#it's only words but I mean every one of them in this post | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

grimmweepers · 2 days ago

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wahhh i know i've chosen the worst time to finally read this because you're on semi-hiatus but better late than never right? it was so wonderful to see the first post you made about this wip grow into such a story-rich fic where the love and care and effort you put into it is palpable. i knew from the first paragraph i was NOT going to leave my commentary in the tags because i was going to have too much to say

"Would you beg for him to spare your life like others did? Or would you sit in complete shock, words lodged deep inside your throat?"

just fyi i saved these questions for later because i had an inkling they'd come back around in some way

"He had no knowledge about flowers but he always thought white chrysanthemums meant death, specifically a symbol of mourning, and grief—a flower fit for one’s grave yet you displayed them in a vase to bring life into your room."

this was so interesting to me! because i had the exact same thought when i read that part too!! i love how chrysanthemums play such different roles for each of them. for the reader, they’re something beautiful, a way to brighten up a space, but in chrollo’s world, they’re a reminder of death, a memento mori. it’s such a clever contrast that tells us so much about how differently they view life and loss.

i also feel this gnawing sense of dread every time chrollo notes the reader's routine. he’s carefully weaving her into his own life, his own routine. like i know it's part of his job but whether he admits it or not, she’s become a part of his life too—and that’s terrifying because what will this all lead to?

"Surprisingly, Euan acknowledged Chrollo with a dip of his chin; you mirrored your date’s action, and only then did the assassin respond in the same way."

not chrollo only responding when reader does it sjdhfjkshfkdgdhgkhg

"Albeit subtle, Chrollo sensed it was there—as though a foreign seed had been planted in his chest waiting for it to grow, and destroy him from inside out. Whether it produced the fruit of anger, revenge or some other emotion in the dictionary, he couldn’t tell, all he knew was it took root inside his heart."

this right here was just so wellwritten!!! the slow growth of something he doesn’t understand, so strong it could destroy him. almost like he is being infested. i had to take a moment absorb this

"If anything, it was akin to a bird suddenly losing the ability to fly when flying was the only thing it knew."

LAWDDDD ANOTHER PERFECT LINE. mf is so disoriented by his feelings

"By no means was he insecure about those scars, in fact, he proudly wore them like a badge, to serve as a reminder that the rest of the world wasn’t his friend"

i enjoyed this small glimpse into his psyche. it really goes to show the world hasn't been kind to him, as opposed to reader's life where (i’m assuming) most things are handed to her on a silver platter

“What—What about Mr. Euan?”- okay, i have to be honest, i was so wrapped up in the chemistry between reader and chrollo that i totally forgot about euan until he was mentioned again here LOLLLLL. i mean, how could i not? you have- "That was the last thing he said before he found himself sitting on the edge of your bed, kissing you like he loved you. Did he? Large hands cupped your jaw, eagerly pulling you closer to his face. Even though Chrollo didn’t bare his heart, the zeal behind his kisses revealed the truth hidden in his chest."- right before this and i’m supposed to remember there's another man in the picture? IMPOSSIBLEEEEEEEEEEE

"If Chrollo was to put it in words, the aroma smelled of sweet death, and it reminded him of the church back in Meteor City."

oh i have a feeling where this might be heading, i KNOW foreshadowing when i see it. i immediately felt a sense of foreboding, as if this aroma tied to death is a sign of what's to come...

so i had to stop myself from listing every line i loved otherwise, this would’ve turned into an essay (it kind of already is. FUCK). i have so much to say! first of all, i’m sorry if i’m reading too deeply into things, but i adored everything about this. you’re so insanely talented. it’s inspiring, honestly. i’m completely obsessed with the flower motifs woven throughout. even the smaller details, like “bloom in his chest,” make such an impact.

one thing that stands out is how chrollo’s whole worldview shifts after meeting her. everything he once knew seems to invert, like his reality is cracking open in her presence. are the wealthy inherently corrupt? is she a target or a lover? was this gun going to protect or kill her? are the chrysanthemums symbols of life or death? the fact that everything he thought he believed begins to lose meaning as he gets closer to her is so UGHHH idek the word... just GOOD. GREAT. it’s as if she’s the one force that makes him question his place, his values, and even his own motives. the internal conflict is so beautifully done.

when i read “devotion” in the title i assumed it would focus on her commitment. maybe that she’d sacrifice too much of herself and end up suffering as a result (i mean i suppose that's true) but then, as the story unfolded, it hit me: it was the cost of chrollo’s devotion all along. he finally committed, and the price was her life!!!!!!!!! the way this realisation crept up, only to hit in full force, was just chef’s kiss. the symbolism, the tragedy of it all, the way she gave life and meaning to chrysanthemums only to lose her own life

coming back to the line i saved earlier: “Would you beg for him to spare your life like others did? Or would you sit in complete shock, words lodged deep inside your throat?” it was so worth it to keep this question in mind because when she ended up pleading his name during the love-making scene, the contrast was 💡 !!!!!!!! who would’ve thought that she’d be pleading not for her life but in a moment of intimacy?

honestly, this whole piece kept me on my toes and left me a mess by the end. you portrayed chrollo so nuanced and i’m sure any chrollo truther would appreciate that. thank you for sharing this beast with us!! i loved it

THE COST OF DEVOTION | chrollo lucilfer x f!reader

synopsis: When Chrollo Lucilfer is assigned to go undercover, and kill a billionaire’s daughter, he finds himself breaking the most sacred rule of the underworld—that there should be no feelings involved. The consequences of his actions backs Chrollo into a corner where he has to choose between fulfilling the job or following his heart at a risky price.

18+ MDNI; undercover assassin!chrollo, bodyguard!chrollo, billionaire’s daughter!reader, loosely follows some canon events (chrollo’s past), reader is referred to as ‘miss’, DARK CONTENT, DARK ROMANCE, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort (no happy ending), explicit smut, SLOW BURN, major character death, touches on arranged marriage, cheating, killing, money laundering, human trafficking, kidnapping, sacrilege & blood (briefly), gun use, chrollo struggles with feelings, chrollo has scars, OCs mentioned, not beta read.

word count: 18.6k

notes: divider: cafekitsune. ITS HERE !! thank u to @ljubimaya & @avatarofstars for supporting me throughout the writing process and for being such amazing friends :3 this is different from my usual fics + super self indulgent so enjoy. feedbacks & thoughts are much appreciated ><

Loud music, enough to make one’s chest thump, annoying bright strobe lights, and the sea of intoxicated bodies that passionately danced with one another without a care in the world, Chrollo wanted out. He observed the luxury club with a subtle scowl, gaze sharp enough to tear one’s throat as he watched the spoiled, and rich carelessly sway to the beat of the music—you were one of them.

A privileged affluent businessman’s daughter who didn’t know how to handle one’s wealth so she resorts to spending nights swiping her card for overpriced drinks, and whatever expensive shit the club had to offer.

Meanwhile, the lower class had to work themselves to near death to be able to provide for their families. One, two, three jobs just to make ends meet—just to pay rent, just to bring food to the table even if it meant working for the underworld.

That was where Chrollo fell into the spectrum; fortunate enough to live but unfortunate enough to live a cruel life in an equally cruel world. He grew up learning how to steal, fight, and kill while you grew up having maids cook every meal, a solid roof over your head, and generational wealth to spend.

It made Chrollo sick to his stomach how wealthy kids like you could just take, take, and take yet had the audacity to complain about their lives as if society didn’t favour them at all. He could go on, and on about this whole ordeal but at the end of the day, no one would even bat an eye, plus, he had a job to do—technically, two jobs.

At the heart of the sweaty, inebriated club, you stood there beneath the neon strobe lights, it bounced off the strands of your hair like a colourful aura mirroring your careless joy. Body perfectly swaying to the beat of the music, a half-full glass of a sweet cocktail, and a blissful expression on your face; maybe if the circumstances were different Chrollo would have smiled at your blithe spirit but it wasn’t.

Your eyes—a drunken haze—found his own to which you immediately acknowledged with a cheery wave of your free hand.

It only took a split second for Chrollo to mask the obvious scowl on his face with a sickly saccharine smile—one that made his gut twist with disgust—he returned the gesture with a dip of his chin paired with raising a glass of water in the air as if to make a toast. Chrollo’s expression fell the minute you turned away, unceremoniously slouching back into the leathered booth you’ve booked beforehand, he let out a deep sigh, and rubbed at his temples.

Two weeks

It had only been two weeks since your father—Chrollo’s employer—hired him as your personal bodyguard, and as expected, extensive pre-screening was a must before one could securely acquire said role which Chrollo found extremely bothersome despite its lack of difficulty. Though this wasn’t a rare occurrence, it only made sense for the rich to hire a skilled bodyguard to protect oneself from unknown dangers.

Obviously, he didn’t apply to be your personal bodyguard for sincere reasons—far from it, actually; Chrollo was here for a task that would land him his heftiest pay yet, even just thinking about made his head spin with immeasurable happiness already but Chrollo figured he’d bask in filthy money after completing the job. He always did.

If anything, this should be a walk in the park for him considering there was nothing more satisfying than seeing the demise of a wealthy brat. But for now, he’d take it slow, and earn your trust ‘til the right time comes; where his mask falls, and true motives come to light.

Where the last thing the assassin would receive from you was a look of pure horror much like his previous targets. Would you beg for him to spare your life like others did? Or would you sit in complete shock, words lodged deep inside your throat?

These thoughts immediately dissipated at the call of his name; a few feet away, you stumbled your way towards the booth, the highball glass tucked in your hand was now empty with only half melted ice cubes remaining. Chrollo stood up, wrapping a firm arm around your back, helping you regain balance before guiding you to the leathered seat, the fabric cool against your feverish skin.

“Should I call the chauffeur, miss?” Chrollo feigned worry. His stature loomed over your sitting figure, back lit with red neon strobe lights, giving him a deep crimson glow. You stared at him longer than necessary before responding with a small nod; the wild atmosphere, paired with your spinning vision seemed like a good enough hint to head home, and retire for the night.

At your agreement, Chrollo let out a big mental sigh of relief—he may be an adept assassin but sitting idly for hours while watching his asset drink the night away exhausted his patience more than one could imagine.

The ride back to the estate was all a drunken haze for you, though, you recalled a brief exchange of words between Chrollo, and your chauffeur as the latter helped you inside the vehicle before, they seemed to get along swimmingly despite the former only being a new addition to your personal staff. Albeit, that description might be a bit too generous, maybe it was just your drunk self thinking but nonetheless, you appreciated the courteous manner between the two.

“Lukas?”

You called out to the chauffeur, he donned a formal attire just like Chrollo—a black tailored suit—he was an old-timer who had been your father’s previous chauffeur before you were born. It was safe to say you’ve learned a lot from him growing up, and maybe even served more as a father figure than your biological one.

“Yes, miss?” Lukas glanced briefly at the rear-view mirror. “Chrollo . . He’s nice, isn’t he?”

The older man could only chuckle in response, letting your words soak into the darkness of the vehicle before nodding, “He’s a promising young lad.” He glanced at the mirror once again, this time letting his gaze linger on you, headlights from the vehicle Chrollo drove behind poured into the backseat, and illuminated your face; Lukas didn’t know if it was due to your drunken state or from pure sincerity but the subtle smile on your face somewhat warmed his heart.

He took a mental note that you seemed to be quite fond of your new bodyguard.

After safely reaching the estate, and escorting you inside, Chrollo made his way to the staff house. Walking past the wooden double doors, he was stopped in his tracks by a familiar voice, “Off to bed, Chrollo?” It was Lukas, your chauffeur; he sat on one of the crimson couches, one hand nursing a cup of hot coffee.

Chrollo stared at the old man’s face behind the wisps of steam from the drink, the latter donned a rather pleased look on his face, he thought nothing of it, and nodded, “And yourself?”

Lukas returned the nod, “A little later for me.”

Silence occupied the living room for a moment. Chrollo could’ve left the conversation at that but instead, he stood there, feet rooted on the wooden floor, sensing that Lukas had more to say but was debating on it.

Seeing as he didn’t want to waste any more time, Chrollo spoke up “Is there something else you’d like to say?” His voice cut through the quiet atmosphere, he had now angled his body towards the older man. Lukas set the mug atop the coffee table before giving him his full attention, “The young miss seems to have taken a liking to you.”

Chrollo didn’t know how to react to that—even if he did, he wouldn’t have let on.

At his silence, Lukas invited himself to speak further, “At times, she can be quite a handful . . but hearing her speak positively of you warms my heart. What I’m trying to say is, please take good care of the young miss, it means a lot for her to say such things about you.”

Trust? Good.

Chrollo’s rosy lips stretched into a genuine smile, “I will. Thank you.” And with that, he excused himself before heading to his room, the soles of his obsidian shoes produced no noise with each step. He wasn’t happy because you seemed to like him, no, Chrollo was happy because you trusted him so easily—probably the biggest mistake you’ve made.

Though, nothing would really change if you didn’t trust him, either way, you’d meet your demise no matter what.

As the new week rolled around, it was no surprise that Chrollo had already memorised your weekly routine—without a doubt, you spent days in the office but he had noted other destinations you frequented.

On Mondays, you visited a cosy flower boutique in the morning, owned by a lovely old florist who’s cheeks were as pink as the camellias neatly displayed on the counter next to her. You only bought one type of flower—white chrysanthemums, a dozen, to be exact; they were carefully wrapped in a simple brown paper, and topped off with an ivory satin ribbon.

On the way back to the car, Chrollo wondered why you chose these specific flowers, and upon asking, you simply replied with:

‘White chrysanthemums symbolise devoted love, and loyalty—something we need more of in this world, don’t you think?’

How ironic. He had no knowledge about flowers but he always thought white chrysanthemums meant death, specifically a symbol of mourning, and grief—a flower fit for one’s grave yet you displayed them in a vase to bring life into your room.

If you were being completely honest, chrysanthemums didn’t hold any significance in your life; one day you decided to visit the flower boutique run by the old lady, and she had told you all about the flower. Oddly enough, you started to grow fond of it.

Chrysanthemums were awfully common in his hometown—Meteor City—and not in a good way; inhabited by untraceable outcasts, it was the perfect hunting ground for illegal activities such as human trafficking, as well as an endless source of disposable hitmen, and assassins like Chrollo himself.

Due to mass abductions, and murders of the people, chrysanthemums were laid out at the church for each victim; he could clearly remember walking down the aisle, a smell so sweet, and minty filled the thick atmosphere. For an aroma so pleasant, who would’ve thought it was associated with such sorrow?

On Tuesdays, you attended your private pilates lesson at 8 AM on the dot which lasted a little under an hour. As usual, Chrollo stayed idly by the entrance of the studio, just at the foyer as the muffled voice of your instructor seeped from under the closed door; this was usually paired with brunch at a local café after, as per your words, ‘a much needed caffeine break’ whatever that meant. He couldn’t care less, he was too busy assessing the layout of the building for an escape route, and potential threats as though he wasn’t the biggest threat here.

The window seat offered a clear view of the street outside, vehicles driving by, people in their own little world as they headed to their destination; not to mention the ample morning sunlight that poured in, allowing you to study Chrollo’s reflection from the glass.

He stood behind you with his back facing the window, scanning the entire café; you watched as his head slowly moved from left to right, then right to left, giving you a peek of his side profile. Your eyes traced every dip, and curve of Chrollo’s face, from the slope of his nose, all the way to the sharpness of his jawline. It was odd how this man—who barely talked to you unless necessary—had piqued your interest. In what way? That was something you were still trying to figure out.

How Chrollo carried himself with silent confidence stood out from the rest of your security team; sure, he was vigilant of his surroundings but each action he displayed was calculated, and clean—too clean. You’ve also noticed how his steps were much lighter than everyone else’s, it made almost no sound as though he was actively stalking a prey. And for a brief moment, you wondered who that prey was.

On Wednesdays, you were present at your father’s company for the whole day. Though, the scowl on your face clearly screamed your opposition; it wasn’t a secret to anyone how uninterested you were in all the business talk—in fact, if anyone were to ask about it, you could probably go on, and on about how boring, and tedious it was, conversely, if asked what you wanted to do in life, you’d probably have a hard time answering.

Alas, as the sole heir, the company automatically fell to your hands whether you liked it or not. Wednesdays were always a drag, having to make acquaintances with investors, and show face during monotonous meetings that rarely concerned you—you’d rather spend time elsewhere.

On Thursdays, you were also at the company but for a different reason. Chrollo only knew you reported straight to your father’s office, and he was often ordered to wait at the ground floor. The meeting with your father always took approximately two hours, and each time, you came out looking like someone had pressed all your buttons.

Though today, for the sake of Chrollo’s own selfish curiosity, seeing as the hallway was deserted, he lingered outside the office for a bit but all he really got was pure silence—either you, and your father conversed in a hushed voice or the walls were soundproof. Whatever the case was, Chrollo didn’t bother sticking around but he was quickly stopped in his tracks as voices from inside were suddenly raised—yours first, followed by your father.

Looking back at the office door, Chrollo heard you shout in opposition, it seemed like the conversation had somewhat turned into a heated argument. Nonetheless, he continued down the hallway—it was none of Chrollo’s business, after all.

“No! I’ve already told you, I’m not doing that!” Loud voice sliced through the growing tension inside the room. The older male—who sat behind his desk—leaned back into the seat, leather groaning beneath his weight as he rubbed his temples at your stubbornness, clearly displeased with how much you were blowing everything out of proportion. You stayed rooted in your spot, just standing a metre away from your father.

“Look, darling, I’ve already agreed—” “Agreed without my consent.” Raising your hands in defeat, you paced around the room, each heavy step muffled by the crimson carpet beneath your soles. “I’m the one getting married to someone I haven’t met! I never even wanted to be in an arranged marriage just because of what—a stupid business partnership?!”

This was the first time you’ve raised your voice at your father; all the years under his care, and guidance, you gladly accepted what was left upon your hands. Continuing the legacy of your father’s company? Sure, no problem, you could deal the burden on your shoulders but marrying a complete stranger?

That was more than crossing a mere boundary.

Your father was a skilled business man, and you never doubted that once—he was excellent at negotiating, and closing deals so for him to stoop as low as agreeing with an arranged marriage for the sake of his company, it baffled you, a lot. What more could he possibly want?

“I’m done with this conversation.”

Letting out a breath you’ve been holding, you turned around, and headed for the door but before reaching the silver handle, your father spoke up from behind, “Next week. You’re attending the corporate event with Euan. That’s final.” All you could do was nod.

Chrollo spotted your rather distressed figure exit the elevator, and head for the car park, not so much sparing a glance as you passed him; nonetheless, he quietly trailed you, steely gaze observing your figure up, and down—shoulders tight, and fists clenched at your side.

You felt defeated.

The thought of spending the rest of your life with a man you didn’t genuinely love, was that really your so-called future? A bond made for the sole purpose of expanding business?

Stepping into the underground car park, you stopped in your tracks, the automatic glass door silently humming as it closed behind you. Naturally, Chrollo did the same but didn’t dare speak up. Click clack. Two clicks from the soles of your shoes as you turned to face your bodyguard with a deflated expression, he could only raise a brow in surprise before you sat on your haunches, and buried your face inside the hearts of your palms.

Oh.

One, two, three seconds—it took Chrollo exactly three seconds to register the sight before him, and he didn’t know what to do; awkwardness settled in the air between the two of you as you sobbed into your hands. He moved closer—taking a few cautious steps as though he walked on eggshells—and squatted down to your level, “Miss?” He called out, his dulcet voice drowned by your soft whimpers, every muscle in Chrollo’s body was stiff, movements unsure.

What was he supposed to do? Reach out, and stroke your hair? Pull you close against his chest? Chrollo was more than sure that doing so was completely unprofessional on his end. So, he was reduced to sitting next to you, silently watching your shoulders shake with each muffled sob until you finally decided to lift your head, “I apologise for acting this way. I’m certain you probably don’t care but—”

Correct. Chrollo did not care.

“My father has been pushing me in an arranged marriage. I kept saying ‘no’ until he went behind my back, and agreed to it. I found out today and I just—I lost it. The benefits of what comes after marriage are endless for the company; more investors, more money, more security but is that really worth sacrificing my shot at finding the one I truly love?”

Saying the words aloud made it sound so silly. Finding your one true love, how naïve, that only happened in children’s fairy tales.

Upon learning the reason for your upset, Chrollo could only nod, he wasn’t the type to console anyone, let alone his employer’s daughter. The last time he could remember doing so was almost a decade, and a half ago during the time his dear friend—Sarasa—went missing.

It was a rainy day in Meteor City, Chrollo remembered hugging his friends tightly, reassuring them that everything was going to be alright even though uncertainty gnawed at his skin.

He was innocent, and didn’t know better then.

But the incident with Sarasa was what fuelled his pure hatred for the wealthy. Chrollo was only a kid, full of limitless joy, and hope despite growing up in poverty. It was during the height of abductions in Meteor City, and that was when he learned that not even his friends were immune from illegal activities after seeing it with his own eyes.

It was broad daylight, and Sarasa had been forced into a car by two large men—as if one wasn’t enough to take a helpless little girl. The worst part was, Chrollo could only stand, and watch as his friend got taken away with nothing but helpless tears in his eyes, and a blazing anger that burned a thousand suns.

He could still recall the way his nails dug into the hearts of his palms, the temporary pain it felt. The incident haunted his coming days, hearing Sarasa’s screams at night, and how she begged for the men to spare her life.

Chrollo overheard from the Elders that the ones behind illegal abductions were the wealthy, and that night, he made a promise to avenge Sarasa—even if it meant taking lives. It was clear the rich were parasites of the world, greedy for money, and power, leaving none behind for the unfortunate.

Chrollo couldn’t bring himself to understand your situation, and emotions—he didn’t have to but some odd part made him want to.

From Fridays to Sundays, you usually spent the time out with friends but as the days came, you remained cooped up inside your room, and only came out unless necessary. The thought of isolating yourself somewhat ate away at Chrollo, despite not being able to fully grasp your situation, he figured it must have been a breaking point for you, and deep down, for some weird reason, he was worried.

This was the first time you’ve shown him an emotion other than happiness—which he presumed was most likely out of professionalism—so seeing your distressed state had him rather curious.

Stationed just outside the doors to your room, Chrollo couldn’t do anything to quench the sparked interest inside him—guarding the entrance of your room was all there was to do which ended up with him drowning in his thoughts while standing idly. Even though Chrollo didn’t understand your sentiment, he knew no one should marry a stranger for the sake of business.

Though, Chrollo didn’t have much time to ponder about your situation as his replacement came walking up the stairs meaning it was the end of his shift for the day. He entertained a brief exchange with his co-worker before heading out.

Walking down the stone path that led to the deserted flower garden, Chrollo dug into the inside pocket of his blazer, and took out a burner phone. As the assassin dialled a number, he was greeted with a view of endless greenery decorated with bright hues from a variety of flowers; the floral aroma wrapped around his body like a fluffy blanket. Somehow, the sweet scent reminded Chrollo of you.

The cheap phone rang once, twice ‘til a familiar voice spilled through its speakers, “I’m guessing you’re here to update me?” The male on the other side of the call questioned. Chrollo agreed, and the line went silent, urging him to give the details.

As he gave a thorough update, Chrollo mindlessly walked down the stone path, various colours making its way to his line of vision. Though, a particular flower caught his eye—a sea of yellow as bright as the morning rays decorated several bushes on the ground. While speaking into the phone, Chrollo squatted down to its level, and examined the delicate flower, Bird’s foot trefoil, the small ivory signage before it read.

Two months, that was the amount of time given to complete the job. It was reasonable enough with the amount of security you were surrounded with, and even though Chrollo was the only bodyguard you took whenever you left the house, Lukas remained by your side as well—he made sure not to underestimate the old timer.

Chrollo had never heard of this man before but from what he knew, he seemed to be about the same age. Why the man was seeking out revenge by targeting your life was also something that remained a mystery—after all, Chrollo was only there to kill, details weren’t necessary when it came to an assassin.

“‘M not gonna tell you how to do your job but remember, time is ticking, and I’m spending a whole lot of money on this, yeah?”

Voicing his agreement before ending the call, he took one last look at the flower, and stood up, heading for the staff house.

It was about time Chrollo hunted for his prey.

With the new week, everyone prepared for the corporate event in a few hours—even Chrollo himself, as well as the rest of the security team was busy scouting the venue, and looking for any potential threats around, and inside the building.

Tonight, he donned a sleek, all black look which was slightly different from the usual white button down, and black suit he wore.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, employees, and important investors began pouring in the building; the inside boasted a formal theme with a lavish teardrop crystal chandelier that mimicked the shine of a thousand diamonds, round tables were draped in ivory cloths which housed a bunch of butterfly pea flowers encased in sleek ceramic vases.

Silence was replaced with melodic laughter, and casual conversations between acquaintances, and co-workers as the vast room was slowly filled with more people.

Having arrived at the venue earlier, Chrollo stood by the entrance, waiting for your arrival. As the familiar vehicle rolled around, Lukas exited the vehicle, and opened the rear passenger door.

Expecting you to come out of the vehicle, Chrollo was caught slightly off-guard when a stranger clad in a navy blue tuxedo did so instead—he donned obsidian strands that carefully framed his handsome face, and piercing honeyed eyes that was sure to make any woman swoon.

The assassin watched as he turned to face the vehicle, and held out a hand to you. Taking up on the polite offer, you held his hand, and gracefully stepped out of the vehicle. And there you were, in all your serene beauty, skin glowing beneath the warm streetlights that made Chrollo inhale a sharp breath for some odd reason.

“Thank you, Euan.” You gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Euan? Chrollo thought.

With how he lovingly kissed the back of your hand, and from the way you forced a smile, it wasn’t hard to piece together that this was the man you were forced to marry. Somehow, Chrollo felt a tinge of annoyance spark within the depths of his chest—maybe because he was aware of the whole arranged marriage situation or maybe because he was yet in the presence of another stuck up, pompous spoiled person.

Euan interlaced his fingers with yours before heading towards the entrance, Chrollo didn’t miss the way the diamond ring on your finger twinkled like stars in the night sky. Surprisingly, Euan acknowledged Chrollo with a dip of his chin; you mirrored your date’s action, and only then did the assassin respond in the same way.

The event was boring as one would have expected, your father—the CEO—mostly talked about the company’s milestones up on the podium, he held a champagne flute in one hand filled with golden liquid while entertaining the room with uneventful accomplishments. Though, what you didn’t expect tonight was for your father to openly reveal your arranged marriage with Euan in front of your subordinates, and investors,

“It’s my pleasure to announce that the COO of D&J—my daughter—is soon to be wed with Mr. Euan Heston from Heston Enterprises.”

As endless applause, and supportive smiles filled the venue, you sat frozen on your seat, unable to muster even the tiniest smile. From the corner of your vision, you could see Euan bashfully nodding his head, and shaking hands with those in neighbouring tables as they congratulated him. You stared at your father in complete disdain which only prompted a forced smile from him.

Unbelievable.

A shaky breath escaped your lips before swallowing the raging emotions, pushing them down, down, down to the depths of your core, and as though a switch inside you was flipped, a smile stretched across your face, throwing out thank you’s to those who offered their support.

With the end of the CEO’s speech, and certain formalities, all that’s left was to mix, and mingle with everyone else which—thankfully—Euan did while you quietly sneaked away to the open bar. Although, visibly drowning yourself in more champagne only invited more guests to come, and gush about the weighted ring on your finger, not to mention how openly they adored Euan.

Hearing such high praise thrown his way, you caught yourself staring at your soon-to-be husband; you watched as he gracefully waltzed from table to table, engaging in polite conversations with not only the important people in the room but also with your subordinates.

Euan was well-mannered, kind, and respectful—he was everything your father wanted as your husband but he wasn’t made for you, and deep down, you knew that.

From the corner of the room, Chrollo watched it all unfold. From the way you stiffened beneath everyone’s stares as your father revealed the marriage, all the way to your gaze finding Euan amongst the crowd. He felt weird.

Albeit subtle, Chrollo sensed it was there—as though a foreign seed had been planted in his chest waiting for it to grow, and destroy him from inside out. Whether it produced the fruit of anger, revenge or some other emotion in the dictionary, he couldn’t tell, all he knew was it took root inside his heart.

As Chrollo got lost in his thoughts for a bit, he was greeted with an empty barstool that was previously occupied by you; he scanned the vast room, stone cold eyes darting from left to right, and right to left trying to catch a glimpse of your familiar figure.

Slight panic didn’t settle in until Chrollo realised that you were nowhere to be seen—the feeling began to gnaw at his very bones as the attempts of finding your whereabouts led to a dead end, he even went as far as asking a woman standing just outside the bathroom if she’s seen you walk in but only shook her head.

Wide, panicked steps, Chrollo unceremoniously crossed the room in search of you while almost bumping into several guests in a nervous haze; he muttered out whispered apologies, gaze remaining ahead. His heart thumped loudly against his ears, serving as a mere distraction to throw off his already breaking composure.

God, your father would absolutely kill him if he were to find out that he’d lost sight of you.

But Chrollo wasn’t scared of that, not even an ounce of fear in his body at the thought of your father’s wrath, instead, he worried for your safety; the more minutes passed without a trace of you, the more frustration consumed every fibre of him.

The only option left was to check the balcony.

With a bated breath, he opened the sliding door, a gentle, cool breeze of the night greeted him like a welcome hug. His gaze scanned the open area which—thankfully—landed on your familiar figure, you stood there, leaning against the metal railing while looking up at the obsidian skies.

Relief briefly washed over Chrollo as he let out a sigh but this feeling was soon replaced with red, hot anger.

He stalked over to where you stood, each step heavy with annoyance, “Where have you been? I was looking all over for you! Don’t run off like that.”

The ever calm, and collected bodyguard coming for your neck with such ferocity caught you off guard, not to mention the obvious bite in his tone. With furrowed brows, you turned to face Chrollo, a look of disbelief painted on your face. The audacity of this man. Who the hell was he to boss you around as though you were his subordinate?

“That’s ‘miss’ for you—” You crossed your arms, head slightly tilted upwards as you looked down at him from your nose.

“And relax, Chrollo. I’m not harmed. I don’t see what the fuss is about.” You were absolutely right, and Chrollo hated that you were because he didn’t know where else to channel his anger, if anything, your words doused the flame inside his chest with gasoline, allowing it to expand, and burn an azure fire.

Despite his better judgement, Chrollo let it consume him, “Relax? I’m your bodyguard, it’s my duty to keep you safe, and out of danger! What if something happens to you, and I’m not around, hm?”

Chrollo felt the foreign seed inside his chest grow into uncertainty—an odd feeling he’s never felt before. Speaking out like this, and losing his cool over a situation was out of character for him but somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to stop, as though words willingly flew out of his throat, and out into the open.

“Exactly, you’re only a bodyguard. You have no right to act this way towards me. Have you forgotten I’m not your equal?” You retorted, dishing out the same amount of ferocity he had given you.

Initially, you were going to let the whole thing slide, it was understandable where Chrollo was coming from—he was only doing his job—but it pissed you off seeing as how he had the audacity to act like that.

You looked up at the taller man, gaze not backing down from his steely ones; it took him a couple of seconds to hold your stare before breaking it, and looking off to the dark horizon. Though, you swore you saw his eyes subtly dip down for a split second before doing so—you weren’t too sure, maybe it was the darkness playing tricks.

You were right. Chrollo was only a bodyguard, so did he cross the line? The unclear answer made him all the more furious but for now, he’d have to settle for the explanation that he’s your bodyguard, and he has the right to worry about your safety. Even if Chrollo himself didn’t entirely believe this reason.

“You’re right. I apologise for crossing any boundaries, miss.”

Chrollo stationed himself near the sliding door, offering you space to enjoy the quiet night in peace. Now, you felt kind of bad for raising your voice at him when he clearly showed nothing but concern; you chalked it up to the stress your father weighed upon you tonight—the decision to tell everyone about the marriage, Euan being your date for tonight, the engagement ring that wrapped around your finger.

It was clear that Chrollo was still bothered about the whole thing, you could see it from the way his jaw tightened, and the subtle crease between his brows. Whatever. You’ll deal with it later.

A petty argument. That was it. But why did it have Chrollo all worked up? Why was he extremely bothered about it? Hell, where was that useless fiancé of yours, and why wasn’t he looking after you? Questions swirled in his mind, chaotic, and uncertain—now, Chrollo was really wondering why he was acting this way. In his twenty-six years of living, never had he felt this feeling before, it stemmed from his chest, blooming across his body, and consuming him in an unpleasant, foreign way.

The feeling stayed rooted inside even until reaching the estate where he stood guarding the door to your room.

Chrollo rubbed his forefinger, and thumb together while staring at the marbled tiles beneath his feet, it was past midnight now, and the only sound heard was the thumping of his own heart—the rhythmic beat that somewhat got louder with each passing minute.

He was soon reeled back into reality at the sound of the door opening behind him. Stepping out of your room, Chrollo watched as the darkness unclasped your body from its confines; he quickly averted his gaze at your vulnerable state—clad in a flimsy ivory nightgown that stopped just below the knees with satin ribbon straps comfortably sitting on your shoulders. He felt it was rather inappropriate seeing you in such an attire.

“Ahem. Anything you need, miss?” Chrollo coughed into his fist, staring at the darkness behind you instead of holding the gaze thrown his way.

Letting out a sigh, you replied, “I think I need to clear my head a bit . . Care to join me for a night drive? That way you’ll know my whereabouts.” The end of your sentence had a tinge of bitterness laced with it but Chrollo shrugged it off, it’d be no use trying to pick up where the two of you left off earlier.

“I take it as a yes, then? Meet me at the garage.” With that, you walked down the stairs, the thin fabric of your nightgown swaying with each step taken.

Chrollo quickly headed to the staff house to grab the keys to his assigned vehicle. Making his way to the door, he immediately stopped in his tracks as a sudden idea popped into mind—the gun hidden beneath his pillows.

Chrollo stared at his bed before swiftly lifting the ivory pillow, revealing a pistol given to him upon acquiring the bodyguard role. Without a word, he tucked it inside the holster beneath the obsidian blazer he donned, and walked out of the bedroom, heading for the garage.

Disappearing into the night, an odd feeling engulfed Chrollo—he wondered whether the gun on his hip portrayed him as your bodyguard or as your assassin.

Something he has never thought about before because it had always been the latter, regardless of the situation. Nonetheless, the weapon felt awfully heavy hanging onto him—as though it was a great burden that took an even greater effort to get rid of.

The drive was awkward, and there was no set destination; the only instruction you gave Chrollo was to keep driving, and he did, without questions asked. The only sound that filled the vehicle was the low humming of the engine which lulled you further into your thoughts, warm streetlights would illuminate the inside which allowed Chrollo to sneak brief glances at you through the rearview mirror. He didn’t want to pry but it was clear you were overwhelmed with a lot of things.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology caught Chrollo off guard, stone cold gaze looking through the mirror to meet your own for a split second. “Miss?” He furrowed his brows. “For earlier. I said some harsh words as well, and you were only doing your job. So, I apologise.” Now, it was your turn to steal glances through the rearview mirror. Chrollo’s expression remained unchanged—most likely trying to find an appropriate answer.

He shook his head, fully aware you peered at him through the mirror, “It’s no big deal . . It wasn’t my place to raise my voice. As you said earlier, I’m just a bodyguard.” Chrollo’s eyes remained on the road ahead, enveloped by the night, he didn’t know why it suddenly became hard to glance through the mirror—maybe it was the unmistakable knowledge that you’d be staring straight back.

Was he nervous?

Impossible. There was no such emotion in his dictionary.

“It’s just—the whole announcing the marriage with Euan in front of all the guests stressed me out. The marriage is set in stone without my permission, and I just feel so helpless . .” You watched the outside view go by, dull colours of the night blending into a blurry haze.

“I know the arrangement has benefits. I know that.” It was directed more to yourself than Chrollo, as though some part of you agreed with the marriage.

“Euan is . . He’s sweet—a kind soul but I cannot see myself loving him, spending the rest of my life with him.” The assassin gripped the wheel a little tighter at the mention of your fiancé. “I don’t think anyone should ever go through that.” He cleared his throat, stealing another glance at you.

“You mentioned a while ago—” Chrollo spoke up, deciding to deviate the topic from Euan. “That the marriage would benefit the company ‘more security’ . .” He trailed off, realising how he’s prying but you didn’t seem to mind with how openly you replied.

“Long story short, my father had a very close friend—Mr. Driscoll—in the industry. It was later revealed that he was involved in money laundering so most of his assets came from illegal dealings. My father played a significant role in his arrest—basically, Driscoll was stupid enough to tell my father of his underground ties, urging him to do it as well. But my father had tipped the police instead. Naturally, his son, Ciaran Driscoll—who’s now the CEO of the company—saw us in a bad light, and it won’t take long until he makes my father pay for the damages done.”

“The arranged marriage with Euan would obviously combine our security team with theirs which would decrease the chances of Ciaran, and any other dangers from getting near my father, and I.”

Yet Chrollo was here—an assassin tasked to kill you—who easily took on the role of your personal bodyguard.

How ironic.

You really did need that extra security from the Hestons.

“Ciaran Driscoll?” Chrollo muttered the name under his breath which you quickly caught onto. “Yeah. Ciaran Driscoll from Driscoll Pharmaceuticals, you know him?” He wouldn’t necessarily say he knew him but Chrollo was awfully familiar with the name—familiar enough to conclude that Ciaran was the one who hired him to kill you.

Despite meeting at a deserted location back then—nowhere near that gave any hints of Ciaran’s real identity—one of his subordinates had addressed him by his last name which Chrollo immediately picked up.

The pieces fit flawlessly. It made sense for Ciaran to get revenge for Mr. Driscoll’s arrest by targeting what your father held most dear in his life—you. And for that to happen, Chrollo was the middle man, the one to fuel the chaos between two families.

If he got the job done.

“No.” Chrollo lied. “Just thought the last name rang a bell.”

“Understandable, they’re a household name. Well, it used to be.”

Short silence filled the vehicle yet again, both left to their own thoughts before you spoke up, albeit, it was more of thinking aloud, “I truly don’t know what I want in life.” Odd. Chrollo always thought that if one was wealthy, they’d be able to wish for anything, and everything yet somehow, even with all the gold in your hands, you were still lost.

Chrollo pitied you, and he didn’t know what to make of it.

Hell, he didn’t even know whether it was appropriate to reply. What did he know? He was someone born into poverty who didn’t have the luxury to question himself about what he wanted in life, just having to see another was already a blessing itself. Well, it wasn’t like the outcasts of society were given a choice on how to lead one’s life anyway.

The car fell in another silence but this time it was much longer, long enough for Chrollo to glance at the rearview mirror to see your eyes closed, and head leaning against the window, the rhythmic rise, and fall of your chest indicating the slumber you were in.

It was almost laughable how Chrollo was able to prove his theory right—that the rich were greedy for an even greater amount of money, the obvious example was the ex-CEO of Driscoll Pharmaceuticals, Ciaran’s father.

Chrollo’s grip on the wheel tightened, leather burning against his palms at the mere thought of dirty business. Illegal dealings. It was possible he had a hand in Sarasa's kidnapping. Mr. Driscoll didn’t belong in jail, no, he belonged before the barrel of Chrollo’s gun.

Taking another glance at your sleeping form, Chrollo quietly pulled over to the side of the road, putting the car in park before twisting his torso to face you. Warm streetlights casted a gentle glow upon your features, piercing grey eyes carefully tracing each one as though you were a divine creature—otherworldly, and beautiful.

You looked so peaceful, and undisturbed. Vulnerable.

While his eyes remained on you, Chrollo slowly slid a hand inside his blazer, reaching for the gun affixed by his hip.

The assassin pulled it out, pointing the barrel to your head, the weapon cool against the warmth of his hand. In, and out, he drew steady breaths, forefinger hovering over the trigger—one pull, and it’d be over.

The problem was, Chrollo couldn’t do it.

He has pulled the trigger countless times as though it was second nature, so why couldn’t he do it now? He couldn’t even bring himself to let his digit touch it.

As you stirred in your sleep, Chrollo swiftly tucked the gun back in his holster, and faced forward. Shaky, uneven breaths slipped past his parted lips, the sound of his heartbeat clouding his senses.

Hands balling into fists, he wondered what had gotten into him, mind racing with a million thoughts as he drowned in pure uncertainty. Chrollo stared at his hands—the same hands that have spilled blood countless times, the same hands that killed without a second thought, the same hands that were tasked to murder you.

Yet here he was, unable to do so as if it were his first time.

“Chrollo?” You mumbled aloud. As you peeled your eyes open, you tried to register your surroundings. “Why did we stop? Is there something wrong?”

He cleared his throat, taking a quick glance through the rearview mirror before shaking his head, “No, miss. I just had to take a quick call, my apologies.” With that, Chrollo pulled away from the side of the road, taking you back to the estate.

The ride home was silent. Fortunately for Chrollo, this gave him the opportunity to calm his thoughts, and steady his growing breaths.

Obviously this has never happened before, especially while out on a mission; it made sense for the assassin to lose his cool a bit after hesitating. If anything, it was akin to a bird suddenly losing the ability to fly when flying was the only thing it knew. To make things worse, Chrollo had just broken the unspoken rule of the underworld—to never hesitate.

To the underworld, hesitating meant fragility, and fragility meant that the enemy had the upper hand. He was confused, and conflicted, more so upset at himself for being such a coward—why was he a coward?

After returning to the estate, you softly called out to Chrollo who was heading to the staff house, “Do you want to come inside?” All it took was that foreign look in your face for him to fully understand what you meant.

He didn’t have to assume anything—you’ve never looked at Chrollo with such a burning gaze, full of intent, and vulnerability. God, it was a brazen move to do so but you wished he agreed. All you needed was a little company at the moment.

Something in the air shifted. Maybe it was because you were both stripped of your layers, baring your defenceless forms out in the open. Maybe it was the way Chrollo’s rational thinking became compromised on the way home. Or maybe it was how you oddly felt comfortable around his presence, as though he was a lifelong friend.

Nonetheless, Chrollo found himself inside your bedroom, and as expected, it was grand, spacious, fit for a billionaire’s daughter. Sweet aroma of fresh chrysanthemum’s filled the air but it was nothing like he had remembered back in Meteor City which was laced with grief, and sorrow. Instead, it enveloped Chrollo in a warm welcoming hug, he could finally understand your interpretation of chrysanthemums—devoted love, and loyalty.

Moonlight spilled from the windows, illuminating the side of Chrollo’s face. He was just standing there yet he mirrored the divinity of an angel as soft shadows contoured his handsome face, dark eyes gleaming beneath the dulcet glow; you’ve never been able to decipher the emotions behind his gaze but tonight was different, his stare was soft mixed with hint of uncertainty; Chrollo wore his heart on his sleeves.

“Help me escape even for a little while.”

Like the obedient bodyguard he was, he nodded. Chrollo took one step closer, reaching out a hand to gently undo one of the satin ribbon straps. The flimsy fabric gracefully slid off your right shoulder, just enough to expose your pert nipple. It hardened beneath the cool evening air which had Chrollo swallowing thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing with pure excitement, and hunger; oh, how he couldn’t wait to put his lips on your skin, and devour you.

Wasting no time to undo the other ribbon strap, your nightgown instantly fell to the carpeted floors, the fabric pooling around your feet, leaving you almost completely bare in front of Chrollo.

Your skin grew feverish beneath his observant stare as he traced every dip, and curve, dark eyes gleaming with anticipation. After a heartbeat or two, Chrollo’s lips were on your skin, palms finding home just above your waist; he placed gentle kisses down the side of your neck as though on a mission to mark you, pulling dainty gasps in the process.

You tasted absolutely divine—like a hopeful prayer between his lips, and he craved for more. Soft smacks slowly filled your ears as he praised you with kisses. Down, down, down Chrollo’s lips went before stopping at the junction of your neck, he gave the sensitive skin an experimental lick to which you responded with a heated gasp of his name.

Tilting your head to the side allowed more freedom for Chrollo to explore; hands coming up to tangle with his raven strands, and tug at it urged him to mark your skin with hues of dark purple, and red.

And he did. Gentle, wet kisses turned into rough, electric ones as Chrollo used both teeth, and tongue to nip, and suck at your skin.

“Chrollo—!”

The assassin could only grunt in response as he carved himself onto your skin like knife on wood—over, and over again ‘til it left a lasting mark. And when you stare at these sinful hues in the mirror, you’d be reminded of the feel of his lips, how his kisses turned your legs into a wobbly mess, and mind into a lustful haze.

Embarrassing, warm wetness pooled on the fabric of your panties as Chrollo neared your breasts, you watched with a bated breath, and keen eyes as he wrapped his lips around a mound—the sinful sight of Chrollo trying to take in as much of it as he could had your legs buckling, you were sure to have met the floor if it weren’t for his firm hold.

You let out a soft moan at the feel of his hot tongue swirling around your nipple, teeth gently grazing the sensitive spot which sent lightning down the length of your spine.

Eager hands tugged at the roots of his obsidian strands, nails raking across his scalp; it was beyond lewd how you readily pushed your bare body into Chrollo’s face—a man you’ve only known for less than a month yet here he was, wicked lips made of fire against your naked skin that melted like ice.

A large hand snaked its way up your front, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and pausing just beneath the other breast before cupping it wholly—the heart of his palm rubbing against your sensitive nipple as he massaged, and toyed with the fat.

Without an ounce of shame left in inside you, you wantonly moaned his name at the feel of his lips, and hand making love to your chest, it had Chrollo twitching in his slacks but he paid no mind to it because tonight was about ravishing your body until no one else could compare—not even Euan Heston.

Chrollo didn’t know what this meant for the both of you after but that was okay because once the night ends, your body would crave for none but him, and only him.

Chrollo let go of your swollen, wet breast with a soft pop, he looked up through his lashes before licking his lips, as though he just devoured the tastiest meal of his life.

Working his way down your torso, he placed chaste kisses down the valley of your breasts, steadily sinking to his knees as he descended further, each passing second growing closer to your heat—where you needed him the most.

Before Chrollo could kiss the intimate spot just below your belly button, you cupped his face, making him look up at you with slight confusion,

“On the bed . .”

Three words was all he needed to understand before standing to his full height, “Jump.” Chrollo ordered. You didn’t need to be told twice before doing so, arms, and legs wrapping around him while he supported your weight.

As Chrollo sauntered to the bed, you used the time to eagerly explore the spot beneath his ear, using teeth, and tongue to suck at it which pulled a few soft sighs from him. His intoxicating scent filled your senses, the sweet minty aroma from chrysanthemums mixed with his musky perfume had you groaning into his skin.

He shuddered at the feeling, the tips of his fingers digging further into the fat of your ass.

Gently laying you down on the pillows beneath, he stared at the serene beauty before him, steely eyes drinking in your nakedness. Chrollo’s stare felt like you stood directly under the blazing sun on a summer day, igniting your skin to the core without anywhere to take cover but you liked it, you liked the feeling of his hungry stare, how he looked at you like fresh meat on a silver platter—a predator, and his prey.

As if to put on a show, Chrollo hastily shrugged off his blazer, mindlessly throwing it on the floor, leaving him with a white button down. He caught a glimpse of your lust-clouded gaze staring at the gun affixed to his hip to which he immediately removed by unclasping the holster.

The weapon landed on the floor with a heavy thud, you paid no mind to it but for Chrollo, it served as a harsh reminder of his real motive, and everything that would happen tonight was nothing but an insignificant moment in his life.

At least that's what he convinced himself this was.

The mattress groaned beneath Chrollo’s weight as he dipped down, wasting no time to connect his lips on your bare skin, and picking up where he left off—right below your belly button.

He kissed at it before wickedly pulling the waistband of your panties using his lips, and letting go of it to snap against your skin. A small gasp escaped your lips at the feel of the slight burning sensation which had you aching for more; it also didn’t help how his hot breath ghosted over the most intimate part of your body.

Though, before you could open your mouth, and beg, Chrollo hooked a forefinger around the waistband, and swiftly tugged it down the length of your legs, wet cunt squeezing at nothing as the cool air embraced its heat.

Chrollo took his time to enjoy the bare sight before him by placing open-mouthed kisses dangerously near your sopping cunt—on your inner thighs, below your belly button, and the spot just above your clit. It had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, fingers digging into the sheets beneath; what a wicked, wicked man, he hasn’t even properly touched you yet here you were, legs shaking from all the teasing.

Pride bloomed across his chest at the sight of you—the fucked out expression you donned, the heavy rise, and fall of your chest, and the dainty whimpers that filled the air.

Hooking his hands behind your knees, Chrollo gently pushed them towards your chest ‘til you were folded in half, glistening cunt deliciously exposed for him to devour.

A wanton moan slipped past your lips as Chrollo traced his tongue around the outside of your clit before laying the wet muscle flat against it. He expertly rubbed at the sensitive nub, lewd sounds mixed with your shameless moans engulfed his ears, encouraging him to further stimulate the spot.

Your hips bucked against his face, hands flying down to his hair as the electric sensation returned to your body, sending massive jolts of lightning down the curve of your spine.

“Chrollo, right there! Yes—haah!” You gasped as he switched to the tip of his tongue to lick at your clit.

Chrollo placed his thumb, and forefinger on either side of your clit for better access before moving his tongue side-to-side, across the area beneath the clitoral hood, resulting in a broader stimulation that had you stiffening with pure pleasure.

Looking down at the sinful view between your legs, you let out a loud moan as Chrollo met your eyes through his hooded ones. Without a doubt, ecstasy slowly consumed both his body, and mind with how he subtly rocked his hips against the mattress—cock aching for any kind of contact but Chrollo had to focus more on holding your hips down while you unceremoniously thrashed around, trying to slow your impending orgasm.

As Chrollo continued his torture, it didn’t take long for you to let pleasure consume your body as a whole, and cum on his tongue.

He drank in your pleasured state—lips parted, brows furrowed, and back arched off the mattress; the orgasm that hit you was intense, as though your whole body has been electrified, and the only way to respond was by moaning his name like a sacred prayer in hopes you keep you grounded to reality.

Relishing the taste of your essence on his tongue, he closed his eyes, humming against your sensitive nub in complete satisfaction which had your legs shaking, and hands attempting to push his head away. He gave a few more gentle licks before pulling away, revealing his chin completely drenched in your filthy arousal—Chrollo paid no mind, simply bringing a hand up to his face to wipe at it.

You watched through a lustful haze as Chrollo finally worked on his shirt, each button undone growing closer, and closer to exposing the entirety of his torso.

As he shrugged the fabric off, you couldn’t help but reach out to touch his bare skin—it was pale, fascinatingly chiselled, and scarred; Chrollo’s torso was decorated with a few raised, discoloured patches here, and there indicating the rough past he had. He stared as you traced a scar with your forefinger—a ghostly touch that brought a shudder down his spine—but before you could move onto the next one, Chrollo gently grabbed your wrist, and brought it up to his face, placing a chaste kiss on the heart of your palm.

By no means was he insecure about those scars, in fact, he proudly wore them like a badge, to serve as a reminder that the rest of the world wasn’t his friend.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said your heart didn’t skip a beat or two.

The kiss from Chrollo was different—different from the one Euan had given you during the company event. Yes, the latter was full of sincerity but it didn’t bring warmth to your face like Chrollo’s one had.

Or maybe it was just because of how lost you were in pure lust, unable to decipher even the simplest feelings.

“Tonight is all about you.”

Chrollo shouldn’t be doing this, it goes against his beliefs, and goals—against the very reason why he turned into the person who he was right now.

Mingling with the wealthy, even going to an extent as to have sex with you, if his younger self saw him right now, he wouldn’t be able to believe it.

But what was it about you that had Chrollo rewriting his rules? Why was he so willing to throw away the deep rooted anger inside his heart to pleasure you?

Moreso, what did he gain from all this?—not money, not power, definitely not the justice he sought.

Nonetheless, Chrollo threw those thoughts in the moonlit window—he’d grab them again later at the crack of dawn while guilt eats him alive. Slowly, he dipped his hands below his torso, fumbling with the zipper of his slacks; Chrollo felt your heated stare on his crotch, how your short breaths quickened as he tantalisingly pulled the metal zip down, the sound echoed along with your breathing, allowing Chrollo to bask in your desperation.

You thanked the stars above as he bared himself without anymore teasing, articles of clothing that once hugged his body were now strewn across the floor of your room like unmended pieces of oneself.

Moonlight surrounded Chrollo like a serene aura, an angelic-like glow that had his skin radiating beneath the celestial gleam, turning his hair into the colour of the first starlight. It was hard to focus on his heavenly appearance when sin was right between his legs.

“Do you want me to stop?”

No, god, no, just the thought of Chrollo completely leaving you high, and dry brought tears to your eyes. Shaking your head vigorously, he crawled atop your lust-fuelled body before placing a chaste kiss on your temple then onto your nose, trailing further down ‘til he reached the valley of your breasts. You let out a shudder as Chrollo lapped his way down, not forgetting to tease at your pebbled nipples by giving them a light nip.

“Chrollo, please . .” For once, this was different from what was usually thrown his way—most people begged for their lives as they stared down the barrel of his gun with pure horror in their eyes, lips disturbingly quivering as they pleaded during their last moments.

Wasting no time, Chrollo met your gaze once more, his face mere centimetres from yours. You gasped as his cockhead gently prodded at your entrance as he reached down between your bodies, he rubbed it a few more times, the sinful contact earning low grunts, and moans from both of you.

Chrollo connected his forehead with yours, damp obsidian hair ghosting over your warmed cheeks, holding it in a gentle caress

Letting out a shaky breath, his cock slowly pushed your folds apart as he inched in. Immediately, your legs curled around the dip of his bare waist, interlocking behind his lower back; your hasty movement jolted Chrollo forward which forced his cock further into the plush of your velvety walls.

He sighed, cursing the eye rolling pleasure sent his body into a pathetic tremble. Though, you were no better, clenching around Chrollo every time he pushed deeper—not only did it test his sanity but it also tested his patience.

He reminded himself a million times that simply fucking you like a mere cocksleeve was not his intention for tonight. Or ever. Rich or not, you were still a woman after all, one deserving of nothing but genuine pleasure.

As Chrollo bottomed out, he held your starry gaze, watching as your eyes glistened with tears—whether it was from the bliss his cock had you under or from sadness, he had no idea.

You felt so full, as though the gaping void inside you had been magically sealed—his cock sat there unmoving yet it hit all the right spots, the ones that had you trembling a little harder, and moaning a little louder.

Hot breaths mingled as the two of you let out heavy pants, he stilled inside your wet cunt, allowing both himself, and you to adjust to the feeling, “You’re so tight—fuck.” You gave your hips an experimental rut at his words which pulled a long hiss from him, brows furrowing together.

After a heartbeat or two, Chrollo slowly pulled out, the languid drag of his cock against the plush of your walls had you whining in the shape of his name. It went straight to his cock, twitching at the pornographic sound you let out—if you noticed, you didn’t let on, you were too focused on the way he moved inside you.

With only the tip remaining, Chrollo pushed his hips using the same pace; all the way until he disappeared in your folds once again, heavy balls kissing the skin of your ass.

You could feel the entirety of his length—every dip, and curve which had your legs shaking, and toes curling a little harder. Chrollo’s cock was slightly curved upward which allowed an easy reach to your sweet spot, and with every languid thrust he gave you, his cockhead kissed it repeatedly.

Hands that were pinned to the pillows were released as Chrollo brought a hand to caress your cheek while the other supported his weight. You leaned into his fiery touch, as if doing so was going to ground you from cloud nine.

Setting a deep, slow pace, Chrollo’s face remained a breath away from yours—he kept eye contact, nothing but an endless pit of alluring onyx that pulled you further into the ocean of bliss. Every languid stroke pulled oxygen from your lungs, it had you desperately gasping for air, one which only Chrollo could quench by whispering sweet nothings mere inches from your parted lips.

Mixed with breathless sighs of pleasure was the soft creaking of the bed frame which sung in unison beneath the weight of your rocking bodies. The air grew impossibly thick, and hot allowing the sheets to stick uncomfortably to your bare back but you didn’t care, not when Chrollo fucked you into the mattress as if the sun was going to burn out tomorrow.

You pulled him closer, arms instinctively wrapping around his torso to decorate his back with crimson streaks.

The sharp sting of your nails fuelled Chrollo’s drive—he picked up the pace but remained bottoming out with every powerful thrust, causing your body to jolt in response.

You clung to him tighter, legs painfully locked behind his back as he did his best to move in, and out of your sopping cunt. You were close, and despite Chrollo taking you for the first time, he knew—he could feel your body stiffen with each passing second, the way your greedy cunt grew impossibly tighter, making it hard for him move, and not to mention your broken cries of his name so close to his ears that those were all he could hear.

“I’m so near—god, please don’t stop, Chrollo—!” You sounded so vulnerable, so bare it made his cock twitch.

Greed consuming his pleasured state, Chrollo wrapped an arm around your shoulders, deftly snaking it between the mattress, and your back. He pulled you closer, the weight of your limp torso straining against his curled limb while the other supported his own body.

Chrollo cradled your head with his palm, pushing your face closer to his ‘til the tip of his nose brushed your own. Oh, how tempted he was to kiss the very lips that cried out his name as if he were your saving grace—an angel with his hand stretched out to you.

Barely a whisper above the heavy breaths you exchanged, your name smoothly rolled off his tongue. It was the first time Chrollo did so, and god how addictive it sounded; you shuddered at it, his dulcet voice engulfing the entirety of your being right down to your very core.

“You’ve been so good, are you going to cum? To let go, for me?”

With the minute space left between the two of you, you vigorously nodded your head, too fucked to care about the desperation that seeped from your skin like sweat. Chrollo moaned at your wordless response, fingers slightly curling at the back of your head, his nails dragging across your scalp,

“Haah—! That’s right, give in to it.”

And you did.

With a final drive of his hips, you came undone—the pressure that’s been slowly building up finally bursting inside you.

A broken moan escaped your lips, body arching closer to his as you let your orgasm take you beyond cloud nine.

As if you weren’t already breathless from panting like a whore, Chrollo greedily pressed his lips against your quivering ones to capture them in a passionate kiss.

His lips were soft, and sensual, like it was sculpted by the goddess of love herself. He greedily drank in every moan, and whimper you had to offer, claiming them as his own prized possession to keep. Chrollo’s pace faltered at the feel of your cum coating his cock in a warm embrace—a feeling he’s been deprived off, a feeling he didn’t know he needed.

Pulling away from the kiss, he spoke, breathless, “I’m close—fuck. Where do y—” “Inside.” Chrollo swallowed thickly with your legs tightening around him. It dizzied him, the thought of you so willing to let your insides be marked by him without a second thought.

A small gasp escaped you as he gently set you down onto the mattress, his cockhead brushing your sensitive spot. With his orgasm near, Chrollo dropped his body on top of your own, torsos flush against each other as he trapped you with his weight.

With his own pleasure in mind, Chrollo gave short, hasty thrusts, desperately rutting his hips to chase the growing bliss. The only option for you was to lay there, and moan his name from overstimulation; with his weight on yours, you couldn’t squirm your way out of the immense pleasure.

“I’m here—ngh! ‘M close.” Chrollo whispered into your ear, a hint of apology laced his tone, most likely from how overstimulated you were.

After a few more desperate thrusts, he stilled, sheathing his cock all the way inside your cunt, you felt him twitch before releasing his load with a low moan.

Feeling his hot cum paint your walls white, you mirrored the sound he made. Loud, wet squelches filled the room as Chrollo rode out his high, effectively fucking his cum deeper.

The two of you stayed still for a moment, letting your bodies bathe in serene moonlight. You laid beneath him, listening to his rhythmic heartbeat pound away against his ribcage, it effectively lulled you to the borders of sleep, your heavy eyelids slowly closing in exhaustion.

Though, before you could fully close them, Chrollo rolled off your body with a soft grunt, his cock slipping out in the process. The loss of contact had you clenching around nothing at the feel of his cum slowly seeping out of your cunt. Before you could speak up, Chrollo beat you to it,

“I should go.” He cleared his throat, voice low, a hint of sadness laced in his tone. Though, you didn’t catch on. Chrollo quietly gathered his clothes, putting them on layer by layer until he was fully clothed. An indiscernible emotion washed over you as he made his way to the door, each quiet step taken tugging at an invisible string tangled in your heart. Oddly enough, it stung.

“Yeah . .” You nodded in a daze.

The lack of response from your end tore at Chrollo’s insides—it made sense, after all, he was nothing but a quick fuck, what did he expect? For you to convince him to stay the night? That was beyond delusional.

As Chrollo reached for the handle, you called his name out of instinct. His heart skipped a beat. “Yes, miss . . ?” He spoke your title in a small voice, unsure which name was appropriate in this situation.

“Thank you.”

That was all you could muster. What else was there anyway? Chrollo wasn’t a person you were supposed to be sleeping with in the first place, nor was he your lover who you could be intimate with after sex.

He was nothing but a bodyguard, and will remain your bodyguard. Whatever happened in this room was to be forgotten.

The sound of the door clicking reached your ears, and in the blink of an eye, he was gone. His scent lingered in the air, becoming one with the sweet aroma of chrysanthemums.

Within the next coming days, you were right, and wrong. Right because in the face of others, the professional relationship between you, and Chrollo remained—a bodyguard, and his principal.

Wrong because stupidly enough, the both of you had not forgotten what happened a couple of nights back. The days were filled with stolen glances, and stuttering heartbeats, you couldn’t stand by idly while your heart yearned for your bodyguard.

At first, you convinced yourself that this feeling was purely lust-driven, it was only natural to seek out Chrollo’s presence after a night with him.

You believed it for a week.

One whole week until you felt your heart clenching at the sight of your bodyguard exchanging a conversation with one of the maids. Chrollo was all smiles, the kind that reached his eyes; the maid wasn’t any better, an obvious blush extending from her cheeks to her ears said it all.

He never smiled at you like that.

Why was he treating you—his boss—any different? Chrollo was always nonchalant with you, barely any words spoken yet here he was animatedly cracking jokes left, and right like he had some kind of alter ego. It pissed you off.

More so, being angry at the fact that Chrollo treated you differently upset you even more. At best, this was a trivial matter, something you shouldn’t even think about.

But you couldn’t let go of it, not when he gazed at you the same way he had done so that night.

Within the next week, you’d realise that merely having Chrollo by your side wasn’t enough.

On Monday, you did your best to converse with him while buying chrysanthemums at the boutique, even going as far as giving him a flower from your bouquet, hoping that he’d think of you whenever he looked at it.

On Wednesday, instead of asking your personal assistant to grab your lunch, you took Chrollo instead, and headed out the office which gave you more alone time with him.

And by Friday, you couldn’t take it anymore. You called Chrollo into your bedroom late at night after finding the courage to do so. Naturally, he stood inside as if he didn’t have you filling the room with your own moans two weeks ago.

The familiar sweet scent of chrysanthemums filled his lungs, taking him back to the pleasure-filled night with you. Chrollo pushed the thought down, deeming it extremely inappropriate, especially being alone with you like this, again.

He swallowed as you pat the empty spot next to you, your vulnerable state beckoning him to devour you. Who was he to deny himself of acting on his predatory instincts?

“This is . . rather unprofessional, miss.”

That was the last thing he said before he found himself sitting on the edge of your bed, kissing you like he loved you. Did he? Large hands cupped your jaw, eagerly pulling you closer to his face. Even though Chrollo didn’t bare his heart, the zeal behind his kisses revealed the truth hidden in his chest.

Both lips fell into a unison, slotting into each other like they were made for one another. Before getting carried away, Chrollo pulled back, brows lifting in amusement as he watched the way your face leaned in, searching for his lips.

“What—What about Mr. Euan?” He asked, breathless, onyx strands dishevelled, courtesy of your wandering hands.

You both knew you didn’t have feelings for Euan but saying it aloud wasn’t going to change the fact that a ring sat on your finger, it was far more complicated than that.

Lowering your gaze, you shrugged. Guilt picked at your skin, the thought of disrespecting Euan had you freezing in place. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be prying.” Chrollo whispered, hot breath fanning across your face. He tucked a strand behind your ear before sliding his digit down to your chin, lifting your face.

“Kiss me?”

You didn’t have to be told twice.

What the two of you had wasn’t exactly a relationship—beyond a professional relationship but less than a romantic one. But Chrollo cared for you all the same, even if it meant watching in the sidelines as Euan made his polite advances—kiss on your cheek, a hand on the small of your back, his fingers tucking stray hairs aside, Chrollo endured it all. Whether or not it affected him, he didn’t let on.

Instead, he returned affection tenfold in comparison to what Euan gave you. Your room had turned into a rendezvous—every night, behind its closed doors, Chrollo took you in his arms, and whisked you away from reality, from all the inhibitions you felt. And amidst all the meaningful conversations, the shared pleasure, the tears shed, a bond deeper than one could comprehend blossomed within these walls.

Chrollo became a rock you could lean on—a significant person you could be vulnerable with, and bare your heart on the table, unguarded. He listened to your problems, and silly thoughts with open arms, and ears, stroking your hair beneath the moonlight as the two of you lay underneath the ivory sheets.

With you, he was a completely different person, a person who he deserved to become. One that could relate to the little joys in life—whether it be chasing sunsets, dipping salty fries in vanilla ice cream or looking up at the night sky without any remorse in one's heart.

With you, Chrollo had a fleeting glimpse of the life he was robbed of because all he knew was how to survive for another day—how to kill swiftly, and effectively.

And he’d be reminded of all these when returned to his own quarters in the dead of the night. That the sole purpose of his arrangement in this estate was to take you out—not to nurture a bond with you, not to have sex with you, not to listen to all your thoughts, no. Chrollo was here as your assassin.

To hold you so gently in his hands knowing they would be the same ones covered in your blood. It was almost laughable, it surprised Chrollo how he—a person conditioned to destroy—was able to touch you with the utmost gentleness as if he’s never once tasted violence on his tongue.

Clearly, you both felt something for one another but acting on it was easier said than done—not to mention how this mission wasn’t supposed to end up like this, all tangled up in a web known as you.

Did Chrollo love you? Truth be told, he didn’t know. He never had the privilege of experiencing what romantic love was. Wanting to be by your side was the only thing he was certain of.

Lying in bed, Chrollo looked over at his nightstand, it housed a singular piece of chrysanthemum soaked in a glass of water—one that you had given him earlier this week. Now, his room smelled just like yours, the flower’s sweet aroma lingering in the air.

It helped Chrollo sleep a little better; smelling its familiar scent tricked his mind into thinking he slept in your presence.

A little over a week.

That was how much time Chrollo had left to get the job done assigned by Ciaran. It wasn’t long, and he knew he had to make the decision soon but not before taking a gamble.

As Saturday arrived, you stuck to your routine as usual, the only difference was, the late night was spent driving around with Chrollo.

The atmosphere inside the vehicle grew thicker by the minute, he could tell something weighed your mind from the way you pursed your lips, and fidgeted with the hem of your shirt. But of course, the ever polite man he was, he waited ‘til you opened up to him—Chrollo knew you like the back of his hand, whenever things bothered you to an extent, it didn’t take long for you to break.

“Can I tell you something?” You murmured above the hum of the engine. Staring to the side, you watched as Chrollo wordlessly nodded his head, stealing a brief glance your way before focusing on the wheel. He took notice of how you sat on the front passenger seat instead of your usual spot.

Looking out the window, you spoke up, “I . . don’t know how to deal with all this.” Chrollo remained silent, urging you to continue. “I’m going to be married to a man I don’t love, and I’ll be running a company I don’t want. And us. I want you, Chrollo, I really do but I . .”

Chrollo’s grip tightened around the wheel.

“Why don’t we just run away, and leave all this behind? We can build a new life together and—”

“Is that what you want? To run away with me?” Chrollo cut you off. Coming to a full stop at the red lights, he turned to you, the seriousness in his expression made you somewhat nervous.

Would it be foolish of him to comfort you with words he partially meant?—words that would only hurt you in the end?

“I can give you that.”

At this point, Chrollo was lying to himself. To be so brazen, and accept running away with you knowing well enough his neck was chained to the underground—loyal to his roots.

Weighing the options, it was crystal clear that the odds were against the both of you. Of course, you didn’t know that, you had absolutely no idea Chrollo had underground ties nor was he assigned to kill you by none other than Ciaran.

Considering the latter’s involvement in underground business, you wouldn’t be the only one with a target on their back; it only made sense for Ciaran to put a hit on Chrollo as well for disobeying his orders if he were to consider running away. It would elicit a whole lot of enemies, and he couldn’t put you in a situation where he was willing to risk you dying in someone else’s hands.

Living a life hiding from dangers of the world—that’s what you would have to go through if you, and Chrollo were to run away. Did you really deserve to live that way? Did you deserve to live in the conditions Chrollo tried to run away from?

The answer was more than obvious.

Obviously, a life with Euan benefitted you more—you’d have more stability, and security. Who was he to take away all those things from you?

Having never tasted something as sweet as this feeling with you, Chrollo found himself holding tighter rather than letting go, he fed on greed, and delusion.

Truth be told, it tore him apart. A part of him cursed, and yelled at him for being so naïve, and easily moved by a woman he had only known for a month and a half—not to mention how he despised your kind.

The other part urged him to reach for the unthinkable, and build a new life he deserved, with you. Chrollo was ready to lay his weapon down if it meant being by your side ‘til the end of time.

Maybe in another life.

He knew he had to make a decision. Soon. Ciaran had been making calls to his burner more often than not, and he could sense the former’s patience growing thinner, and thinner as each day turned into night.

Whatever Chrollo’s decision was, he just hoped you’d still love him all the same—forgive him.

There was one crucial piece of information Chrollo had remembered. On Sundays, you dismissed all security staff that accompanied you, including the chauffeur, Lukas. This meant that for one day, you were completely unguarded, and alone.

Chrollo was unaware of the reason but it was obvious you wanted to experience a sense of independence one way or another.

Nonetheless, he managed to keep an eye on you by using an ample amount of distance—it was a piece of cake, after all, he tracked his targets in stealth mode for a living; akin to a predator sizing up its prey before sinking its canines.

Sundays weren’t particularly eventful, you spent the day alone running around swiping your credit card left, and right until it made you feel a tad better. So when Chrollo had ‘accidentally’ bumped into you at the parking lot, hidden from public cameras, he was aware of how effortless it was to whisk you away from the public.

“Chrollo? What brings you here?”

The bodyguard was dressed in his usual attire, a white button down neatly tucked beneath his black slacks, and this time, he didn’t wear a blazer.

“I figured you’d be here, miss. Something came up at the estate—you’re needed back home.” A lie.

Chrollo observed as the sparkle in your eyes drained at his words, genuine concern rolling in like grey clouds looming above on a stormy night. His heart clenched. Not in a good way. “Don’t worry, no one is hurt.” With his reassurance, your shoulders dropped with ease, the breath you’ve been holding slipped past your lips in a relieved sigh.

It pained the assassin how trusting you were, how easily one could play you into the palm of their hand the same way he did right now. Why?—why didn’t you question how effortlessly Chrollo pinpointed your exact location? The city was expansive, no normal person would be able to trace your steps unless they followed right from when you left the estate.

The vehicle was quiet, leaving room for Chrollo to notice the faint scent of chrysanthemums inside—it was your personal car, not the one Lukas used to drive you around hence the flowery aroma.

For some odd reason, the smell no longer comforted him the same way it did whenever he frequented your room. It made him nauseous. If Chrollo was to put it in words, the aroma smelled of sweet death, and it reminded him of the church back in Meteor City.

Consumed by concern, and lost in your own thoughts, you paid no attention to your surroundings outside, how it grew less, and less familiar with each kilometre driven by your bodyguard. You also didn’t notice Chrollo repeatedly stealing glances through the rearview mirror every now, and then, missing the way his steely gaze housed a hint of nervousness—an emotion he didn’t normally harbour.

Though, as you finally came to, you gazed out the window, eyes carefully scanning the fleeting hues outside as the car drove by. Soft colours of pinks, and oranges seeped through the glass which casted an ethereal glow inside, it hinted at the setting sun, and the darkness that loomed just around the corner. As your brain registered the foreign roads, confusion settled in,

“Are we taking a detour, Chrollo?”

He wordlessly nodded. You mirrored his action in acknowledgement but the feeling of unease was oddly difficult to dismiss, especially with how deserted these roads were. The streets were decorated with construction sites, abandoned buildings, and old houses that were decorated with wooden planks to seal off windows, and entrances.

A weird feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. You caught the way Chrollo’s stone cold gaze locked with yours for a split second but didn’t dare speak up.

Just as your heart started to race, the vehicle came to a halt, Chrollo had parked in front of an abandoned building—an old church, based on its architecture. Its unmistakable pointed roof aiming at the skies above, and stained glass windows marked with angels, and other holy beings said it all.

The building was surrounded by overgrown greenery, and wrecked furniture dumped on the side which hinted at years of apparent neglect. Its dressed stone walls were the epitome of sacrilege itself, littered with colourful vandalism from top to bottom; even just seeing it with your own eyes felt like a grave sin. A forbidden image.

“What—” “Get out.” Chrollo cut you off. For a tone so cold you could’ve swore a subtle shudder ran down the length of your spine. His stare met your own through the mirror for a second time and your heart sank all the way down to your stomach at how serious he was, dread slowly engulfing your body. What the hell was happening!? Why was Chrollo acting strangely?

“No.”

Chrollo turned to face you, still wearing that stoic expression. You felt small under his gaze, it almost felt predatory—no—not almost, it did; you didn’t want to admit but you caught a glimpse of the way his eyes sparkled with sharp, murderous intent.

Swallowing thickly, you crossed your arms, trying to appear nonchalant, albeit, it was more for yourself than for the man before you.

“Not until I get an answer. You mentioned something had come up at the estate, so why aren’t we—” “I lied.”

Before you could question his motives, Chrollo swiftly got out, the resounding thud as he shut the door closed had your body flinching a bit. You watched as he rounded the car, and made his way just before your door.

Opening it, a hand reached in for your wrist; gentle fingers curled around your skin as if you were a delicate flower—a daring contrast from the way his piercing gaze stabbed shards of unease throughout your body.

You pulled away, easily slipping off Chrollo’s placid grasp before helping yourself out of the vehicle. His hand curled into a loose fist as he watched you exit the car with an evident scowl on your face; funnily enough, Chrollo had the audacity to feel upset at the rejection. Never once have you denied his touch.

Crossing the narrow clearing that led to the unsealed church entrance, chunks of loose stone, and dirt moved beneath your steps; you stared at your feet as they navigated through the unstable terrain.

It was odd. Calm, and composed were the last two things you should be feeling in this situation, given the sudden shift in Chrollo’s demeanour, you were supposed to be fearing for your life right this instance despite your blindness to the hidden danger that lay ahead.

Chrollo . . He would never do that to you, right? Upon taking the job, he swore to protect you. But your better judgement screamed at all the glaring crimson coloured flags—an abandoned church in a deserted neighbourhood? It was the perfect set up for heinous crimes.

Out of instinct, you scanned the layout of the building from where you stood, if it came down to it, there was only one viable escape route which was through the main entrance of the church, the one Chrollo pulled open.

By now, the sun had fully disappeared below the horizon, and the colourful remnants the burning star left in its wake slowly faded into deep hues of night azure. Strangely, this end of the town harboured harsher winds with a freezing bite that had you rubbing your arms over the sleeves of your top.

A heavy groan sounded from the mahogany doors, it cut through the wind’s endless howl as it danced with the leaves, and through the sharp branches, interlocking trees in a soft sway.

A chill ran down your spine at the loudness of it. The doors parted revealing a view you’d expect in an old abandoned church—disorganised pews to create a spacing in the middle, antique chandeliers affixed to the high ceiling covered in thick layers of dust and cobwebs, and trash scattered across its marbled floors; by the state of the inside, squatters most likely frequented the building due to its unsealed entrance.

The inside was dimly lit from street lights outside, it poured through the stained glass windows which allowed a deep scarlet glow to illuminate the building. Chrollo stepped inside, the soles of his obsidian dress shoes quietly clicked with every calculated step further into the church.

Foolishly enough, you followed as though a crimson string bound yourself to his—he was acting strangely, and the most appropriate approach as of now was to question his behaviour, and the bizarreness of the situation. Walking away would only prove useless with how far he has driven, and he had your car keys; at best, you could only cooperate.

“Chrollo, will you please tell me what’s going on?” You navigated inside the old building, the scent of mildew, and rotten wood lingered in the damp air, it captured your senses in a tight hold.

Ruby bounced off Chrollo’s inky strands as he stood at the heart of the church, right beneath the stained windows with divine beings. It turned his pale skin into an angry red, and you wondered if that’s what he felt right this very moment, clearly you weren’t far off with how he pierced your soul earlier.

He turned to face you, “I’m doing this for your sake.” For the first time today, emotion seeped through the cracks of his nonchalance.

Chrollo looked almost sad, you weren’t entirely sure given the lack of lighting but the unmistakable glint behind those obsidian eyes was anything but foreign. For a split second, it was the same Chrollo that spent countless nights in your bedroom; not as your bodyguard, not as anyone else but simply as Chrollo—your Chrollo.

“For my sake? What the hell are you talking about, Chrollo?” Like the vermillion glow that bounced off your skin as you stepped closer, anger slowly bubbled in the pit of your stomach. Chrollo was nothing but cryptic with his responses, and you couldn’t wrap your head around any of them! He had always been a straightforward person, sometimes blunt, so why was he holding back now?

Standing beneath the scarlet light softly illuminated your features, Chrollo thought you looked exquisite bathed in the brilliance of red. Even with a tinge of doubt, and anger in your eyes, you were filled with love the same way the colour kissed every part of your skin.

“An escape from all this . . That’s what you want, right?” With his right hand, Chrollo reached inside his pocket, it took you a few seconds to identify the item in his hand—a gun.

With the way it’s unmistakable silver glistened beneath the dim lighting, you could tell it was a weapon of his own; not the ones registered under your father’s name. You stiffened, and your body ran cold, gaze met with the barrel of his gun.

“Chrollo?” Barely a whisper, you called out his name above the thick atmosphere, each second spent inside it had you desperately gasping for air; whether it be from nervousness or confusion, you didn’t care to find out.

He swallowed thickly, fingers curling tighter around the handle of his gun, trying to ignore the way your desperate plea violently struck a chord in his heart.

“Chrollo please put the gun down! You’re out of your mind!” Panic surged from head to toe, it came in vicious waves, scratching, and gnawing at your bare skin like a vehement beast. Chrollo tried to ignore the apparent tremble in your voice, he couldn’t afford to mess this up.

“Yes, I want to escape—with you. Why are you doing this to me, Chrollo? Why do you want me dead?!”

The third time his name rolled off your tongue, he was ready to throw the gun across the room, and cradle you in his arms while whispering apologetic nothings in your ear.

But he didn’t.

Chrollo stayed rooted in his spot, gun aimed at you, “Remember Ciaran Driscoll?—” You furrowed your brows. Ciaran? “He paid me to kill you.” A shaky breath, that was all you could muster, your mind was too busy trying to piece everything together.

Ciaran. Chrollo. Kill. Your blood ran cold.

But Chrollo didn’t give you time to breathe, steady clicks of his shoes echoed throughout the church as he paced back, and forth, “I was elated when I agreed to his proposal. Why? Because a pompous soul dying by my hands is what I’m made for—” He was calm, and collected, a faint smile displayed on his face as he slowly walked towards you. “Did you know what your people did? To my home? To my friend?” Stopping just before you, Chrollo leaned in, obsidian gaze piercing right through you.

“A lot of you treated Meteor City like some kind of hunting ground at your disposal. As if—as if its inhabitants were nothing but mere animals. For what? The sake of illegal dealings? For more money? Power?”

Chrollo caressed the side of your face with the back of his left hand—the other remained motionless by his side—his ghostly touch trembled against your skin, afraid that if he pressed down any further, you’d crack.

The situation baffled you. Not only was Chrollo blaming you for the atrocities caused by other people, you still couldn’t wrap your mind around the fact that he was in cahoots with Ciaran Driscoll to orchestrate your demise.

Is that why Chrollo applied to become your bodyguard? To get close before finally killing you off? You felt another wave of dread wash over you. Everything felt numb, your limbs, your torso, your heart.

Shaking your head, you finally broke the silence with a trembling voice, tears threatening to spill out, “I’m not involved in any of those, Chrollo. Do you even hear yourself right now?”

He did. God. He fucking did and he felt absolutely foolish for blaming you. After you had bared your soul to him every night, Chrollo stopped seeing you in the same light as he did before. Yes, his deep-rooted disdain never left but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of loving you; it was a battle between desire and duty, and he already knew the victor.

The determination in your eyes, you were set on running away from the current life you had, and as tempting as that was, he didn’t have the courage to lead you into a new life full of nothing but danger.

Chrollo would rather have you dying by his own bloodied hands—for him to live each day filled with regret—than have someone else basking in the glory of killing you. At least that way, he’d be tainted by you.

“You’re all the same. Ciaran’s father is proof enough! You said it yourself that he was involved in illegal business—”

“So those nights we spent together . . were they just all part of the act? You never cared for me.” Chrollo barely caught the last part of your sentence as you muttered it under your breath; he watched as your gaze lowered, a wave of sadness engulfing you for a split second before finding his eyes once again. This time, you wore a glare.

You straightened up, “Tell me, Chrollo. Was it all just an act? A show you put on just to get close to me?” Questions lingered in the air the same way dust did, it sat heavy on Chrollo’s shoulders but he remained stubborn—silent. Would his answer change the circumstances? No.

After all, nothing good came out of trivial matters. At his stillness, you grabbed his right hand, trembling fingers curling around the shaft of his wrist as you brought it up to your face, pressing the barrel of his gun to your forehead. It felt icy against your feverish skin, like the kiss of a grim reaper.

Ever so slightly, Chrollo’s brows rose in shock, breath hitching at your brazenness. “Did you ever love me?” A broken whisper spoken into the crimson-lit night, so dainty, so weak yet it pierced his heart without a second thought. It left a gaping hole, as ugly as sin, and no amount of repentance could heal.

Love. How would one define love? Was it the act of sacrificing someone dear to oneself? Chrollo didn’t know. But more importantly, how did you define love?

“Did you?”

Digging deeper into the subject would only lead to the grave of his heart but Chrollo couldn’t care less, it was already six feet under since the day he sought revenge for his friend.

With a heavy sigh, your eyes finally softened, “Of course. I still do.” You felt his hand twitch in your hold, as if he briefly tried to pull the gun away.

Glimmering like the first starlight were tears staining your cheeks, one by one they fell down as a surge of emotions drowned your body; your brows were furrowed yet your eyes looked at Chrollo like he held the cosmos in his hands.

Is this what was meant when they said love and anger were painted in the same shade of red?

In his line of work, Chrollo has never seen anything as haunting as your gaze. It was natural for his targets to look up at him in complete horror, tears welled up in their eyes as they begged him to spare their lives but you—your eyes were full of nothing but love, and adoration despite his gun pointed at you. That look alone was enough to torment his coming days.

“Do you, Chrollo? Do you love me?” His chest tightened at the hopeful glint in your eye. Nothing good ever came out of trivial matters because at the end of the day, Chrollo was nothing but a man chained to his sinful revenge—blindly devoted to the hatred planted in his heart, and it came with a great price.

A sudden wave of red washed over his body, resulting in an ear splitting bang that resounded within the church’s bricked walls. Chrollo flinched at the sound—he’s never done that before—followed by a heavy thud against the marbled floors. It took the assassin one, two, three seconds to register the situation, the violent sensation of the gun’s recoil still fresh on his trembling hand.

The faint scent of iron hung in the air.

Chrollo looked down at the grisly sight before him, gun in his hand weighing heavy before it finally slipped from his absent grip. The weapon fell beside his right foot.

For the first time, Chrollo Lucilfer—the bringer of death—weeped, and mourned the demise of his target. He wailed into the darkness as warm crimson slowly pooled around your head, it resembled a faux halo, a tainted fallen angel.

Broken sobs, and ugly cries filled the damp building—this was the first in a long time that he had heard the sounds of his own grief. Guilt, and sorrow consumed Chrollo the same way the shadows of the night did but no amount of tears would bring you back to life, no amount of whispered I love you’s would reciprocate his words, no amount of cracks in his heart would turn back time.

You were dead, and it was all because of the man you loved so blindly. ‘Til your dying breath, you were shielded from the secrets of his true identity, and feelings, ones he swore he would take to the very grave he dug.

Chrollo fell to his knees, his fingers dug into his palms hard enough to draw blood. The vile pungence of your blood suffocated his senses, despite something so familiar to him, Chrollo heaved and curled over himself, quivering like an autumn leaf in the wind—he looked pathetic; hot tears and snot covered his reddened face as he cried out into darkness.

Every bit of air left his lungs and each breath felt like a chase he couldn’t win. Truth be told, he didn’t have the courage to reach out to your body, no, he didn’t feel like he deserved to do so.

To taint you more than he already had. So, Chrollo didn’t, instead, he weeped until the moon decorated the obsidian skies, until his tears tried, until your body ran cold, and every bit of colour you wore was gone.

And when the assassin finally pieced himself together, he did three things.

One, let Ciaran Driscoll know that the job had been done using a burner phone.

Two, with the same device, Chrollo called the police, brazenly letting them know he murdered someone, and the exact location of the crime scene.

Three, he covered your car in flames, and fed the burner phone into it; he watched as bright hues of oranges and yellows devoured the vehicle before doing what he did best: disappearing into the night, and becoming one with the shadows to never be found again.

The night before, he had quietly handed in his resignation to Lukas who gave him an appreciative pat on the back, the old timer parted with words that Chrollo knew would remain ingrained in his mind, ‘I’m quite sure the young miss appreciated your service. Thank you for taking care of her.’

His heart shouldn’t have clenched at that but it did, and painfully so.

The coming days blended into nights with Chrollo sitting inside his hideout—a dingy, rundown motel with paper thin walls that housed interesting individuals. Completely unaware of the time, his only company was the ticking ivory wall clock above the cramped dining space.

The hefty payment from Ciaran lay untouched on the bed, concealed within a briefcase. He didn’t eat nor drink, not even having the energy to step outside for occasional sunlight, and every time he closed his eyes, he remembered the look you gave him during your final moments, he remembered the metallic tang in the air.

The old chunky television situated atop a rusty console table was what kept Chrollo’s sanity intact.

Day to night, it blasted morning, afternoon, and evening news—to the point of fellow motel goers knocking at his door to complain about the noise—just to keep up with information about you. As much as Chrollo yearned to bask in the memory of you, seeing your face plastered on television followed by a variety of words such as ‘rest in peace’, ‘murdered’, ‘assassinated’, and ‘dead’ didn’t help his mind at all.

At least what kept him entertained were the updates on potential suspects that may be tied to the crime scene; the murder weapon was an unregistered gun loaded with an unregistered bullet, and the footprints left at the scene had no unique tread.

So at best, there were no concrete leads in the case.

Not that it mattered to Chrollo.

Atop the cheap wooden table on which he sat were two things, the murder weapon and a singular stem of a white chrysanthemum. The one you had given him from your bouquet. Chrollo let the flower sit there for days on end until its ivory petals shrivelled into a brown hue—its sweet aroma turning pungent.

Until it withered.

Until the scent of death choked him the same way his cries did that night—a mockery of what was lost, of what he willingly destroyed.

One month. It took Chrollo a month to finally step into the day, and out of the drab motel room. Brightness engulfed his vision, the sun’s afternoon rays shone as brightly as ever, enveloping him in a warm, gentle hug as if to welcome him back to reality.

He was certain he didn’t deserve kindness from this world, not even the permission to step foot in the very earth that held your body dearly in its grasp as though you were its prized possession.

Oddly enough, Chrollo found himself standing before a familiar flower boutique. With his gaze locked onto the floor-to-ceiling windows, he looked around the inside, as if doing so was going to have you magically pop out of nowhere, and buy a dozen of white chrysanthemums like before.

But you didn’t.

Pulled from his thoughts, a recognizable voice filled his ears, it was the owner, “Are you here to buy flowers for a lover, perhaps? I can recommend a few—” She stopped halfway through her sentence, realising the familiar face that stood before her. Chrollo watched as her face morphed into a sad smile, the cheery glint in her eyes disappearing beneath the thickness of her lashes,

“If I’m not mistaken, you’re her bodyguard, right?” He inhaled a sharp breath at the mention of you, heart violently thumping against the confines of his chest. Chrollo could only nod, anything more than that would have him breaking.

The old lady reached out her plump hand, and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “I’m so sorry for your loss. She was lovely—”

Don’t say that. Don’t say it to me like I’m not the cause of her death. Don’t say it to me like I should be mourning for someone who died by my hands.

Chrollo gritted his teeth, jaw clenching at the sympathy thrown his way. He felt sick and disgusted with himself—as if he were a vile being trapped beneath human skin. All of a sudden the sun rays that gently enveloped his body didn’t feel like a warm hug anymore, sharp, hot prickles spread throughout his clothed skin, leaving a painful itch.

“—and the only customer who bought chrysanthemums frequently. Others usually bought the flowers once or twice for funerals and death anniversaries; she was the only one who truly saw chrysanthemums in a different light.”

A symbol of devoted love and loyalty, that’s how you saw them.

How ironic that the flowers you once adored would be laid upon your grave, holding a completely different message; mourning and grief. That didn’t sit well with Chrollo, you loved white chrysanthemums but not for that reason.

“Apologies, I ramble too much.” The owner let out a polite chuckle before continuing. “Well, can I at least interest you in some flowers? What would it be for you?”

“Can I get a dozen of those?” Chrollo pointed at the lively bunch soaked in water, situated just beside the boutique’s entrance. Following his finger, she looked behind her and smiled, “Right away.”

Its petals resembled rays of the first sunshine, the golden hue it wore promised eternal warmth even after death.

As day turned into night with the crescent moon high above the obsidian skies, Chrollo made his way to your perpetual resting place—it didn’t take much effort to do some digging around to find out where your body had been buried.

The chilly wind howled as it danced with the dark, trees and leaves swaying to accompany it with a silent song. He walked down the moonlit path of the cemetery, land that outstretched before him was decorated with tombstones, and in his left hand was the bouquet he bought earlier.

Moonlight shone over your grave as if the moon herself knew the secrets shared between you and Chrollo on cloudless nights. Bouquets of white chrysanthemums decorated the space around your grave, candles that were once lit rested atop the marbled tombstone that housed your full name.

Oddly enough, this felt like déjà vu. Maybe it was due to the fact that you and Chrollo rendezvoused in your room the same way he visited your grave—under a lonely moonlit night where soft whispers, and beating hearts were heard.

Bending down, Chrollo lightly caressed your carved name, cleaning out stray pieces of grass and dirt blown by the wind. He gently placed the bouquet amongst the sea of white, its colourful hue greedily taking all the limelight from the sombre flowers,

“I know these aren’t your favourite but I figured you’d like them too . .” He paused for a moment, foolishly waiting for you to reply.

“. . Yellow chrysanthemums just like the white ones but—” Who was he kidding? Chrollo felt stupid. Talking to your grave as if you were alive—as if he wasn’t the one who brought you to your demise.

The audacity he had.

Truth be told, every fibre inside his body screamed at him to turn back, and never show his disgusting self but Chrollo was as greedy as the darkness that drank the moonlight each night.

He envied the ground like sin, how held you in its arms, cradling your rotting body in its eternal embrace. It should be him. Now, he’d have to remember you longer than he had known you.

Instead, Chrollo was six feet above—alive; tied to, and haunted by the shackles of foolish regret. The memory of that night replayed in his mind over and over again like a cursed broken record, the disgusting thump as your lifeless body hit the floor, blood pooling around your head.

Most nights he’d find himself calling your name in his sleep—he always dreamt of the same dream: you, running away from him in a field of flowers, no matter how hard he worked his legs, he never seemed to reach your body.

Chrollo sat before your grave and sobbed, letting creatures of the night feel his vulnerability; as the wind howled, the breeze carried the sounds of his cries to the trees, where it promised him to keep it a secret—a story only reserved for the dead.

Hot tears rolled down his frost-bitten cheeks, pooling on the tip of his chin before it fell on the damp grass beneath.

In antique texts, yellow chrysanthemums represented one’s heart left to desolation. Neglected love. It was only befitting for he has killed the very person who grew to love his blood-stained soul because in the end, he was nothing but a man only adept at destroying.

He let out shaky exhale, and whispered into the night the answer you sought,

“I love you.”

—

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum & @pixelcafe-network !

#hide and queue #recs 📚

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charmac · 2 days ago

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Opinions on Charlie woobification? Also, do you think the fandom woobifies Dennis (too much)?

A few people have sent me asks about my thoughts on Dennis being woobified in the fandom and I’ve failed to answer them (sorry). Not for lack of interest on the subject, it’s just hard to answer. I think, though, answering this Charlie question in the same ask might make it easier to explain my thoughts on this.

When we talk about the fandom we’re generally talking about the people here, a couple hundred people on Twitter, maybe some Instagram stans(?) and tend to ignore the million (1,000,000)+ people on the subReddit and the huge chunk of people on Facebook and casual Twitter who are constantly, continually pushing a narrative that these characters have no depth, and thus their characterisation is what we see on the surface and nothing more. I think the one time it’s probably important not to ignore those people as fans of the show is when it comes to woobification.

Because at a surface level, the people who are consuming this show as a comedy and making posts that exhibit their takes/opinions on these characters to the majority of people portray the characters very simply: Charlie is an idiot and the best member of the Gang, in every sense of the word, and Dennis is a mere representation of toxic masculinity to a psychopathic degree. And those opinions are the loud majority.

So any discussion in our minority section of the fandom that woobifies Charlie or Dennis operates within and on top of the general narrative of the public perception (“face value”) of the characters. Woobification of Charlie, then, almost always further infantilises the majority of his traits to contribute to the idea that he’s not a bad guy and doesn’t deserve the position he’s in in life, while woobification of Dennis mostly works to counteract the idea that he’s a cold-blooded psychopath.

In a way, I think you have to woobify Dennis to a degree in order to properly understand his character (and Glenn makes that clear). Do some people take it too far? When it gets into the realm of genuinely somehow believing he’s not a bad person, absolutely, but in over a decade of Sunnyblr posts, I think I’ve seen that conclusion once, maybe twice. I really don’t think any post that’s diving into how Dennis' actions reflect his insecurities and trauma is ever speaking ignorant of the rest of his character, and that normally seems clear to the majority of people because rarely, if ever, does a dive into Dennis woobification cause fans to understand the character worse than they understood him at face value.

Whereas, with Charlie, you constantly do see this. Posts and threads and fights between fans arguing up and down that Charlie is better than the rest of them: he’s the smartest, actually, he means to do good, he shouldn’t be lumped in with the rest of them as sexual predators... People in this fandom genuinely argue that you are a *better person* if you’re a Charlie stan, that Charlie ships are softer, more moral, than toxic Dennis ships. The result of Charlie woobification seems to often make people less media literate about the character (and the show as a whole if we’re being real) than they would be if they just watched at face value.

They’re all morally despicable characters.

TL;DR: Due to the face value perceptions of the characters, woobification is an almost necessary tool for better exploring and understanding Dennis under his surface, while it really only exacerbates an annoying surface-level understanding of Charlie

#all that to be said. if youre woobifying for shitposting and fun have at it #slap cat ears on all those men #But ill say it clearly #the deepest truest understandings of Dennis you will see are from people who dip into the woobification of him #the most shallow worst understandings of Charlie you will see are from his woobifiers #dennis reynolds #charlie kelly #ask #if you wanna apply this to Mac and Dee just sub Charlie for Mac and Dennis for Dee to a lesser extent #also sorry idk if my answer was clear but no i dont think the fandom woobifies dennis too much #at least from what i see.. its just enough #but i see how it can be jarring to walk into deep exploration threads on dennis' trauma #with no acknowledgement that hes a terrible man #trust we all know it and are speaking from that #it just doesnt feel necessary to state

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hoshinasblade · 20 hours ago

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you are so close to gaslighting yourself into thinking that maybe, just maybe you have already told hoshina's mom in the past what your favorite tea is.

the problem with that thought is today was the first time you met the mother of your boyfriend.

you denied it in your head - for all you know, perhaps mrs. hoshina is just really a good at guessing. that, or you are going batshit crazy.

because at that very day, people you have met for the first time - people who may be friends with hoshina soshiro but are practically strangers to you - seem to be aware of small details about you.

captain ashiro complimented you on your blue dress after shaking your hands, saying it's obvious why it is your favorite color, emphasizing how it brings out the intensity of your eyes. even okonogi, who you know works directly with the third division's vice-captain, had a specific joyful aura on her friendly face as she offered to hang out with you in the future, mentioning how she is a fan of true crime documentaries too and suggesting in the same breath that you should try the pudding sold in the headquarter's cafeteria.

you could have let all of that go if only you did not blush like a teenager after hoshina's own older brother called you by your childhood nickname during family dinner.

"i'm sorry." hoshina's hand found yours, his thumb drawing patterns on your wrist. he knows you'd been on edge since morning, and although this is entirely your idea - meeting his friends and his family in one day - he wouldn't blame you if you're overwhelmed.

"they did their research on me or something," you tried to laugh the nerves away. it didn't work.

"ah." hoshina suddenly looked guity. " that. well -" he stopped for a moment, gathering his wits, choosing the right words to say. "i mean, it makes sense that everyone who actually knows me would know about you, really."

you wanted to joke as a response; you wanted to say that he's talkative and tends to yap for hours about stuff he loves so yes, people around him would naturally know things about you. but then you caught yourself because this is yet another confirmation of what hoshina soshiro had been telling you for months now - that you are someone he loves.

you did not know being known could feel this sweet.

"huh. do you reckon i can extort them for information about you next time?" this time it was your turn to grab hoshina's hand, and with your forefinger, you traced three little words on the warm skin of his palm.

[author's note: hello guys, i know i haven't been posting a lot anymore, but i am thankful to everyone who still remembers this blog - yes i can read your asks, yes i see that you've tagged me in a fic, yes i checked my notifications in this blog every now and then. it might take me long to respond most of the time so apologies in advance but please know that i appreciate all interactions from everyone.

also i dont need to remind you but i don't tolerate copy-pasting or reposting any of my works anywhere. i read a lot from here too, and other writers can attest to this as well - we know if a line or a paragraph from any of our works is copied and/or reworded. ]

#this was cooking in my head for a while #and i was like #well this sounds cute #hoshina soshiro #soshiro hoshina #hoshina soshiro x reader #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina x reader #kaiju no. 8 #kn8 x reader #hoshina soshiro fic #hoshina #vice captain hoshina

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captainmarvelbillybatson · 2 days ago

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In another post I have, I mentioned Billy and Adam having an agreement not to touch certain topics.

What I mean is that both of them have trauma. They recognize bits of themselves in each other, the trauma of growing up too fast and losing your family and being alone. The weight of being the champion of magic weighed heavily on both of them, even if they will both insist it made them better. They are the only two living beings who know the feeling of magic lighting every pore in your body, of the energy of the Rock of Eternity lighting a fire in them, and the bone crushing weight that goes along with it.

They don’t mention each other’s families. They both avoid civilian identities if they can. Billy invites Adam to help him take down human traffickers. Adam doesn’t attack on Billy’s families death date.

They have codes between them, of when things go too far. Black Adam says the word Teth in mid battle and Captain Marvel pulls him away from the battle, being extremely gentle. Captain Marvel says the word Mary in a battle against multiversal monsters and Black Adam directs him towards a group of monsters to destroy with no mercy, before whisking the Captain away.(A few tourists take pictures of Black Adam having ice cream with a child leaning into his side.)

They are enemies. Black Adam and Captain Marvel are still nemeses, and they do fight on the battlefield. But they both realize they are more. They are also Adam and Billy, two souls who understand each other in ways no one else can.

#billy batson #black adam #they are the only people who can understand each other #they have a messed up bond #frenemies #of sorts #perfect foils

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eternal-evergreens · 13 hours ago

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｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧"Into the looking glass - III"｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

Part I Part II Part III Part IV

Post format: Multipart series

Pairing: Yandere!Male!DoL x Fem!Isekai!Reader

Word count: 5.1k

Synopsis: You gain the chance to wake up in the world of one of your favorite games. Unfortunately, the 'favorite game' happens to be one about rape, violence, and stalking. Not only that, but the game seems to be rigged against you. All you want is to find a way home and put this all behind you, but is that even possible...?

Warnings: Sexual Assault, Attempted Non/Con, Drugging, Attempted Kidnapping, Stalking

Excellent Good Decent Okay Poor Bad Terrible

No, no. Not happening. Never.

You need money. But you won’t get it through unscrupulous means. You still have your morals, and you’ll abide by them. That’s why you saved Kylar. That’s why you’d save him again, should it happen in the future.

You push the thought out of your mind and exit the temple. As you pass by Danube Street, a thought hits you.

The spa. Why haven’t you been working at the spa?

It’s not really an early-game option due to the stat checks required, but those shouldn’t be a problem for you. With your hand skill at C by default and your beauty over the max, working as a masseur is as simple as walking up and asking for work.

You head over and ask for work, and the lady at the front desk takes one look at your hands and gasps. Her bored demeanor quickly melts away into an excited one as she quickly shows you the ropes. You get the basics down pretty quickly and soon take your first client, a trim woman who looks to be in her early 30s.

“Hello, I’ve not done this before. Do I just lie down?” That makes two of us, you think to yourself.

“That’s right! Just lie down, and I’ll take care of the rest,” you say, smiling. The trim woman seems reassured and quickly lies down on the table. You get to work on her shoulders and neck first, cautiously looking for knots and tension as you knead her muscles. The woman relaxes under your touch and begins to make small talk. She tells you about her family, how her kids are both bright young boys, and her husband brings her flowers every month. She seems really happy. -Trauma -Stress

She leaves you a tip. You make £75.

Your next client is less friendly, but you manage to massage her without incident. She leaves you a tip. You make £80 and decide to take a break, feeling a little worn out from standing on your feet for nearly two hours straight. After fifteen minutes, you get up and head back into the spa, where you take on another two clients. They both leave tips, and you make £120. The spa closes after that, and you head outside.

Someone throws a water balloon at you from a nearby car, soaking your shirt and leaving it near-invisible. You hear cheers as they speed away, leaving you soaked out in the open. +Stress

You look around, but luckily, no one is around to see your predicament. You cover yourself with your arms as best as you can and head home. You take the alleys to avoid passersby seeing you, walking quickly in hopes of getting home sooner. You don’t watch where you’re going and end up walking right into someone.

“Watch where you’re going, you—!” You look up, about to apologize, when you see icy blue eyes staring back at you. It’s Whitney, his face, only inches from yours, changes from anger to a smug smile.”Well, what do we have here? A slut all out on her own?” Whitney’s friends giggle.

“Why is she walking around so exposed?” One delinquent asks. “Is she a pervert?” They giggle, crowding around you.

“I wanna get a picture!” Soon, all the delinquents are pulling out their phones. Suddenly torn between the desire to cover your face and your chest, you end up hiding behind the thing closest to you, which ends up being Whitney. He seems taken aback but soon wraps an arm around you protectively. +Love

“Fuck off,” he says, arm still around your waist. “Get your own slut.” The others seem disappointed but comply regardless. When everyone’s phone has been put away, Whitney releases you and shrugs off his jacket.

“Can’t fuck a sick person,” he says, throwing his jacket over you. “Make sure to give it back. Now fuck off.” He shoves you out of the alleyway, leaving you stunned. Did that really just happen?

You check your phone.

Whitney The Bully Whitney wants to own you. Fascination: 50% Love: 5% Devotion: 0% Dominance: 40% Jealousy: 0% Lust: 100%

You walk home with his jacket wrapped around your shoulders. It smells like smoke.

—————————

It is Thursday, the 8th of September, 2022. -It has been 4 days since the game started. -The game started in autumn. -It is autumn. -School term Finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £729 Pain: You feel okay Arousal: You feel cold Fatigue: You are alert Stress: You are calm Trauma: You are uneasy Control: You are insecure Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged

After waking up and finishing your morning routine, you go to Robin’s room and play video games with him for an hour. Some of the games remind you of those you used to play back home. +Love -Trauma +Stress

“It’s almost time for school,” he says. “Do you want to come with me?” You smile and nod. Robin stands up from the bed and puts his controller away. He holds the door open for you as you leave, and you notice a faint blush on his cheeks as you pass. You swear you saw him glance down. +Lust

You’re suddenly reminded that you’re in a yandere game and that Robin is a target character. ++Stress

You grimace as you round a corner and resist the urge to cover your butt as Robin walks behind you. Your skirt is so short he can probably see your underwear as you walk. +++Stress

You see Bailey holding a mousy girl by the arms, a bundle of rope in his other hand.

“You owe me £200 this week,” he says. The girl is holding back tears but still manages to keep a strong look about her. Robin looks away. The other orphans do the same. They all look…resigned. You step forward.

“I’ll pay,” you say. “Let her go.” Bailey raises an eyebrow but releases the girl. You hand over the £200 without fuss. It’s only after parting with the money that you remember you could have just pepper-sprayed him and gained some catharsis. You don’t really need to be stingy with it, after all. Bailey counts the money and leaves, leaving the mousy girl to dust herself off.

“Thank you,” the mousy girl says. “I was really scared.”

“Will you be okay?” You ask her. She nods. She seems genuinely okay.

“Yes, thanks to you. I promise I’ll pay you back for this,” she says, running off.

“You don’t have to!” You call out after her, but she’s already gone.

You did a good thing today. -Trauma -Stress

“That was really impressive,” Robin says. “It’s not often people stand up to Bailey.” You shrug, and Robin cracks a smile. +Love

You and Robin chat on the way to school, mostly about the games you played earlier. There’s a certain glint in his eyes when he looks at you that wasn’t there before. You have to suppress a shiver every time you accidentally meet his gaze. +Stress

“I just don’t understand why they’d make a tutorial so difficult,” Robin says, shaking his head. “Maybe-” He’s cut off by something, eyes widening. You follow his gaze and see two hooded figures approaching rapidly from the alleyway you just passed. You reach for your pepper spray as the figures get closer, unhooking it from its keychain and holding it at the ready.

“It’s her,” one says. You waste no time and spray them both, then grab Robin’s arm and sprint to safety with him. ++Crime (Assault) ++Crime (Assault) +Stress +Fatigue

You don’t stop running until you reach the school gates and are safely behind them. You and Robin pant heavily as you struggle to come down from the adrenaline.

“Where did you get that?!” Robin whisper-yells.

“A kid in my English class makes them,” you say at a normal volume. Robin’s look of concern only grows, and he spends a few minutes lecturing you on the dangers and illegalities of pepper spray. You mostly tune him out.

The bell rings, finally putting an end to Robin’s monologue, and you head to class. You focus on the lesson, and Sirris calls you up to the front of the class. A student uses a ruler to flash your panties to everyone. To make matters worse, Sirris wanted you to undress for the demonstration. You comply, feeling humiliated as the class leers at your body. +++Stress

The bell rings, and you rush out of the classroom. You feel your heart pounding in your chest as you walk. Your ears are ringing, your heartbeat is too loud, the world is spinning, and—

It’s all too much for you. You pass out.

—————————

It is Thursday, the 8th of September, 2022. -It has been 4 days since the game started. -The game started in autumn. -It is autumn. -School term Finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £529 Pain: You feel okay Arousal: You feel cold Fatigue: You are wearied Stress: You are distressed Trauma: You are uneasy Control: You are insecure Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged

You wake up with something soft yet firm under your head and Sydney right above you.

“You’re awake!” He says. “I was worried. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I brought you back to the library.” “Not the nurse?” You say, getting up. You realize that you’ve been lying on Sydney’s lap. Sydney looks sheepish.

“I didn’t think of that,” he says, not meeting your gaze. He looks genuine, but you get the feeling he’s not being honest. +Awareness

Sydney insists you stay with him for another ten minutes so he can monitor your condition. When you ask about going to the nurse again he makes an excuse of not knowing if you’re good to walk. You decide not to push it any further and spend the next ten minutes chatting with Sydney. When the ten minutes are up, he looks hesitant to let you go but relents regardless. +Love +Lust -Sydney’s purity

By the time you leave, it’s already lunch. You missed two classes. ++Deliquency

Feeling stressed from everything, you decide to sit alone in hopes of relaxing. You should have known better, however, as a group of students soon come by to make your day harder. The second they start jeering at you, you unhook your pepper spray and blast them all in the face. ++Crime (Assault) ++Delinquency +Status

The students are screaming and hurling insults, but the ringing in your ears makes it impossible to hear them. You finish your lunch in silence.

You spend the rest of school zoning out, hoping your stress will subside. It works, kind of.

You have detention, but you don’t feel like going. Considering all the shit you pulled today, Leighton is probably going to take off your clothes and smack you or something. You don’t have good enough grades to know where the tunnel from school is, so you walk out the front. Leighton tries to stop you, but you pepper spray him. ++Crime (Assault) ++Delinquency +Status

A group of students say they’re going to the lake. You could use a change of scenery. You join them. +Status

Hanging out at the lake is fun enough. No one tries to grope you after what happened at lunch, so you end up having a somewhat enjoyable time.

Then they start bullying another student, who thankfully isn’t here to listen to them shit-talking them, and what little fun you were having quickly melts away. You stand up and walk away, deciding to go for a swim instead. You think about retrieving the lichen for your science project but push the thought out of your mind.

You swim for about an hour, and when you exit the water, the sun is already beginning to set. Your fellow classmates are still hanging out, but you don’t really feel like joining them, so you put on your clothes and go for a walk, planning to head back after you’re done.

You hear a bullet firing from afar. Something is hunting you.

Fuck. You whip around, trying to locate the source of the bullet. You heard it shoot from behind you, but you don’t see anyone. Going back the way you came might mean running straight into their arms. You glance around one last time, but a second gunshot has you running on your feet in no time.

You dash through the woods, not bothering to look behind you as the gun fires off in the near distance. You don’t think they’re shooting at you, and running zig-zag like you were taught as a kid just means slowing down. So, you run straight ahead with no clear plan in mind. You unhook your pepper spray again (you should probably thank Kylar), just in case, but you don’t know how much good it will do in a gunfight. Still, something is better than nothing, so you hold onto it, keeping it close to your chest as you run, run, run.

Your foot hits something strange and loses balance. You don’t even have time to process it until you’re lifted upside-down by your heel, face to inverted face with a plant person.

“I caught one!” The plant girl exclaims. “This one’s wearing lacey panties!” You spray her, and she falls, her vines releasing you instantly. It’s only when you see sap pouring out from a hole on the side of her head that you hear the gunshot and realize it wasn’t you that took her down.

“Got you,” Eden says, a hand on your shoulder. You try to turn around, but the second you move, you’re on the ground, nose pressed into the soil, and arms pinned behind you in a painful grip. You feel your pepper spray being torn from your hand and thrown next to a bush.

Shit. Shit!

He’s got you in a submission hold. There’s nothing you can do but go along with it and wait for an opportunity. It takes everything in you not to thrash and scream against his hold, but you know that would only make things worse. Eden runs his hand down your back, stopping when he gets to the hem of your skirt. He flips it up, taking a moment to admire it before giving it a light slap. You jump when he hits you, though it’s more about the surprise than the pain.

“You’re hurting me!” You cry, trying your best to sound helpless. “Please let go!” You weakly struggle against his grip for good measure.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, voice gruff. “Can’t do that. You’ll run away.”

“I’ll be good! I’ll be good! Please, please, let me go!” You wiggle around, pretending this is as much strength as you can muster up. Eden leans down and studies your expression for a moment. You can feel the outline of his cock on your back as he leans down to look at you. The scrutiny in such a position is near-unbearable, but he releases you without a word.

You force yourself to be still for a moment, not to do anything that would alert him. Then, slowly, you turn around and, mustering up every bit of courage you have, lean up and kiss him. He seems taken aback but soon reciprocates the gesture. You press into him, stroking and massaging his skin as you cautiously lean him back into a more desirable position.

Though it costs you your dignity, you’re eventually able to get on top of him, grinding against him through his pants as you lower him to the ground. When you’ve got him completely below you, and you’re straddling his hips, you break the kiss and pull yourself up.

“I think it's time we get rid of these,” you say, grabbing your panties and lifting your hips, then swaying them suggestively. You shift your weight to one knee and lift your other leg up, then, in a sudden, adrenaline-charged burst of speed, you throw yourself off of him and stagger to your feet. You kick him in the crotch and run towards the bush where your pepper spray landed.

Eden catches your foot, and you nosedive towards the ground. You fall, but pepper spray is just within reach. You grab it and go limp. Eden drags your body closer to his, and you use it as an opportunity to spray him. He grabs his eyes and recoils, and you quickly gather yourself and run back the way you came.

Your clothes snag on bushes and branches as you run, but you pay it no mind as you force yourself to run. You can’t hear anything but the wind in your ears, so you have no idea if Eden is chasing you or not.

Silly you, it shouldn’t have been Eden you were worrying about.

You feel yourself hit the ground before you even register being knocked down. There’s a growling above you and two hands on either side of your body. You twist around, barely even registering the wolf ears and sharp teeth of the man on top of you. You spray him, and he staggers back. You rush to your feet and keep running until you’re safely out of the forest. Your clothes are practically in scraps by the time you’re out, and at this point, you think it’ll be cheaper to just buy new clothes instead of fixing them.

Then, it hits you. The pain and exhaustion.

You drop to your knees, suddenly aware of every scratch, scrape, and bruise you acquired while running through the forest, suddenly aware of the strain on your muscles from the fatigue. You stay sitting for a few minutes, waiting for your muscles to stop hurting or for you to stop caring. When you notice the sun is starting to set, you pull yourself up and drag yourself back home, where you run a bath and then go straight to bed.

—————————

It is Friday, the 9th of September, 2022. -It has been 5 days since the game started. -The game started in autumn. -It is autumn. -School term Finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £529 Pain: You are upset Arousal: You feel cold Fatigue: You are wearied Stress: You are distressed Trauma: You are nervous Control: You are anxious Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged

You get up and check your socials on your phone.

Excellent Good Decent Okay Poor Bad Terrible Primary relationships: Robin The Orphan Robin wants to be your best friend. Fascination: 100% Love: 5% Devotion: 30% Lust: 40% Confidence: 0% Trauma: 0% Jealousy: 5% Whitney The Bully Whitney wants to own you. Fascination: 50% Love: 10% Devotion: 0% Dominance: 40% Jealousy: 0% Lust: 100% Kylar The Loner Kylar is obsessed with you. Fascination: 100% Love: 9% Devotion: 55% Jealousy: 55% Lust: 90% Sydney The Faithful ? Sydney is conflicted. Fascination: 70% Love: 8% Devotion: 25% Purity: 20% Jealousy: 0% Lust: 70% Avery The Businessman Avery thinks you’re cute. Fascination: 55% Love: 1% Devotion: 0% Jealousy: 0% Dominance: 0% Lust: 30% Rage: 0% Eden The Hunter Eden wants you back. Fascination: 80% Love: 0% Devotion: 0% Jealousy: 0% Dominance: 0% Lust: 100% Black Wolf The Alpha Black Wolf wants to see you again. Reputation: The police consider you a person of interest, and have enough evidence for an arrest. The atmosphere in the orphanage is calm. You are considered a normal student by teachers. Your fellow students desire you. Lust: 100% Status: 60% Sex: Unknown. Prostitution: Unknown. Rape: Obscure. Beastiality: Unknown. Exhibitionism: Obscure. Pregnancy: Unknown. Combat: Low-key. Kindness: Obscure. Business: Unknown. Socialite: Unknown. Overall: Notorious. The townsfolk call you Darling. Those in the criminal underworld call you Darling.

Your eyes hover over your police reputation. You sigh. You’ll have to visit Landry after school. You throw your covers off of you and climb out of bed, groggily going to your wardrobe.

Right. Your clothes got torn. You pick up an undamaged skirt and shirt, tossing the tattered garments into the trash. You put on your clothes and pick up your bag, not bothering to stop by Robin’s room this morning. You take a bus to the shopping center, where you do what you should have done on day one: buy clothes that actually cover you. You browse for a few minutes, looking for something as pervert-proof as possible. You settle on a school blouse, shorts, a sports bra, suspenders, and a pair of work boots.

The shorts provide you protection against people lifting your skirt, the suspenders (which you’ll have to sew on) keep you from being pantsed, the sports bra can’t be unclipped and provides support in case you need to run, and the work boots will help you keep your footing when you need to go to the moor or the woods.

You buy what you’re wearing as well as a few backups of the shorts and shirt, totaling £215. You pay and leave, arriving at school just in time for your science class. Today’s Friday, so you have a chance to improve your grades if you do well on the tests.

The lesson pace is a little different from usual. It’s just a review of everything you’ve learned this week. Nothing new is being covered, so you don’t bother to take notes. Not that you’ve had any time to study your notes since coming here.

The test is easy enough, despite your terrible study habits, and you manage to improve your grade to a D. -Stress

The rest of the day continues similarly, and soon you have D’s all across the board. --Stress

You go to the pub after school, looking around for a thin man or woman with black hair and a grey sweater. You feel a hand on your shoulder and turn your head. It’s a tall man you’ve never seen before. He’s covered in tattoos.

“You’ve been busy,” he says, booze on his breath. “Don’t think I don’t recognize you. You’re the talk of the town. Bit surprising not seeing you being fucked raw, though.” His grip on your shoulder tightens. “I reckon it’s time I got my slice of the pie. You like it rough, right? That’s what I’ve heard. Come ‘ere, sweetheart.”

“Am I interrupting?” You hear a man’s voice, and the tall man’s hand on your shoulder loses it’s grip. You look over to see the face of your savior and realize it’s the very person you were looking for. Your face shifts to one of relief. -Stress

“Yeah,” he says. “Piss off.”

“I recognize you.”

“You should, I come here more often than I-”

“March 3rd, 2009. Nightingale Street.” The tall man pales. “So you know what I’m talking about. I wasn’t there myself, but I’ve heard the stories. You were the talk of the town.”

The tall man stutters. “Y-you’re not with the fuzz. You won’t turn me in.”

“You don’t know that. And either way, we both know you’re not hiding from the police. So how about you let her go, and I won’t tip off the Elk about your latest haunt.” The tall man looks at you, then Landry, then you again. Landry smiles. He throws his hands off of you.

“Fine. Shit, fine. You her lover? You picked a damn slutty one.” Landry waits until the man is out of earshot before turning to you.

“Come with me,” he says. “I want to talk to you in private.”

“Reputation isn’t always a good thing,” Landry says as you sit down. “Word’s spread about you. You’re notorious. That’s why that drunkard went for you. You remember what he said, right?”

“I haven’t even done anything,” you say.

“No, but you’re pretty while doing it,” Landry retorts. “Not hitting on you,” he says.

“Thanks?”

“It’s not a good thing. You attract attention wherever you go. Where a normal person might have to fuck a hundred people to start getting known as a slut around town, you’d only have to fuck one.”

“Oh,” you say, slinking in your seat. “So, what can I do?”

“I think I can help you,” he pauses. “Well, not me. But I think I know someone. This orphan at the home on Domus Street. A computer whiz. Mickey, or McKay, something like that. Best hope is to find this orphan. If you can get them to come work with me, they’ll be able to hook you up. There’ll be some money in it for you, too. Just don’t step on Bailey’s toes.” You nod.

“Thank you,” you say. Landry smiles.

“There’s another thing, too,” he says. “I’ll be frank. I know you need money. Don’t ask me how I know, word gets around. I think I can help you. If you come across any jewelry or other items you don’t know what to do with, I can take them off your hands. I’ll pay well.” He looks over your shoulder. “As well as can be expected, anyway.”

“Can you help me get the police off my trail?”

“I can help you,” he says, reclining. “But I need you to do something for me. And no, it’s not about money. I was expecting a package, but it never arrived. Good thing I know where to find it, it had a GPS tracker. It got lost somewhere deep in the moor. Get it for me, and I’ll prevent any of your past misdemeanors being pinned on you. It’s a small black box.” You nod and stand.

“Oh, and do be careful,” Landry says. “I don’t believe the tales of monsters, but there’s a sensible reason behind some superstitions.”

You’re already wearing work boots, but you want to wear something that you can afford to tear, too. Preferably something resistant that can protect you. But you don’t have the money for that, so you head back to the orphanage and wear the only other outfit you have, a sundress. You put your pepper spray keychain on your bookbag and take it with you, hoping you won’t run out during this trip.

After double checking everything is in order, you leave the orphanage and begin to make the long trek to the moor.

Several people attempt to pick you up along the way. By which you mean literally every person who passes by you has slowed down to talk and ask where you’re headed. Not willing to risk anything, you turn them all down, running when they get too persistent. By the time you finally make it to the farmlands, you’re exhausted. So you sit down near the entrance to rest, knowing you’ll need your energy for the moor.

“You alright there?” Someone asks. You look up to see a suntanned boy under a straw hat, looking concerned. He looks around your age, with red hair and a boyish appearance. He must be Alex, you realize.

“It was just a really long walk to get here,” you admit sheepishly.

“You walked all the way from town?” You nod. “Well, Jesus! No wonder you’re so tired. Come in and get some water, my place isn’t far.”

“Do you own the farm?”

“Yeah, I do! It’s a work in progress, but it’s home.” You smile.

Alex is right, and it doesn’t take long to reach the cottage, where he offers you a glass of water. You thank him and gulp it down. +++Drugged

…Huh?

You stare at your phone. The screen seems to shift.

Pain: You feel okay Arousal: You feel cold Fatigue: You are wearied Stress: You are calm Trauma: You are nervous Control: You are anxious Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged A lewd warmth fills you Your perception is altered

You look back up to Alex, who’s staring at you with a grin. You stand up but nearly fall. Alex stands with you, his hands on your shoulders.

“Easy, there,” he says as if you’re a horse that needs to calm down. You shove him off of you and run, reaching for your pepper spray, but in your altered state, you can’t figure out how to unhook it.

>Try again (Skullduggery: Impossible) >Rip it off (Athletics: Challenging) >Spray without unhooking (Dance: Very Difficult)

You rip it off, but the fabric holds firm. Alex is close behind you.

>Try again (Athletics: Challenging) >Spray without unhooking (Dance: Very Difficult)

You try again and the fabric doesn’t yield. Alex is right behind you.

>Try again (Athletics: Challenging) >Spray without unhooking (Dance: Very Difficult)

This is taking too long. You spray without unhooking, managing to get Alex, but in your flailing, also manage to spray yourself. +++Pain ++Willpower

You run, you don’t even know where you’re going you just run.

You can’t open your eyes, but you know they wouldn’t be of much help in this state, anyway. You run until you hit what feels like tall grass, then slow. You’re in the moor now.

You try to quiet your breathing as you listen for anything that may be chasing you or lying in wait. You hear nothing. You go a little further in, just enough to be hidden among the grass and wait.

Eventually, the pain subsides, and you open your bleary eyes. You still feel unsteady, though, so you wait longer. It takes another forty minutes for you to regain full balance and control of your body. When you do, you trudge deeper into the moor, relying on the map on your phone to guide you to the box. After what feels like two hours of searching, you finally find the box across from some water.

You grimace as you step in, your shoes and socks instantly soaking with dirty water. The water is about knee-high, so not enough to touch your sundress but just enough to make movement heavily uncomfortable. You hobble over the box, just about to reach it, when you feel something suck you in.

You look behind you and recognize the thing as a lurker. You waste no time and spray it, freeing yourself and grabbing the box before leaving.

Of course, nothing is ever that simple, and just as you leave the water, you see a terrible shadow overhead. You look up and notice a harpy in the sky. You are being hunted.

You start to run. Your pursuer approaches rapidly. ++Stress

You run faster, pushing yourself to your limits as you sprint across the moor. But luck is never on your side, and your foot sinks into something as you land. You look down, and it’s a fucking foxhole. Not big enough for you to run through or hide in. You pull yourself out, but it’s too late.

“Found wife,” he says. You spray him and keep running. That should keep him out of commission for a while.

Eventually, you feel safe enough to walk the rest of the way out of the moor. You sneak around the farmlands and begin to walk the rest of the way home. You’re too tired to make it very far, however, and soon pass out on the road. You feel yourself being lifted onto a stretcher before passing out again.

You’ve unlocked a fragment.

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jweekgoji · 13 hours ago

Note

Will you write for some Yandere!Orion Pax x reader? 👉👈

Yandere!Orion Pax/Reader [TFO/hcs]

tw: yandere themes, gn!cybertronian!reader, very brief mention of murder/death, mostly soft!yandere!Orion, overprotective, dependent behavior. word count: ~1000. a/n: i love making headcanons.

Orion is an obsessive, clingy and overprotective yandere that's for sure.

Orion is focused on you 24/7 in his mind, every time he's going out with someone else, he will constantly think of you. He's not having a fixation on you, like D-16 would with his darling, more like a thoughtful «I wonder if they will like it if I give it to them» or «if I COULD transform, I would be carrying them around everywhere!». His thoughts are mostly innocent, even though they often lead him to cause even more trouble. He will seek out a thousand risky stunts to do just to impress you, and he doesn't really care if Darkwing will beat him up because of it.

It is no secret that Orion is clingy. I already described it in other posts, and I will rumble about it again, but that silly guy does NOT know how to keep his servos to himself. Yandere Orion just can't comprehend the fact that you may not like it. You can find it weird, rude or just not tactile, and if he finds out, that's a pure torture. At first, he might find it funny and not take it seriously, you're probably in that «edgy, no nonsense and independent» phase some bots have, so he finds it his own personal goal to warm you up to him.

If you're somehow still adamant about it, I can see him trying to restrain himself from just squishing you against his frame the second he sees you in the same room with him. Cogless tiny Orion will be a sweetheart, so he always finds a way to satisfy his own needs without crossing the line. One day it's a simple touch on your shoulder, then he will try to hold your servo if lucky, and maaaaybe even give you a tiny peck on the cheek as soon as you look away from him. Touch is his love language!

Yandere cogged Orion/Optimus is a huge sweetheart but when he's tired and emotionally drained, the only thing he wants is to wrap his arms around you and hold you close to himself. Stay like that and don't say a word, it's not like you have a chance to escape.

Orion doesn't look like a person who thinks about his own safety. You will watch him running around Iacon from another trouble he got himself into, and he will even drag D-16 with him. Even though in his mind, it's for a better cause, If you're really close and dear to him, he also wants you to be the part of this adventure because he desires the better future for everyone and for both of you specifically. Together.

As Orion, still young, idealistic and naive bot, I never see him taking away your freedom. If you wish to tag along with him on the race, even though it's the most dangerous thing ever, especially with both of you not having any t-cogs...he will gladly accept it! As yandere Orion always cares about your well-being, but it's never the boring «I will lock you up just so you will always be safe» type of overprotectiveness. He neglects his own well-being to the point where he will gladly lose an arm or a leg if it means protecting you, and he doesn't care that he might die because of it.

You should constantly remind him to check Ratchet at least for once, but he will jokingly dismiss it since he's more concerned about that tiny dent on your frame. How did you get it? Do you need him helping you to polish? Orion already drags you to medic, meanwhile he is standing there holding broken metal pieces of his own body and like “that's just a scratch!”.

We all saw how Orion got protective over Elita once she was fired by Darkwing. His first thoughts are "yeah, I will NOT let that slide" even though he is two times smaller than their supervisor. Orion is a fighter for justice, for his darling he's a true gentleman, or...tries to be at least.

He's not that type of yandere who will murder someone if they hurt you, because his own beliefs are strong and unclouded. Yes, in the heat of battle, when it's either your life or the life of the enemy, he will never hesitate to end them, but even then he feels guilty about it (especially if we talk about young Orion/Optimus). If he actually ends up hurting someone, he will be devastated, and might as well take a long time to process it all.

How did it happen? How could he let this happen? He fights for freedom, for everyone, no matter if they're enemy or not, they all deserve at least a one chance for redemption. There will be a time when Orion blames himself for it, it corrupts his spark slowly, to the point where he thinks of himself as unworthy of you.

As much as Orion is an inspiring, he's self-conscious. The more not-so-happy events you go through together, the more he becomes dependent on you. You're a part of Orion's life, he can't shine brightly without his little satellite.

Yandere!Orion would constantly need you by his side. It doesn't matter where he is going, as long as he is with you. During his lowest moments, he wants you to reassure him and give him that comfort that will keep him at bay. He didn't mean to hurt anyone, but that worry and spark of rage blinded him, leaving his own servos dirty in the stranger's energon.

Young Orion is one of the softest yanderes to deal with. He still has to learn a lot about his own place in this world, his motivation, and his strength. Everything felt so easy when you were just two cogless bots, but the more time passes, the harder it is to deal with more complex feelings. Jealousy, disappointment, and regret. At the end of the day, you're the only person to keep him sane and not to collapse from the responsibilities on his shoulders. The problem is, it is too hard to get rid of that dependence.

#yandere x reader #yandere transformers #tw yandere #orion pax x reader #transformers x reader #optimus prime x reader #transformers one x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere transformers x reader

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sunderingstars · 3 days ago

Text

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mr. cold feet’s pop-up shop

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what the stars reveal: interpretative analysis, theory crafting, elation!sampo, sampo!sampo (??), lil bit of emanator!sampo & doll!sampo sprinkled in, list format turned waxing poetic, (as always), general befuddlement, op literally trying to think their way out of a paper bag, hijacked by mundanite assembly halfway through, yap class is now in session

word count: 13.5k 😀

overview: (as of 2.6) summarizing my thoughts on all seven days of sampo’s new shop event! i know i said i was “done” with sampo analysis but… i must…… talk about shiny new event………

sampo analysis masterlist

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My Main Takeaways

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— Each Curio exchange is potentially a chronology of his existence, beginning as a conceptual something floating out in the ether, then being “created,” caught, or tethered to a specific form, all the way through his experiences with Aha and the Elation.

— Otherwise, I feel these “Curios” may be stand-ins for things he has created himself or been in the vicinity of at some point. In some way, they likely say something specific about his identity and backstory.

— Mentions of both “Diogenes” and “Icarus” link him to other forms of mythology.

— Sampo does not make money from this event; instead, we the player and Trailblazer do (similar to his mythological function).

— Mentions of the Tavern and several specifically Elation-aligned factions or beings.

— Doubling down on the function of the mythological Sampo and its narrative, including lines from the Kalevala itself!

— These different Curios, if not chronological, may instead be alluding to Aha’s “collection” of masks and items seen in Their splash art. this would place Sampo closer in proximity to Aha Themself, if not being Them, since he would be in the position of the one “collecting” or marketing these items. There is also a chance that Sampo, as per his function, was used by Aha to create the equivalent of these Curios, putting him in that strange “creator but also created” purgatory!

— (The name of the event also emphasizes the “Mr. Cold Feet” moniker, which I’ve talked about in my “Notable Topics” post as being synonymous with his uncanny ability to back out and rethink things he doesn’t want to be a part of. The “pop-up shop” itself is also temporary, which may be hinting at the fact that his identity as Sampo on Belobog may, itself, be a kind of temporary “pop-up event” in the grand scheme of his life.)

— Most confusing conversations and backtracking could be explained by Aha’s “secret” and the idea Sampo can’t say certain things about his identity. Thus, he may have to abruptly distance himself from the Curios in conversation if he feels he’s getting too close to “revealing the truth.”

— The event itself might also be a cry for help to us, the player; maybe he knows there are some things we understand that the Trailblazer doesn’t, such as the names of the achievements on the processing screen. He is trying his best to reach somebody :((

— Every day has two phrases repeated in the flavor text for each Curio: “One-of-a-Kind Curio” and “Collectible and Value-Preserving.” I have a feeling these lines not only refer to the literal objects involved, but Sampo himself. This falls in line with Doll Theory quite well (as Sampo being yet another doll would place him as “collectible” but his potential Emanator or favored status within the Elation could market him as being “one-of-a-kind,” likely due to his Sampo-like nature of being “value-preserving”), but it could also mean any number of things, from a purely Emanator!Sampo to Sampo who was created by a being other than Aha — anything that positions him as “valuable” or akin to an object himself is viable for this interpretation.

— Additionally, I’m not sure how his mask factors into all this — it’s a bit unclear if he even has it back yet, and I can’t find anything in the event that might allude to it. Masks don’t seem to be explicitly mentioned in any way; it must be important to him, so it’s a bit of a head scratcher as to why he doesn’t seem to be talking about it (aside from the whole “secret” thing). If anyone has any ideas, please feel free to let me know, I’d love to hear them!

— Despite the length of this analysis, it’s by no means meant to cover every single possibility; so much of Sampo’s character is up to interpretation, so the theory scene is wide open. I’d love to hear any alternate interpretations you guys have in the comments/reblogs!

Update: Due to new information gleaned from Mundanite Assembly (Unknowable Domain), I believe the pop-up event can have an extra chronological interpretation — Sampo as an elemental force drifting through the ether before being captured and harnessed into a singular form (likely mechanical in nature), then used for increasingly dangerous experiments before, through a series of honestly exhaustive events, finding himself puppeted around for a joke at the Tavern.

I do believe this only leads up to day four or five of the pop-up shop, with days six and seven being interpretative of the time after. (And what Sampo is doing now in the present day, trying to figure out the key to his existence and his past.) This is a tentative theory, but I still wanted to include it. I’ll link my Mundanite Assembly analysis here when I post it!

Another Update: While some of this pop-up event may be referencing events in Mundanite Assembly like day three and its themes of being “stolen from the heavens,” I also think some of it, like the references to toys and especially the last day of trying to understand “past and present lives,” are meant to symbolize recent events, such as his experiences with Elation and his current situation. There’s the possibility that Doll theories and Emanator theories would work in this “gap” — or the time between the end of “Windup World” (around day four) and the “present” (day seven).

When talking about Mundanite Assembly, I will be operating under the assumption that the “you” perspective is Sampo, and addressing him accordingly.

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Day 1

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— He “missed us dearly,” which is really sweet! :,)

— He immediately addresses himself as “Old Sampo,” bringing both his name and its associations to the forefront before specifically introducing us to something that “won’t make money” — aka something that we will profit off of and he “won’t,” turning our basic items into rewards like his mythological counterpart.

— He also links this venture to the idea of “fun,” putting his pursuits in the orbit of Elation. I’m inclined to take his word on it, which brings up the question: How does he feel about his “function”? It’s something he seems to be aware of, but is it something he enjoys? Did he give himself the name “Sampo” simply because of what he likes to do, or was it always an immutable part of him, some unavoidable truth he attempts to claim as his own — to exercise his own kind of “Elation” alongside it — so that it wears on him less? Basically, what came first: the name or the action? Is he Sampo because he produces wealth, or does he produce wealth because he is Sampo? Interesting stuff to think about!

— He was lonely… :(((((((((((

— This does put his trip to Penacony in perspective, though: if we assume he’s telling the truth (or at least part of it) here, then his run-ins with certain characters make more sense. He may have used getting his mask back as both a way to accomplish a goal (helping Belobog) and to speak to someone he maybe hadn’t spoken to in a while. Although Sampo does seem to be exasperated by Sparkle and the rest of the Fools quite often, he also seems to harbor a sort of fondness for them. There’s also the possibility he knows other people on Penacony that he wanted to talk to.

— Boothill’s Emanator run-in is also looking more viable here, as a genuinely “lonely” Sampo feels like more of a recipe for a drunken confession of identity! In fact, with some of my interpretations from this event, I could see Sampo and Boothill having quite a bit in common, especially in the vein of just wanting someone to have a good drink with and genuinely talk to.

— Sampo & Boothill underrated friendship for the win! 💪

— I feel like his talk of the meme crate is twofold: one, it is a very real item, and two, it may also be something he uses as a way to talk about himself in a roundabout way, much like the Curios during the rest of the event.

— The timeframe of “eight years” gives us a good benchmark; we now know he’s been on Belobog for at least eight years, and the way he references the crate as being “hidden right here in the Belobogian snow fields!” (coincidentally right where we first meet him in the game) can also be interpreted as a reference to himself. Both he and the crate have been here for at least eight years, with Sampo likely being here longer and simply finding the crate eight years ago. Both he and the crate are implied to have been “hiding in plain sight,” so to speak, and the way he backtracks to ask “so how many years would it be now?” makes me think he really is referring to himself. To me, it very much reads as a genuine attempt to remember how long he’s been on Belobog exactly.

— It also almost implies that for much of that time, Sampo wasn’t near civilization, or at least a part of it. There’s a lonely quality to the crate being left out in those fields all alone for so long, and if it’s meant to mirror Sampo’s journey there’s a chance he was out there all alone for some time as well. :((

— Also, the “meme crate” is specific, and may be alluding to Sampo himself as a creation or otherwise “memetic” entity (which honestly, branches off into a lot of different possibilities).

— Additionally, when he says “after Jarilo-VI returned to the silver rail, I got to know several friends beyond the sky” it seems to have a… weird quality to it. It might just be me, but I feel like this is one of his signature “technically true but not quite” lines — the implication for the Trailblazer is that, just like everyone else on Jarilo-VI, Sampo did not have access at all beyond the planet, and so once that access was gained he began connecting with the rest of the universe like everyone else. However, Sampo doesn’t specify this. He doesn’t say he made his first friends beyond the sky, he doesn’t say he rejoined the universe like everyone else. He words it in a way that isn’t technically dishonest, but that carefully leaves out key details — Jarilo-VI returned to the silver rail, not him; he made several friends beyond the sky, but he doesn’t mention whether he already had other friends out there, or if he was simply reconnecting with former acquaintances. It feels very intentional, and man do I find it interesting!

— Again, we get some pretty heavy references to the mythological Sampo, with him detailing how he won’t make any money from the event but it will be a “golden money-making opportunity” for us. Here, he doesn’t seem discontented with what he’s doing — in fact, he proposes the idea to us. Aside from the fact he may have to carry out these kinds of transactions to survive or stay alive, it really does come across as something he wants to do — or at least is okay with doing — than something he dislikes. (Or maybe we’re just special and he likes us!)

— Lastly, when he mentions “the tiring, dirty work will be outsourced to robots” I’m not super sure how to feel. On one hand, he could be speaking as a creation himself, ironically going further down the ladder to use those below him as a means to accomplish what he accomplishes for whoever is above him; this would fit with the “dual” nature of many of his remarks, as I do think many of them don’t just refer to what he’s talking about, but also himself. On the other hand, he could simply be speaking from the perspective of a creator, of someone who doesn’t necessarily have a similar function to the robots but just… wants them to take care of things for him.

— It could even be both if we’re talking about Emanator!Sampo, stuck in this purgatory between using others and being used. Perhaps he is in the “creator” role overseeing these robots while also being in the “created” role under an Aeon at the same time.

— I also feel like this might be a reference to Aha Stuffed Toys — I’ve made a few connections before between the idea of “mass-produced” dolls or playthings from the Aha Stuffed Toy occurrence and the “intact masks” from the Ship of Fools occurrence. If these dolls and masks are one and the same, then the robots Sampo mentions here fill a similar role to the stuffed toys: doing the work Aha doesn’t want to do, taking the brunt of pain and effort so another doesn’t have to.

— We start off with wind, Sampo’s signature element (very fitting!).

— “The Fluid, the Myth, the Legend” is a fun twist on “the man, the myth, the legend” that takes a specific approach to setting Sampo apart from the idea of “man” or any other solidly definable means of mortality. It also gives him a somewhat mysterious, godlike quality, as “myths” and “legends” often have to do with those who are powerful or divine. Also, it’s a nice reference to the mythological Sampo!

— If we take this to have a double meaning for his identity, then the name may be alluding to either his “core” or “base trait” — like the fluidity of a higher being, his element of wind, or even the intangible concept of Elation — or a more literal time in chronology where he was not yet made into form.

— “Give yourself the chance to experience the wonders of controlling an ideal fluid” may point towards his backstory, with something or someone potentially trying to “control” him in his more fluid or conceptual state. Since it’s followed up by a “(Just kidding!)” it seems this attempt at control may not have been successful, or it may just be another way for Sampo to get his Elation in through the event!

— On the Aha side of things, this “fluid” could be a reference to someone or something that is part of Aha’s collection. For this, either Sampo would have to be Aha or part of them somehow, or simply used by Them to create these things!

— I also like how Sampo tries to talk Silver Wolf down from leaving a negative review — although it does seem a bit desperate at the end? If Sampo’s function is being a businessman in a specifically mythologically-relevant niche, then perhaps negative reviews have some kind of deeper effect on him, anywhere from mild discomfort or unease to even pain. Or not, and he just wants his stuff to sell!

— He also gives us a joke afterwards, and even though he says “it’s just a joke,” I feel like it might mean something more. As much as Sampo aligns himself with the Elation, he also has nuanced opinions about it, the kind that go far beyond making simple Masked-Fools-type jokes.

— Even if the “joke” itself is absurd, I still feel like it points towards something about him as a character. “The world brims with narcissistic wisdom. Only a fool knows that they’re all a joke.”

— We can take this two ways: one, Sampo is recounting a joke he’s heard (likely from the Masked Fools) but doesn’t agree with, and two, Sampo is telling a joke he does agree with.

— If he doesn’t agree, he may be trying to put a sort of ironic twist on the way the Fools view things; he recounts the joke to us and says “it’s just a joke” when we express confusion to highlight how contradictory the Fools are — it’s not just that they like telling jokes, but (as Sampo mentions later in the event), they only seem to care about themselves and their own laughter, not the enjoyment or understanding of others.

— If he does agree with the joke, he’s at least expressing a deeper sense of absurdism, something picked up from his time with the Elation that likely offsets despair or pure Nihility when it threatens to consume him. It also reminds me of how close the Elation and Nihility are in concept; the main distinguishing factor is their presentation. (Perhaps Sampo, as someone aligned with both Paths, is trying to express this as well.)

— Or, it’s like he says, and it really is all just a joke. You never can tell with this man!

— Also, his little box is really cute! It’s color-coordinated with a signature rose and even a sticker of Gepard’s drawing! I’m just very emotional about this. He made it his own. ♡

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Day 2

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— Specific mention of “meme catalysis” — yet another reference to memes and intangible or created beings.

— “A fire that provokes profundity” is a very specific phrase as well; I’ve already made some speculation as to his relationship with Erudition, since it seems to pop up quite a bit in his related Simulated Universe occurrences (and to be honest, this new Unknowable Domain content has made me do a double take with how much experimentation and creation is going on in the search for knowledge). I feel like, if this is meant to say something about his identity, this phrase would put Sampo in orbit with the Erudition, since it directly contains a reference to gaining knowledge.

— (Note: “Liquid Flame” reminds me of “Dousing Flames” from Mundanite Assembly!)

— “Liquid Flame in Void” carries across similar ideas as the last day — immateriality and pure substance — although this time it is beginning to occupy a more specific niche. Instead of a mythological “fluid,” we have now stepped into “liquid flame,” something more specific in both name and place. No longer is it vaguely floating in the ether, but it directly resides in the “void.” Overall, it’s a more vivid picture than the last.

— Chronologically, I would interpret this as Sampo’s more “ethereal” and original form (whether Aeonic, elemental, or conceptual in nature) growing more distinct, leaving behind his formless existence to become something… more.

— Additionally, despite the reference to knowledge (and by extension, Erudition) earlier, this feels much more Nihility-aligned to me. “If you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you” feels like a direct reference to the abyss of IX, although i’m not sure if IX is the type to “gaze” at all.

— (It also links to “Dousing Flames (II),” where the imagery surrounding the Perpetual Motion Project very much reminds me of IX’s Nihility “boundary” (as seen in Acheron’s burst).)

— This could mean several things to me: one, it could simply be alluding to Sampo’s affiliation with Nihility since that is his playable Path; two, it could be indicative of a chronological time where he was alone, abandoned, or hopeless, simply left to stare into a void until he gained some sort of enlightenment (Path-related or otherwise) — for Doll!Sampo or other creation theories, this would likely be when he was physically abandoned on Belobog for a long time; three, it could be another reference to one of Aha’s “collectibles” They or Sampo made; or four, it could be link to some sort of “origin” for Sampo within space, where his slowly-forming self had nothing but the void for company. Or, hell, it could even be some combination of all four!

— “(There is no such function!)” feels contradictory, but that seems to be a running theme so far. All of the parenthesis are Elation-aligned jokes, which may or may not be true. In fact, they may only even be there to mess with us!

— Sampo also seems to refer to something specific in his comment — “there are all kinds of Curios out there,” mirroring both the variety of event items and Aha’s own collection, and “even a bag of trash can have its own unique shine,” which feels like it’s about him specifically. While Belobog itself surely qualifies for these statements as well, it seems that Sampo may be referring to himself from two steps and a third-person point of view away (as he so often loves to do). In this case, “all kinds of Curios” could be a reference to Aha’s splash art collection (and the “collection” of potential dolls in Ship of Fools) and the “bag of trash” could be a reference to Sampo’s specific position within that collection.

— Generally, I take this to mean Sampo is speaking about how he, despite being abandoned or otherwise considered “trash,” has found himself in a collection where he has his own “unique value.” In this case, him being in the proximity of Aha may have a silver lining or even wholesome implication — despite looking into the void, despite being discarded or seen as waste, there was at least one being in the universe who looked upon him and, devoid of shallow pity, saw the value at the core of his being. While it’s possible there may still be a twisted, cruel sort of irony going on, there’s also just as much of a chance that Aha or the Fools have nurtured Sampo in a way he never has been before.

A Note:

— As you may have noticed, I’ve already started to amend my timeline a bit — for those who have read my other posts, especially Doll Theory, I posited Sampo as having a “creation to abandonment to hatred” timeline, but after this event I feel there are some additions and changes to be made.

— If the items in this event are to be taken chronologically, then it’s likely Sampo had a period of “manifestation” or formless existence, then isolation or abandonment, then being stolen or trapped, then created and used before eventually endeavoring to find out, put simply, what the hell is going on.

— It’s possible that I’m misreading the items in the event and they aren’t meant to symbolize Sampo at all, but a few things like being “stolen” line up neatly with Sampo’s mythological counterpart, so I’m willing to consider it an option.

— Moving forward, Sampo says a few key phrases, namely “red and fiery” and “a lucky portent” — the red matches with his jacket color, fiery may allude to his temperament (as mentioned through his “hot-blooded past” later in the event) or even a specific state of being (fire, elemental, combustible, etc.), and “a lucky portent” relates to his function as the Sampo, bestowing wealth and, in a way, “luck” onto others.

— Additionally, if we are considering that Aha may be the one “stealing” Sampo (it certainly lines up with Their personality), this may reference the Aeon Themself scoping out candidates for a pet project or joke, where they are then intrigued by Sampo. “Portent” also ties in to the kind of “butterfly effect” way Aha operates, and they may have seen something greater within Sampo that he himself hadn’t seen. Either way, yoink!

— Next, Sampo directly mentions the Tavern — a shorthand way of referring to the World’s End Tavern operated by the Masked Fools — and surprisingly enough, links it specifically to the idea of storytelling. We get some good tidbits, like the fact he isn’t “all-knowing,” and that there are many stories that would be inconvenient to share.

— On one hand, this implies that whoever Sampo may be (whether he is an Aeon, an Emanator, or some non-mortal third option), he has blind spots. Depending on who exactly he is, this has different implications — for example, an Aeonic Sampo would basically be admitting Aeons (in general, since Nous is probably an exception) don’t know everything despite being at the top of the food chain, meaning they are still fallible; outsmarting them is near impossible but not entirely. Meanwhile, other Sampos may be trying to convey that although they are old and experienced and powerful, they aren’t the answer to everything; there are some things we still need to figure out ourselves.

— Additionally, the aspect of “convenience” could go several ways for me. Either he is genuinely so powerful that he can��t be bothered to tell us everything, he has knowledge of future events and doesn’t want to mess them up, or there is some sort of power above or within him that creates limitations — i.e. “inconveniences” — if he says certain things. Going back to some doll speculation and the idea of a “secret only Aha knows,” there’s a possibility that Sampo mentioning convenience is just a light way of alluding to the fact he can’t say or do certain things, either out of pure inability or the fear of what will happen to him if he does.

— Also, there’s the possibility he did some really fucked up stuff in his past and he doesn’t want to ruin his reputation with us, LOL.

— He mentions how the Tavern has a penchant for stories as well — especially how they “actively” seek those people out and how, apparently, the Trailblazer would be a prime candidate for the Elation in this regard. Beyond the fact this is another little hint at how the Elation (and Aha) tends to take a liking to the Trailblaze (and the Trailblazer), it also may say a little bit about how Sampo came to be there. Setting aside any kind of “stealing” or affiliation with Aha Themself, the Masked Fools tend to actively send invitations to those whose lives they find “interesting” — it’s possible that Sampo found himself the recipient of one of these invitations even if he was already with the Elation, as whatever his backstory is, I’m sure it’s going to be damn interesting!

— The last little bit of Sampo’s dialogue on day two focuses on the idea of “place,” namely the transporting and selling of goods from one place to another. Similarly to the “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure” idea going on in the liquid flame comments, there’s the implication here that items, goods, and potentially Sampo himself are all victims of circumstance — just because an item (or Sampo himself) may be considered useless or “trash” in one place, there are many other places that would consider it valuable.

— It also places Sampo as a “go-between,” neither created nor creator but simply a middleman ferrying all these things between places. It lines up a bit with the idea that Sampo, although potentially being stolen or taken by Aha, eventually found himself in a space where he had the freedom to move things from place to place rather than being the one being moved.

— Again with the reference to a “meme”… Sampo what are you trying to tell us…….

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Day 3

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— This seems as good a place as any to talk about the phrases that show up when you submit items!

— One: Cute little emoticons, kinda tech-aligned like Curio Hacker. All in all, a nice little touch!

— Two: “Cool Guys.” May be a simple indication of how Sampo tries to come across as a “cool guy” in most of our interactions, but could also be a reference to the achievement “Cool Guys Don’t Look At Explosions,” when you clear Simulated Universe with ten or more Blessings of Destruction. Since the text is cut off so early, I’m not sure if the achievement is actually meant to be referenced here, and admittedly the Destruction doesn’t quite fit in with everything Sampo-aligned so far. However, it could be a link to Sampo’s red, fiery, “hot-blooded” past, or to his “breaking” or destruction in mythology. Additionally, maybe the “hate” behind the “love” could also lead to Destruction. (Plus, the Clown’s Item “Cloud of Doubt” does have a door on fire….)

— Three: “Take It Easy, Icarus” is especially notable because it appears repeatedly in the flash of words. For one, it references an achievement of the same name where you fly a cycrane to “test the limits of its remote control range”. This seems directly Doll!Sampo-related — or at least Creation!Sampo-related — since the entire idea of the achievement is taking an automated object and setting it loose to see “just how far it can go”. Additionally, the “remote control range” sounds very similar to the idea of Aha “not being involved in the quality control process” when it comes to stuffed toys. It’s possible that Aha, either creating Sampo Themself or stealing him from another creator, set him loose upon the universe to see just how far he could go, just how far he could advance his awareness beyond what he was created to be. However, much like the cycrane, there is always an invisible wall to hit. (The achievement is also in the “Fathom the Unfathomable” category, which feels Erudition-aligned.)

— Additionally, the mention of “Icarus” himself creates a link to Greek mythology, with the implication being that Sampo may fill similar themes to this figure, like “over-ambition,” “alienation,” “impulsivity,” and “the consequences of breaking boundaries”. It’s also possible that Sampo, in his attempt to reveal the “truth” or manage the “hate” inside himself, may be flying too close to the sun when it comes to enemies — or “prey” — he sets his sights on. (i.e. if he is angry at a specific Aeon, even Aha Themself, he may be biting off a bit more than he can chew by setting them in his sights.)

— The mention of Icarus could be a kind of warning as well; an indication of someone, perhaps Sparkle or Boothill or a different person, trying to remind Sampo of how dangerous impulsivity and setting his sights too high can be. I can just see Boothill saying something like “take it easy, Icarus” to Sampo over drinks after Sampo explains what he’s planning.

— Four: “This must be a trap crea…” — my best guess is that this is meant to say something like “This must be a trap created by…” or something along those lines. I feel like this might also be a reference to something else in-game, but after searching through the wiki I just couldn’t find anything matching this specific wording. While it does link to Sampo’s “Trap” ability — something both relevant and pertinent to the discussion — I’m afraid the text for this phrase is too cut off to meaningfully find any reference (at least for me). :(

— However, the general idea of “this must be a trap” seems like it could be a part of Sampo’s inner monologue or general feelings about his situation. Perhaps he has misgivings about his affiliation with the Fools, Aha, or the Elation in general, or he could be referring to some other event in his backstory. Maybe it has something to do with ��betrayal” or “abandonment,” or perhaps it’s simply what others think of him when they see him. Either way, the idea of a “trap” is very much at the center of this wall of text.

— Five: “Diogenes’ Utopia.” This is the achievement you get for going through all of Belobog’s trash cans, and yep, the relevancy to Sampo seems pretty obvious here. Not only is it in the Moment of Joy (Elation-aligned) category, but it directly connects to the idea of Belobog and Sampo himself being associated with trash and trashcans — in fact, one could even say Sampo views himself as the “trash” in the greater “trashcan” of Belobog! Because of this link, it seems to imply some kind of importance to getting to know Sampo, to looking beyond his exterior or the parts others see as “valueless” and finding the worth inside of him. To be loved is to be known, and all that.

— Additionally, the mention of yet another Greek figure — Diogenes — is important as well. Not only was Diogenes known for founding cynicism (a lifestyle emphasizing self-sufficiency and, perhaps most notably, intentional rejection of luxury), he also rejected “manners” as a whole, often impressing the idea that “truth” and honesty was a virtue.

— As for Sampo, I find this link quite interesting. It really makes me think about how, despite Sampo’s penchant for being a businessman, he willingly chooses to stay in Belobog, a place far-removed from the luxuries of the wider universe. Not just that, but although he often obscures or leaves out important details of the truth, he never seems to outright lie. With how Tatalov shook out on Penacony, “truth” and the revealing of it seems important to him as well. (He also mentions that he has nothing to hide later in this same event.)

— It also many be referring to Belobog as a “utopia” for someone like Diogenes, since so much of the planet has returned to the “simplicity of nature” through being cut off from the wider universe.

— Overall, there’s quite a bit of references to Greek figures, and well as implications of both conceptual and material themes. All together, it seems to paint a picture of Sampo as someone who, on a personal level (and despite the way he comes across on the outside), prioritizes truth, ambition, and finding value in unlikely places. It also implies that, on an identity level, he may be someone who isn’t entirely human — a creation, perhaps even technological or otherwise — who has been tossed aside from one place only to be found valuable in another, and additionally who may have been “set loose” to explore the limits of his existence.

— These could have slight alterations, of course, like Sampo not being “set loose” by any one party but rather trying to find his limitations on his own, or being found “valuable” in Belobog’s Undercity as opposed to the Elation itself, but I think the core ideas still stand.

— “High Voltage Stolen From Heavens” is very interesting to me because of one word: stolen. (Well, it also occurs to me that “high voltage” implies the fluid-turned-flame eventually snapped into existence, and was likely taken from that “electrical” form, and that “heavens” implies either space itself or another Aeon, but I digress.) “Stolen” sticks out to me so much because the mythological Sampo has quite a bit of conflict surrounding it, including being “stolen” (several times, if I remember correctly).

— This fits neatly into a mythological interpretation of Sampo’s character, implying that from whatever form (material or otherwise) he originated in, he was then stolen by another party in-universe. My tendency is to say Aha was the one doing the stealing, as Sampo is currently affiliated with the Elation and it just seems like something Aha would do. The main question now is: From who? Again, Sampo’s identity itself is the main question. (Looking real convenient for that “secret” only Aha knows.) Aha’s motivations seem to have been either experimental, joke, or purely interest-based in nature, so we at least have some leads there. Additionally, it seems that Sampo may have been “shoved,” for lack of a better word, into a smaller or more compact form when he was stolen, so that’s another idea. However, i’m still not sure from who.

— Aha is doing the stealing, Sampo is the thing being stolen, so who else is part of the equation? I’m tempted to say it’s another Aeon, or at least an important Path faction, but for the life of me that’s something I just can’t figure out. Again, this is likely intentional if Aha is trying to keep Sampo’s identity a “secret,” but it still frustrates me to no end. Who is it Mx. Aha?? I need to know!!

— (“Stolen” could also refer to “Those Remembered (I)” from Mundanite Assembly, as Xiaoya and her teacher taking Sampo out of the darkness — likely his home or place he lived — and into the light, or outer world, could be a case of “stealing”.)

— “On stormy days, the unyielding kite will face the wrath of the gods head-on” once again feels like Sampo is referring to himself, this time as the “unyielding kite”. I wonder if “wrath of the gods” is meant to simulate some kind of battle fought over him (which would line up with some mythology-related stuff) or if it’s simply meant to talk about how Sampo might stand up to an Aeon (or multiple Aeons) in the future — hell, maybe he already did! It’s possible that Aha or someone else fucked around too much and found out.

— “(Do not attempt!)” also feels like a warning.

— “Nameless” saying “best luck to kites everywhere” is surprisingly wholesome as well, like we’re giving him well-wishes for his journey. Additionally, “kites everywhere” implies multiplicity, which I of course associate with Aha’s collection and/or stuffed toys because of their many individuals.

— (There’s a chance that, because of this, we may be dealing with a collection item/Doll!Sampo that, out of so many others, was the one to finally stand up and say “Hey! You treat us badly! Fuck you!”)

— As far as I’m aware, this seems like a pretty factual “true story” Sampo’s talking about — coming across a Knight of Beauty who tells a story that outlines and references Benjamin Franklin’s kite experiment, then being a bit taken aback by the Knight’s sheer devotion.

— While this seems to be a true story in-universe, it also seems to mirror the idea that Sampo may have been “bottled” himself, potentially stolen from a different, more fluid and combustible form and forced into a smaller one through some kind of experiment or, as mentioned earlier, “trap.” If Aha was indeed the one doing the stealing, this lends a more sinister motive to the whole thing. While it’s true Sampo may have found new value with the Elation, he may have only found that through a series of traumatic events, like being stolen, trapped, or otherwise “sealed” (like the evil god in the Shining Trapezohedron Die from Ship of Fools — haha, see how I made that connection! >:3) for the purpose of a “joke” or other experiment.

— (This experimentation could also be connected to Mundanite Assembly’s “Resleeved,” especially with its use of transplantation and Organic Heart specifically.)

— In this case, Sampo very much comes across as a force of nature — no wonder Aha wants to be hush-hush about his identity! If anyone were to find out, or heaven forbid, break that “seal” (likely Sampo’s human form itself) all hell could break loose.

— I also just find it nice to see Sampo’s interaction with and outlook on someone outside of Belobog or the Masked Fools! It seems he has some complicated feelings when it comes to the Knights of Beauty — on one hand, he seems taken aback by their pure devotion and unabashed, streamlined fervor, but on the other hand there’s this sort of amused admiration that comes from seeing their antics. If I had to sum Sampo’s conversation up in this regard, it’d most likely be the phrase “backhanded compliment.”

.✦ ── ✦.

Day 4

.✦ ── ✦.

— This is arguably the biggest day in terms of Doll!Sampo theories, and for good reason. Sampo himself says “we’re cooking up some toys today,” and the interesting part is that it’s plural — not just one, but multiple, much like Aha’s stuffed toys.

— The name of the Curio is “The Ice That Never Laughs,” which sticks out to me for two reasons: one, the presence of “ice,” a distinct element you wouldn’t consider to be such a large part of a toy, and two, the phrase “never laughs,” a condition of existence that seems to be the complete opposite of the Elation’s — and Aha’s — goal of laughter.

— “This is a block of ice that never laughs.” It’s an interesting line, from the ice itself seeming to straddle a line between non-sentient and sentient (and in a way being personified despite giving no indication of, well, personhood) to the absolutism of “never.” Not only does it “not” laugh, but it “never” laughs. I’m tempted to say this ice not only represents the stuffed toys in general, but is supposed to clue us in to a very specific toy — perhaps one as contradictory as Sampo — that goes against the Elation’s idea of “laughter.”

— This sentiment is made all the more ominous by the interjection: “(Incorrect! Squeezing it from different angles will make it produce different sounds of laughter!)”. This implies that the toy does not want to laugh, but is rather made to through some cruel idea of a joke. It’s very similar to the Aha Stuffed Toy occurrence, where the toys have to be physically beaten and even broken to grant rewards.

— The main catch is: Who is Sampo in all of this? (Another identity question, who could’ve seen it coming?) If we’re looking at these Curios as intentionally-placed-and-named objects meant to give us insight into who Sampo is, what he believes, and what his role is in the wider universe, then I would say this ice is meant to represent him — or at least a time he was considered a toy like this. However, the comment section where someone compliments the “mental state of this toy designer” is answered directly by Sampo, who responds to it by saying “People here all say Mr. Cold Feet is disturbed!”.

— I feel like this implies Sampo to be not a toy, but rather the creator or designer themself. This, of course, would lead to Aha-centric theories, since Aha is the one who made the Aha Stuffed Toys. If Sampo used to be or is a part of Aha (if not the full Aeon Themself), then it makes sense that he would be the one answering questions about the toy designer. When he mentions being “disturbed,” it also makes me aware that he’s aware of the implications of such toys, yet decided to design them anyways. It fits with the way I’ve described Aha as a toy creator before, if not eerily so.

— There’s also the chance that Sampo, once again, fits in some kind of Emanator purgatory — perhaps he, as a being whose function is concerned with transmutation and even creation to an extent, was used by Aha to make the toys, and as such had some kind of say in the process. This could account for his disturbed designer mentality while also making it clear he’s not an Aeon himself.

— Unfortunately, this doesn’t fully account for a chronological understanding of Sampo’s identity; if he is trying to communicate something about his identity or situation to us through this event, I find it more likely that the inclusion of the ice would be a cry for help than any kind of “hey, I created these fucked up things this one time.” … And we’re back at square one!

— There are a few alternate theories, like if Sampo was captured or “stolen” to then be turned into a toy, or even if he designed the toys themselves only to be betrayed by Aha forcing him to be just the same as them — a prison of his own making, if you will — but it’s all speculation.

— I really want to believe he’s in this predator-prey, creator-created grey area so we can get the best of both worlds, but there’s just not enough concrete evidence to say for sure.

— (The repeated phrase “Collectible and Value-Preserving” also means more here, since the toys themselves would be made to be collectible, as seen in several Simulated Universe occurrences like The *Perfect* Grand Challenge and Ship of Fools!)

— Some of this dialogue also supports the idea that Sampo is more of a creator than a toy himself. “They’re a surefire hit” is very marketing-coded, meaning Sampo’s role here would be more to market and sell these toys than anything else. However, as we’ve mentioned before, it could also be his way of talking around the subject, using other items to, essentially, refer to himself.

— Additionally, he mentions gaining “inspiration,” which leads back to him being a designer, even just on a surface level.

— The inspiration itself, though, is interesting. A “toy bird” with its “expression stuck in horror, emitting a shrill screech whenever you squeeze on it.” If this isn’t the bird from Everlasting Hatred, I don’t know what is. The art for Everlasting Hatred, a Clown’s Item retrieved by Sampo in the Penacony Trailblaze quest, has a direct link to Sampo’s character theme of “hate,” and features a dead bird speared through the chest with an amalgamation of hardened, blackened thorns in the shape of a heart.

— I always assumed this bird was meant to symbolize Sampo, since it’s his “Clown’s Item” (and falls neatly in sequence with the other two), but the way he says “I really loved it” here makes me confused. It seems to imply this bird isn’t him, but is rather someone or something he used to know, some outside object he felt affection for. But if that’s the case, then why is he so specific about it? Why does it still feel like it has the quality of him trying to tell us something?

— If not for that last part, I would want to say Sampo is referring to himself again, referencing a period of time (likely as a toy or another part of Aha’s “collection”) where he was trapped in a horrible situation, likely being used by Aha for something so intensely that his demeanor and sense of self was completely warped.

— (This could also apply to the “Resleeved” experiments in Mundanite Assembly.)

— But, of course, that last line still implies that it was something else?

— Actually, now that I think about it, it’s possible that Sampo finds comfort in this “toy bird” because he relates to it, or because he’s been in a similar situation. I suppose that could explain not only why it is a physical Clown’s Item for him to retrieve, but also why he seems to love a separate object while also trying to convey something about himself. Perhaps him and the bird share similar feelings of distress, pain, and hopelessness, causing him to feel a kinship with it much like he does Belobog. After all, only the disturbed find comfort in the disturbing — and he said it himself, he is disturbed. Perhaps instead of coming up with random ideas, he’s trying to process or vent some part of his own life through these Curios.

— The next paragraph definitely reads like a directly-Sampo conversation, though — “an ice cube can only keep laughing to prevent itself from melting into a puddle of waste water in such a capricious age, haha.” Again, like the bird, this is so specific that I’m not sure who Sampo would be talking about other than himself. The inclusion of “waste water” and “haha” specifically tie things together for him, as “waste” is similar to the trash he is associated with, and “haha” is literally him laughing right after he describes how the ice has to keep laughing to survive. It’s like saying “I have this friend who has to say yippee otherwise they get struck down by a bolt of lightning” and then immediately saying “Yippee!” in a panicked voice while looking nervously at the sky. Despite the way he throws his perspective away from the toy cube at times, I’m still inclined to say it represents him.

— If we go with this interpretation, here’s what I think the ice cube is trying to say: Sampo is or has previously been in a situation where he was considered to be a toy (or at least treated in a similar way), complete with the pain, hopelessness, and dehumanization such a position would impose upon him. As such, his presentation of himself warped, much like the “shrieking” bird and the ice that is “forced” to laugh. Then, continuing forward, he must laugh or be a part of the Elation in order to survive.

— Other ideas may include: Sampo being a “middleman” for these toys, designing them and becoming attached to them in some sort of “disturbed” way. Sampo may also feel a sort of kinship with these toys despite not being one, perhaps because Aha “uses” him for his function in a similar way. (There’s a chance Aha “using” Sampo so much may lead to him breaking, or even being “broken” before, just to tie in to some occurrences and mythology!)

— (Mundanite Assembly also shows “Sampo” breaking and dying in numerous different ways, especially if all the stories are meant to be a chronological look at rebirth / reincarnation.)

— Then, at the very end, Sampo mentions how the toys are getting popular. He even justifies it a little, saying “… the world’s full of turmoil that makes it hard to laugh.” This could be indicative of a general sentiment — “outside looking in” — where he sees the toys as an understandable need in the world, but I have more of a feeling it says something about Sampo himself. To me, it sounds a lot like he’s trying to justify his own pain or suffering, to find some sort of silver lining so that he can understand why this is happening. He makes it sound casual — just enough to throw us off in wondering if he’s really talking about himself or not — but it’s clear he wouldn’t say something like this for no reason.

— (There’s also the chance Sampo is Aha, or at least a manifestation of Them, and is trying to convey something similar to the Primum Mobile: a set of rules where he must laugh, because the Elation may cease to exist if he doesn’t.)

— Overall, I’m more inclined to say Sampo wasn’t originally created as a toy, but rather stolen by Aha and forced to become one (or at least be used as one). And honestly? That’s more horrifying than the original theory!

.✦ ── ✦.

Day 5

.✦ ── ✦.

— “Salutations”… He’s so cute……

— “Full-Auto AetherTurbo Bookmark.” The main thing that sticks out to me here is “Full-Auto,” since it goes back to the idea of something automated, like a toy. I’m not quite sure what “bookmark” is supposed to mean, though? “AetherTurbo” could imply higher existence, such as being or becoming an Emanator, since “aether” is more outside the bounds of traditional elements and “turbo” implies “more” power or speed. A bookmark, however?

— The closest answer I can come to is that since Sampo has been talking about stories quite a bit in this event, it’s something to do with that. Perhaps he was created or has the ability to inhabit a specific “story” or “moment” in time, occupying the niche of a “bookmark” in a greater story. Beyond that, I’m not sure, at least through name alone.

— I’m guessing this Curio though, in a general sense, may be meant to represent the “hot-blooded past” he mentions later, since the art is of a feather on fire (and, well, fire is hot!). It’s possible that this, potentially being his time as an Emanator, could symbolize a jump in power as well as whatever “niche” he occupied during that time — maybe it had something to do with stories or something similar.

— The imagery of a phoenix is not lost on me, either, as that carries a very specific theme of being “reborn” that may also point towards his departure from “toy” or otherwise “powerless” status to something more self-sustaining. Becoming a new self, and all that.

— “Apply the principles of etheric wave dynamics to help you finish books you don’t have time to read!” If anything, I feel like this may support the relation between Sampo and Aha even more. To me, “etheric wave dynamics” fall in line with Sampo’s… everything, so far, from his original fluid state to even his traits as a playable character. Then, “to help you finish books you don’t have time to read” speaks very much to a condition or use, or a very specific purpose. We are moving away from the plain, marketable, cookie-cutter idea of a toy that is forced to laugh, and towards a higher, more specific form of existence. I interpret this niche to be something like a right-hand man, or at least an assistant — Sampo, in this case, would be the one finishing those unread books, while whoever his creator is is sending him out to do it.

Note: I have just finished reading through Mundanite Assembly, and will be attempting to make tentative connections / interpretations more often from here on out. (I will be assuming the “you” in these stories is Sampo, and addressing him accordingly.) In terms of this new information, the “bookmark” could also represent Sampo attempting to understand his past lives or experiments, which could be the “books” he doesn’t have time to read.

— “(Just like the famous storyteller!)” may also apply to Aha, since the Elation and Masked Fools seem to be focused on the impact of stories and storytelling — just take the Ship of Fools occurrence, where the entire Aha-coded event is basically a train of stories framed as “jokes”.

— Sampo also specifies that the product makes you feel like you’ve read a certain book, not the act of actually learning and understanding.

— This may be a shorthand way for him to try and experience his past lives, or it could be a way of conveying how Aha sends Their Emanators or dolls out to accomplish tasks They don’t want to / don’t feel like doing Themselves (a la “venting extreme emotions”).

— (The phoenix may also be indicative of Sampo’s many “lives,” especially the “Resleeved” story in Mundane Assembly where he is taken through many experimental lives in short succession.)

— Similar to what he says in his “first meeting” line about being a “businessman, chaperone, and problem-solving conversationalist” rolled into one; the idea of the stall selling multiple (sometimes unexpected or uncommon) Curios and the idea of he himself taking on multiple professions can also lead to the idea that he, from an identity standpoint, occupies multiple functions or niches. In this way, the stall selling stationery could also be a means to convey how Sampo operates in “multiplicity” as well.

— This is a good piece of interpretation for theory combination, as themes of multiplicity are very much present throughout his character. In this way, Mundanite Assembly could function as a way to convey points of his life associated with the Erudition — he is a machine, a source of knowledge, an organic-inorganic experiment of wonder — while things like his Eidolons could convey his time with the Elation as a Doll, Emanator, or otherwise. Basically, these things may not be in conflict with one another narratively; it is entirely possible Sampo is all of this at once.

— As for his pop-up event? I’m still tempted to say it is somewhat chronological, if only because it follows a line from non-sentient to advanced consciousness. However, the meanings of each timeline could be twofold: both his backstory with the Erudition and his place within the Elation currently.

— “If people get too obsessed with the outcome, they’ll be driven mad.” This seems to line up with “Resleeved” and several other points of Mundanite Assembly, as the scholar performing experiments on him was clearly unhinged.

— However, Sampo also treats the bookmark as a dangerous object with an amount of “influence” and danger. It’s possible he is referring to himself as something that can easily drive knowledge-seekers into madness, or even the general idea of “knowledge” being enough to move someone to insanity.

— “To become more open-minded, one must first learn to be self-deprecating.” This feels like a reference to “Windup World (III)” where the Tavern expresses clearly that it is “open-minded” before… well… playing quite a horrible “joke” on Sampo.

— The next part is one I’m torn in two directions on. The “mental torment without hope of escape” he mentions and the mustering “courage” to complain could be a reference to the clear mental torment of “Resleeved (II)”s experiments, and complaining about dinner could also link to “Printed Truths (II)” where he eats the Curio apple. However, this seems a bit… off from those stories. The experiments eventually break him instead of offering him any genuine escape, and the “apple” he eats doesn’t lead to any escape either. In both cases, he meets horrible ends; the only way it could be an “escape” is if he was aware he would die and be reborn free of his situation, but… he never seems to self-aware of that in these stories, at least not explicitly.

— Which leads me to the other option: this line of thinking may be him attempting to apply vague “knowledge” of past experiences to a current situation he faces. If he finds himself in an unsavory situation within the Elation, especially one focused around the “interest” or “amusement” of another party, then perhaps this line of thinking is prudent; after all, the act of complaining can often spoil the mood, and being a “let-down” may be a good way of diverting unwanted attention or amusement. A toy is meant to be fun, after all, and what use is it if it isn’t?

— He also specifies that he’s not a “comedic actor,” and when following that up with talking about those who “disregard the comedy of their routines” in favor of “doing their utmost to let others hear their own laughter,” it seems like a pretty big reference to “Windup World (III)” where the Masked Fool uses him in an “opening act” by making him, essentially, kill himself in front of a live audience. Obviously, this would be extremely traumatic for Sampo, while the “comedian” fits the description of someone who doesn’t care about the pain or distress of others as long as it makes them laugh.

— Sampo’s resulting worry — “Heavens, that’s so scary. Please don’t become someone like that.” — makes sense as well, as that traumatic event would cause him to be pretty shaken up when discussing the topic. The idea of us, a “friend,” becoming associated with the fear and adrenaline of that night is simply too much for him to consider.

— It’s also possible that Aha could also be referenced here, since the point of the Laughter is to… well, laugh. Despite Aha being a conceptual being, Sampo may view some of Their jokes as being cruel or unfair, especially if we’re taking a Doll!Sampo leaning. Aha may view it as funny, as a way to prioritize Their Laughter that rings throughout the universe, but from Sampo’s perspective it wouldn’t be comedic at all, just cruel.

— Overall, I do feel like this day heavily references not just “Windup World (III),” but phoenix-like rebirth and hints towards a current “trapped” situation.

— From an Emanator or Elation standpoint, rebirth may also be symbolic of a transformation we simply don’t see in Mundanite Assembly, something occupying the gap between that night at the tavern and the Sampo we see today.

.✦ ── ✦.

Day 6

.✦ ── ✦.

— “Synesthesia Omnihelper” could refer to his position within the Elation, either as an Emanator or a Masked Fool. The “omnihelper” in this catches my eye, as it implies a job as both an assistant and someone of a flexible position. “Synesthesia” could apply to Sampo’s ability to travel many places and talk to many people, as well as be a link to several points in Mundanite Assembly where synthetic Curios and the general themes of technological / space-time knowledge are present.

— “Resolve workplace troubles” sounds like it might have a link to the times where Sampo was working with other scholars or researchers in an attempt to, generally, gain different types of knowledge. The “dynamically provided solutions” also sound like part of his position in “Dousing Flames (II)” and “Printed Truths (III)”; essentially, when he was in the vicinity of others he could express his opinions to. Qingque’s comment of “It keeps praising me and asking me to work harder” also lines up with “Dousing Flames (II)” where the only real dialogue options you can pick are expressing optimism or pessimism (not exactly any useful solutions).

— Another interpretation is that this could be his current situation: perhaps he functions as a sort of “helper” within the Masked Fools or even to Aha Themself, doing the dirty work or solving certain issues that come with being as meticulous yet chaotic as the Elation.

— It’s possible that it doesn’t even have anything to do with the Elation at all, but rather Sampo’s general attempts to help Belobog and the Trailblazer, “guiding” us in a way using his wealth of experience and knowledge.

— However, I am fairly sure this state of being an “omnihelper” may be the job he’s expressed burnout with before; constantly being an assistant to someone else in their (or Their) pursuit of certain goals must become tiring after a time, and maybe he finally just wants to prioritize himself for once.

— Also, “(This one’s for real!)” is backed up by a commenter saying it’s a “legitimate product,” which could add to the idea that Sampo really is trying to help, or at least tell us the truth.

— I do think there are certain things that are still difficult or even functionally impossible for him to say, but lord knows he’s trying his best!

— Lil easter egg! It is very cute!

— I like how much he likes us — for the first time, we really get an explicit confirmation he cares about us. Despite the casualness of his facade, there’s a surprising amount of love in there.

— We also feel like we “need to accept these dividends first,” which is yet another tie to his mythological function. Whatever his past lives may have been, whatever differences his backstory may hold, the Sampo we know is the Sampo he is now. He’s still a businessman at heart, and he still wants to help us. And, maybe, for now at least, that’s all that really matters. :)

— Again, it feels like he’s referring to himself here, like he’s surprised at just how many people need his help. Especially when thinking in terms of Belobog and the Trailblazer, there sure seems to be a lot of people who could use the help of someone like him. He also seems to have quite a bit of empathy, asking “How much hardship must people be suffering from…” in a way that seems like he’s… sad? Wistful? Either way, it feels like he understands the need for the “omnihelper” as well as what it symbolizes.

— He comes back to the World’s End Tavern as well, this time detailing how the Tavern only closes its doors to one type of person: someone who is so robot-like that they do the same mundane things over and over.

— At first, I was tempted to say this may be a reference to mass-produced stuffed toys that only exist to be beaten and play the same jingle over and over, but even the stuffed toys have an element of chaos in whether they grant you rewards or not, not even taking into account the spontaneous combustions that can happen. (Plus, “robotic” doesn’t exactly seem like something Aha would be too fond of.)

— Although Sampo quantifies this as a fable, I also feel like he mentions it for a reason — there must be some truth to it, otherwise why would he bring it up? My best guess is, if not the toys, it may be Sampo’s way of speculating over his own existence. If Mundanite Assembly is to be interpreted as Sampo-related, he would have quite literally been a robotic device at some point. Whether he knows the full extent of these past lives or not, he may be wryly (even ironically) noting how the Masked Fools shun the exact type of person he used to be.

— The “Who wouldn’t have an ounce of hectic excitement in their lives? I’d love to meet such a person, haha.” line could be a source of dramatic irony within the story, as we the viewer may be more aware of how his past fits with this than he does himself. It could be him reminiscing on how far he’s come and how much his view of the world has changed, or it could simply be a way for Star Rail to convey a more simple idea: that he simply likes having fun.

— I do feel like it could point towards that “gap” in time we don’t know much about. It’s possible that, for whatever reason, there was a time he was shunned from the Tavern for acting this way, and that’s how he knows so much about it. This could have been incited by them finding out about his past identities, him changing when he gained power or even became an Emanator, or whatever clownfuckery Aha might have going on with him. It could even be indicative of burnout or “Cloud of Doubt.”

— As he said before, if he had been in some sort of unending, mental torment within the Masked Fools (perhaps being used as a plaything or puppet by Aha Themself), then perhaps he had to act like this, had to act like a simple robot unable to do anything but complain over and over and over again until They set him free. He might not even be free, but simply acting in a small reprieve of time granted by trying to deflect the gaze of something or someone determined to find him “interesting.” After all, there’s a chance the people attending that comedy show in “Windup World (III)” liked his opening act a little too much.

— In his last little bit of dialogue, he talks about farces. I’m not sure if this is meant to be about the Masked Fools or Aha directly, as I feel like it could be both. On one hand, his description of a farce’s departure from a regular comedy lines up with he chaos of the Fools, especially the part about the script having no rhythm and the actors stepping on each other’s toes. It definitely seems like each Fool does think they are the center of the world.

— However, the chaos of Aha’s splash art and their “collection” of masks / items could mean this is about Them too — a cynical take from Sampo that turns the concept of “comedic Elation” on its head. “Twisting around together” really reminds me of Aha’s splash art with just how many items are present. Aha as an entity seems to be a very complicated, twisting thing, so even if They aren’t referred to directly in these lines, They may at least be implicated. After all, action and inaction may be the same in Sampo’s eyes. If Aha doesn’t intercede in the Fools’ affairs — simply allowing them to carry on with their farce because it’s amusing to watch — then that may be just as bad as being part of the farce itself. The question becomes: What’s worse — an Aeon making a cruel joke Themself, or an Aeon simply watching in amusement as that cruel joke plays out?

— Either way, we know Sampo has personal experience with this, since he says it sounds “eerily similar to real life” and expresses his explicit distaste. Whether it was the Masked Fools, Aha, or a specific Fool (like the one in “Windup World (III)”), it’s likely Sampo has been deeply annoyed or even hurt by those that carry out the “farce.”

.✦ ── ✦.

Day 7

.✦ ── ✦.

— “Unlocking the secrets of the universe” seems like something pretty big — potentially a goal Sampo is currently trying to reach in the present. (“Just kidding” is, of course, present, but it feels like something tacked on as a half-hearted assurance, perhaps trying to circumvent any speech limitations.)

— “The Manifest Life of Eternally Homing.” To be honest, I didn’t fully understand this one until I read through Mundanite Assembly. I could potentially see it as a wandering Doll!Sampo who surpassed the limitations of his function and is attempting to find who he wants to be, or a Curio Hacker-related want to find answers for a difficult situation. Now, though, especially with the mention of gaining “detailed insights into your past and present lives,” I believe it is referencing the fact Sampo may have lived numerous lives before this one.

— Mundanite Assembly’s stories are a bit unclear to me on if Sampo has ever been aware of his eternally looping forms of existence, but either way I can understand if he wants more information on who he is, who he has been, and honestly, just what the hell is going on. He may even be as confused as we are, attempting to understand anything about his own existence and why he is the way that he is. There’s a chance he may even be breaking the fourth wall in an attempt to subvert the bounds of the game and find information like that hidden in the Unknowable Domain.

— This makes me think that he’s found some sort of higher way, bargain, or deal to use these “big data algorithms” to his advantage; he may be a wonder of nature and engineering, but there are certain things only Emanators or Aeons may be able to help him understand. I’m inclined to say Aha or Nous is involved here, heavy on the Aha. Nous may be willing to help based on how linked Sampo is to all sorts of information (and the fact he is on one big long quest for knowledge), but the mention of “Take It Easy, Icarus” from earlier makes me think Aha is amused at seeing just how far Sampo will be able to go in his search.

— “Guaranteed answers” here makes me go right back to Nous, though, since knowledge is definitely Their domain. Plus, They might help Sampo just because of how significant his existence is in the first place. Hell, maybe both Aha and Nous are in on it at the same time. I can see both sides: Aha interested in seeing how Sampo’s honestly crazy bonkers story continues (if Mundanite Assembly is anything to go by), or Nous directly inspiring him on his quest to find more knowledge about the universe and the nature of his miraculous existence. (IX might even be here, too, due to Sampo’s playable Path.)

— “You will make the same choice as you do now” is an interesting thing for March to mention in her comment; assuming this Curio works, it may say something about her future story or identity. Perhaps there have been other times in her past where she has made similar choices, and no amount of amnesia can change who she is at her core, nor what decisions she will continue to make. (Sampo even confirms a bit of this when he says “your spirit will always stay the same”.)

— It could also point to a loop in Sampo’s existence — most of his lives to tend to meet similar, violent ends (being “broken,” burned alive, shot through the head and the chest, etc.) — which may mean he makes some kind of “butterfly effect” choice over and over and over again to warrant these gruesome demises. (Hey, throwback to the mundane, repeating “robot” from Day 6!) Similarly to March, it’s possible that even if he makes different “choices” in each of his lives, his spirit — the nature of the “Sampo,” the nature of breaking — will always stay the same. It’s an enormous burden to try and escape, that’s for sure.

— (Also, the art of the Curio shows code in the background, perhaps alluding to his self-awareness and awareness of the game itself, as well as his attempts to break free of what is confining him. Additionally, the Curio itself is surrounded by a sort of barrier or seal, which supports the idea he is bound by his current situation — maybe even unable to speak about certain things.)

— Either way, this man has a lot of conditions on his existence, and I wish him all the luck in finding out whatever is going on.

— Even with all this talk of Mundanite Assembly, Sampo still circles back around to the express idea of selling, monetizing, and money-making at the end. While some of the stories in Mundanite Assembly do emphasize research funds and money, I really think it has more to do with who Sampo is now than who he used to be. Perhaps this is part of a “deal” he made, or perhaps this is a core part of his existence finally coming to the forefront.

— In a way, maybe the Elation is helping him reconcile positive emotions with business. “Fun and money-making,” he says, perhaps for the first time. For the first time, he might be able to see himself as more than just a tool, more than just an experiment, more than just a puppet on a string. He has a function, of course, but he’s realized he can fulfill it in a way that’s fun for him. A way that acknowledges his personhood and his value. And honestly, I’m happy for him! So much of his life (even lives) has sucked so incredibly much at so many different points that I just want him to be happy for once, goddamnit!

— “I have nothing to hide anyway” feels true, in a sense. I really do think, given the way he details having drinks with friends at the tavern and exchanging stories, he is telling us as much as he’s possibly able to. He’s honest about his interest in “funny tales” and self-creating stories, and even says the meme was “gifted by a friend” of his. However, there are obvious gaps, clear instances of vague wording where there should be detail. For example, who are the friends he had drinks with? Who was the friend who gifted him the meme? Any amount of detail would suffice. It’s strange that he specifies run-ins with Knights of Beauty and Masked Fools during this event, but can’t provide any tiny hint as to who these friends are now.

— It goes back to my theory that he is bound by certain limitations, that he can only say or do certain things — when it seems he is approaching too close to a topic, he becomes this vague, cryptic mess. I feel like this “friend” might be whoever he’s made a deal with, or whoever is responsible for his limitations. Perhaps that’s why he can’t specify who they are — because he literally can’t. Of course I want to believe this is Aha, but it could also be literally anyone else of higher power.

— Sampo also mentions he’s had adventurous run-ins, much like the Nameless. It makes sense, then, why he would feel a sort of kinship with us; especially if his “past lives” are as varied as those mentioned in Mundanite Assembly, he may feel a sort of connection with how often the Nameless change stories and locations. Constantly traveling, constantly fighting, constantly being thrust into new and unexplored situations — that seems very much like something that would be related to Sampo.

— (Also, “hot-blooded” past is specific and interesting wording. I remember his blood literally boiling in “Resleeved (III)” so it could be a more literal take on events, or it could be indicative of a time, likely with the Masked Fools, where he was, to put it simply, probably batshit crazy. At the very least, he might’ve been impulsive, arrogant, or combative, really anything that would match with the connotations of “hot-blooded”. It could also reference events like his revenge in “Windup World (I)”.)

— “It’s pointless to talk about my past adventures” also feels like he’s trying to avoid a topic where he may have limitations on what he can say. “Pointless” may be that he doesn’t think we need to know, or it may be that it simply wouldn’t be worth the effort of fighting against some limitation he can’t surpass in the first place.

— The, he leaves to “go have a drink,” which, besides having links to the Elation’s goblet-filled imagery, establishes that Sampo is a man who likes to have a drink. And just what did Boothill find that Elation Emanator doing? Exactly.

— I also love the idea of a full circle here, as “Printed Truths (II)” deals explicitly with the lack of the ability to synthesize Curios, and here we are… synthesizing Curios. You go get ‘em, Sampo!

— And, obviously, we have the first explicit depiction of Sampo’s mythology in canon: dialogue lines taken straight from the Kalevala. I’m not too clear on how this fits into specific theories, only that it directly plays into his theme of “producing wealth,” as well as being trapped in a situation where he must carry out his function. The “function” itself could be Elation-related, laughter-related (as mentioned on Day Four), money/wealth-related (as supported by Aha Stuffed Toy and his mythology itself), or even all three!

— One thing’s for sure, he is one enigma of a man. He’s at least aware enough of the poem to sing it, although it’s unclear if it exists in-universe or if this is yet another crazy fourth wall-break.

— Anyways, I’ve yapped long enough, it’s time for me to summarize my thoughts!

— Here it is: the event summarized in all its glory. Let’s get into the breakdown!

— General: Clearly, Sampo is trying to tell us something with all of this. It’s just too… detailed, chronological, as if taken from his own experiences. I feel like there are certain things he can’t or won’t say, and as such has to rely on this “pop-up shop” as a means of talking his way around the subject, hoping we’ll pick up what he’s trying to put down. At the very least, he just wants to have a little fun. At face value, we’re simply synthesizing random Curios. But nothing’s ever so simple with Sampo, so there’s something here. The only issue is getting down to what it is; and, well, if you’ve read this far, you’ve probably realized there’s a lot of options. The event is specific yet vague, general yet complicated, shallow yet incredibly deep. And honestly? I still don’t know what it all means. I can only do my best to speculate. So speculate I shall!

— Mundanite Assembly: Day One and Two would be his original form, floating in the ether and untouched by man (likely mechanical in nature); Day Three would be this original form being harnessed by the woman in “Those Remembered (I)”, being “stolen” from wherever he was waiting; Day Four and Five, generally, may deal with events surrounding the experimentation in “Resleeved” and subsequent research in “Dousing Flames” (I am more inclined to put “Dousing Flames” with Day Four due to the running theme of fire, although the phoenix imagery may fit with experimentation more); Day Six would be “Printed Truths” and the Path research that went on there; Day Seven would be the present, with Sampo attempting to understand his “past lives,” either through revealing what they were in the first place, or gaining some sort of key insight based on memories he already has. He is likely trying to convey his existence in a way that won’t overwhelm us, and also in a way that works with whatever “limitations” he has. His talk of the Fools would place “Windup World (III)” as the beginning of the time gap, where we just have his word to go off of. In this time, he likely experienced that cruel puppet joke, joined the Fools, and potentially gained power or some sort of “deal” to accomplish his goals going forward.

— Doll!Sampo: Simply put, chronologically, an element being drawn into form — created — by the act of “stealing” something from the heavens, then turned into an Aha Stuffed Toy that must laugh to survive (even through external force). This would be Days One through Three. Day Four would be a “phoenix-like” rebirth into an Emanator or Fool of higher status, which Day Five would then turn into a specific niche for him to occupy in Aha’s “collection” — that of a helper or assistant. Day Six is once again indicative of the present, with him trying to subvert the conditions of his own existence as a creation of Elation. It’s also possible that Mundanite Assembly happened long ago and, after being messed with by the Fools, Sampo was “stolen” and reforged into a toy by Aha or even the Fools themselves. (Basically, Mundanite Assembly and Doll!Sampo don’t have to conflict with one another; they can still fit chronologically. It’s possible the Sampo we know now has all the past backstory Mundanite Assembly has to offer, but the event simply starts at the act of Aha plucking him out and “stealing” him.)

— Aha!Sampo: Days One and Two would indicate a “conceptual” or Aeonic existence, while Day Three and Four would be Aha potentially finding a way to have a mortal form or siphon some part of Themself into a “vessel.” Day Five would be the “rebirth” of either a new Aha taking the old one’s place, or Aha’s consciousness being reborn into this new form. Day Five would be this new persona — that of a helper — which would then lead to Day Six, where They attempt to find Their true purpose beyond the restrictions of the Primum Mobile (or even circumvent those restrictions in the first place).

— Emanator!Sampo: No matter what theory we’re dealing with, I’m inclined to say Day Four or Day Six are the best indicators of a shift to Emanatorhood. Day Four has its imagery of phoenix rebirth, which could symbolize a shift in power or a rebirth into a higher form of existence, while Day Six could be his present status breaking through the fourth wall and attempting to accomplish whatever it is his current goal is. This can work with Mundanite Assembly and Doll Theory, as in those I’ve already mentioned how I feel Emanator status could work.

— Non-Chronological: This could, generally, not even be about a specific order of events in Sampo’s life, but rather different parts of his worldview, identity, or interests. It’s possible that all of these conditions exist at the same time — he may be conceptual, and organic, and a toy, and a jumble of code, and a phoenix in the process of rebirth. This would allow for a more experimental look at things, with all structure set aside to look at the core of who he is. He’s not just something stolen, but a helper, too. He’s not just a lost soul looking to circumvent the lines of code that bind him, he’s a man in a constant state of rebirth, inventing and re-inventing himself until he’s satisfied. He’s burning his wings while being trapped in the confines of ice, laughing because he has to and sparking because he doesn’t. He’s everything, all at once.

— Non-Identity: If not Sampo’s identity, these Curios could be symbolic of people he knows, or simply just Curios he finds interesting. My most viable thought here is that each Curio symbolizes a part of Aha’s “collection” — or Their Emanators who all have different purposes and personalities. I want to say Sampo is symbolized by Day Six because of the Curio Hacker occurrence, with other Curios being Emanators who range from pure elemental energy to machine devices to stuffed toys. Although, it is possible Sampo can be shuffled around here, as Doll!Sampo is more likely to be the ice cube and his current “helper” role lines up with “Synesthesia Omnihelper.” Sampo can actually fit with all of these, which is why I really feel like it is identity-related, but I still wanted to cover all the bases I could.

Overall, wow, that’s a lot! If I’m being completely honest, I’m still confused (as I feel most of us are). The more I think about this event, the more it seems like a giant puzzle box to me, turning and turning and turning again every time I get close to an answer. Perhaps that’s how Sampo feels about his own existence, and why he’s trying so hard to figure himself out. I really hope this analysis didn’t come across as a scattered mess, because that’s definitely what I felt like writing it. I wanted to get my thoughts out, but there are so many alternative options and theories that I could barely get my head straight! It felt nice to get it out, though, and whatever happens, I’m happy we got to talk to Sampo again. He’s just so interesting! Anyways, I’m going to go take a nice, long nap now. I’ll leave you with some key questions to consider — bye!

.✦ ── ✦.

Key Questions

.✦ ── ✦.

— Did Aha “steal” Sampo from another creator, such as an Aeon or organization? If so, how and for what purpose? (If not Aha, then who may have “stolen” him?)

— What is Sampo’s true identity? We know certain things about his mythological function, but how does that translate into the HSR universe?

— What is the timeline of his “abandonment”? When was he left on Belobog, and by who? Was Belobog even the place he was left, or was it somewhere else?

— Was he originally elemental energy, electricity, or something conceptual? Was he organic or inorganic? And, if Aha did “steal” him, what changes were made to his form?

— How does Sampo feel about Aha? Is Aha a cruel, thieving presence in his life? Are They an accepting, freeing one? Are They a distant, unreachable god? Are They a mix of all three?

— What is Sampo’s relationship with the Aha Stuffed Toys? Was he created as one himself? Was he turned into one when he was stolen? Did he “create” them at the behest of Aha? Does he simply act as a middleman to get them from one place to another?

— What is Sampo's connection to Mundanite Assembly, if any? How might the days of this event fit in with each "chapter" of the Unknown Domain chronology?

— And, for heaven's sake, who the hell is this man?

— thanks for reading to the end! :)

— here's links (one | two) to posts with the memes i wanted to include because i literally hit the image limit on this LOL!

#⌞ ✎ sunder.writes ⌝#⌞ ✧ super.nova ⌝#⌞ 🎭 ⌝#hsr #honkai: star rail #sampo #sampo koski #sampo hsr #hsr sampo #sampo honkai star rail #hsr analysis #hsr theory #honkai star rail

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nadas-dirthalen · 3 days ago

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A Veilguard Achievement Icon Opened My Eyes on 15 Years of Lore... but Was I Right?

PART TWO: What Veilguard Did Narratively, and What That Tells Us Going Forward

[ 1 ]

Hello again, friends and travellers. Now that I've beaten Dragon Age: the Veilguard, I wanted to go through all those 30,000 words of predictions that I wrote in the ~11 days leading up to its release. I'd seen an achievement icon that pieced together a lot of Dragon Age lore for me.

But, I hadn't played Veilguard. All I had was the footage from September 19, the achievement list, and anything else BioWare had released.

So... was I right? And if so, how much was I right about?

This is your warning:This post will contain spoilers for the entirety of Dragon Age: the Veilguard, and all Dragon Age content made before Veilguard.

(my davrinmance is going great as i try and collect every codex, thanks for asking!)

Today's Discussion: to Understand Dragon Age, We Must Understand Its Writing.

Before I can go any further on why I think the way that I think, or why I imagine the story might take us in certain directions, it's essential that you all understand where I'm coming from. Veilguard, like any game, is a piece of art. Its bones are built with similar narrative structures to novels (though not identical, and that's important!). To make sense of what's to come, we must examine Veilguard's bones the same way.

I've seen a lot of people wondering why, for instance, the Inquisitor is not Veilguard's protagonist. I've seen people lamenting the fact that there were not on-screen clarifications of popular lore theories. Before this series goes any further, I need to say my piece about why I believe that it was essential that Veilguard was written as it was, and why its writing does in fact help us better predict Dragon Age's path forward moreso than even Inquisition.

That said, today I hope to cover:

What Veilguard Demanded of BioWare's Writing Team, and Why

The Protagonist: Why Rook's Perspective Matters

The 3 Act Structure: Our Lens

The Companions: Paths to Our Answers — and Future Games

What Veilguard Demanded of BioWare's Writing Team, and Why

Let's get this out of the way right away: it has been 10 years since Inquisition. And, like it or not, that means one gigantic thing for BioWare: if they wanted to have any hope of making more Dragon Age, they needed to bring in new players and resuscitate the interest of many old players who did not stay in the fandom the whole time. They didn't—and couldn't—write Veilguard specifically for you or I, people of Tumblr. If they did, it would've pleased us... and then cost them so much money that we'd never get any more Dragon Age.

That doesn't just mean modernizing the game's aesthetics, or providing a glossary in its Codex. It means they would have to balance all of the following (just at a glance):

Managing the learning curve in general. Not even I looked in the glossary as I played. Me, supreme enjoyer of all codices ever. It's just not something most players are ever going to do, as much as it the lore is such a fundamental part of the game in general. That means simplifying terms where possible — elven gods in place of Evanuris, for example — but also trimming down what would have to necessarily reference past games. Only a tiny fraction of the fanbase has played Inquisition in the last 3 years, nevermind this year.

Recontextualizing the lore. That does not mean rebooting it, it means situating all we have learned so far in a framework that fits all we have learned so far. Much of what we learned about the Evanuris seemed, for so long, to be totally separate for the things we knew about the blight and Blights. Veilguard needed to show us how those things relate, and to do so in a fresh context that would allow everyone to develop new understanding.

Pushing us one step past Inquisition's knowledge. Veilguard, after reframing the lore, had to leave us a path for new lore, and increased understanding. I think the devs put it really well when they say that their aim is to give us some answers, but leave us with even more questions. More on that later, and in future posts.

Updating Thedas' ethos. Let's face it. It has been 15 years since Origins came out. The things that were more typical of scifi/fantasy (SFF) then are just not the same now, and would not be perceived by 2024 players in the same way as by those who started Origins in 2009. The world has changed; our cultural understandings are broadening and need to continue broadening. BioWare is doing a good thing by incorporating things like nonbinary identities into Veilguard, and it is good that Veilguard is progressing the world of gaming in that way, especially considering its success. (This is also, I wager, why we choose an Archon out of two choices who want the same thing, rather than leaving that open to a more "evil" option).

Dislodge older fans from their Solas headcanons to get everyone old and new to the same confusion and potential distrust. Hear me out. Everyone who's stayed since Inquisition has beliefs about Solas. Even me, who got here in March of this year, whose fic reads overly soft now because I just didn't know Solas' grander plan until 48 hours before Veilguard came out. Everyone has had headcanons for so long that everyone has had time for their opinions of Solas to cement themselves. In order for Veilguard to work as a story, they had to debunk what everyone thought they knew: both lovers and haters of the famously controversial egg. By breaking down our existing beliefs, the devs open up essential curiosity from the players as to who—and what—Solas really is, which propels us through the narrative and has us absorbing information.

And this curiosity? It is why Veilguard could not have the Inquisitor as its protagonist. To keep us curious as players (and "readers" of the lore), BioWare needed a new protagonist.

Specifically, they needed Rook.

The Protagonist: Why Rook's Perspective Matters

Here's the thing. The protagonist is not just the face of the game. They are our vehicle to understanding that game. The plot follows their wants and responds to their understanding. What they don't know, what they want to know, is what makes up our every objective. Their emotional journey through the game is our emotional journey through the game. Following it, going after the things that matter to our protagonist, is how the entire game (including its lore) takes shape in our minds.

That's why it's essential that they don't know everything—especially after a ten year interim between games.

Veilguard's plot and twists proved that the Inquisitor did not know everything. They, in fact, knew less than half of everything. If we had kept them as the protagonist, all of our knowledge and curiosity would be shaped by the Inquisitor's understanding: a wrong understanding. We could constantly be fighting with what we think the Inquisitor should know, what should be true because we had seen it through the Inquisitor. We would be set up to be at odds with the very events of the game. Rook is a blank slate, barring a few key tonal indicators, and that blank slate allows for us to fit all previous lore into its new, recontextualized shape that I mentioned above. (Again, note that I am not saying rebooted.)

That, and Rook has multiple motivations. The Inquisitor is focused largely on stopping or saving Solas; Rook is charged with figuring everything out as it is happening to them in real time with almost no context or experience, AND stopping or saving Solas. The Inquisitor has existing allies and resources; Rook does not. Rook must build their own campaign from the ground up, and that means the player is building their own experience from the ground up. Their allies, abilities, and home base, yes, but also their knowledge. Discovering things at the same pace as Rook, with a similarly urgent drive to do so, keeps the game from infodumping at us. It keeps the reveals evenly spaced, but also immediately interesting to the player.

And best of all? Rook allows the writers to do what they want to Solas without breaking his dynamic with the endless sea of Inquisitors (or, at least, with way less risk of doing so). We needed to have our theories about him broken down and rebuilt as players; to do that to the Inquisitor would damage an entire sea of headcanons. We'd never get the Solavellan ending we wanted, for instance, if Solas had played mind games with Lavellan for that many months. And if Solas didn't do those things, if he'd been wholly defanged, he would have lost his appeal and importance in the narrative. He wouldn't be the Dread Wolf in the ways that matter to Veilguard.

It's important, then, that Rook has just the slightest bit of backstory. They care about their allies. They are not a potential political force like the Inquisitor. They have many options to be impulsive. Every single Rook has rebelled against authority. Every single one has a stubborn streak. BioWare put all those qualities there on purpose, because Solas uses every single one, in every single Rook, as a tool. That was all essential for his character development in this game! At the same time, they couldn't do that with the Inquisitor as protagonist, because after 10 years, no two Inquisitors are similar enough to predict/script their actions and responses in that way.

Those twists are perhaps the most important tool for forward momentum in the game. The more they keep us guessing, the more we'll play and seek new information, the more we'll learn. Which brings me to...

The 3 Act Structure: Our Lens

Like I said: BioWare couldn't just infodump at us in Veilguard. It wouldn't be interesting to even half the fans that stayed, these ten years. To keep us engaged as players, they had to string the lore through a series of engaging events. Keep the momentum up, so we would not be lazily looking over codices, but chasing new knowledge and understanding. It all had to be emotionally relevant and resonant to keep us caring, because very few people play games they don't care about.

Veilguard, like a lot of written art, follows the three act structure. Though there are a lot of variants on the more precise beats, they all broadly follow the same-ish path.

Hook: The opening image. In Disney movies, this is the song where the character sings about all the things they want in their journey, and what they truly need is only implied. It gives an opening note for the theme by showing what the character lacks, and what they might need to gain before defeating the final villain. In Veilguard, this is our prologue, centered entirely around Varric: the big red herring where we see that Rook is out of their depth, opting to push over a support beam rather than take on the Dread Wolf. Off-screen, it is also the background information about Rook, showing us who they are and what they want before we play.

Inciting Incident: The event that kicks off the main plot. In DA:tV, there's a big collection of these (because every companion needs one; we'll get to that). The first big one is, of course, the failed ritual. The death Rook doesn't see. The Evanuris are freed, but Rook has only half the information.

First Plot Point: "Plot Point" means "big/defining decision" in writer-speak. This is the moment the protagonist decides to go forth on their adventure. In video games, this is more or less determined for you, but you have the option to flavour this moment in Veilguard. You can choose how to tell Solas that you'll do what he wants: either by appeasing him or angering him. You do the same for Neve and Harding afterward, and then again in Arlathan and D'Meta's Crossing. You state that you're doing this, no matter what it takes.

First Pinch Point / "The Setback": "Pinch" means "twist" in writer-speak. It's the first time the narrative is shaken up, and is also usually the first time we see the true scope of the villain. In Veilguard, the first big twist has been called "the Setback" by some of the devs (notably, I heard it at a panel in September). For Veilguard, this is Weisshaupt. We see the true scope of Ghilan'nain's horrors, but we also see the first BIG hints (outside of Varric) that Solas is manipulating us—because he really doesn't seem to hate the Wardens as much as Inquisition enjoyers like myself expected. This event concludes act 1.

"New World" / "Fun and Games": The devs have remarked that they wanted to see the tone of their setback (Weisshaupt) threaded through the rest of the game, and we do: through Davrin and Lucanis' banter, through the reflections on the consequences of Weisshaupt, through every character struggling with their confidence and identity after that point, through the blight getting worse and worse and worse. That's what the New World is: the characters getting used to new circumstances after that first big twist. The Fun and Games are the slow and steady recovery from the twist, warming and solidifying formerly tenuous relationships. This is where we do a lot of companion and faction quests.

Midpoint: In a narrative that ends in a victory (so most games ever), the midpoint is a false victory. We think we've nailed something, only for something else to happen that begins to seed doubt in the protagonist's capability and/or ability to solve the plot. For Veilguard, this is the blighted dragon fight: we think we've got Ghilan'nain, but then Elgar'nan shows up and demonstrates that Rook is in so, so over their head.

Second Pinch Point: The second twist. The villain's identity is crystal-clear, and by now we've definitely interacted with the villain more directly. This is Arlathan, Elgar'nan's mind-trap—and Solas' "rescue" of Rook, showing his duplicity in full. Elgar'nan notably says a line about not falling for Fen'Harel's tricks again, and it foreshadows what we will see of Solas.

Disaster / Crisis: This is the event that triggers the protagonist's downward spiral. Not a twist (necessarily), but a catastrophe. In Veilguard's case, it's both: the Ghilan'nain fight leaves one companion dead-dead and another presumed dead. Then, the twist: Solas using Rook's sharply felt regret to pull his gambit and swap places with them. A series of events that literally had me gasping so frequently I got dizzy. Thanks, BioWare :) Many people say that this event, or something between this event and the "All is Lost" beat, conclude act 2. For games, the pacing is sometimes different, as is the cutoff mark, because otherwise the third act has the potential to be very short.

"All is Lost" / The Dark Night of the Soul: It's exactly as the name suggests: all has been lost. The protagonist doubts themself completely. It seems like nothing more can go wrong, and like nothing might ever go right again. The protagonist is at a loss for how to move forward. In Veilguard? Varric is dead. Davrin/Harding is dead. Bellara/Neve is dead. Rook is literally trapped not only in their regret, but in a reflection of Solas' regret. And to get out, they'll need...

"The Epiphany" / Second Plot Point: "Plot point" means "big/defining decision" in writer-speak, as stated above. Only this one contains more layers than the first. This is where the thematic statement of the piece comes out: the lesson that the protagonist must learn is stated, clearly, for all of us to see. It is the thing that picks them up off the ground, giving them strength to face the climax and the danger it promises. In Veilguard, this is Varric saying to Rook, "Have you learned nothing here?" and reminding both Rook and player that he chose this; Rook's companions chose this; we cannot blame ourselves for the actions of others. We cannot carry grief for other people, or we'll drown in it. Sound like any other character we know?

Climax: The big fight! But also, the big moment where the theme is shown to be the narrative key. In every ending of Veilguard, Rook being Solas' perfect mirror is the key to winning the day against the Dread Wolf. It just depends on what facet of Solas Rook chooses to mirror: the trickster, the nasty combatant, or the person who was haunted by their own failings and lost companions.

Resolution: Narrative threads are tied up, or a promise is made to tie up those loose ends in future installations. Veilguard's credits do both of those things. :)

Why am I telling you all of this? Because the lore must follow that skeleton. Every reveal we get must fit into both the timing and the feeling of those events. It would not fit to suddenly drop everything about the Titans right after Rook gets to the Lighthouse, which is why those enemies you need to kill to get the last memories are level 30-40. It would not fit to uncover everything about the blight's origin before Weisshaupt. If they forced us into that as players, all the casual fans and new players would duck out, feeling overwhelmed.

Even for us older fans, narrative structure shapes significance. You can tell a lot about a codex's overall importance and tone just by understanding where you find it, and when. That's why the Trespasser codices carry so much weight, even the ones about the Evanuris' actions that we don't see on screen at all: they are at the bitter end, and so they carry all the bitterness, longing, and mourning of that ending. Without the context of Trespasser, they mean less.

This is also why Veilguard paces its companion quests this way, not allowing you to complete them until later in the game. Every companion has something to teach us, and BioWare wanted to give each companion's narrative the weight it deserved.

The Companions: Paths to Our Answers — and Future Games

Anyone who's played Inquisition knows that companion quests shape entire facets of the lore in individual games, as well as set us up for the trajectory of the next games. Just look at Solas and Cole: together, they shaped our whole understanding of spirits in Veilguard. They set us up to ask all the right questions about not only spirits being bound as demons (Solas' quest), but about spirits being able to manifest in physical shape (Cole's quest). Together, their narrative conclusions foreshadowed much of the Evanuris' reveals in Veilguard: that they were spirits who could manifest into corporeal shape, and that they had the ability to ask others to manifest—and then bind them.

Again, these quests are paced throughout Inquisition's main plot. You cannot do their before Skyhold, and you cannot do them after the cutoff of (I believe) the Temple of Mythal. Inquisition forces you to see those quests' endings in the exact right spot: sometime around the midpoint (Adamant/WEWH), but before the disaster/dark night (the Temple of Mythal). They do that so you will feel that those things are significant.

Veilguard does the same thing. Every companion has a facet of the lore attached to it, but you cannot follow those threads to their conclusions at the beginning of the game. The game won't let you, because the moments need to be spaced out properly and carry the necessary emotional weight. Not all of their quests promise speculative material for future games in the same way, because some explain the context of the current game (Varric, in DAI, accomplished both with the red lyrium content, for instance; Leliana, meanwhile, dealt with the theme of faith in DAI and did not promise future speculation).

These concepts will all get far more attention in due time, but in short, here's what I think is associated with each companion:

Harding: Titans! But also, angry titans, and the difference between "angry titan" and "source of blight." In the same vein, what the dwarves should do going forward, and where they should place the titans in their culture.

Neve: The soul of Veilguard; her narrative is very current to DA:tV, in my early understanding. But she brings forth a lot of nuance to the themes of regret, and what that regret looks like on a smaller scale (a city, rather than a world). She does a lot of work in showing us that regret is regret, no matter the scale, and that the work we do to do better matters, no matter the scale. Additionally, her personal quest foreshadows Solas' use of blood magic against us being more than we thought by showing off Aelia's puppets, suggesting to us (tonally) that Rook may be Solas' puppet.

Bellara: The Forgotten Ones!! Anaris! Also, the place of ancient elvhenan in the future of Thedas, and what the elves should do/feel going forward.

Lucanis: I think they were going for some Forgotten One/Forbidden One hints, judging by some notes from the Ossuary and some banter between Lucanis and the others. This needs more dissection. Lucanis sort of does both what Bellara and Neve do: the Forgotten Ones, and also the heart of Veilguard's theme, with a lot of found family vibes thrown in.

Davrin: The blight itself, and the future of the blight without any archdemons left to cause capital-B Blights. Thedas' path to healing its nature.

Emmrich: The nature of what spirits are. I need to go screencap more specifics, but I swear this necromancer has referenced the difference between spirit and human soul and has stumbled upon saying that the two might not be so different at least once. Also, the Formless One centers around the Necropolis, and I'm thinking "spirits seeking bodies" and this whole idea of unlife/undeath is going to be explored later.

Taash: Remember how I said BioWare needed an ethos update? I think we see that most predominantly in Taash, whose entire personal quest is an examination of the values and priorities of different cultures, as well as the place of gender and gender ideology in Thedas. We saw this with Dorian and Krem in DA:I, but Taash modernizes that conversation (10 years has changed a lot!) and brings it front-and-center. At the same time, their existence is referencing (potentially) the Scaled Ones, and showing us that the kossith (Qunari) might have far more ties to Evanuris shenaniganry than we thought—and that those shenanigans did not happen on Thedas, but potentially far across the sea. (Neve and Lucanis accomplish this, also, with the Shadow Dragons and Crows, but not to the degree that Taash does).

This is why the companion quests MATTER, and (at least partially) why the game asks you to complete these quests or suffer consequences in the finale.

You know what else happens, upon completion of these companion quests?

You get codices. In Dragon Age, they are the threads that tie the seemingly disconnected pieces of the plot together, and that's on purpose. This time, they automatically unlock upon completing different stages of companion quests—and as far as I can tell right now, days after completing the game for the first time, the ones revealed later DO contain spicier hints about future lore than those revealed earlier.

And between ALL of these things—the demands Veilguard's timing placed on Bioware, the need for Rook as a protagonist, and the structure for every companion's quests—I think BioWare did an amazing, genius job with their narrative. Yes, I have seen some of the art book content, and yes, it would have been so cool to have those things, but... I truly do not think BioWare needed them, as close as I would have held cameos like Cole to my heart.

From a lore perspective? They knocked it out of the gods-damned park with Veilguard. They did an amazing job with each of their quests, and I promise: there is no shortage of juicy lore to be found in Veilguard. Now that I've inflicted an outline of what I know about stories upon you, I promise: all of this serves as context for everything I look forward to saying in future posts.

_____

If you got this far, thank you, as always!

This series is going to take a turn toward what I noticed in Veilguard, how I feel that Veilguard adds to my theories (or perhaps debunks some of them), and where I think the series is going to go from here. But in order to write all that properly and miss as little as possible (even though, in November 2024, with no wiki or transcripts, I am guaranteed to miss things), I need to keep playing the game and keep reading the codices I find.

Stay tuned for the next instalments, though I cannot say how quickly they will come after this. <3

#dragon age #dragon age: the veilguard #veilguard spoilers #da theory #da meta #solas #solas dragon age #evanuris #bellara #davrin #harding #neve #emmrich #taash #lucanis #da:tv #da:ve #dragon age: veilguard

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