedback."

When he got back to his seat and discussed what had happened to Machida, the Walking Encyclopedia of Class 2B shared, "Huh. Well, maybe you should've used the eastern three-act structure. Johakyu."

"Eeeh? So I should've said I used Joha-whatever instead?"

"Well, even though they're both three-act structures, Johakyu does conclusions more abruptly than western works, which are more methodical and slower paced. And it's an assignment where we have to use what was taught to us."

As his so-called best friend explained what Johakyu or Jo-Ha-Kyu (literally Beginning, Break, and Rapid) meant, how it originated in Noh Theater, and had applications in martial arts, he placed his face on his desk and covered his head with his crossed arms.

Even Miku herself wouldn't defend him from Miss Kitamura's criticisms, huh?

In fact, the class rep even confirmed that movies like "Kiki's Delivery Service" by the anime maestro Hayao Miyazaki did indeed use the Kishotenketsu four-act structure.

***

He also got to read some of the works of his fellow writers in class. Whether it was to compare notes and techniques or as an assignment to learn how to critique the works of others, Tomoyuki had his fill of amateur stories written by his peers. Many of whom were strangers.

For the longest time, he only had Miku Machida to talk to in class.

This was the same case as in Class 2B, actually. It took some time for him to even muster the courage to talk to the intimidating, larger-than-life Seiko Okamoto on top of him having to deal with his bullies from first year ending up in the same class with him as second year.

Even now, in Class 2B, he still had issues talking to people outside of the Seiko, Miku, and Kazuhito clique.

He was just glad he got into a clique in the first place after being thought of by most of his classmates, especially the girls, as a desperate woman-chasing stalker creep with social anxiety.

Even until now, he didn't really think he deserved Seiko's love, whether it was in this dimension or a parallel one. She was out of his league. He even had a sneaking suspicion that even her heartthrob childhood friend thought the same thing.

She shone so bright that those around her couldn't help but either be intimidated by her or want to be like her. A free spirit or muse that inspired others to become the best they could be.

How could anyone live up to such a strong personality? His answer was simple.

They needed to change themselves to keep up with the shining light that was Okamoto or else they'd end up being swallowed by the darkness of their own jealousy (feeling like Seiko was taking away their dignity and pride by merely existing and being better than them) or envy (wanting the awesomeness of the Amazon Queen for themselves).

The difference between envy and jealousy was that envy was about wanting something you didn't have.

So he was envious, not jealous, of Seiko.

With the way he was now, the woman that he loved the most in two worlds also elicited other emotions in him that made him feel ashamed of himself.

Whoever heard of a lover who was envious of his beloved for merely existing and being her awesome anyway?

Anyway, the stories his classmates wrote ranged from okay to amazing. Few were outright terrible. Sure, there were stories he couldn't care less about, but that was a matter of taste. All of them, from his point of view, put in a lot of effort in writing their amateur yet well-constructed stories.

The ones who could really make a story though, they were jaw-droppingly amazing.

It was hard to explain in words but if they were writing his thoughts down they'd come up with paragraphs of an engaging narrative far better than he could, as though capturing the human spirit in a few words the way a good image or picture was even better than a thousand or million words.

It particularly hurt his pride whenever they excelled in the tests, quizzes, seatwork, and homework given to them by Miss Kitamura while he himself floundered here and there despite getting high praise initially when he first joined the club.

There was also the fact that he could barely keep up with reading the litany of books that they were supposed to learn from when writing. Ironically, he joined the club mainly after finding out they included written exercises on top of merely reading and studying literature.

The ones that joined the club from the start, especially the second and third years, were used to the version of the club where they mostly talked about, analyzed, and reviewed books.

They also had an almost elitist feel to them when discussing the film versions of books. They had all sorts of complaints about how many films missed the point of the books or made unnecessary changes to them even as little ol' him knew most of his literature knowledge by their movie versions.

A third year girl in his class had actually giggled at one of his works and remarked to herself, "Heh. What is this? It reads like fan fiction."

She of course quickly apologized and said she didn't mean what she said in a bad way. And maybe she didn't. But the damage was done.

Regardless, he still persevered and took her criticism to heart. Took it like a challenge, even.

Like an "I'll show her!" kind of feeling in his chest. But only half of him thought that way. The other half instead thought, "What's the point in doing this and embarrassing myself further?"

His insecurity's voice just grew louder and louder still, drowning out his confidence's own pleas that sounded more and more like lies.

Regardless, he didn't give up writing even as that particularly ego-blowing critique had him miss a class or two of the Literature Club.

***

The continuation of the conversation between Tomoyuki and AU Seiko (or in her point of view, AU Tomoyuki and Seiko) when he revealed that he joined the Literature Club...

"Okay, you want to know why I joined the Literature Club? Why I thought that would impress you?" he asked in an unintentionally aggressive way.

"Yes. Why? Why do you think you need to impress me?" AU Seiko asked back, forgetting she was referring to her other self in his dimension.

"Why did you fall in love with Yamamoto Tomoyuki?" he also "answered" her question with his own question.

"Why? Well, because he's nice. Friendly. He's always there for me. He's loyal. I can trust him and he'd never betray me," she said before telling Tomoyuki, "Sure, you can be moody or overdramatic, but those are also things I like about you! This is why I can't stand the thought of you trying so hard to change yourself! You don't need to! The other Seiko will like you just the way you are!"

"But think about it. When did you fall in love with my other self?" asked Yamamoto with a sigh and in a tired monotone. "Wasn't it after Sugata dumped you for Minagata?"

"...."

"...I'm sorry for saying something so hurtful," he apologized to the void of silence before them as vast as the dimensional rift between their two worlds, struggling to find the right words to say and convey his motivations to her before she even attempted to end the call.

He hoped she'd hear him out.

"However, it's true. You wouldn't have even noticed my other self had Sugata ended up choosing you instead of Minagata. I don't want to be your consolation prize after failing to get Sugata. I want to be the best I could be so that you'd choose me over him. I want to shine as bright as you would, living life to the fullest like you. You're the essence of carpe diem. I want to be worthy of you because you're out of my league but that's not stopping me from wanting to be with you, or at least another you that I can actually reach. I don't want to be a lottery winner. I want to be a self-made man."

He took a deep breath, not realizing he'd been holding it in all this time as he poured his heart out to the silent Okamato, begging her to understand him and his actions.

After what seemed like forever, she said, "...Baka," before hanging up.

They didn't speak to each other for many days after that mini-argument.

However, they soon forgave and forgot afterwards, apologizing to each other for the mishap.

On one hand, they couldn't stay mad at each other forever.

On the other hand, the topic of Tomoyuki's new club membership and how he was using it to impress the Seiko of his world somehow never came up again.

Or maybe they both avoided it, like the elephant in the room.

***

Regardless, more weeks passed. Before the summer vacation came about, he kept on writing. Kept on creating. Kept on improving the best he could. Weeks turned to months.

He didn't feel like he had improved his writing ability all that much.

He tried out Kishotenketsu as Miss Kitamura taught it, but found his writing awkward and forced to read back since he had forever followed the apparently more western three-act structure instead.

He thought that that was the standard of composing stories, even to the point of seeing it in Japanese writing and folktales that in reality had used Kishotenketsu, Johakyu, Hadouken, Tatsumaki Senpuu Kyaku, or whatever.

He lagged behind classmates who were used to the Japanese writing style or read mostly Japanese literature.

Every now and again, he could write up a worthwhile short story or essay that even Miss Kitamura would praise him for by cheating the system and claiming it was using the similar three-act Johakyu structure.

However, for the most part his writing was riddled with errors, plot holes, plot contrivances, and inconsistent characterization that his fellow club members criticized to impunity.

Yes, they were tasked to critique each other's work to "learn from each other" every time.

Nevertheless, he persevered with the club work. Wishing to grow. Wanting to be better than what he was before. Needing to be like Seiko Okamoto, who kept pushing herself to higher boundaries so that she remained above and beyond those before her. Or better than she was yesterday.

But people didn't change that easily. His so-called talent could only take him so far.

He kept attending the club even as he saw his club classmates in the same year as he was or even several freshmen excel in weaving yarns far more complex than the simple ones he made that one of them had described as "fan fiction".

He remembered submitting many of his fresh new fountain of short stories and story ideas to the Drama Club when they held a contest for students from the Literature Club to submit such.

They were specifically looking for original manuscripts they could use for their next big play made by actual students instead of adapting existing plays from William Shakespeare or stories from Meiji Era novelists like Mori Ogai and Natsume Soseki.

Rather than pore through tomes of plays or just do Romeo and Juliet for the umpteenth time, they decided to use other resources available to them as an interclub activity. The reward? High grades, of course. Nothing monetary, they were only poor students.

Tomoyuki had several stories in mind that he could easily adapt into script form for the Drama Club to perform.

All of them were rejected one after another as either incomplete or badly written. None of them clicked with the Drama Club even as he scrambled for a plot or idea he'd come up with to turn into a play with stage directions and whatnot.

However, one of them came through and was optioned for use in the Drama Club.

The one he based off of the trailer of the "nonexistent" film Ran by his idol, Akira Kurosawa.

The one he "plagiarized" and turned into a manuscript.

He had AU Seiko send him screenshots of the movie and the more he saw, the more intrigued he got. She even relented and sent him a Wikipedia (her universe's version of Encyclopedia Britannica Online) article summarizing the plot of the movie.

He was so inspired by all this wealth of information about a movie that didn't exist in his universe that he submitted his condensed version of the screenplay (or stage play) of Ran to the Drama Club contest.

In his world, information about the unfinished Kurosawa film Ran was sparse and he only really had that trailer AU Seiko sent him to go by, but he managed to bug her to send him a synopsis of the story care of a series of website screenshots, which he saved on his computer and pored over as the basis for his submission.

He even got to see other clips and photos from the finished film, which "inspired" him to write his own version or "treatment" of the story.

He should've been happy for finally having his hard work pay off, but the only time he was able to win people over was through someone else's work. Akira Kurosawa's work, to be exact.

How pathetic could he get?

It was like having an artist trace the exact work and pose of another artist's work and claiming it to be his own because he made a few changes in coloring, posing, or facial expressions.

It was simply art theft. Or getting credit for something he didn't deserve to get credit for.

He blinked back tears that pelted his letter of congratulations like pebbles aimed at his back by bored bullies, the ink running and bleeding on the page like mascara from a crying whore.

What was he doing all this nonsense for anyway? What was the point? What would he get out of being in the Literature Club?

Seiko didn't even care about his writing improvements one way or another, right? Neither version of her did.

There were plenty of people in his club who were far superior to him when it came to writing that whittled away his passion for it. What was the point of writing a half-baked story when others could easily make the same story ten times better than him?

Or make original stories, at that?

Especially Miku, who could write anything from prose to poetry with a humorous tinge to it that made you question if she really did write her varied works (in a good way, not in a plagiarist way as in the case with him).

He then remembered why he did all this.

He did it to impress Seiko, who honestly couldn't care less about it and merely patted him on the back, saying, "Good for you!" when she learned he had joined a club.

At any rate, enough was enough. This farce had gone on for too long. He knew what he had to do.

***

Days after Yamamoto caught wind of the "good news" that his entry for the Drama Club's contest got selected as the winner...

"YOU'RE QUITTING THE LITERATURE CLUB?" screamed AU Seiko to the point of making the audio from Tomoyuki's phone crackle and pop, which surprised him.

"Yeah," he answered, taken aback by how extreme her reaction was to his "good" news.

Wasn't this what she wanted? Didn't she want him to quit the Literature Club and "stay the way he is" or something? Women didn't know what they wanted!

She was never a fan of him ending up in that stupid club anyway, so why did she sound so distressed now?

'I can never figure out women,' he thought. Even tomboys who acted boyish were still women deep down inside, with whimsical, impulsive minds to match even the girliest of girls.

Besides, none of what he did actually helped in impressing the Seiko in his world in the least. Okamoto still had eyes for Sugata and Sugata alone.

'W-Why, Yamamoto-kun...? Why are you quitting? You were doing so good! You were improving with your writing, a-and everyone...!'

Or that was what he imagined Miku would tell him. What he wished she'd say. However, she never said any of that. He didn't really improve his writing in the least.

Not even his so-called best friend could say such things with a straight face.

Not at this point anyway, in light of last month's events. They couldn't even keep eye contact with each other at this point. But that was an issue for another day.

Besides which, none of those things he wished had happened actually happened.

After a promising start and high marks from his club entrance exam, he had nothing to show for in his months with the club save for contempt from his fellow clubmates, disappointment from Miss Kitamura, and rejection after rejection from the Drama Club and their stupid scriptwriting contest.

All except for one entry that he couldn't really claim credit for. Not in good conscience.

Out of all the ideas he poured his heart and soul into, the one that got picked by the Drama Club was the one he barely worked on and wasn't truly his.

This reminded him of a rumor Machida told him about Go Nagai, the Godfather of Mecha Anime and the Super Robot genre. Legend had it that his magnum opus was Devilman and the one he made on a whim was Mazinger Z.

Wouldn't you know it? It was Mazinger Z that ultimately became popular.

Miku alleged that Go Nagai had abandoned all his popular manga including Mazinger in order to focus more on Devilman, only to go back to the well and make even more Mazinger sequels later on because of its popularity.

His passion was in Devilman but the demand was with Mazinger, so he as forced to write something he didn't feel like writing because of the demands of the audience. Just like how the only story that people loved from the Cherry Boy was something that didn't even originate from him.

However, that wasn't exactly it either. Tomoyuki's situation was only comparable to Go-sensei's if the Father of Mecha had plagiarized his idea for Mazinger Z elsewhere, which he didn't.

Tomoyuki's jaw clenched. Why did he have to remember something Machida told him now of all times?

Rejection after rejection from his Literature Club peers and the Drama Club itself had chipped away at his self-confidence. Going to the Literature Club stopped being fun and felt more like schoolwork.

Their critiques made him want to huddle underneath the nearest table like there was an earthquake drill and bunker down there till he died.

Like pinpricks to his heart. Or maybe more like multiple rabies shots to his fingers, since those supposedly hurt more.

It was death by a thousand cuts. The straw that broke the camel's back.

And that was indeed the last straw.

He had thought he could improve himself and become a better Tomoyuki by following his dreams, but maybe in the end he was deluding himself.

***

"Are you serious, Yamamoto?" asked the Drama Club president.

"...Yeah." Tomoyuki bowed down deep. "I'm really sorry for doing this. I didn't think it'd come this far."

"If you say so, then fine, I guess. But are you sure...?"

Although it made his insides want to crawl out of his mouth to become his "outsides" (as Yukari would joke), Yamamoto swallowed his pride and his aching heart back into this chest and came clean to the Drama Club regarding the truth behind the "Ran" manuscript.

Well, he came clean as much as possible without him ending up in a straightjacket and hauled off to the nearest mental institution. So he still (kind of) lied by omission.

Even though it was humiliating and could get him in trouble, he kindly told the Drama Club not to adapt his manuscript into one of their plays because he had plagiarized the idea wholesale from a failed movie script from renowned director Akira Kurosawa, which was actually all true to an extent.

He left out the part where he had gotten the idea from an AU version of his crush who lived in a dimension where Kurosawa's "Ran" was filmed to completion, contacting her through a extra-dimensional phone number he could only access through his cellphone.

He had suggested they just adapt the runner-up of their contest or something. There was no way they could adapt his story that was stolen from someone else. It was like adapting "Heidi" then claiming credit for it.

Besides which, he intended on quitting the Literature Club soon after anyway, so any positive increase in his grades for extracurricular activities that winning their contest would give him were all for naught.

He couldn't live down having his Ran "fan fiction" get adapted into a play not because of the brilliance of his writing but rather because of the brilliance of Akira Kurosawa.

He wanted no part of that. Luckily, his reputation was already in the crapper to begin with due to his "Rico Suave" shenanigans with Goto, Fubuki, and Machida when he was still a creepy freshman.

No harm, no foul, right? They'd allow him to save face this time around and just let him go?

Yeah, of course! Maybe the Drama Club would "forgive" him for "accidentally" stealing the ideas of a world-famous director and national treasure because he himself was a huge screw-up from the start anyway!

As he turned his back and began to walk away, the Drama Club President grabbed him by the shoulder, turned him around, and said, "Hey, wait a minute, Yamamoto! We're not yet finished here! We need to talk!"

'...Or maybe not.'

Ah, whatever. Let them drag his name in the mud. He could take it. Just like with Matsuda.

He was already used to being made into a clown.

***

Back to Tomoyuki sharing the "bad" news of him quitting the Literature Club to the AU version of the Amazon Queen...

"...You asked me what I love about you, right? Well, while we're on that subject, let me tell you what I hate about you instead!" said AU Seiko, her voice an octave higher, its volume rising like a TV set whose remote he'd accidentally sat on.

"Eh?" said Tomyuki, not sure of what to expect. What was this about? Why was she so upset?

"Why are you upset? Didn't you say before that being in the Literature Club isn't the way to impress Okamoto? Or impress you?"

"I wasn't sure if you were going to the Literature Club to run away from me! The other me! Like all the others! There, I said it!!"

"...What? What are you talking about, Seiko-chan?"

"I hate it... HATE IT... when people quit on me. When they couldn't even enjoy a game or even try to play their best because they keep comparing themselves to me! They keep being intimidated by me! That's what happened with Kazu-kun! He gave up on me and settled with Megu-chin! He told me the same thing you're telling me now! That I don't deserve him! How dare he decide that for me! Don't I have a say on who 'deserves' my presence or not?!"

Whoa. He didn't know what to say to that long rant.

Like before him, AU Seiko hit the nail right on the head. With a handy karate chop from her, even.

"Um," he began, gulping. He wanted to deny what she said about him, but gave up halfway through and instead said, "Okay."

Just like how he quit the Literature Club halfway through the school year.

He then asked defensively, "Well, what do you want, then? Unlike Kazu-kun, I gave up my dream. I stayed exactly the way you wanted me to be. Were you lying when you said you wanted me to stay the same like always?"

"No, I wasn't lying," she said. "What I told you came straight from the heart, Cherry Boy."

"Then why are you so angry that I decided to quit? You hate quitters yet you also hate it when people try to live up to your example of living life to the fullest every day! What do you want, Seiko?!"

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT, OKAY?!" she shouted back. "Is it too much to want both? Is it too much to want Kazu-kun to still want me and chase after me even as he started becoming more macho? He started shining by himself too? He stopped feeling like he's under my shadow like Megu-chin did, but when he did, that's when he left me!"

It was then that Tomoyuki realized something. Something that Megumi somewhat confirmed.

"Waaait. When Sugata left you for uh, Minagata-san, was he a crybaby? Emotional? Socially awkward?" He then cut to the chase. "Was he kind of like me?"

"...."

Her silence told him everything. His suspicions were correct.

This time, it was Tomoyuki who hit the nail right on the head. With a hammer, of course. He couldn't karate chop a nail like the Amazon Queen probably could. Probably.

"...Is that how shallow your love for AU Okamoto Seiko is? You're just going to quit the Literature Club like a little bitch? Or quit AU Seiko? You're not the man I fell in love with if that's the case," Seiko said to seemingly change the subject.

He then murmured, "Did you really fall in love with me, or a shadow of your ex-crush, Sugata Kazuhito?"

He couldn't help himself. Not because she called him a little bitch. More because he realized the reason why she fell for his other self.

She then hung up on him.

The woman he fell in love with more than the crush he had in the real world just rejected him. Told him that he wasn't the man she thought she knew.

What was he supposed to do now?

Should he stay the same way as AU Seiko's crush, AU Kazuhito, was?

Or should he pursue his passions to feel worthy of AU Seiko, despite her consternation and trauma from her Sugata abandoning her when he changed and grew?

He didn't know what to do at all.

***

Tomoyuki actually reached a compromise with the Drama Club president.

Because the president loved Kurosawa's "Ran" so much, or at least the Cherry Boy's treatment of it, they agreed to use the script on the condition that it was credited under Kurosawa instead of Yamamoto.

Tomoyuki decided to be a ghost writer for the treatment he made of "Ran" since he basically just copied an excerpt of the long film.

It was all described in his own words and all, but the whole idea and plot was Akira's, albeit an Akira from another dimension.

It was basically the writing equivalent of tracing an existing work and recoloring it, so they should give the credit where credit was due.

For good measure, Yamamoto handed all the materials, stills, storyboards, and synopsis to the president as well for extra research, claiming to have gathered them from sites filled with Kurosawa super fans.

He only held out on sending him the outright trailer for Ran, even though he could also lie and say that it was a fan trailer or something.

Regardless, everything ended up peachy. "All's well that ends well", as Shakespeare would say. Or write.

Right?

***

"Yo."

"Hey."

Tomoyuki and Seiko (the non-AU one) greeted each other casually at the hallway leading to the cafeteria.

"Miku-chin still isn't talking to you, is she?"

He shook his head, his mouth turning into a thin line in remembrance of last month's events. He didn't want to broach that topic right now though. He had other things in his mind.

"Did you quit the Literature Club to get away from her too? Miku-chin, I mean."

"No, nothing like that," he confessed. "It was more because of personal reasons, really. I just wasn't feeling that club."

She slung her arm over his shoulders. "Them's the breaks, I guess. If you want to quit then quit. There's no point in forcing yourself to do something that doesn't make you happy anymore, right?"

He nodded, inwardly amazed at how this Seiko was taking his news. It was like night and day. "I guess you're right."

"Hey, Cherry Boy. Have you ever heard of the Gracie Hunter?"

Yamamoto almost said yes but caught himself at the last second. He second-guessed his answer, realizing that he might've heard of Kazushi Sakuraba from AU Seiko instead of Seiko Seiko.

"Uh, who is that?" he feigned ignorance.

The Amazon Queen's eyes sparked joy in way he imagined AU Amazon Queen did when talking about something that excited her.

"His name is Sakuraba Kazushi. He's a pro-wrestler who decided to enter MMA and became a legend afterwards. He had an amazing run as an MMA fighter."

At the back of Tomoyuki's mind, he wondered how the Sakuraba of their universe differed from the Sakuraba of AU Seiko's world as the Seiko of his world kept talking about the Gracie Hunter's achievements.

Long story short, the "shoot wrestler" Kazushi Sakuraba earned the nickname "Gracie Hunter" by defeating all of the who's who of the Gracie Family, a Brazilian Family who developed Japanese jujutsu into their own more ground-based Brazilian jiu-jitsu style.

Jiu-jitsu took Brazil by storm due to the 790 Japanese immigrants that went there back in 1908 to fill in labor shortages in coffee plantations. Japanese culture permeated into the land, which led to Brazilians learning Japanese jujutsu.

Brazilian martial artist Helio Gracie, along with his brothers Carlos and George Gracie, founded the self-defense martial arts system known as Gracie Jiu-Jitsu, which was also known as Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.

These badass martial artists went about their version of jujutsu in a different way than all other martial arts like aikido and karate, with them willing to actually fight people in the streets to showcase the practical applications of the self-defense martial arts system.

From what Tomoyuki understood from AU Okamoto's explanation, the first Ultimate Fighting Championship (UFC) tournament came about mostly as a method of showcasing Gracie Jiu-Jitsu as the ultimate martial art above all.

They also had Royce, the smallest brother of the Gracies, participate in the first UFC in order to show how their martial arts, not brute strength, was really the best around.

At least in AU Seiko's universe, Sakuraba beat Royler, Royce, Renzo, and Ryan Gracie one after the other. His one defeat by a Gracie, a rematch against Royce in K-1 Dynamite!!! USA in 2007, came about when Kazushi was past his prime and Royce tested positive for using steroids.

All the others fell against Sakuraba one after another. Royler was beaten by TKO (referee intervention while under the Kimura Lock) in the second round. His first match with Royce, the first-ever UFC Champion, also ended in TKO. He earned his "Gracie Hunter" moniker after that match.

Then there was Renzo, whose arm Sakuraba broke, resulting in a referee stoppage due to injury. Famously, Renzo refused to tap out to a submission like his father Helio before him (who never tapped out) and his brother Royler who went unconscious while under Kazushi's Kimura Lock.

Finally, Sakuraba fought an injured Ryan Gracie. Because of a shoulder injury, the bout was limited to a single 10-minute round. Kazushi won the round handily while avoiding attacks on the younger fighter's arm. Later, the Gracie Hunter argued that Ryan faked the injury in order to catch him off guard with a submission.

This amazing run was all done by a pro-wrestler, weirdly enough. In an industry known for predetermined matches, Kazushi showed that the unorthodox showmanship of professional wrestling could work against "real" martial arts like Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.

The irony was that the guy from the fake sport was able to beat tough guys who claimed their sport was the realest sport out there. In both universes of Tomoyuki and AU Seiko, at that.

'I wonder why Amazon Queen brought this up?' he thought to himself. Was she trying to cheer him up? Tell him that even though he wasn't that great of a writer, he shouldn't give up so easily or something?

He then brought up, "Did this Gracie Hunter MMA guy fight every last Gracie?"

"Hmmm? Oh right. He never fought Renzo Gracie. That was one of Renzo's greatest regrets, to not be able to fight and defeat the greatest thorn in the Gracie Family's side," informed Seiko.

"Wait, no. Wasn't it Rickson Gracie?" Tomoyuki corrected Okamoto absentmindedly, only to retract and say, "I may be mistaken though."

Seiko laughed. "Silly Cherry Boy. Rickson is the Gracie whose arm Sakuraba broke! Renzo is the one who never fought Sakuraba and claims he would've whupped his ass given the chance."

"Oh yeah. My bad," he said while mentally taking note that in their universe, it was Renzo who Sakuraba never fought and it was Rickson whose arm he broke when attempting to submit him with an armbar.

Seiko laughed in her tomboyish way, punching Yamamoto's arm with a smile. A sighing Tomoyuki gave her a wan smile in return. "You're not going to tell me that your remind me of Sakuraba or something, right? The guy sounds like a genius."

"Hmmm? Oh no, you're nothing like Sakuraba, Cherry Boy," said the Amazon Queen. "You quit your club. Sakuraba was a midcard wrestler who somehow showed everyone he's very skilled in actual shoot fighting!"

Tomoyuki chuckled at that. "I guess you're right."

The Non-AU Amazon Queen then said, "If Sakuraba had settled to being a midcard wrestler, he wouldn't be the legend he is today."

He asked, "Do you think less of me for quitting the club?"

She answered, "No. Like I said, you should do whatever you want. If you're really tired of going to that club, find some other passion. It's up to you to decide if the Literature Club is your passion or not."

***

A week or so later after quitting, Tomoyuki swallowed his pride once more and decided to rejoin the Literature Club.

He had finally found his resolve.

It was embarrassing to go back there and then act like a spoiled Prima Donna, quitting on the club only to come crawling back.

He also had to face Miku as well and start talking to her.

Thankfully, the members thought that the reason why he quit was because of the drama between him and the 2B Class Rep instead of him losing his nerve and confidence in his writing abilities.

They mostly engaged in small talk but it was a start.

He considered never returning to that club room in sheer embarrassment and shame, but then he realized that even if the plagiarized "Ran" script was his only shining beacon in his so far mediocre skill set, he still appreciated what the Drama Club president told him about it.

"I liked your version of the script. It wasn't bad. I understand that you took it from another source. Please let us use it. We'll credit you both and Akira Kurosawa, if you want."

It made him want to make a story of his own that didn't extensively crib or use plot points from one of Akira Kurosawa's masterpieces (even if it didn't exist in their universe).

He wanted to, for once, be praised for something he made. All his own. Through his own effort. No matter how long it took for him to shape and improve his current skill level.

His dream of becoming a writer wasn't dead. He wouldn't let it die so easily, or else it wasn't really his passion in the first place.

Like Kazuhito, he'd become a man worthy of the Amazon Queen in his own terms. So he'd stop letting his own insecurities sabotage what he and Seiko had.

He had wondered whether he was doing this for himself or for Seiko.

He realized he was moving towards bettering himself this for the both of them, and that was okay.

Their blossoming romance should bloom. They should move forward together instead of becoming toxic to one another.

So that they could shine together. So that they could both decide that they were "worthy" of each other's love.

Regardless, he left this text message to AU Seiko:

"I'm sorry for today. Stop letting others define you. Stop letting others dilute you. Don't be bullied or pressured into being less than you are. Promise you'll do that and I'll promise to do the same for myself."

It sounded contradictory but even though he didn't want to be defined by others (which included Seiko), he felt the way that he was right now could never find happiness with her.

The more he got to know her, the more he realized she was an untamable woman with infinite potential. You had to keep up with her. She shouldn't let herself go down your level. You had to go up hers. Otherwise, you were dragging her down.

Whoever her boyfriend was should step up to her level rather than force her to go down his.

He wanted to grow along with her. Or perhaps the "her" in his universe he could actually win over. His consolation prize because his true love was a world away.

He most of all wanted to be more than just a reflection or shadow of the AU Kazuhito that AU Seiko lost.

The crybaby childhood friend she had that also grew up and toughened himself up because (and Tomoyuki was merely speculating but) he also wanted to be worthy of the AU Amazon Queen.

Most importantly, he felt like he couldn't quit the Literature Club right now because of the germ of an idea developing in his mind.

His own story, not Kurosawa's, about lovers from different dimensions falling in love with each other and helping one another win over the hearts of their other selves.

He wanted to write his script to the letter until its final verse. Hopefully, he'd write a happy ending. In his script and in real life.

***

To Be Continued...

By the way, this chapter goes through a span of a few months, but the next chapter will go back to the same month when he first joined the Literature Club. Near the time he celebrated his birthday.

Also, shout out to Doki Doki Literature Club. Helluva game and helluva paradigm shift at the midpoint of the story (you know the one).

Hope everyone's looking forward to the Tanabata Festival.

Farewell, Abdiel

#keit-ai #keit愛 #tomoyuki x seiko #fictionpress.com #finds a way #a boy falls in love with a girl #unable to confess #deus ex machina

0 notes

izzyovercoffee · 7 years ago

Note

The thing is, I never read Legends, so I always saw the warrior mandalorians as imperialist. Both of the houses we see (Kryze and Viszla) are headed by white, blonde families and Clan Wren are the descendants of a people who were conquered, converted to Mandalorian ideals, and placed in a subordinate position under Viszla. Bo Katan, a traditionalist, rejects Maul as unfit to rule because he's an alien. And this was all decided before the reboot with Legends so....I'm confused.

Confusion is totally understandable!

For the record, because this got so long, it has to go under a cut. I apologize for the length, and if my tone is off it’s not intentional. I’m, essentially, info-dumping, because there’s a lot of extraneous information that applies to the arcs I’m gonna try to address under the cut. I’m also reading your ask as if you didn’t see Satine’s New Mandalorians as imperialist, bc that seems to be what you’re implying in the ask? If I’m off, I apologize in advance.

Also even though I say “you” in this reply, I don’t mean you specifically, I’m meaning to address a general “you,” not you you.

The short answer is that even if you are not familiar with Legends material, reading only one of the two houses as imperialist kind of misses all of the subtext conveyed purely by the information presented in the arcs themselves, and oversimplifies imperialism. It is easy to miss, though, and imperialism itself is a complex subject that isn’t discussed as well as it should be.

But, ultimately, even if we were to ignore Legends and only look at canon material, we still have what boils down to this:

The New Mandalorians, an all white faction of mandalorians:

exiled people of a differing cultural philosophy

has a society not achievable through means that don’t involve steps towards ethnic cleansing

declared pre-established nonwhite mandalorians as not mandalorian, thereby stripping any claim to that cultural identity, in the same vein as calling them the equivalent of savage

were part of a regime change backed by an outside stronger, larger military force invested in that regime change

All of these things, together, paint House Kryze and the New Mandalorians as Imperialist. Regardless of Legends material, regardless of how anyone feels about Death Watch.

And even though the writing does not really carry the kind of awareness that definitely points to a lesson on imperialism, if we entertain that as the conclusion to all of the arcs … it would have been more effective to make Sundari diverse in comparison to Death Watch, and have that diversity leverage Death Watch’s war crimes directly, rather than make Sundari the accidental genocidal Imperialist power by poor design decision.

Furthermore, as much as I would rather not bring it up as it’s always used as a straw man argument against the existence of racism, the fact is that Imperialism is not the sole purview of white people. Chinese Imperialism exists. Japanese Imperialism exists. Both are as effective analogues for Imperialism, and both are closer to actual Mandalorian history than the space!Nazi aesthetic the writers went with—not just for obvious reasons, but because the space!Nazi aesthetic implicates an altogether different type of imperialism.

And it’s a type that completely distracts from and undermines the ultimate goals of their storytelling in those arcs.

Moving on to that last point, though … that scene where Bo-Katan rejected Maul, can be read differently—as in, she did not reject him because he was an alien so much as she rejected Maul because he wasn’t mandalorian. Or it could be both of those things, but it’s an important distinction to make—it’s important to not forget all of the things Bo-Katan, specifically, was fighting for.

Bo-Katan fought to save the culture Satine was trying to eradicate — and in terms of cultural genocide, if Maul was to take up his position as leader of mandalorians, that is just trading one type of cultural genocide for another.

It is, under no circumstance, the same as framing it as a simple rejection of Maul because he’s an alien. Him being an alien literally does not matter in that moment, tradition or not, because Maul had no stake in it—because it’s not his culture on the precipice of extinction. To treat that scene like it was … well, was to miss the point.

The very long longer answer goes under the cut.

To warn you about what’s under the cut, as it’s, again, very, very long. I’m basically going into a detailed explanation about:

Legends & why/how Legends applies to the Mandalore arcs

a longer diatribe on imperialism: —To Legends or Not to Legends —Why does Legends help the New Mandalorians?

how & why the New Mandalorians are Imperialist: —A Diatribe on Imperialism

and their platform is transparent and hypocritical w/o the additional context of Legends to soften the edges: —Satine Kryze and the New Mandalorian’s Transparently Hypocritical Political Platform, and more on Jango Fett

a longer explanation on Bo-Katan and Maul: —Xenophobia versus Continued Cultural Genocide

the actual events that are contextually relevant to the Mandalore arcs: —Legends: The Aftermath of the Mandalorian Wars—Legends: The Mandalorian Excision

what I mean by the Fetts were established as mandalorian before the Mandalore arcs aired: —Why the decanonization of the Fetts matters, in the context of the story and canon —An aside: Separating “Boba Fett” from “Mandalorian” after 30+ years

As I’ve said, it’s a lot. Mostly meant to be used as a reference, I guess. I apologize if I repeat myself too much. I wrote this in chunks and threw it together, so if it’s messy or even more confusing, that’s 100% on me.

[[ EDIT:: it has since come to my attention that George Lucas was the mind behind the retcon, stated once in a special featurette for TCW DVD set for Season 2. Him being known and expected to be (hopefuly for obvious reasons) incredibly racist makes it all a little less surprising, but no less fucked up. That the writers still stick with it now, after he’s out, is disappointing, and I maintain that that tweet by Hidalgo was unnecessary. Nothing else about the argument changes except on who to blame and criticize more than the others. ]]

To Legends or Not to Legends

The Imperialism implied in the show was based off of a larger context of conquer and destroy that exists in Legends, and at the time of airing took for granted that the viewer would have at least some knowledge of that mandalorian history, but would still work overall if the viewer did not know those details.

So, even if you are not familiar with Legends the show at the time took for granted at least superficial understanding of the KOTOR series and The Mandalorian Wars that occurred 4000 years prior to the events of the show. The Mandalore Arcs make multiple references to a history of galactic-scale war and conquest, but nothing was ever established even close to threatening outside of the events leading to KOTOR i & ii. The writers, themselves, also indicated familiarity and desire to canonize the KOTOR events (writing Revan, for example, into the show and having them voiced until, ultimately, Revan was cut from that episode. It doesn’t make KOTOR canon, but what it does do is build a case and point to the inspirations of where the writers were coming from).

The Expanded Universe was still referenced even if it was obliquely—and under that knowledge, Expanded Universe / Legends material therefore matters when it comes to talking about the context of the Mandalore arcs.

I mean, obviously it wasn’t required knowledge, as anyone can watch the episodes and follow for the most part, and at this point because most of those things are now relegated to a time period that, most likely, will not be addressed or brought up in canon material from this point forward, it’s hard to gauge if it will ever “matter.”

But, regardless, the intent to reference the old republic can still be seen in there, and the Mandalore arcs make more sense, overall, politically and otherwise, when the Mandalorian Wars were / are taken into account as compared to how the arcs stand without that background.

At the time, while Legends wasn’t rebooted yet, only the highest levels of canon really “mattered,” and those were movies and TV. They both did and did not matter, because the showrunners ultimately had the final say of what they wanted to present. They could draw from the expanded universe material, even extrapolate on what was set up as a foundation—or they could do as they ultimately did and annihilate what was previously established.

To reiterate, the movies, and the shows, had the power to erase pre-established expanded universe canon, as it was canon at the time, just a “lower level” of canon. It wasn’t a clear cut line like it is today, where Legends is Legends and doesn’t “exist” in the star wars universe. Expanded Universe was canon-enough right up until the movies and the shows decided otherwise. Expanded Universe was canon right up until the show decided to outright erase some parts and rewrite it.

And that’s ultimately what happened to the mandalorians.

A Diatribe on Imperialism

So, to come back to the topic of Imperialism, Imperialism absolutely was the topic of discussion. But, again, because of the design decisions, even though they framed the New Mandalorians as the radical faction that came as a direct counterpoint to Death Watch and Mandalore’s history of war and conquest, the visual notes and hints they ultimately settled on implied a wholly different background that really … can’t conceivably be what they intended from the beginning.

Both Houses were Imperialists, and both of them carry a violent history.

I also want to reiterate: Imperialism is not the sole purview of white people. Other races, other Empires, have also expanded their respective territories, have also conquered huge territories, have forced assimilation of local peoples into their respective Empires. The Mongolians. The Chinese. The Khmer Empire. The Vikings. The Romans. The Japanese. And so on, and so forth.

Presenting imperialism = white is a very narrow, limited view of imperialism, and inaccurate (Chinese Imperialism is a real thing, Japanese Imperialism is a real thing. These things really happen today, and affect real people, and so and so forth).

Not only white Europeans colonized huge chunks of the world, but generally white Europeans did so to such a degree that world is still fucking wrecked by it even to today. (But that doesn’t make the survivors of other imperialist conquests any less significant. It doesn’t make ethnic cleansing and intra-racial imperialism and genocide any less heinous, but I digress.)

Beyond that, though, while Imperialism and its effects absolutely is an important discussion to be had, by oversimplifying imperialist = white, and “warrior white” = imperialist, we fail to recognize the other types of imperialism in effect today (and in the star wars universe) that absolutely should be acknowledged and discussed.

Contrary to popular belief, there are other visual analogues that exist outside of centering white supremacy, even when that centering is meant to be in criticism of it.

Further, Imperialism isn’t only perpetuated through physical violence—and, in fact, in today’s world it’s more effectively perpetuated through other means, through policy. Satine Kryze’s reign is, yet again, another example of how a superficially nonviolent society can still wield imperialism through policy and not be demonized because, technically, they’re not violent like those other guys, aka Death Watch.

It’s easy to defend something terrible when the only other comparison is a group of extremists already demonized by history that are marginally more obviously terrible.

But, again, if the racism inherent in the episodes is missed, then it’s very easy to miss all of the unfortunate implications tied in with it. It’s also then easy to miss how the whitewashing comes in. And, ultimately, it’s easy to miss how that decision distracts from and completely undermines the point of those arcs.

Satine Kryze and the New Mandalorian’s Transparently Hypocritical Political Platform, and more on Jango Fett

When the writers chose space!Germany, space!Nazis, they implicated Satine Kryze and the New Mandalorians in a specific type of imperialism, and a specific type of genocide. And even though I cannot make any claims as to fully know what they intended to indicate, from what can be determined watching the arcs, the intention was not to paint Satine Kryze and the New Mandalorians as having that history of genocide. She was supposed to be a symbol against those war crimes, not a symbol whose power stems from it.

To reiterate, it was not one they wanted to implicate her and their faction in—it was one they wanted to implicate only Death Watch in, alone. But because of all the things I’ve pointed out in previous posts and above, there’s no other way to interpret the visual presentation of Sundari as anything but carrying an implied violently racist society. Because you cannot achieve a population that looks like that without eugenics, without genocide.

And if you still don’t see it now, after myself and other people have explained how and why Sundari is the perfect example of what that looks like … well.

Coming back to the white = imperialism analogue, that’s where, I think, the “well, of course they’re all white / blond / blue-eyed!” analogue falls short. Because the actual comparison of space!Germans? Space!Nazis? It just doesn’t work. It does not fit. The quick and easy analogue of Imperialism that the writers chose to go with, does not match what the apparent goals of either the longer Legends-inclusive bloody history nor the Mandalore arcs were trying to convey.

And as I’ve said before: we, the viewers, were supposed to sympathize with Satine Kryze and the New Mandalorians, but for anyone even remotely familiar with the concept of eugenics, anyone who knows what the extreme conclusion of a racist society looks like, looks at the New Mandalorians and Sundari and sees them as the defacto success story of space!Nazis.

To say “it’s not that deep” is to, ultimately, pick and choose when and where one cares about visual details in a visual medium—when and where one cares about how information and story is illustrated through setting—and that’s really not an effective way to learn how to improve storytelling in a visual medium, nor learn why these interpretations arise and how to avoid (or fix!) them in the future.

On top of that, it ultimately takes away from the story. It takes away from the arc. It undermines anything Satine and the New Mandalorians could have stood for, because instead of being a Pacifist society out of a willingness to change and be better than what their history says they are, they’re a Pacifist society that had a successful implementation of a eugenics and cultural genocide program and that’s how they maintain their stability. And that’s monstrous.

It made Satine into a monster, by sheer accident and oversight.

When they made that design decision, they unfortunately implicated all of the white New Mandalorians as complicit in a specific type of genocide, one that can only be associated with space!Nazis, because that was the visual shortcut they decided on using.

We were supposed to see the monsters only in Death Watch, not in the New Mandalorians, and not in Satine. The intent was to implicate Death Watch as all massively violent criminals and murderers, not make them victims to stand on ground equally bad. Not to inadvertently make them sympathetic.

It was just not reflective of the context they were pulling from at the time, nor was it effective for the story they wanted to convey. In no way did it make Satine Kryze sympathetic, because how could it?

Their writing choice had the exact opposite effect of their intended goal.

Why the decanonization of the Fetts matters, in the context of the story and canon

Moving on from that, I, generally, would couch against oversimplifying Satine’s (and the New Mandalorian’s) position: what they were doing, in no uncertain terms, was taking a culture that was, before the Mandalore Arcs, established as a nonwhite culture and declaring them savages that needed to be colonized for their own good. Almost literally exactly how the Fetts were decanonized within the show.

That is a type of Imperialism. That, in itself, is a type of colonization that has already happened in our history in the real world, worldwide, to countless native societies and people.

Whether Filoni and Hidalgo George Lucas and the other writers liked it or not, the Fetts were still mandalorian as of the movies’ airings, and his retcon delivered through the show didn’t come until years later. So that retcon, that declaration, cannot be separated from what was established as canon beforehand and at the time of that episode’s airing—no matter how much the writers seemed to want to erase or ignore 30+ years of the larger franchise establishing otherwise in expanded materials without conflict.

And because it cannot be separated, that directly implicates Satine Kryze and the New Mandalorians as just as Imperialist as Death Watch, except they’re less “terrorist.” But terrorism, in general, is determined by governmental and institutional power, and because the New Mandalorians wield all the power in mandalorian space, any act of obscene violence they may or may not wield on their marginalized populations will never be called terrorism—because, again, terrorism is the sole purview of people who don’t wield institutional power.

So, to reiterate, as I’ve said before, and as someone rightfully pointed out in the notes of the previous posts, by having the Fetts identified as mandalorians in canon material prior to the Mandalore arcs of the show, it was implicated that mandalorians as a cultural identity were nonwhite.

To then introduce the New Mandalorians as all-white out of nowhere, and have them thereby declare:

the Fetts as not mandalorians, and

fighting as veneration was unconscionable

basically made the New Mandalorians echo real-world violent colonialism in the terms of the White Voice Of Reason coming to Tame The Savages and make them “reasonable and cultured.”

So on the one hand, you have white Death Watch who is obviously Imperialist, yes, but then by doing the above the writers accidentally made it impossible to separate the New Mandalorians from a different but still clear Imperialism. I say accidentally because, generally, the writing of the early arcs didn’t seem to be all that self aware in those implications for Satine.

I mean, also consider that the Death Watch of the show also had:

a white woman in a position of power who wasn’t white supremacist pale / blond / blue-eyed, and

later established that they had nonwhite people among their ranks in respected positions

In comparison to New Mandalorians? Imperialism is still present, but the ethnic cleansing and the eugenics is not.

The impression that Clan Wren’s ancestors were subjugated by Mandalorian Expansion may not be wrong, or it may be. But consider why you want to make that assumption, if it’s necessary, and if it’s coming from a place of “well, of course they’re not naturally mandalorian, because they’re not white!” And if that perspective is being used to form a complex history and relationship with their cultural identity, or if you’re only doing it for superficial flavor that adds nothing to the story nor context. Because if it’s the latter, it’s not a decision that is made in vacuum, but rather one that can contribute to racism / racist narratives.

It’s racist in much the same sense as saying that someone cannot be British if they’re Asian. That someone cannot be American if they’re Asian. These assumptions that are being made, they’re not factual statements built from nothing but racist assumptions that don’t hold up under their own weight or logic.

Which isn’t to say that Death Watch isn’t terrible—they absolutely are.

The implied Imperialism of Death Watch is very real, yes. The problem is that I haven’t seen anything to implicate DW as subjugating the Wrens or other humans, if we’re looking at the show and canon only.

I say that because … we only have the word of the New Mandalorians, who are speaking from a position I’ve hopefully explained in great detail as hypocritical at best, as well as the word of the Jedi Order / Republic, who both have a vested political interest in making damn sure the New Mandalorians keep their seats of power and would not want to undermine that stability (because the New Mandalorians are Republic-friendly and Death Watch is quite clearly Republic-unfriendly. Not to mention that both the Jedi Order and the Republic had a direct hand in the war to keep the New Mandalorians in power years before, when Satine rose to the duchy. And yes, this was stated in the arcs themselves, is canon and thereby not relegated to Legends information).

None of the people pointing fingers at Death Watch are speaking from an unbiased position—and if the writers really wanted to make those accusations clearer and from an actually sympathetic POV, they would have made Sundari not all white, and gave minor airtime to a nonwhite mandalorian leveraging those crimes against Death Watch.

But, they didn’t go down that route, so instead we have a conflict that is murky and convoluted with no right side. And as much as I detest Death Watch, the accusations towards them are not coming from a source that doesn’t benefit from villainizing everyone who contradicts them across the board.

And that’s a problem when the story arcs, themselves, expect us to just see Satine Kryze and the New Mandalorians as the “obvious” correct side without any kind of deep or critical thinking.

In Legends, Death Watch has always been anti-alien, but again, because of that lazy design decision … the writers relegated the anti-alien sentiment to all of Mandalorian space as a whole, as opposed to just Death Watch.

Like I said, it’s distracting from the points and sides they were trying to make.

We also have another canon man native to Concord Dawn to compare Jango’s status to, because the excuses that we’ve been given so far has been “he’s not a mandalorian but he’s native to Concord Dawn” as if that should be an easy distinction to make … yet we have someone else who is also native to Concord Dawn, who was never part of Death Watch, and yet he’s still considered mandalorian.

That man is Fenn Rau.

Canon material shows us:

Fenn Rau is a mandalorian, despite being from Concord Dawn, while

Jango Fett is “not,” when he’s also a Concord Dawn native

Concord Dawn sits firmly in Mandalorian Space, and Fenn Rau was a True Mandalorian, as was Jango Fett—also known as the Journeyman Protectors. They were a different faction who ultimately sided with the New Mandalorians against Death Watch—but unlike the New Mandalorians, they always dropped everything to fight whenever DW so much as blipped once on a radar.

We also have the now-canon information that Fenn Rau was on Kamino and trained the clones, and from what Legends tells us … Jango Fett was the one who recruited a good number of mandalorians to help train the clones. At the very least, they must have known and interacted with each other, having been of the same factions and in the same space multiple times.

Again, the things Fenn Rau and Jango Fett have in common:

natives of Concord Dawn

part of the Journeyman Protectors third faction

and the things they don’t have in common:

Fenn Rau is white

Jango Fett is not white

So.

There is no real logic involved in these writing decisions, outside of explicitly implicating the New Mandalorians as an Imperialist force complicit in racial & ethnic cleansing. That would be the most logical leap to explain why Fenn Rau is a mandalorian, but Jango Fett is not.

Literally none of it makes sense story-wise in canon otherwise—because that’s, literally, the shortest logical leap that can be supported by the information provided by canon without bending ass over head and making weak excuses.

And, well, even so … If you only look at it from what you see on the shows and movies, it still doesn’t make much sense. Canon as it stands alone frames Satine Kryze and the New Mandalorians as a faction that stands on a position built on transparent irredeemable violent hypocrisy.

Xenophobia versus Continued Cultural Genocide

And once more I come back to that scene where Bo-Katan rejected Maul.

To reiterate, I argue that him being an alien does not matter. She may have said it, it may have been implied, but identifying him as an alien in that specific scene once Pre Vizsla was killed does not automatically mean xenophobia—especially when that scene was meant to be a defining point between continued cultural genocide and survival. Whether mandalorians would be willing to crucify itself on its traditionalism and be totally extinguished by accepting Maul, or by standing true to survival and rejecting an outsider from assuming a culture with which he has no stake in.

Rejecting Imperialist cannibalism, yet again.

Allowing Maul to lead the Mandalorians after executing Pre Vizsla would have been trading one violent subjugation for another—trading Satine Kryze’s cultural genocide in the forced conversion to Pacifism for the subjugation under the violent rule of a person who wasn’t mandalorian and had zero stake in what they, as a people, had to lose (once again, their cultural identity).

And that context matters. It matters. She didn’t make that decision from a position in which she was given much choice, regardless that allegiances split on that decision. Bo-Katan was fighting for traditionalism, yes, but that traditionalism is built on a foundation of mandalorians surviving mandalorian cultural genocide at all costs — first from the New Mandalorians and the Republic, 700 years prior, then the New Mandalorians and Satine a few decades prior to the show, and finally, if you take Legends context of The Mandalorian Wars, a survival of cultural genocide as brought into play by Sith manipulations.

Pre Vizsla died because his rigid traditionalism was the sword on which he was willing to impale himself on before he was willing to change. And that kind of rigid inability to adapt would have meant the death of mandalorian culture.

So … don’t oversimplify that scene. Context matters. Everything that leads up to that moment in the show matters.

Legends: The Aftermath of the Mandalorian Wars

What ended The Mandalorian Wars?

The Jedi Order was, essentially, split into two: The Jedi who would fight, and the Jedi who Refused to fight. The Jedi who left to fight followed in the steps of Revan and Alek, and the Exile.

What ended the war was this:

At the Battle of Malachor, the Jedi Revan executed Mandalore the Ultimate, and

stole the ceremonial mask needed for any Mandalorian to declare themselves Mandalore and lead the people

At the same time, The Jedi Exile, a High General, made the decision to activate the Mass Shadow Generator, which wiped out the entirety of the Mandalorian Army, and

nearly killed off all of the mandalorian people in the known galaxy in that same action

The entirety of the Mandalorian Army was, simultaneously, the entirety of the Mandalorian People. And because the majority of Mandalorians, at that time in history, served both in a civilian and a military capacity, when the Jedi Exile initiated the super weapon, she nearly wiped out the entire population of Mandalorians from the known galaxy.

From that point forward? Mandalorians, as a people, were forced to change their philosophy in order to survive. Mandalorians, as a people became a people focused on survival instead of conquest. Fighting was, is, central to their culture, but the fight stopped being about conquering and became about survival.

But later, when they eventually recovered their numbers, different factions within the Mandalorians would pop up.

There were:

Extremists, who wanted to return to their conquering ways, irregardless of the fact that conquering directly lead to their annihilation. These people would venerate Mandalore the Ultimate for all the wrong reasons.

Isolationists, who wanted to focus only on the growth and continued survival of the mandalorian people, who wanted to continue Mandalore the Preserver’s work — and never regress to the old, conquering ways, because that’s ultimately what killed them.

From these two factions, eventually, over the millennia that followed, would continuously fight each other: because Extremists wanted to return to the toxic ‘old ways’, and Isolationists saw conquer as an invitation to the Republic (and the Jedi) to finish their path of genocide.

And the thing was: they weren’t wrong.

And this is important as historical context to know, when taking in the Mandalore Arcs of the Clone Wars, because in those arcs, it’s clear that The Republic and The Jedi Order have not only had a vested interest in Mandalorian politics—Kenobi clearly references a time when he was directly involved with keeping Satine Kryze in power.

Historical context.

Because of the sheer scale of catastrophe the Mandalorians successfully caused to the galaxy during the Mandalorian Wars, The Republic and The Jedi Order would forever remember those events and continue to act accordingly to prevent them from ever happening again, no matter the cost.

THAT is why both The Jedi Order and The Republic have such a serious and vested interest in Mandalorians remaining demilitarized and passive.

And THAT is why, ~700 years prior to the events of The Clone Wars, roughly 3300 years after the conclusion of the Mandalorian Wars, The Jedi and The Republic carpet bombed the fuck out of Mandalore without provocation. It was thenceforth referred to as the Mandalorian Excision

Legends: The Mandalorian Excision

When the arcs were written, imperialism was both a direct reference not to a recent campaign, but to a literal galaxy-wide imperialism ~4000 years before the events of the Clone Wars, as well as the one ~700 years before.

The Mandalorian Excision came after the end of the Thousand Years War in which the Jedi waged a millennia-long campaign against the Sith and wrecked the galaxy, again. The Republic, weakened by the war against the Sith, could not survive another galactic wide conflict.

But, after the rise of Tarre Vizsla ~1000 years before the events of TCW, the warring Houses of Mandalore banded together to join a united Mandalore. The constant fighting and war left Mandalorian Space very, very weak, but of the factions that arose out of that peace, half wanted to regain their power and conquer the galaxy, while the other half cautioned for pacifism and peace.

Unfortunately for all of the Mandalorians, the Republic got wind of the ancestors of Death Watch — and even though Mandalorians were undecided as how to proceed, and didn’t have any power whatsoever to follow through on those desires because they were still extremely weakened from both the galactic-wide conflict and their own inter-clan and inter-house fighting, The Jedi Order led the “preemptive strike” and glassed Mandalore.

Preemptive strike is interesting language choice, because what that ultimately means, and what actually happened, is that Mandalore did nothing to provoke that attack because they were nowhere near to threatening to anyone in power, and the Jedi and the Republic still decided to base delta zero Mandalore anyway, just to be safe.

Because we can’t be having any repeats of The Mandalorian Wars, even though that was ~3000 years before.

And after they carpet bombed Mandalore, the Republic and the Jedi Order then invaded the planet, and installed a new government as ruled by the New Mandalorians, under the agreement that they would never move against the Republic.

The New Mandalorians then began the exile-or-die campaign, with the “help” of the Republic. Anyone who was unwilling to denounce “the old ways” would be killed or exiled.

Why does Legends help the New Mandalorians?

Because without the above context, without the very extreme, very dramatic, very real threat of genocide by the Republic to the Mandalorians, there is no motivational pressure for the New Mandalorians to act like they do — to force pacifism to such an extreme.

But when you’re in a position of be pacifist or the galaxy will crush you again, and this time they might wipe out everyone, then there’s a literal galaxy’s worth of motivation to force cultural genocide to kill the literal thing that has made you and your people a target for elimination if you so much as breathe the wrong way.

And that context, above, was the context in which the episodes were written. Because, like it was said, the Legends reboot didn’t happen yet — so all of the expanded materials attached to the Mandalore arcs lay out a very real, very clear wider view of why the New Mandalorians violently enforced radical Pacifism.

This isn’t to say that the implied ethnic & racial cleansing is forgivable, and this isn’t to say that cultural genocide is forgivable, because these things are literally unforgivable, heinous, and monstrous — but given the situation, given their position in the galaxy, given everything that was at stake … can you blame them?

I mean, obviously, duh. Yes. You can blame them. You should blame them.

But … it gives that extremism more sense, on all sides of the conflict.

An aside: Separating “Boba Fett” from “Mandalorian” after 30+ years

Yes, I’m back on this. I promise this is the last section. I just wanted to clarify whitewashing and what I meant when I said 30+ years of the franchise.

At the time of the show’s airing, by making the decision to make the second-highest level of visible canon mandalorians white (as TV came just under Film at that time in terms of validity) and in that same arc retcon the Films’ non-white Fetts from that same category, that was an act of white-washing. That is essentially the most obvious and easily pointed out example of whitewashing.

It was literally an act of rejecting and delegitimizing nonwhite representation on-screen when that nonwhite representation had many years of worldbuilding and detail behind him/them. Boba Fett, himself, was named as a mandalorian bounty hunter as far back as the late 70s (I apparently have official trading cards from the 80s that say this, too). Since Jango Fett’s debut in Episode II: Attack of the Clones in 2002 he was written as mandalorian.

That’s 30+ years of the name Boba Fett associated with Mandalorian.

And, decades later, when it’s revealed that Boba, and Jango, are not white, it’s mysteriously retconned in a TV show that neither of them are mandalorian? After more than 30 years of the franchise establishing the exact opposite?

TCW canon erased “mandalorian” from the Fetts, redefined mandalorians as white with the introduction of the two Houses and Sundari, and then obliterated expanded universe all in the very same arc by taking what was the capital planet of Mandalore space and glassed it, then gave it Sundari as its central city. The capital planet that was, before the show, ethnically and racially diverse with different climate zones and flora and fauna.

The mess that was the mandalorian fandom trying to make sense of it all was … even now, years later, the community is still reeling from it.

The most grievous, obvious, in-your-face racism and whitewashing done in a long time in the franchise. There’s no way to argue that it isn’t.

Unintentional? Sure. Accidental? Probably. But still, it is what it is.

The thing, though, that gets me the most? Is the out-of-context tweet to confirm it, one that was entirely unnecessary and unneeded.

Why unnecessary? Because mandalorians, as I’ve said time and time again, have a history in Legends-to-Canon of fighting over identity politics, of literally starting wars over the “right” way to be mandalorian.

To have White Mandalorians look at a Brown Mandalorian and say “THIS MAN, this man who was born in mandalorian space and taken in and raised by a mandalorian clan to become a mandalorian warrior and then elected mandalorian leader of the True Mandalorians, he is NOT A MANDALORIAN!” … is par for the course in the world of mandalorian politics in the larger context of mandalorian history. Mandalorians.

They do this shit, all the time.

It could have been left alone, to be taken as one will—and it should have been. But instead of doing that, Pablo Hidalgo, in a tweet, “confirmed” that Jango was never mandalorian at all, thereby eradicating any of the complexity that can be inferred on the in-context declaration in the show, and supporting what is, ultimately, an act of racist writing that was as I’ve already said, unneeded and unnecessary.

After 30+ years of Boba Fett established as mandalorian, and 6+ years of Jango Fett as mandalorian, suddenly … he was not white enough to be mandalorian in a show that had higher canon validity than 30+ years of expanded material.

And if you read that section above comparing Fenn Rau and Jango Fett … well. If you can’t see why it’s messed up … I don’t know how else to better explain it.

#Anonymous #asks.txt #i am so sorry about the length im just like #I want to explain why Legends applies bc this is just #it's a lot tbh #meta: new mandalorians #meta: mandalorians #izzy talks mandalorians #c: Satine Kryze #Satine Kryze #listen people this is like 5700 words long #it is LONG #it is probably gonna be moved to ao3 in the future too #but like #consider yourself warned #izzy talks clone wars #some editing done to make it cleaner / easier to read / more concise #still long as h e l l though

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