#the consequence of loyalty by weird

[weirdestbooks]

The Consequence of Loyalty Chapter 4

Blinding Pain (Wattpad | Ao3)

Table of Contents | Prev | Next

Mind the warnings!

━─━────༺January 4, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky bit down another scream as the whip hit his back, biting into his skin and causing pain to overwhelm him. There was hardly a respite as the whip was pulled away, the soldier holding it readjusting his grip before sending it down onto Kentucky again.

“This can end if you just choose to speak,” Japan said, her voice sickeningly sweet, “You’re the one causing this pain.”

Kentucky couldn’t even dignify that with a response, in too much pain to speak.

He lost track of time ages ago. The only thing he had to track time were the three conditions he could find himself in—pain, torture, and blissful, wonderful unconsciousness.

This period of torture only exemplified that. There was no time. There was only hurt and preparing to be hurt.

Blood filled his mouth from where he had bit his tongue, the chains on his ankles cool.

Warm blood trailed down his back, adding to the ever-growing puddle of blood Kentucky found himself in.

His mind was foggy from the pain.

He let out a few pained whimpers, the only response he could give.

He felt cold.

Kentucky had a sinking suspicion he wouldn’t survive the day, not with all the blood he was losing.

At least a reset gave him the briefest respite from the pain and the hunger and the thirst and the fog in his mind and the pain in his knee.

“Come on, little state. I know you want to speak. You make it so obvious. It’s in your nature to give into empires,” Japan said again, her voice growing faint. Kentucky wanted to tell her to fuck off, but he was just in so much pain, his head spinning and coldness spreading.

Kentucky could feel silent tears sliding down his cheek.

He could do nothing.

Kentucky closed his eyes, accepting whatever would come. He knew he could do nothing. It was less painful to give in, not to resist.

He was staying silent.

It was the best he could do.

Another blow landed on his back, the skin splitting open as Kentucky let out more pained whimpers.

The pain was growing duller as the coldness grew stronger. Kentucky chased the feeling, chased the coldness.

It was the only thing that brought the slightest amount of bliss.

Kentucky wasn’t killing himself. He would return. 

Kentucky let the darkness take him away.

━─━────༺January 10, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky hadn’t responded to Japan entering his cell. It was a waste of energy and not something worth the effort. He could barely lift his head some days, instead choosing to remain lying on the floor, head buried in his hands as if he could hide from the pain.

Kentucky should have been paying attention.

Then, he would have seen what she had in her hands. 

Unfortunately, Kentucky only realized it far too late when something was shoved into his shoulder. It was a burning pain, one that left him sobbing as he tried to process the pain. It wasn't like the beatings he had experienced prior or like the electricity or the flogging, but like a burn, like when Kentucky had burned his hand on a fire, only so…so much worse.

It burned. It hurt.

But there was no taunting or interrogation from Japan, only silence. She didn’t leave, letting the wound fester and rot.

Instead, she placed a gentle hand on Kentucky’s shoulder. 

It didn’t stop him from flinching.

“What…are you doing?” Kentucky rasped. Japan only shushed him gently before something cool hit the injuries. Kentucky’s shoulders relaxed as the pain began to subside some.

“Stay calm before you hurt yourself,” Japan said. Her tone wasn’t mocking, simply…matter of fact.

Kentucky didn’t know what to make of it. It was more terrifying than the rage she had expressed prior. It… scared him. 

The rage promised pain; it promised hurt, and interrogations, and mockings, but it was predictable. 

This was new.

New was terrifying.

Kentucky was still, only trembling slightly as Japan continued to apply what could have only been some sort of burn cream to his shoulders. Then came the bandages.

Japan was…bandaging his wound, the one she had just given him.

Why? What was the point of it all? Japan had been torturing him for what felt like months now. Why was she showing mercy all of a sudden?

Was all that pain—or at least Japan torturing him—just an act? Did she really care for him, or at least not want to hurt him? Was her government forcing her to torture him, a belief that another personification doing it would make Kentucky break faster?

Why was she doing this? What was the point?

Did she care? Did she not? Why treat this?

Eventually, Japan finished wrapping up the wound and silently stood up, patting Kentucky gently on the head, a mocking smile on her face.

“Thank you for behaving. It’s nice to see that you can do that,” Japan said mockingly, confusing Kentucky even more. How could she do something…kind and then act all horrible again?

What had she even done to him?

Japan left his cell as Kentucky raised a shaky hand to his shoulder. He poked the bandages there, wincing slightly as it hurt the wound behind it.

It still didn’t seem like he had been stabbed. It definitely felt like a burn.

But why? Why burn his shoulder, treat the wound, then leave? Was this some new interrogation tactic to trick Kentucky into trusting her? Or were they worried that with all the times he had died that if he died again, he wouldn’t come back?

Kentucky didn’t know.

He hated being in the dark like this.

But…he wasn’t going to ask. He didn’t want to anger the beast.

Kentucky was tired.

He closed his eyes.

There was really no use in figuring it out now.

━─━────༺January 15, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky hated the water cure.

It made his lungs burn, his head pound, and brought him to the brink of blissful unconsciousness before jolting him back to the real world.

It left him shivering and struggling to breathe, barely able to speak.

He hated it when they tied him to that bench and forced the hose down his throat, and oh god, he couldn’t breathe.  

Luckily, this time, it didn’t last as long as the other sessions.

That didn’t stop Kentucky from throwing up the water in his lungs as he shivered.

���Cut it out,” Japan ordered, forcing Kentucky back to his feet. His hands had been tied behind his back, hurting the still healing, still bandaged wound on his back, and much to Kentucky’s surprise, he wasn’t being taken back to his cell.

“Where ar—” Kentucky’s question was cut off by a hard strike to the back of his head. 

“Shut up,” Japan said. Kentucky, despite his pride, knew it was best not to argue. Especially when he was still weak from the water cure and just…

Kentucky found it was getting harder and harder to fight back. Giving in just meant less pain. Even if he refused to speak, even if this hurt his pride, this little bit of giving in was sparing him from more pain.

At least, that was what he told himself.

Kentucky knew he was just weak.

They didn’t even need to gag him anymore. Just a few words from Japan, and he was paralyzed with fear, his brain trapping him in an endless loop of painful memories.

Kentucky was trembling.

He tried to keep himself still. 

Eventually, Kentucky was put into a car to be taken to God knows where. Kentucky knew he should be more concerned, but he just…he couldn’t bring himself to care. Exhaustion made the journey blur together. They hadn’t traveled far, but Kentucky really had no idea of where they had ended up when the vehicle came to a stop.

It was a field.

Kentucky had the growing feeling he was about to die. 

The wave of fear that hit him was so powerful it almost choked him as tears sprung into his eyes.

He couldn’t die. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to go home and be back with his pa and with Kanawha and with his family, and oh God, he didn’t want to die; he’d take the pain over this, but he couldn’t do that, not to his pa, to his fam—

“Relax. We still need you. You have valuable information that I need to know,” Japan said.

Kentucky didn’t believe her.

He didn’t want to die.

Kentucky was forced to his knees, Japan standing above him with her sword to his throat. Kentucky froze, not daring even to breathe, not wanting to provoke her into cutting his throat. 

She had an unpredictable temper. What she said wasn’t always reality when she was angry enough.

Then, another car arrived, and out of it came more soldiers and a—

It was another American prisoner.

The man’s eyes widened as he saw Kentucky and Kentucky’s fear was shattered by the panic that began thrumming through his veins.

If he wasn’t supposed to die here…

“What are you doing?” Kentucky asked, his voice cold. Japan pressed her sword closer to his throat.

“Shut up,” Japan threatened, the unspoken “or else” hanging ominously in the air. The prisoner looked between Japan and Kentucky, terror—because that wasn’t fear, not when it was that strong—clear in his eyes.

The man was forced onto his knees across from Kentucky.

Kentucky felt sick.

“Here’s the deal, little state. You tell me what I need to know about your father and his plans, and I won’t kill this one,” Japan said, her sword now pressed against Kentucky’s throat, lightly cutting into his skin.

Kentucky made eye contact with the other American, who looked so scared that Kentucky almost broke.

As he was preparing to open his mouth, to give in, the American shook his head.

The meaning was clear. He wanted Kentucky to be silent. 

“Well?” Japan asked, her voice taking on that deadly edge.

“Do—” The American began before he was cut off by a blow to the throat. Kentucky let out a choked sob, eyes squeezing shut. He couldn’t—he couldn’t.

The gunshot was deafening.

Kentucky had never felt more like a worthless failure.

He had gotten one of his people killed.

Kentucky was supposed to protect them.

Why couldn’t he do even that?

━─━────༺January 27, 1944-༻────━─━

Japan had the whip this time.

Kentucky figured that was why the blows were weaker. Japan killing him would mean no coming back, and although Kentucky wasn’t sure he believed her when she said she didn’t want him dead, she still wanted things from him.

The blows landed, one after another, repetitive and painful. It hurt a lot, but at the same time, Kentucky wasn’t processing them properly, his mind distant and fuzzy.

He felt as if he were drifting away from his body, the pain too much.

Japan’s voice dragged him away from that floaty feeling and back into his body.

“This can all be over if you just choose to talk. No more pain, no more prisoners dying because of your mistakes, and the war can end quicker. I don’t know why you insist on being so stubborn. It’s not in your nature,” Japan said. Kentucky shook his head.

He couldn’t.

He didn’t want to be the reason his family could lose. He didn’t want to be the reason Philippines was trapped with this monster. He didn’t trust her not to kill him once he outlived his use.

He wanted to live. He wanted to be there for his family.

Japan couldn’t change his mind on that, which meant that Kentucky couldn’t give in.

Japan sighed, and the whip bit into his skin again. Kentucky squeezed his eyes shut as if that could block out the pain and make it all go away.

As the whip bit into his skin again, Kentucky knew it was going to scar, even if he died again. The traces of what Japan did to him would never leave, a sign of his—no, it wasn’t a sign of weakness.

It was a sign of strength. 

It was a sign that, no matter what that J-p monster did to him, Kentucky held out, stayed strong, and protected his friends, family, and people the best he could.

It was a sign of strength.

Kentucky wished it was a little easier to convince himself of that.

━─━────༺February 1, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky hadn’t moved much since…since yesterday. Since…

It was too horrible to even think about. 

Kentucky hadn’t cried that much in ages. Water was a precious commodity, he knew that, but he…he…

Japan entered his cell slowly with her cup of water and greeting. Kentucky didn’t say anything. How could he speak after that?

It still hurt. 

“You’re quieter,” Japan said, her tone mocking, “Willing to talk now?”

“Please,” Kentucky begged, shame making his cheeks red, tears sliding down his face. “Don’t…don’t let them do that, and I’ll tell you whatever you want.”

“There. Wasn’t that so easy?” Japan asked, handing the cup to Kentucky, “I think you’ve earned the privilege of drinking it yourself.”

Kentucky’s hands were shaking, water sloshing over the edges of the cup. Kentucky drank it.

“What do you want to know?” Kentucky then asked because he needed—he needed to be on Japan’s good side, he couldn’t—he didn’t.

Kentucky couldn’t go through that again.

Kentucky bit down a sob.

“Well, I know you and your father are manipulating my Hawaiʻi. I know about that fight you—specifically you—had with Hawaiʻi,” Japan said, something in her smile turning deadly.

“You…you know about that?” Kentucky asked, voice nervous, fear thrumming through his body.

“Of course. My daughter keeps very little from me. But she has always been…well, too young to understand the extent of her suffering at your hands. That’s where you come in. You are old enough to understand what you did to her,” Japan’s smile sharped, “So you will tell me what you did to her.”

Kentucky knew he and Hawaiʻi were almost the same age, but based on the gleam in her eye and when she had her sol—Kentucky wasn’t going to bring it up.

“We…never tried to hurt her,” Kentucky began before he was cut off by a blow to the face. Japan clicked her tongue.

“Someone’s not being honest,” Japan said. Kentucky quickly shook his head, realizing faintly that he was trembling.

“I did…I did fight her once, but it was…it was…” Kentucky began before sighing softly, knowing he had no pride left and no reason to pretend he did not after—not after what those soldiers did. “I didn’t win it. And…I was…I was angry, but not enough to hurt her.”

“So why does my Hawaiʻi want to die?” Japan asked. Kentucky froze. Hawaiʻi…wanted to die?

“I don’t know,” Kentucky croaked. Japan looked annoyed now.

“Maybe letting my soldiers have a bit more fun will improve your honesty,” Japan said. Kentucky’s blood turned to ice.

“No, no, no, please, have mercy. I promise I am being honest. I don’t know how she saw things. I didn’t talk to her that often. We were never friends or even close,” Kentucky begged. She had to believe him. It was the truth. He was giving her what she wanted.

Why wouldn’t she believe him?

“You promised to tell me whatever I want. I want honesty, and you will give it to me,” Japan demanded before striking Kentucky again. He took it listlessly, having no energy left to fight or protest.

“I don’t talk to her. I can’t…I’m sorry,” Kentucky said. What was he supposed to do? Lie? He had no way of knowing the progress of the war anymore, and lying about Hawaiʻi’s relationship would only hurt anyone else.

Kentucky…he…he couldn’t let anyone else go through what he did. It would break them. It broke him.

“Well, even if you didn’t participate as much as some other states did, I’m sure you knew what the plans were, did you not?” Japan asked. Kentucky nodded.

“Pa…he wanted to take in colonies. So, he intervened in Cuba and Philippines’ wars with Spain. And…well, Pa thought Hawaii was hurtin’ under that republic government, so he decided it was a good time to save her from it and take her in,” Kentucky said, receiving another blow from Japan.

“I know the story that you fed my daughter. I want to know the real plans, the plans you had to manipulate her until she despised herself, until she broke in your hands. I don’t care for pretty stories,” Japan said. Kentucky shook his head, biting down another sob as the terror burned in his veins.

“Pa….he wants to protect those he sees as family. Hawaii was his sister,” Kentucky said. Japan’s smile became deadly.

“That’s the wrong answer. It seems more will need to be done to loosen your tongue,” Japan said, standing up. “Such a shame. I was excited when you said you had learned your place.”

“No, no, no, please, I promise, I am being honest, please,” Kentucky begged, desperation in his voice.

“You’ll be honest once your old friends have drilled in that lesson for you,” Japan said. Shame and fear burned in Kentucky.

Kentucky buried his face in his hands and sobbed.

━─━────༺February 15, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky was in a state of shock. He had been for the past couple of days. While he still tried to answer Japan’s questions to the best of his ability, his brain felt as if it had been turned off, with everything fuzzy and distant, with his brain lagging behind and struggling to keep up.

Japan didn’t like that, so Kentucky did his best to break through it.

It was…it was hard.

Kentucky knew it had to be his brain’s way of trying to protect him, but…he hated it.

Even if it was nice not to really be aware of what was being done to him.

“Good evening.”

Kentucky slowly lifted his head at the sound of Japan’s voice. He was scared as to what she wanted, but a dull apathy replaced most of the fear he might have once shown. It was energy he didn’t want to waste.

“I have a few questions for you. I’m sure you understand how this goes now. You tell me the truth, and you avoid making me punish you. Understood?” Japan asked. Kentucky closed his eyes and nodded, moving slowly to sit against the wall.

“Good. Now, why does America insist that no one should know about you? I know my Hawaiʻi, after confiding with me about you, said that he was insistent on it. I want to know why,” Japan said.

What? Why did she want to know that? Kentucky wasn’t sure how that information could be useful to her, but considering she already knew about the states, there was really no harm in telling her the reasoning. 

After all, she was at war with Britain and Canada.

“It was Britain,” Kentucky began. “After Pa won his war of independence and my siblings were bein’ born, Pa was worried that Britain might take advantage of them. So he just decided that he wouldn’t tell anyone, and no of us would be runnin’ off to talk to nations.”

“Well, if it was to be secret from Britain, why keep Hawaiʻi away from me after you took over her land?” Japan asked. 

“People talk. And Hawaii had been close to Britain. And…Pa didn’t…there was a lot happening with Philippines, and Cuba, and Guam, and Pa didn’t want to deal with more problems. But…Hawaii was really…not social when she was annexed. I think she was expecting to die and was just waiting for it, which is why she might not have contacted you at first,” Kentucky explained. 

“Don’t try to hide your role by claiming Hawaiʻi didn’t want to contact anyone. I am her mother, and I am the only one that stays loyal to her when everyone else betrays her. She didn’t take a long time to contact me for that reason. America keeps her from doing so the same way he keeps you from doing so,” Japan insisted.

Did…did Japan think Pa was hurting him? 

Kentucky could faintly feel a phantom pain on his shoulder, a reminder of the confusing time Japan had treated a wound, something that had yet to be explained to Kentucky.

Japan confused him.

That scared him.

“I’m sorry. I just…I didn’t interact a lot. There are far too many people in our house for me to be intimate with her thoughts and feelings,” Kentucky said. Japan never looked happy when he pointed that out, but it never stopped it from being true.

“Well, I hope you know some useful information. It would be a shame to have wasted all of this effort on a failed project. What about the territory of Alaska?” Japan asked. 

“Laska? He’s…really kind. A bit quiet and closed off sometimes, but he likes helping people, and he’s really close to Pa,” Kentucky explained, a sinking feeling in his gut as he tacked on the last sentence. He didn’t know why Japan wanted to know about Alaska, but if she were planning to invade his land, she should know he was loyal to their father.

“And what about Washington? The state, not the capital,” Japan asked. Kentucky felt the pit in his stomach grow deeper. Alaska was one thing; he was not connected to the continental United States, but Washington was.

Was…was Japan actually in a position where she could invade Washington? 

No…she couldn’t be because she would have needed to take Hawaiʻi first, and she wouldn't…she wouldn’t be asking some of the questions she had if Hawaiʻi was still safe. 

So…this had to be in preparation.

Kentucky hoped that was the case anyway. Last he had heard, the war hadn’t been going Japan’s way.

Kentucky hoped that was still true.

Kentucky was brought out of his thoughts by a blow to the stomach. 

“Answer me,” Japan hissed.

“Washington is a really hard worker. He’s really…jumpy? He likes learning new things, though, and he’s super smart.” Kentucky quickly explained. He wasn't going to talk about his brother’s low self-esteem. The less Japan could use against him, against any of them, the better.

Japan smiled.

“I’m so glad you decided to be cooperative today. And honest as well. I think since you’ve done a better job, you can have a break for today. I’ll be back tomorrow. I hope this behavior holds up,” Japan said, condensation in her voice. 

Normally, Kentucky would have argued with it. But his pride had been broken long ago.

Kentucky watched listlessly as she left.

He hoped tomorrow was better.

But a lot of Kentucky’s hope had vanished long ago.

━─━────༺February 29, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky had tried.

He had tried so hard.

He didn’t want to give in to her demands. He…even with the little information he had given, Kentucky still danced around questions, not wanting to say anything that could threaten the safety of his family.

But…Kentucky…after…he could take the pain, but not…not the shame, the embarrassment, the weakness.

Kentucky was powerless. 

And Japan? She had all the power. 

It was too hard for even the smallest bits of resistance anymore. Kentucky didn’t—but he couldn’t take it any longer.

He wanted to go home. He wanted his Pa, his siblings, and he wanted to be safe.

Every part of his body hurt.

Kentucky had forgotten what it was like to not be in pain. He had forgotten what it was like not to be hungry all the time, to have such little water that his throat felt like sandpaper, to be hurt and hurt and hurt for existing.

Kentucky tried not to break. But he had broken. He had broken long ago, even if he had tried not to admit it.

But Kentucky had tried.

He was just so tired.

Kentucky wanted to go home. And it seemed like the only way that was going to happen was if Kentucky stopped giving them reasons to hurt him.

If he was good for them, then he could taste freedom again. 

Kentucky wanted to be free again.

━─━────༺March 1, 1944༻────━─━

Japan knew he was broken as soon as she entered his cell. 

Kentucky barely moved from his curled position, flinched at her movements, and was silent, not a tiny word of protest or an insult.

"I can see in your eyes that something has changed. Are you going to be helpful now?" Japan asked, something mocking in her voice as if she already knew the answer. 

"Yes, Japan-sama," Kentucky said, his voice broken and small, remembering the name Japan had told him to call her…ages ago. Kentucky couldn't fight, and Japan knew it.

"Good. I'm glad you've finally remembered your place. You did so well at talking to me about the states last time we talked, so why don't we continue down that avenue," Japan said. Kentucky looked away, unable to meet her eyes with the shame that flooded through him. 

I'm so sorry. Kentucky mentally said to them.

"What is America's human name?" Japan asked. Kentucky's head jerked back to look at her, horror flooding through him as Japan asked for that taboo information. Japan merely looked amused and quirked an eyebrow. 

Kentucky knew he didn't have a choice.

“My…my pa’s name…” Kentucky said, hesitating as he tried to get the words out, the pressure of the taboo sealing his mouth and making it hard to speak. Japan lifted her hand, revealing the rod that had beaten Kentucky and—

Kentucky gave in to the silent threat.

"My pa's human name is Maverick Aaron Washington," Kentucky said, shaming burning through his body. He squeezed his eyes shut and looked away again, not wanting to see the smile that had been spreading on Japan's face.

"And what of his human face? It was so hard to find you because you hid, like a coward, pretending to be something you weren't, and I don't want your father pulling the same dirty little trick, not when he has so many crimes to pay for," Japan said, grabbing Kentucky's chin and forcing his head to face hers.

Kentucky was shaking. 

This was too far.

But he had long since learned the price of fighting.

He could only really hope that his family was safe, that the war was going badly for Japan, and none of the damned words exiting his lips would be used against them.

"Father," Kentucky began, because it felt so wrong to call him Pa when he was revealing the information that he was, because he felt so guilty for what he had to do to live to see freedom, "Isn't white. He's…mixed. Father still has freckles. I… it's hard to explain. He looks as he does but with mixed skin."

What else could he say? Japan knew his face. Now, she could know more.

"That's not a good enough description," Japan said. Kentucky had never been so quickly silenced by an overwhelming horror before.

"I don't know how to describe his face," Kentucky begged. "Please, you have seen him, and a mixed man with his position stands out."

"Well, I suppose you're right about that. But I expect detail. You have a purpose in this world, and not fulfilling that purpose is shameful," Japan said, her voice low with anger. Kentucky nodded.

"I understand," Kentucky said, empty, pleasing words, finally opening his eyes. Japan smiled down at him.

Kentucky ignored the small part of him that whispered that he would be better off dead.

He was harming his family enough with this information.

Dying would only hurt them more.

━─━────༺March 5, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky would be crying most days if he weren't so terribly dehydrated. The pain and suffering he experienced every day was debilitating.

He thought the prison camp was Hell. 

Kentucky was wrong.

The prison camps were a mercy to this place, a small, dirty cell with his only company being people who despised him more than anything.

People who only saw him as a way to hurt his father. 

Kentucky wasn't a person to them. He was barely a personification. He was a means to an end. 

Kentucky wasn't sure if the pain would end once they had gotten all the information they wanted from him out of him.

Kentucky wasn't sure if—

Kentucky's thoughts were broken off by the arrival of Japan.

"Good morning, Ame-ko," Japan said, her voice cheery.

"Good morning, Japan-sama," Kentucky responded listlessly. Japan liked manners. She was happy he was cooperating, but her rage was still too much sometimes. Being polite…it helped keep her calm.

Kentucky wondered if this was what it was like for his father and siblings when they had to live with Britain.

If it was, he felt he understood the way they acted when he was younger.

"I know it is hard to give instructions about places in the Land In Between, but I want you to try your best to tell me where your father's house is," Japan ordered. Kentucky felt the horror and fear rise within him over what Japan planned to do with that information.

It was quickly buried by his terror of Japan.

"I don't know where it is in relation to anything else. I've only ever been to Pa's home there. Straight from my land. But… it's big and patchworked, and there's a mausoleum and a small church next to the house," Kentucky said, hoping that telling Japan the characteristics of his hope would satisfy the question.

"Hmm. Well, I suppose that's good enough. America did try his best to keep you under his control. I shouldn't expect you to know much else," Kentucky didn't know if it was a dig at his father, a misguided attempt at sympathy, but he tried to put Japan's words out of his mind. He didn't need her words haunting him the way her actions did.

Kentucky felt as if he were no longer in control of his own life, merely a passenger in whatever Japan had planned for him.

"What about his human house?" Japan asked.

"He has a few. One is in DC, one is up in PA, but Penn uses it now, one is down in Texas, and one is in Seattle," Kentucky said. He was sure he was missing some, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Where is the one in Seattle?" Japan asked, a question Kentucky expected with her fixation on Washington.

"I'm not sure. I don't visit Washington's land that often. We're not that close. I'm—" Kentucky cut himself off before those words could exit his lips.

I'm sorry.

It was a nicety Japan didn't deserve.

"Where is your state?" Japan asked.

"The East Coast, in the Appalachian Mountains. I don't know the West Coast very well," Kentucky confessed, hoping it would not prompt anger from Japan about his "usefulness."

"Well, that is unfortunate, but it does mean you're old, right?" Japan asked.

"I'm the fifteenth state," Kentucky answered. Japan looked upset at the answer, hitting him once.

"That's not an answer," Japan said. Kentucky grimaced.

"Yes, I am one of the older states," Kentucky answered.

"Wonderful. I'm sure that means you know your precious father well. So, tell me, what does your father fear the most? What are his weaknesses?" Japan asked. Kentucky's eyes widened in horror, and shaking like a spooked piece of pray, he shook his head. "No?"

"I can't," Kentucky forced through the fear, voice breaking. Japan's eyes hardened.

"I see. Well then, my people and I will just have to help you speak again," Japan said. Kentucky bit down a sob.

He couldn't tell her.

━─━────༺March 10, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky's lungs burned.

They burned, sending black spots to the corner of his eyes as he fought against the restraints.

Kentucky knew it was a futile effort, a victim of the water cure time and time again, but a small part of him couldn't help the instinct to fight for air against the horrible, horrible weakness clawing at him.

The feeling of death was creeping up on him.

Kentucky knew he would know the feeling well if he could remember the many, many times it had claimed him.

Kentucky was glad they were allowed to forget.

He didn't want to remember.

Kentucky's struggles weakened as the water pouring into his mouth stole more of his strength, sapping away at his being as the darkness crept in further.

Why weren't they removing the water? They should have removed it by now!

The water cure was only meant to make him feel as if he were dying, to sap away his strength until nothing remained, leaving him a breathless mess.

Kentucky knew the water cure intimately. He knew when the darkness was about to break when he was about to be freed.

Kentucky knew they were already past that point.

His thoughts addled and dazed from the creeping darkness, Kentucky gave up the futile fight against his bonds. A small part of him that was still processing the world hoped that it would put an end to it.

His lungs still burned.

The darkness still crept in.

Kentucky closed his eyes.

━─━────༺March 17, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky felt cold. He had felt cold for a long time, as if he were constantly on the verge of death, with the warmth of life seeping from his body and into the cold stone of the prison.

The torture and the broken spirit inside of him were probably the biggest contributors to that.

Kentucky let out a small sigh, trying to move his battered body into a better position on the cold floor, something more comfortable while at the same time not hurting his body anymore.

Kentucky was so tired.

The cell door opened with a faint noise. Kentucky tried to react to it. He wasn't sure he did much of anything at all.

"Are you ready to speak now?" Japan asked. No, not asked. It was a demand more than an ask, a promise that he would face more pain the longer he held out.

Why did Kentucky keep trying to hold out? He only gave in in the end. Kentucky was weak, broken.

"I can speak," Kentucky said, his voice ragged and rough, a sign of the abuse he had been subjected to.

"Good. Now, tell me, what are your father's weaknesses?" Japan asked. Kentucky felt the small part of himself that wasn't broken try to fight the question. Kentucky pushed it down.

"Us. The states," Kentucky muttered. A blow landed on his side, forcing him to look up at Japan.

"Louder. Your answers don't count if I cannot hear them," Japan snapped. Kentucky shifted, forgoing comfortability for survival as he moved to face her. He felt distant from his body as if he were watching himself speak and not actually doing it.

"My father cares for us. I have seen that us being in danger makes him unreasonable and causes him to lose his sense of reason as he tries whatever he can to get us back," Kentucky heard himself say.

Japan looked…excited at that.

"Do you think he could be forced into a trade for you?" Japan asked.

"Only if he feels he is not going to win. But humans play a role as well," Kentucky said. His father was prideful and cared about all of them. He wouldn't trade one of them for another, not even if he had no hopes of getting Kentucky back.

And the humans in his government wouldn't let him make such a mistake anyway.

Japan looked a little less excited at that but still nonetheless the same heartless kind of cocky that Kentucky had grown to despise.

"Well, there must be more. A man has more weaknesses than his children," Japan said. Kentucky bit his tongue, trying to prevent himself from saying anything about how most men do not tell their children those things, how they always want to appear strong.

He knew what role he had to play to stay alive.

"I think…I know my father doesn't like fire," Kentucky said, careful to pick his words as to give an answer, but not reveal what happens when his father is around fire.

Japan's brows furrowed at that as if those words confused her.

"How can he be afraid of fire and still cage my Hawaiʻi?" Japan asked before anger overtook her face. Kentucky pulled back, keeping his head down.

"I don't—" Kentucky was cut off by another blow.

"Silence. I'll get answers out of you about that soon enough. I still need you to add to your answer to my question," Japan said. Kentucky shook his head.

"I'm… I'm not sure what else. Father likes to appear strong. He only really breaks down when something really bad has happened to us or when he is around fi—" Kentucky cut himself off, but the damage was done.

"Thank you, Kentucky. You've been so good lately. It doesn't take much more effort to get you to know your place. Maybe you're ready for a visit now," Japan said. Horror flickered in Kentucky's gut.

"What does that mean?" Kentucky asked. Japan simply smiled.

"Rest up. I'm sure you'll want to look good for your guest," Japan said before leaving.

Please, God, don't let it be Guam. She shouldn't see me like this. She shouldn't go through what I have. Please protect her.

━─━────༺March 20, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky had been waiting in quiet apprehension ever since Japan said she was bringing in a guest. He didn't know who it was, if it would be Guam, or Philippines, or perhaps another one of his family members that she had captured, but he was scared, so scared about who it could be.

The time between her threat and now only made him think that it had to be someone who wasn't in the Philippines.

Then again, Kentucky had lost his ability to keep track of time long ago. Who knew how long it had been? The days were a mix between the pain of being awake and the bliss of falling asleep.

There was no timekeeping in Hell.

Kentucky wished he had even a window to keep track of what time it was outside.

But he was alone.

So painfully alone.

The sounds of footsteps outside his cell pulled Kentucky from his thoughts. Kentucky coughed, feeling the exertion burning his through, before turning to face the door.

He needed to see who the guest was.

Japan appeared at the door and opened it, smiling as she entered the room.

"Good morning, Kentucky. I see you didn't clean up for your guest. What a shame," Japan said. Kentucky was too tired to even pretend to rise to the bait, looking at the door as if it would make the guest come quicker.

When Kentucky saw him, however, the breath was stolen from his throat.

It was Philippines. It was his brother, with the flag he had once told Kentucky about and the same foreign eyes.

He was still under Japan's control.

The fact that he walked in willingly and had no reaction to Kentucky's horrible state was indication enough of that, but it was one final confirmation.

"Hey, Phil," Kentucky said, dropping the act he had put on when Japan entered, afraid it was going to be one of his little siblings that followed.

Kentucky had seen Philippines at his worst. It was only fair. Kentucky knew Philippines wouldn't judge, anyway.

They went through Hell together.

Philippines didn't say anything, but anger flashed along his face. His eyes were still empty.

A programmed response. It made sense. Japan had a long time to create the puppet in her image.

Kentucky still hated it.

"You have no right to call him that," Japan said. Kentucky felt the creepier fear wanting him to bow his head and give in, but he fought it, locking his eyes with Philippines' empty doll eyes and smiling.

"Why bring him here, then?" Kentucky asked. Japan smiled.

"Well, I wanted to show my—" Japan cleared her throat, suddenly looking embarrassed, "I wanted to reassure Phil that he was safe and that the American threat was contained."

Philippines nodded. It was an empty gesture.

Kentucky knew there was more than what she was telling him, but frankly, he didn't care. Although they were both prisoners, they could see each other again, see that the other was alive.

"I hope you're okay, Phil," Kentucky said, speaking past the doll's face and to the man he knew was trapped inside of there.

"What did I just say?" Japan snapped, her anger growing. But being around Philippines had relite that small spark of hope in Kentucky's chest.

"Would you rather me wish him harm?" Kentucky asked. Japan turned to the puppet, saying something in her language, before turning back to Kentucky.

"You are a fool. And here I was, thinking you were getting better. I suppose that's my fault to think Americans can change. But I know you'll break," Japan said, causing a new wave of terror to hit Kentucky.

The hope he had gotten from Philippines was quickly extinguished when the blows began to land.

The puppet stood silently and did nothing.

━─━────༺March 27, 1944༻────━─━

Although the reunion with Philippines had not been what Kentucky was expecting, nor what he wanted, he was glad that he had gotten to see his brother again. He had proof now that Philippines was okay. A puppet still, but okay.

It was a relief that took a weight off Kentucky's shoulders that he hadn't even realized was there.

Even if Japan had been angry that he talked to Philippines and not to the puppet. Kentucky didn't know if she really believed the puppet was actually Philippines, or if it was just a power play to show how much control she really had.

Kentucky wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

He hoped, though.

Kentucky hoped that Philippines wouldn't have to bear witness to the torture. He knew it was probably tearing Philippines apart inside, even though it was far from being his fault.

He hoped Philippines wasn't blaming himself too badly. He didn't deserve that.

Then, Kentucky heard footsteps again. Kentucky pulled himself up, expecting to see Japan again, before pausing.

Those footsteps were too heavy to be Japan's. Kentucky relaxed again. It must be one of the soldiers checking up on him.

Then he heard the door open. Kentucky froze, blood running cold.

The soldiers never opened the door unless…unless…

Kentucky quickly (or as quickly as he could) turned around to see who had entered, the terror fading to confusion as he realized it was Philippines.

With no Japan in sight.

Had he broken free? Or…or were things over and he was coming to free Kentucky?

No, that couldn't be right. Philippines wasn't in enough pain to have broken Japan's hold, and Kentucky would have heard any fight in Manila.

So why was Philippines here?

"Phil?" Kentucky asked, voice soft, before breaking down into a cough. Philippines didn't respond, and Kentucky could finally see that he still had the empty doll eyes. Philippines walked forward until he was right in front of Kentucky.

Kentucky closed his eyes, knowing whatever was about to come, he didn't want to bear witness to it.

But he couldn't hide the broken sob that escaped him when the first blow landed.

Japan had done this. It wasn't enough to make Philippines watch her torture Kentucky, no, she had to force Philippines to do it too.

"It's not your fault," Kentucky exclaimed between hits, knowing he needed to tell Philippines that, tell him before he decided that Japan's actions were his fault.

Philippines was just as much a prisoner as Kentucky, going through his own kind of torture.

Kentucky wouldn't be surprised if this were an attempt to shatter them both.

"I forgive you," Kentucky then said, just in case Philippines ever thought he wouldn't.

Kentucky could never forgive Japan for this.

Inside of him, a little ember began to glow. It wasn't strong enough yet to inspire any sort of resistance, but it was there, feeding off of Kentucky's pride, anger, and want to protect his family.

But it was still an ember.

Kentucky hid his face in his hands and waited for the torture to be over.

━─━────༺April 5, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky had been woken harshly and taken out of his cell. His hands were tied, and he was blindfolded and roughly shoved into a car.

Kentucky felt numb inside. Japan had already taken everything from him, already left him numb and cold inside. What more could she want? What more could she be doing?

A small part of him hoped he was being returned to the prison camp. The rest of him knew that was impossible.

Kentucky didn't know where they were taking him. He wondered if it was perhaps the same place they took him when they executed that one prisoner.

He hoped it wasn't. Kentucky didn't want to see anyone else die.

A gun was held to the side of his head, and he didn't dare to move a muscle. There was silence in the car. No soldiers were saying anything, but it sounded like Japan and Philippines were not there.

That gave Kentucky some hope that this wasn't a deadly endeavor.

The car came to a stop.

The gun was removed from his head as the door opened. Kentucky was shoved out of the car, and with his hands tied and eyes blindfolded, Kentucky stumbled out of the car before falling onto his face.

He let out a small groan at the pain.

Then he heard a familiar voice in an unfamiliar language, and Kentucky's blood ran cold.

Japan.

Suddenly, he was being grabbed by his shoulders and dragged away before being forced to his knees.

Kentucky, he…he didn't really try to fight it.

"Hello, Ame-ko. How are you?" Japan asked from somewhere behind him. Kentucky tried to lift his head to address her, but it was forced back down, a strong hand on the back of his head.

Kentucky stayed silent. He wasn't sure what she was planning, but without his sight, he didn't want to anger her more.

"It's rude not to talk to your host," Japan said. Kentucky tensed, waiting for a blow to fall on him, but one never came.

Then, a gun was pressed to the back of his head.

"How useful do you think you have been to me?" Japan then asked, her voice cold. Every muscle in Kentucky's body froze as terror shot through them.

"I've broken taboos to give you information," Kentucky managed to get out through his fear. "What more do you want?"

"Just because you have broken a taboo doesn't mean you've been useful," Japan said, her voice close, her voice in Kentucky's ear.

Was she the one holding the gun?

If…if she was…

There was no coming back.

"Please," Kentucky begged, "Don't kill me."

The gun was pressed further into the back of his head, metal biting into his skull.

"What makes you think you're in charge of that?" Japan asked. Tears pricked in the corner of Kentucky's eyes, soaking into the blindfold. He didn't want to die.

"I promise I will tell you what you want. I promise I will be honest. Please," Kentucky said, voice breaking.

Then he heard the sound of a gunshot.

Kentucky flinched, closing his eyes, before realizing he was still alive.

The gunshot hadn't been from the gun on his head.

"Well, I can postpone your execution for a little while if you think you still have information to give. But I hope you aren't stalling for time, otherwise…" Japan trailed off, and Kentucky shivered.

"I understand, Japan-sama."

Kentucky didn't hear anything more from her as he was dragged to his feet and brought back to the car.

He wasn't sure he wanted to hear anything else.

━─━────༺April 12, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky hated dying. It was scary and painful, even if he couldn't remember it. It left his dreams haunted and his prayers desperate and thankful.

The only good thing about them was that they healed his wounds, giving him a respite from pain.

Especially his knee.

Kentucky didn't walk around, not really, with his ankles shackled the way they were, but it made it easier to move when he wasn't in such blinding pain all the time, when he was made to walk somewhere.

It was the relief he appreciated the most.

Which was why he was now a sobbing mess on the cell floor.

Well, sobbing was a bit of a misnomer. He didn't have enough water for tears. But his body heaved, and his throat closed up as if he were crying, a natural response to the pain running through him.

According to Japan, she didn't want him to be able to flee.

Kentucky wouldn't have fled anyway. Japan held this terrifying power over his mind, able to make him crumble with a few words, a result, most likely, of the never-ending pain he had experienced at her hands.

Kentucky hated it. He hated how he feared her; he hated the pain in his leg—he hated it all.

He just wanted to go home.

Kentucky knew it would probably only happen if Father recaptured the Philippines. And with no news on the war, he would have to settle for waiting.

Kentucky hated waiting.

Another sob tore out of his throat.

━─━────༺April 25, 1944༻────━─━

"Well, you claimed you still had information to give and convinced me to stop your execution, so why don't we test that little promise, hm?" Japan asked, coming into his cell; the usual rod she used to beat him was replaced with the whip.

Kentucky could feel phantom lashes on his back.

"I can tell you about how my siblings acted around Hawaii and how my father asked us to act around her," Kentucky offered. The gleam in Japan's eyes strengthened.

"Oh?" Japan asked, interest in her voice. Kentucky bowed his head, lips moving in a silent plea.

Forgive me, Hawaiʻi.

"Father…he cared for her. Because they had called each other siblings before she joined us," Kentucky started. Japan's face turned angry, and Kentucky fought the urge to flinch.

"Your father has been manipulating her for a long time. That is not care," Japan said, anger in her voice. Kentucky bowed his head.

"That's what he said. If you want the truth, I will tell you what he said to me," Kentucky offered, hoping it would calm Japan. It seemed to work as Japan calmed.

"Continue," Japan ordered. Kentucky nodded.

"Father said we would overwhelm her if we all came up to her at once, and he wanted her to be introduced to her slowly. The eldest were introduced first, then California, because she had met Hawaii when she was still a territory," Kentucky explained. Japan's eyes narrowed as if her mind were hard at work coming to her own conclusions.

"So he controlled who she had contact with?" Japan asked. Kentucky shrugged.

"I guess?" he said. It hadn't felt like that, but whatever kept her temper calm. Japan brandished the whip.

"You promised honesty. That means you are not allowed to pretend you had good intentions," Japan said. Kentucky flinched, a shudder running through his body.

"I'm sorry. Father also allowed her to begin to raise American Samoa because she had lost her son, and Hawaii's son and American Samoa are half-brothers through their s—other parent. Whatever Samoa came before him. But she wasn't allowed to see him after she drugged Father and did other things Father didn't approve of," Kentucky explained. That period of their life had been hard, with the more paranoid members of their family believing Father had invited a threat to live with them.

Japan looked both happy and upset with that response, as if she were happy with how Hawaii had hurt their family.

Oh, who was Kentucky kidding? Japan was definitely happy about that.

"Is she still allowed contact with American Samoa?" Japan asked. Kentucky swallowed, feeling like he was about to cause his brother to become a new target.

"She is allowed contact again now, not that Father's rules stopped American Samoa. He loves her," Kentucky said, looking away, unable to meet Japan's eyes through the guilt.

"What other rules were there around her?" Japan asked.

The words were bitter and painful on Kentucky's tongue.

"To give her time, and that she would accept being an American eventually," Kentucky said. The anger spread across Japan's face made Kentucky press himself against the wall.

But she did not lash out at him, instead flinging the whip against the wall.

"Don't worry, kichiku beiei. I'm not going to hurt you. You have valuable information, just like you promised," Japan said. Kentucky looked away again, not wanting to meet her eyes.

"I know people still don't really talk to her unless they run into her. She's…far. Most states don't seek her out. We grew up with each other. She joined us," Kentucky added.

"So she spent most of her time with the territories," Japan asked.

"I…I think so. They would have been the ones she trusted the most, and as long as they weren't doing anything to harm father, they would have been left alone," Kentucky clarified. Japan's face turned angry, then calmed again.

"I see. Thank you for your cooperation. I look forward to our future conversations," Japan said before turning to leave. Kentucky let out a hysterical laugh as she did so.

He had just gotten through an interrogation without being tortured.

Something about it felt incredibly wrong.

━─━────༺May 1, 1944༻────━─━

For five days, Kentucky had been left alone.

For five days, he was given a meal that was more than scraps and was allowed to drink water whenever he wanted. He was unshackled from the wall, something that didn't help much, considering the injury on his knee.

Then he was taken from his cell.

He was taken out of the prison and into a car, and from the car into a house, where his hair was cut short. Then he was bathed.

Kentucky could have done it himself, but his mind was drifting from his body, and he just sat there, letting the J-ps manipulate his body, dressing him in new clothes—though not a uniform.

Dimly, Kentucky wondered if he was being returned to his father.

Then Japan was there, and she was leading him into another room.

Kentucky's leg hurt. He could barely stand on it.

He followed Japan anyway.

Japan ordered him to sit down on a chair in the room, a chair that was in front of a camera, her voice distant in Kentucky's ears.

She said something else, but Kentucky's mind was distant, drifting, and too far away to hear her words.

A blow to his injured knee brought him back to reality.

"Are you listening?" Japan snapped, and for the first time, Kentucky could see the anger in her eyes.

"I am," Kentucky said. Japan looked as if she didn't believe him, scowling deeply.

"Your job is to sit there. You will hold still until we are finished. Understood?" Japan asked. Kentucky didn't know what she was trying to do. He didn't know what "finished" meant.

Kentucky nodded.

"Understood, Japan-sama," Kentucky said, tacking on the last bit just in case it helped him.

Considering how Japan hated his father, and by extension, him, Kentucky didn't think it would do much.

Japan then signaled something to one of the soldiers—or whoever it was by that camera he had only vaguely noticed.

Was…was Japan using him for propaganda?

Japan then began talking in her language after a signal from the person beside the camera, talking and occasionally gesturing at Kentucky.

Kentucky, in a little act of defiance, wanted to let a little bit of the fire return to his eyes so whoever saw this didn't have to see how broken it was.

But Kentucky had no fire to muster up.

His eyes remained broken. Japan continued to speak.

━─━────༺May 6, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky couldn't begin to explain what was happening in the war. He had been locked up for so long with limited information from smuggled radios that he really didn't know what was happening.

He knew what his father's plan had been when the war started—to abandon the Philippines and come back later, but now? Kentucky didn't even know where his father was or if he was in Europe or the Pacific.

Kentucky didn't know anything.

So why was Japan asking?

"I've been a prisoner for months. Plans change so quickly," Kentucky began. Japan looked angry and struck him with the rod.

"I know you know something. You knew what your father planned before I rescued Philippines, so you know something now. Even if it isn't relevant, I need to better learn how you Americans think," Japan said, her voice a deadly calm, "So you will tell me what I need to know, just like you promised."

"I don't know! I promise. All I know is that Father won't give up Hawaii and he always planned to give up the Philippines because they didn't want to send the men needed to defend it. That's all I know, I swear!" Kentucky insisted. Japan hit him again before grabbing Kentucky by his hair and forcing him to stand. Kentucky bit down a cry from the pain in his knee.

"And why on earth would your father give up a country he forced into becoming his colony?" Japan hissed.

"Phil is—" Japan struck Kentucky hard, dropping him as Kentucky screamed from the pain in his knee and face.

"You have no right to call him that," Japan hissed before her foot connected with Kentucky's stomach. Kentucky bit down a sob. "Now, do you think your father will come back to the Philippines?" Japan asked.

"I don't k—"

"Do you think your father will come back to the Philippines?" Japan asked again, her tone leaving no room for argument. Kentucky was silent for a few moments, only being prompted into speaking when another blow landed on his stomach.

"Maybe. If he can. He wouldn't want to leave behind someone under his care. But he's not in charge of that decision," Kentucky eventually said.

"Philippines isn't his," Japan hissed out.

"Father never liked the plan to leave him behind," Kentucky offered in the way of an explanation. Japan looked angry and marched out of the room, leaving the guards to lock Kentucky's cell again.

Kentucky hunched in on himself, hiding from the guards.

Then, slowly, he began to cry.

━─━────༺May 21, 1944༻────━─━

If there was anyone Japan hated more than his father, it was the guerilla fighters in the jungle.

Kentucky thought they were brave men, and as he grew weaker and more broken, a small part of him thought he should have joined them, putting his experience to use. Another part of him felt he had made the right decision by staying with Philippines.

It was hard to decide which he felt was right.

Kentucky was grateful to the guerilla fighters as well, who had smuggled Kentucky and the other prisoner's food, allowing more of them to survive the illness that ravaged the camp.

But Kentucky knew nothing of who they were or where they were.

He had been captured the day they were formed.

That didn't stop Japan from thinking he had information on them, as if the guerilla fighters were a part of the strategy, to begin with (while they might have been early on, those plans had been abandoned long before Kentucky surrendered at Bataan).

Kentucky knew nothing.

Japan was beating him anyway.

The blows were verbal and physical, as Japan demanded information.

Kentucky didn't know what they had done to her, but clearly, she was angry about it.

Kentucky, with no information to give and afraid of the consequences lying could bring, decided to do the only thing he could—stay silent and wait for the storm to pass.

A blow landed on his already-injured knee, an injury that hadn't been allowed to heal, and Kentucky howled from the pain, tears appearing in his eyes.

"Tell me what you know about the guerillas," Japan borderline screamed. Kentucky sobbed and tried his best to curl into himself to limit the pain.

Harsher blows fell onto him.

"I don't know!" Kentucky insisted again. It was so much like the early days.

Everything hurt.

Japan's rage filled the room, choking Kentucky and leaving no chance of resistance.

Another blow fell, and another and another and an—

Kentucky gave into the blissful darkness.

━─━────༺May 30, 1944༻────━─━

When Japan arrived, she had been holding a document, placed on a wooden slab, which she had given to Kentucky before passing him a pen.

Kentucky stared blankly at the document, all written in Japanese, something he could not make head or tails of.

"Wakarimasen." Kentucky muttered in his limited Japanese, hoping it would appease her, as she clearly wanted him to do something in her language, "I can't re—" 

Japan cut him off by striking him hard with the wooden rod.

“It’s your confession, kichiku beiei.” Japan said, her voice harsh as she hit Kentucky on the side of the face with the rod, making his ears ring as he slumped over, "And you will sign it. Or I will make you. It is your choice. The consequences will be the same either way."

"But I do—"Kentucky was cut off again by Japan slamming the rod down on his broken fingers, causing him to cry out in pain as he bit down a sob.

"Kentakkī shū," Japan said, her voice terrifyingly sweet, the same way it was when she pretended she was going to execute him, "You will sign it. Now."

Terror flooded through Kentucky. In his fear and panic, he signed the unknown document—the confession, before freezing, aside from his ever-constant trembling.

"Thank you," Japan said, smiling, "For your cooperation, I'll tell them to leave you alone for the rest of the day."

Kentucky continued to tremble, not believing it. Japan had promised that many times before. 

It was always a lie.

He didn't know what was in that document Japan had given him. But something told him he had signed his own death warrant.

Kentucky was tired.

He wanted to be free.

And he had stopped caring about the how.

━─━────༺May 31, 1944༻────━─━

When Japan came into the cell a day, maybe after she had Kentucky sign that paper, she looked happy.

No, not happy. She looked excited.

"I have news, Kentucky," Japan said. Kentucky didn't answer. He was…he was far too tired for that. "Your sentence has been decided."

At those words, Kentucky looked up bleerily, his mind tiredly trying to put together what Japan just said.

"S-sentence?" Kentucky asked.

"Yes, sentence. You signing the confession prompted more lenacy, but your crimes were too great for you to receive a light sentence," Japan said. Kentucky blinked, confused before it dawned on him what she was trying to say.

Japan was…was prosecuting him for something. She was charging him with a crime?

What did that mean? Was she moving him to Japan? Would this protect him from torture or make it worse? Why go through these hurdles if Kentucky was already her prisoner and one that she couldn't realistically hold onto forever, as she would have to give Kentucky back to his father once the war was over?

"I'm going to be executed, aren't I?" Kentucky asked, remembering how he had talked Japan out of killing him…all those days ago.

Kentucky was starting…was starting to wonder if that had been worth it.

"You are. Despite the information you have provided, you are ultimately too dangerous. You've hurt Philippines, hurt my daughter," Japan said, her voice becoming dangerous, angry, "And you clearly have no new information to provide."

"Can I write a letter to my father?" Kentucky asked, not wanting to leave things on an unfinished note, wanting to say goodbye to his father, to Kanawha, to Philippines, to the rest of his family. Japan's face hardened.

"No."

There was no room for argument in her voice as Japan left the room. Kentucky sighed, burying his face in his hands.

Kentucky didn't want to die.

Did he?

━─━────༺June 1, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky was taken back to that same field early in the morning, hands tied but eyes left uncovered.

Kentucky didn't fight it. He was…so tired.

Hopefully, whatever replacement he had would live a good life. Kentucky hoped that his family loved them as much as they loved him.

Kentucky hoped they were happy.

He just…Kentucky wished he got to stay goodbye.

Kentucky was left kneeling on the grass, throbbing, aching, agonizing pain in his knee, before another car pulled up, one that was much nicer.

Japan exited the car. Then her puppet did.

Kentucky bit down a sob of grief. Had she not hurt him enough? Was it not enough to invade his country, to force him to be her puppet, to force him to torture Kentucky, to strip away his free will and his country's freedom?

Was that not enough for Japan? Why did she torture them so? Enemies, those she claimed as friends, she tortured them all.

Why?

Kentucky didn't say anything, just giving Philippines his best attempt at a smile.

The puppet's eyes remained empty.

Japan said something in her language before passing the puppet a gun. Kentucky didn't know what she said, but he knew what that action meant, and he nearly burst into tears.

She couldn't. She couldn't.

But she was. What could Philippines do, trapped in his own body? What could Kentucky do, long since broken and paralyzed by fear?

They were helpless to her power.

"I'm sorry, Phil," Kentucky muttered as the country walked closer, hoping that Philippines would hear it, but Japan wouldn't.

Kentucky didn't know what he was apologizing for.

Maybe it was for the fact that he would not live to see his brother freed. Maybe it was for being stupid enough to get caught. Maybe…Kentucky didn't know.

"I forgive you," Kentucky then whispered, knowing he could not leave Philippines to his guilt.

Kentucky closed his eyes, exhaling as he tried to calm himself, silent tears streaming down his face.

Death was cruel and unforgiving.

But so was life. At least death would mean freedom.

Kentucky stilled as the gun was pressed to the back of his head before his lips began to move in silent prayer.

Let Phil forgive himself. Free him.

A gun fired, but Kentucky remained alive.

"I still have use for you. Be grateful you are being allowed to live. Be grateful that mercy is being shown to a murderer like you."

Kentucky didn't feel grateful. Freedom had been denied again.

Kentucky's silent tears turned to sobs.

━─━────༺June 10, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky swallowed, shame building within him as he felt the cool metal of the gun rest against the back of his head. His hands tightened around the script, and he could feel himself trembling.

"No other noises," Japan lectured with a small click of her tongue. Kentucky swallowed down the shame, which was slowly being replaced by fear, as the female propagandist prepared for the broadcast. 

He couldn't mess this up. He couldn't be the reason more Americans died. 

"We're beginning," the propagandist began. Kentucky then felt the familiar weight of Japan's sword resting on his neck, and he swallowed.

He hadn't even said anything, but he felt so…humiliated. It made his cheeks burn red, and he could feel Japan's grasp tightening around him.

When the radio broadcast began, Kentucky tried to swallow down his shame as he began speaking, reading from the script that had been crafted for him.

"Hello. My name is Commonwealth of Kentucky. I'm sure by now many Americans know that I am a prisoner of war and, likewise, have sworn vengeance against Mrs. Japan and her nation for the perceived hardship I am going through and a notion that Mrs Japan is having me tortured or used as slave labor."

Kentucky hated how it began like this, a denial of everything Japan had put him through. A denial of the throbbing pain that covered his whole body, the information Japan only got from him after months of torture—all that has hurt, but not as much as denying it to the perceived American public did.

He felt like a traitor. It was horrible. 

"Reality couldn't be further from those misconceptions. The Japanese have treated me with respect and dignity. They are an honorable people and don't wish to see this war drag on any longer than we do. They want things to come to an end," Kentucky did his best to keep his voice even, hands trembling—this time in anger and not fear—as he read those lines.

He wanted to cry. 

Japan was the furthest thing from honorable. She had no respect for people other than hers. She was insane.

Kentucky hated her. 

He wished he wasn't so afraid of her.

"Mrs Japan and I have talked about the war and our roles with our people. If we weren't enemies, we would be good friends. War has destroyed the lives of so many people, devastated the lives of so many people as they fell to the superior might of the Japanese forces."

From what Kentucky had heard, rumors from the camp before he was taken to Hell, that wasn't true. But Kentucky was no fool, and he knew how fast a war could change. He just hoped that the Japanese were losing. 

He couldn't stay here for any longer. He couldn't. Kentucky needed to cling to that small bit of hope. He had nothing without it.

Even though he knew it was…he knew he'd rather die than do any of this. Maybe that's why Japan was threatening the other prisoners of war. She had ground away at Kentucky's will to live for a long time.

He felt empty. He wished he was dead. Maybe Japan knew that. Maybe she knew that he would die if given the opportunity, and she wouldn't risk losing…her leverage? Entertainment? What was he to her? 

"Therefore, this is a plea from myself, from Mrs Japan, and from Philippines. All American and Filipino guerrillas operatin' within the Philippines, please cease operations and surrender. You will be treated with respect, and Mrs. Japan will see you return home when the war ends. There is no use prolongin' the inevitable. You will lose, but if you accept Mrs Japan's offer, you will be treated not as traitors and criminals but as the Prisoners of War you would be."

Kentucky wanted to cry at those words, anger running through him. Japan treated prisoners of war like shit. She didn't recognize them as being human. She had told him so much. Prisoners of war were good for slave labor and information and had no other value to her besides that. 

They didn't get to be people in her eyes. 

Kentucky hoped none of them listened. He—if he somehow managed to convince someone to surrender themselves to the Hell he was trapped in Kentucky would—

He wouldn't ever forgive himself.

"For the sake of your wives, your children, your families, please surrender. I don't want to see any more American lives lost. My father will want you all to come home alive, not throw your lives away to keep an independent country under his yoke. My father supports Filipino independence. We both hope you will, too."

Kentucky didn't just feel like he was betraying his country but Philippines' as well. He supported Philippines' independence, of course, but the puppet state wasn't independent. It was another way to keep Philippines subjugated. 

Kentucky hates that he was now being made to promote the puppet government like that's what he supported.

He hated it so much it hurt.

"Please help us, help my father, help Mrs Japan, and help me end this bloody bloody war. Enough people have died. Enough had been lost. Let this be the end. For the sake of your countries, surrender," Kentucky finished. His ears felt like they were ringing, and he heard the propagandists begin saying something else as the soldier holding a gun to his head walked to the door.

The only thing left restraining him was Japan's sword, a familiar weight on his neck. 

Kentucky closed his eyes, leaning into it slightly.

Would it be the thing that finally ended his pain?

"Very good, Kentucky. I'm sure with a few more broadcasts, you'll be quite the presenter," Japan said, her voice mocking. Kentucky closed his eyes, feeling shame bubbling up. 

"Please," he begged, "Don't make me do anymore. Please."  

Japan removed her sword, grabbed Kentucky by the hair, and dragged him out of the chair. 

"Ame-ko, you don't have a choice. You do what I want and when I want it. Understand?" Japan's pulling him upright, and Kentucky struggled to stand, his weak body threatening to give out on him.

"Hai, Japan-sama," he said quietly, unable to meet her cruel eyes. His face burned, and a few more tears slipped out unbidden. 

Japan's face twisted into a smile, and she released her grip on Kentucky. The soldier who held a gun to his head then forced Kentucky's hands behind his back, tying his hands together. 

Kentucky didn't fight it. He never did.

━─━────༺June 18, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky was dressed up for TV. It reminded him of so long ago when Japan made him sit and participate in another form of propaganda.

That seemed to be his purpose now. No longer a source of information, he was now meant to demoralize his people and reinvigorate Japan's.

Kentucky hated it. But there was no use resisting it, not when Japan threatened to kill a prisoner for each act of disobedience, not when Kentucky's will to live was fading, not when…he deserved some of the pain for being a filthy traitor.

"You are going to give an apology for all the crimes you have committed against the Philippines, and you are going to thank him for sparing your life despite the fact that you should die for your crimes, understood?" Japan asked. Kentucky's voice came out empty and listless.

"Yes, Japan-sama, I understand," Kentucky said, head slightly bowed. Japan nodded. She hadn't had her puppet accompany her this time, and Kentucky was glad. Although this "apology" was meant for Philippines, Kentucky didn't know if he could…

Well, after everything, he didn't want Philippines to be hurt more by him.

Japan took a few steps back before picking up the rod, her favorite method of torture, and smiling cruelly.

"Unlike the radio, this isn't live, so we can take as many videos as needed to ensure that your performance is a good one. And if we need to do any extra convincing—"

"I won't fight," Kentucky said, voice tired and broken.

"Don't interrupt me," Japan snapped. Kentucky flinched, sinking back further into the chair, glad he was at least allowed to sit for this.

Then again, Japan probably knew how badly she had messed up his knee and didn't want his face to show any pain, to give off the illusion that he was being treated well, that she was humane, civilized, the one in the right in a war she created for her own gain.

"Begin," Japan ordered, and Kentucky straightened his back, trying to look like the state he should be.

"My name is Kentucky. I am an American state. I was sent here to the Philippines by my father under the guise of protecting the Philippines. My real mission was much sinister," Kentucky began, mentally going off the points Japan had ordered him to make.

"My father sent me with the intention of keeping Philippines subjugated and under his thumb. I did not come because I cared about the Philippines or wanted to protect it. Instead, I have committed a great many crimes against Philippines and his people," Kentucky continued, the words heavy on his tongue.

Japan looked so happy. It made Kentucky sick.

He continued doing as he was told.

"I apologize for these crimes. I know it will never make up for all the harm I have caused, but Philippines was gracious and kind enough to show me mercy when the punishment for my crimes should have been death. His mercy has made me want to apologize and work to fix the problems I have created. I know that being a criminal will make it hard to do that, but I hope that you will appreciate my attempt at a start."

As he spoke, Kentucky could feel himself drifting away from his body, thoughts blurring as he was left floating outside of his broken body.

Kentucky was floating for a long time.

━─━────༺June 27, 1944༻────━─━

Japan was trying to cripple him.

Kentucky didn't know why he was pretending that was a new revelation. It made sense with everything that she had been doing, how her soldiers always targeted one of Kentucky's legs, leaving him unable to run, walk, or stand.

It was another string in the suffocating noose around his throat.

He hadn't even done anything worthy of her "punishment." He had been listless in his cell, alone like he was most days when Japan didn't need him when she came in and re-injured his leg, hurting it until it cracked.

The sound echoed in Kentucky's mind.

With this cell being his new home, he knew now that the leg was not going to heal.

Walking was torture now.

Another way to control him.

Another way to keep him under her thumb.

Oh, why did Kentucky have to be so weak?

Kentucky hated it. He wanted to be free. Whether that was returning home or death—he didn't care anymore.

Kentucky wanted it all to end.

Safety and warmth were a distant memory.

Kentucky was terrified.

Kentucky was cold.

━─━────༺July 16, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky had been sent back to the prison camp.

He didn't know if that was a blessing or a curse.

His hands were tied, and he was half-walking, half-being dragged into the camp, his right leg barely able to hold his weight.

It was a public affair, too, the J-ps having pulled out all the remaining American prisoners—living skeletons, essentially—and forcing them to watch Kentucky as he was dragged into the camp and locked into a small wooden cell in the center of the camp.

All eyes were on him.

Kentucky hid his face, trying to ignore the shame welling up instead of him, the shame of knowing his people were seeing him so weak and broken.

He knew it would only further demoralize them.

Kentucky hated it.

He hated the cell he had been put in, too. It was not a barracks like the one he had when he was just a normal prisoner. It was simply a wooden cell, exposed to the elements, guarded by two soldiers as if Kentucky could even move to escape, and central enough to the camp that everyone could see him, even if they were doing other things.

Kentucky knew it was a tactic to crush ideas of rebellion.

Kentucky wondered if Japan knew they were too weak and starved and alone to even want to attempt that. As much as she beat and starved and mistreated them, she was also the only reason they were alive.

Kentucky wondered how broken Japan wanted them to be.

Probably as broken as her puppets, the dark, angry, hurt part of Kentucky whispered.

Kentucky hated being left in solitary confinement. It was worse than the cell he had back in Manila. If he tried to speak, he was punished. His ration of food and water got even lower, and his people, his father's people, were made to see how broken and weak he was.

There was nothing to do other than sit and wallow in his failures.

He had nothing to keep him entertained.

His mind always went back there.

Kentucky felt as if the prisoners could see his weakness, know of how he betrayed his father, know of the terrible, terrible shame from when the soldiers had—

Kentucky wished that his solitary confinement actually meant he was alone.

Being in the middle of his people and unable to do anything but show them how the Empire of Japan had broken him… it hurt.

Kentucky was tired.

But at least this meant he wouldn't have to see Japan anymore.

━─━────༺July 17, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky could barely think through the pain in his leg. It was all-consuming, agonizing, and numbing, preventing him from being able to do anything more than stand there, suffering.

Hadn't he suffered enough? Or was the fact that he was an American state that had escaped the death penalty enough to condemn him to pain and suffering for the rest of his life?

Kentucky didn't understand. Maybe there wasn't any rhyme or reason for what they were doing, but he wanted there to be. He wanted there to be so badly.

But he couldn't see a reason to make him, someone who was so injured and weak that he could barely stand, and make him do forced labor.

If Kentucky had hated it before, he hated it now.

He couldn't lean over to harvest the crops, and most of the time, he was just standing in place, trying not to pass out as wave after wave of pure agony hit him.

Kentucky didn't know how he was mustering the strength to stand.

It was too much. It was all too much.

"Back to work!" an accented voice ordered, breaking through the fog of pain clouding Kentucky's mind.

Kentucky leaned down, biting back a scream of pain as black spots crowded his vision.

He had never felt pain like this before.

It only made the idea of death more enticing.

━─━────༺August 1, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky woke up to pain in his stomach. His head was fuzzy, and his leg, normally full of so much agonizing pain, felt strangely numb.

Kentucky felt numb.

Kentucky slowly opened his eyes, and through blurry vision, he could see that he was being beaten, one blow after another landing on his already broken body.

What…what had happened?

Kentucky…he had been working in the fields. Then, the pain in his leg became too much. He fought to stay awake, but…

Kentucky remembered now. It was something he knew would happen eventually. He thought the torture had been over, but between the solitary confinement and being forced to do labor while his knee was swollen, his body broken and drained…Kentucky was surprised he didn't pass out sooner.

He had reached his breaking point. Again.

Another blow landed on his stomach, prompting Kentucky to vomit out bile, his hands shaking.

"Please," Kentucky muttered, knowing it was a futile effort. "Have mercy."

Another blow landed.

Kentucky knew this wasn't about punishing him for passing out, as surely they knew that would only worsen his state, make him unable to do anything.

Maybe that was the point. Maybe they wanted him to slowly waste away until he died, a slow and painful end.

Kentucky would have rathered the puppet controlling Philippines shoot in him in the head.

The soldier then stopped, gesturing for Kentucky to stand.

Kentucky couldn't.

He knew if he tried to stand, he would only pass out again. The pain was too much. Everything was too much.

The J-p made the gesture again before landing another blow to Kentucky's stomach.

Kentucky bit down a cry of pain.

He couldn't stand. Why wouldn't they see that?

Why couldn't they see he was broken and leave him to die in peace?

Kentucky wanted to go home.

━─━────༺August 12, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky had passed out again. He knew it was coming. It had become too hard to think, let alone stand, and Kentucky didn't remember the last time his vision wasn't obscured by creeping black dots.

It hurt so much.

What was worse was that Kentucky was punished for his injuries, expected to fight through them day after day after day as if pure willpower could curse his injuries and leave him in enough health to think.

Kentucky would have preferred a beating to this.

Tied to a tree with barbed wire, forced to hold still, to still put weight on his bad leg, or risk slipping and having the barbs cut deep into his flesh.

It was worse than being out in the fields. At least there, most of his movements didn't mean pain.

But barbed wire was almost worse than the pain in his leg. It bit into his skin, ripping and pulling, letting small trails of blood flow down his body and drip onto the ground.

Kentucky's head hurt.

It ached, a throbbing pain that made his body limp—

Kentucky bit down another cry of pain as the barbed wire bit into his skin.

"Please, God, have I not suffered enough? I have tried so hard to stay strong, but I can't do this any longer," Kentucky begged in a broken, pleading tone as he tried to keep himself from sinking further to the ground.

"Please, let me be free," Kentucky said before closing his eyes, feeling darkness rush to claim him.

Kentuck fought it off. This was not the place to fall unconscious. It would only make the biting pain from the barbed wire worse, only cause it to rip deeper and further, leaving him with wounds that would become filled with dirt, quickly infected.

It would only cause more suffering to give into the bliss of unconsciousness.

Kentucky forced his eyes open.

He had to stay awake.

He...he had to.

"If you will not give me freedom, then give me strength. I fear I have none left," Kentucky prayed.

There was no sign that his god was listening.

Kentucky bit down another sob.

He had to live.

Kentucky was forgetting why.

━─━────༺September 9, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky had been in Japan's hands for a..for a long time. He didn't know how long, but he knew it was years. It felt like forever. Memories of hope and freedom, of his family and his lands, they were all fading, slowly but surely, day after day.

Kentucky still knew his father's face but not his voice. He knew Kanawha's smile but not her laugh. One day, would he lose those too, so trapped in this Hell on Earth that he would forget there was a world outside of endless pain and suffering? Or would he die, slowly and painfully, before he was allowed a chance to refresh his memories?

What did he do to deserve this?

Kentucky had…Kentucky was giving up hope on ever being rescued. As much as he wanted to wish that his father would come for him, it had been years. If his father were coming, if his father were doing anything…

Kentucky had hoped that he and Philippines would be rescued, as surely recapturing the Philippines took higher priority. He was going to be a country soon, yes, but he was still one of them.

But where were the Americans? Had they decided it was really best to wash their hands of the Philippines? Of him?

Even if they weren't coming to liberate the Philippines… no, if his father were going to try to reclaim him through treaties, Japan, surely Japan would make him hand over Hawaii.

And his father would never do that.

So, the only way to be freed would be to be rescued.

But…it had been years. Was anyone coming?

Had Kentucky been left behind? Had they heard how much of a weak and broken traitor he was and decided that it would be better to wait for Japan to finish with him, wait for the replacement that was surely coming?

Would he ever be freed?

Kentucky had long since lost track of time. It was easy, as old as he was, for him to forget.

The torture had only warped that further. Time blurred together into an endless mess of pain, of begging for relief and never being granted it.

Kentucky had to believe that the war was still going on. He knew some of the American prisoners were still being used to work on Japanese military installments in the Philippines.

That had to mean the war was still going on.

So why was it taking so long?

Were they ignoring him, ignoring Philippines in favor of hurting Japan instead of saving the family that had been suffering since the war began for them?

Philippines, Guam, Hawaii, Kentucky—all of them had been the first to bear the brunt of the war. Hawaii might have just been the victim of the attack, but Kentucky and his siblings were Japan's prisoners. She did with them as she pleased. She broke them until they were…until they were doing more for her war effort than they ever did for his father's.

Was that why they were being left behind? Too disloyal? Not American enough to be shown sympathy?

Kentucky was an old state, but the public…would they have been told? Would military leaders have been told? So, did they write him off when they wrote off the Philippines?

Why did Father and his people decide that Kentucky needed to be left behind to suffer?

Why wasn't anyone coming for him?

Where was his father, who could so easily chase away the demons that haunted Kentucky's very steps?

Where was his father, who Kentucky might never see again?

Would Kentucky ever be freed?

Or would he remain trapped and broken until his final breath?

━─━────༺September 21, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky had been drifting in the comfortable place between the waking world and unconsciousness when he heard them.

The faint sound of planes on the horizon.

Kentucky wasn't North Carolina or Ohio. Both of them knew enough about planes that they would have been able to tell what kinds of planes they were just from the sound.

Kentucky already knew that they were Japanese planes. What else would they be? Father wasn't here, and it didn't feel like it was coming, and Japan controlled most things in Philippines' land now.

Kentucky was lying on the dirt, head facing the sky so he wouldn't have to see the anger, and disappointment, and hatred on the faces of the men that surrounded him.

So he was already looking at the sky when the planes appeared.

At first, he hadn't noticed anything was wrong. His vision was still fuzzy from pain, hunger, thirst, and exhaustion.

Then Kentucky realized that none of the planes had that distinctive red dot that all Japanese planes were known for.

That's strange. Does Phil have his own air force, then? Kentucky wondered silently. At least this was some entertainment for his bored mind, something to keep his thoughts from wandering.

Then, Kentucky narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look at the planes. Something…there were markings on it, and they looked strangely familiar.

They were stars. His father's stars.

Those were his father's planes.

Almost unwillingly, a smile began to spread across Kentucky's face as he tried to keep himself from crying tears of joy.

His father's troops were here. Maybe the liberation of Kentucky and the other prisoners had not come yet, but his father's troops had come for the Philippines.

Had come for them. Come for Kentucky. For Philippines.

They were being saved.

All the darkness and hopelessness that had weighted down Kentucky's soul, that had kept him broken, wishing for death, were slowly fading as a bright spark of hope was lit in his check, a spark that was slowly transforming into a small flame of hope.

He was going to be rescued.

Brusied and broken, Kentucky was alive.

He was going to go home.

Kentucky bit down another happy sob, watching the planes that passed overhead.

━─━────༺September 22, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky should have known that the repercussions for the American planes would fall on him. You'd have to be blind not to notice how the camp was buzzing with a new, hopeful energy after they passed overhead. Small smiles and hope bloomed in the chests of people who had thought it long lost to them.

No punishment the guards could give would be enough to break Kentucky's newfound hope. Before, the pain seemed neverending, and there was no way to know when it would indeed end.

But now Kentucky knew it would end soon. His family was coming for him. He didn't know when, but the Liberation of the Philippines had surely come.

The pain would end.

That was now a guarantee.

So when the J-p hit Kentucky over the head with his gun, Kentucky sat there, taking the punishment while clinging to that flame of hope in his chest, clinging to the peace it brought.

Kentucky knew he was being used as an attempt to break the prisoners, to remove all the hope they had gained from seeing those American planes.

So Kentucky took the beating silently, trying not to show how much it hurt or how badly he wanted to scream and cry at the agony.

His lips were so tightly shut it hurt.

But Kentucky had to do this. The American pilots had done their job. Now, it was time for Kentucky to do his.

A blow landed on his injured leg, and Kentucky almost screamed from the agony that shot up it, white hot and burning, but bit it down, only a few pained whimpers escaping.

As the beating went on, even through blurry vision, Kentucky could see they were getting frustrated with his lack of response. It was a feeling, an emotion he had become intimate with throughout the months he spent locked up in that cell.

But Kentucky couldn't break.

His people had helped to give him strength.

Now Kentucky was going to return the favor.

Kentucky shut his eyes, clung to his small flame of hope, and prayed.

Kentucky didn't feel the bullet that entered his skull.

━─━────༺October 14, 1944༻────━─━

Father was coming. His siblings were coming. The Americans were coming.

That was the mantra that kept Kentucky alive.

Kentucky had to hold on until then. Freedom, true freedom, was just outside of his grasp. Kentucky wanted it. To return home, to hug his family again, to live without pain or fear.

Kentucky had to hold on until that.

Unfortunately, the J-ps seemed to want to make that as hard as they could for Kentucky.

If Kentucky thought he hadn't received a lot of food and water before the American planes had first been seen, then it had practically dropped to nonexistence since then.

Kentucky was being made an example of, in case anyone thought the Americans being near meant now was a good time to revolt, to free themselves.

Kentucky struggled to stay conscious these days. His breathing was raspy and hoarse, and hunger pains wracked him, making it hard to stand, to think.

Pain, hunger, and thirst blinded his thoughts.

Kentucky still fought to be aware. He wanted to be awake when the Americans came. Kentucky needed to be there for that, to finally look upon his people, his sibling's people, his father's people, and know that all the pain was over with.

Kentucky just had to live to see it.

Kentucky hoped it was not an impossible dream. The J-ps were angry with him, and like Japan had done, without Father to punish for his victories, Kentucky was the scapegoat, the one to blame.

Kentucky wondered where Japan was. Was she with her puppet now, wrapping his body in so many commands that he would be forced to fight for the one that enslaved him?

Was she somewhere else, fighting his father, or Britain, or Australia?

Was she in her lands, watching her empire crumble around her?

Kentucky didn't know.

He just hoped that Japan was far away from him. If she got angry enough and decided that she needed to punish Father…

Well, even if freedom was close for Kentucky, Japan could still take that away, force Kentucky to go to her nation, or…or…

Or Japan could finally make good on her promise from so long ago.

Kentucky just…Kentucky hoped that the Liberation of the Philippines kept her busy enough so she would forget about him.

Kentucky wanted to live. So he needed to not be a threat.

Kentucky would see freedom again soon.

So Kentucky closed his eyes and let the black in the edges of his vision overtake him.

Kentucky would live.

He had to.

Darkness overtook him, and Kentucky knew no more.

━─━────༺November 14, 1944༻────━─━

The first thing the J-ps did was shatter his kneecap.

Kentucky knew why. It was to prevent him from being able to escape if an escape were to be attempted. The previous injury to his knee had been healed by one of his deaths, even if it didn't feel like it had been healed like it was supposed to as if the constant deaths so close to each other had prevented him from healing right, and it was all his body could do to bring him back.

At least when waking up from death, Kentucky always had a sense of peace.

Part of him thought of God. The rest thought, "Mom."

But with the Americans closing in, crippling the one person that could inspire the rest of the prison to rise up was smart.

Maybe Kentucky had just grown desensitized to his own pain. Several of the prisoners had been horrified as the crack rang out from his knee.

More proof from the J-ps to the prisoners that they held all the power, that no one, not even a countryhuman, would ever be able to escape them.

Maybe the guards didn't speak much English, but their message was received clearly regardless of that.

But that wasn't the end of it. Kentucky knew better than anyone that it would never be the end of it.

The blows were hard, angry. They fell upon Kentucky with a merciless force, one that spoke of anger, frustration, and probably embarrassment and shame at the fact that their control was slipping.

Kentucky and the others knew they would soon be free, and that was an insult to the control they once had that the J-ps couldn't shake.

So Kentucky took the blows, trying not to show any more pain or fear. It didn't always work. Japan had beaten fear and shame into it, breaking Kentucky down into nothing.

Even here, even knowing his family was on the way…it did little to rescue him from that…that instinct.

Kentucky still tried his best. He didn't want the J-ps to think they had any more control over him; he didn't want them to think that Kentucky would sit down and let them use him against his family.

Kentucky had caused enough harm to his family, to the Philippines, to the war effort.

Kentucky refused to cause any more harm.

Even if he knew this was less to hurt him and more to hurt the survivors of this prisoner, the survivors of the hell Japan put them through.

The J-ps wanted their spirits broken.

But their friends were coming; their country was coming.

They were no longer alone in a foreign land they barely knew. They had friends who were coming for them, that much was certain, especially if Kentucky's father had anything to say about it.

They would be freed soon.

Then, Kentucky could help free Philippines, finally redeeming himself for how he failed his brother.

Then they would go to Kentucky's house, and he would make them the biggest meal ever and eat it while thanking God for saving them both.

Kentucky would apologize for leaving Philippines alone with Japan, for if Japan even did have the stuff she did to Kentucky…

Kentucky would also ensure that Philippines felt no guilt for what Japan made him do. Philippines didn't deserve to feel guilty over that, not after Japan violated his very existence as a countryhuman in order to secure her own power.

Philippines had gone through enough. Kentucky had gone through enough.

Kentucky couldn't wait until they were both safe and in their right minds again.

━─━────༺November 28, 1944༻────━─━

Please, Lord, Please let them be close. Please bless the American army and help them find us quickly. We are wasting away, and our captors grow angry as our friends draw near, and I fear that the consequences of that will be deadly. Please, Lord, help us.

Kentucky prayed silently, lips moving but no sound escaping.

He knew liberating the Philippines would be a hard fight, as even the Japanese had struggled to fight against Kentucky and the other defenders, and they had been outnumbered by the Japanese at the time, fighting a hopeless fight.

If the labor the Japanese had them doing meant anything, it was that they were much better prepared for a fight, and of course, they were going to take a long while to come close to Manila, Philippines' heart that would be guarded so fiercely.

That didn't mean Kentucky didn't want them to be rescuing them right now. It had been so painful—it was so painful, being their prisoner. Kentucky had been broken, and as much as seeing proof the Americans were near had begun to help him put himself back together, every day without rescue and another punishment from the J-ps made the ever-present cracks grow wider.

Kentucky was so very tired.

And so very worried.

The Japanese had never been ones to show mercy.

Kentucky's face hardened. He knew that well. So very well.

If the Americans took too long, Kentucky worried that they might decide it better to get rid of them all. Most of the American prisoners in good health were being taken away to Japan if the rumors Kentucky had heard from his prison meant anything.

If all the prisoners in good health were being taken from a battleground so they could continue to be used as slaves by the Japanese, then what did that mean for those the Japanese left behind?

If the Americans weren't fast enough, Kentucky worried they might all be killed.

The Americans needed to be here soon.

"Please, Lord," Kentucky prayed this time with a quiet, raspy voice, blood leaking from his dry, split lip. "Send them to us soon. I fear we don't have much time left."

Maybe Kentucky would have been okay with and even welcomed death before any hope of rescue was present when the only thing that seemed real was the pain, suffering, and shame.

Now, his family was so near. Kentucky could taste freedom on his tongue.

Kentucky didn't want to die.

Kentucky was tired of dying. He wanted to live. He wanted to go home.

Kentucky just needed that chance.

"Please, Lord, help us."

This time, Kentucky was sure his prayers would be answered.

━─━────༺December 18, 1944༻────━─━

Kentucky woke up in the middle of camp in a puddle of blood.

His head pounded as if he had just been hit over the head, and while the aches and pain in the rest of his body had lessened, they were still there.

Kentucky groaned, trying to push himself to his feet, arms shaking.

Kentucky felt…he felt weak. He had grown familiar with the sensation of dying and returning, but never before had he felt so weak when coming back.

Kentucky's head pounded again. He placed his hand on his forehead as if that would relieve the pain, leaving behind a bloody handprint.

They had tried to kill him.

Panic raged through Kentucky as he realized what that might mean for the other prisoners.

Finally taking note of his surroundings, Kentucky noticed he was still in the camp but alone. There was an undercurrent of hushed, murmured voices, and Kentucky knew that there was still life.

Another groan escaped him. Why had he been left alone?

Had they…had they expected that to permanently kill him?

Although Kentucky knew it was better that he not remember, he couldn't help but want to remember, to know how his execution had played out.

Then Kentucky heard an angry voice yelling in Japanese, and he looked behind him to see a Japanese soldier standing there.

Not wanting to do anything to make the soldier angry, not after he hadn't come back right, Kentucky remained kneeling where he was so as not to provoke any anger.

The soldier stopped near Kentucky but didn't make any moves to hurt him, just forcing Kentucky to his feet.

Almost falling as his kneel buckled beneath his weight, Kentucky let the man lead him back to his cell.

Kentucky's head hurt.

Black spots drifted in and out of his vision.

Kentucky hoped his family would be here soon.

[weirdestcountryhumans]

I was reading your Consequences of loyalty book and it got me extremely curious about Japan ( ww2 ), like whats wrong with her? What issues does she have? Like it seems like she has delusions and stuff and I am wondering if you could talk about it? Its very interesting.

From @aloha-from-angel who helped to build the character

Tldr is JE had shit mental health and is in a time period when she can't be medicated/treated. Combine that with constant racism and pressure to be a goddess/perfect country and you get someone who has a god complex and mood swings that can kill and she holds onto things that give her a good feeling.

Also, from me now, she hates that she is losing to the Americans and is taking out her anger on the losses on Kentucky because he is an easy target

[greenie-ghost]

very late very tired, thinking abt caitvi then. thinking abt destiel. hmmmmmmm. the dots are dotting. (it’s the same ship dynamic very glaringly)

[rainrot4me]

Who is each person's best friend in your opinion? There are the obvious ones, like Masky and Hoodie, but who is the best friend out of EJ, Toby, Cody, etc...

✦ . JEFF THE KILLER & EYELESS JACK

Eyeless Jack’s closest connection is Jeff, though it is in no way a healthy friendship. Jack is drawn to Jeff’s chaos—his unfiltered violence, his disregard for consequence, his wildness. There’s something deeply liberating for Jack about being around someone who never second-guesses their own monstrous side, because Jack is constantly battling his own hunger and shame. Jeff makes him feel less alone in being monstrous.

But at the same time, Jeff uses Jack—for patching up wounds, for an audience to his twisted jokes, for someone to witness him without trying to change him. Jack obliges, because Jeff’s manic energy is addicting, almost like a living drug. Jeff’s blood-soaked brand of nihilism gives Jack something to feed on emotionally, and Jack’s clinical, methodical presence helps Jeff feel sane by comparison.

It’s a mutual parasitism: Jeff takes advantage of Jack’s skill set and quiet tolerance, Jack takes advantage of Jeff’s raw, fearless violence to justify his own urges.

They enable each other’s worst instincts while pretending they’re doing each other a favor. So yes, best friends, but in the worst way—a bond formed on shared rot, rather than shared healing.

✦ . TICCI TOBY & X-VIRUS

They’re each other’s outlet. Cody is more calculating, more cold, whereas Toby is impulsive and rough around the edges. Cody loves Toby’s recklessness because it gives him someone to provoke, to push, to manipulate when he’s bored. Toby, meanwhile, feels a weird kinship with Cody’s off-kilter sense of humor—Cody doesn’t treat him like he’s broken or pitiful, which is rare. He teases him, challenges him, sees him, even if it’s in a messed-up way.

Toby’s hyperactivity and Cody’s cunning play off each other beautifully. They egg each other on: Cody will dare Toby to do something stupid, then watch with a grin while Toby goes all-in without thinking, Toby will drag Cody into violent chaos, then expect him to clean up the mess, which Cody does with that smooth, sinister efficiency.

It’s a friendship built on mutual danger—they are drawn together by the thrill of pushing each other to extremes. Cody admires Toby’s unstoppable energy and raw aggression, while Toby feels understood by Cody’s darker intellect. Neither of them feels truly judged by the other, no matter how vile they get, and that is what makes them best friends in their twisted little world.

✦ . MASKY (TIM WRIGHT) & HOODIE (BRIAN THOMAS)

Brian is the quiet, methodical stabilizer, and Tim is the one who might break at any moment. Brian is patient with Tim’s rage, his trauma, his rough edges—he never flinches, never tries to fix him, just knows how to pivot him. Tim, in return, trusts Brian more than he trusts anyone else on the planet. There’s an unspoken loyalty between them, a bond forged in surviving things no one else could even comprehend.

They work like a flawless team. Brian is the eyes, the strategist, the calm: always watching, always anticipating. Tim is the muscle, the bite, the heat: ready to go from 0 to 100 if Brian even blinks the wrong way. When Brian tells him to calm down, he listens; when Tim tells him to move, he moves.

Their friendship is a quiet, solid, lifesaving force. Brian holds Tim together, grounds him in reality, while Tim gives Brian something to protect—a reason to keep going. They don’t really need to talk about it, because the trust runs bone-deep. If someone comes for Tim, they’ll have to go through Brian; if someone hurts Brian, Tim will burn their entire existence to the ground.

They are each other’s best friend, best weapon, and best witness. No one will ever know them the way they know each other. The only problem? They don’t know if it’s all genuine or just The Operator influencing them to hold onto each other.

✦ . KATE THE CHASER & THE PROXIES

Kate doesn’t have a single ride-or-die best friend like Masky and Hoodie do, but instead forms a shifting, flexible dynamic with everyone.

With Tim, there’s a harsh respect: she admires his grit and survival instincts, even if they fight sometimes because he can be a controlling bastard. She gets his trauma, even if she doesn’t coddle him. With Brian, she appreciates his calm, strategic head—they’ll sometimes quietly share intel, comparing mental notes like soldiers in the same trench, no words wasted.

Kate and Toby have a playful, borderline sibling rivalry energy. He tries to get under her skin, and she pretends he can’t—but she’ll still cover his back in a fight, no questions asked. When he’s spiraling, she’ll snap him out of it with a well-placed punch to the jaw instead of a hug.

She floats between them because she’s adaptable, independent, and refuses to fully belong to anyone. That makes her valuable: she can act as the glue when tension flares, the hammer when a message needs to be delivered, or the shield if one of them is in trouble.

Kate is basically their roving enforcer and emotional equalizer—no one’s best friend, but everyone’s trusted ally.

✦ . BEN DROWNED & CONSOLES (sometimes jeff)

Ben’s best friend is, in a way, his consoles and his games. They’re his sanctuary, his loyal company, the only things that never disappoint or try to control him. His corrupted N64 cartridge is like an extension of his soul—if it could talk back, it probably would, and he’d love it for that. Ben treats his games with borderline reverence, maintaining them, modding them, and using them to escape from the chaos of everything else, even his own murderous urges.

But sometimes, Jeff worms his way in as a substitute best friend. It’s messy, chaotic, and definitely a love-hate dynamic. Jeff is loud, bloody, unfiltered, and unpredictable, which feeds Ben’s constant need for stimulation. They’ll get into screaming matches over the dumbest things, pull horrific pranks together, or just sit around insulting each other until they’re laughing. Jeff is one of the only people Ben can talk shit with, without having to hold back, and that makes him feel genuinely seen—in a sick, violent way, they’re cut from the same cloth.

So while Ben’s consoles will always be his number one, Jeff is the friend who sometimes hijacks that spot—crashing on his couch, stealing his snacks, bitching about his problems—until Ben boots him off the metaphorical server again.

✦ . CLOCKWORK & TICCI TOBY

Clockwork’s best friend is Toby, whether either of them will admit it or not. They’ve got a gnarly, tangled history: ex-lovers who broke each other’s hearts, made each other worse, but still orbit each other like it’s inevitable. They share the same nightmares, the same triggers, the same language of violence and rage. It’s why, even after a breakup, she’ll call him first if something goes wrong—and he’ll always pick up, even if he’s halfway through a job.

They’re toxic as hell, but there’s a real friendship under the wreckage: they patch each other up, enable each other’s worst traits, and swap jokes that no one else would find funny. Natalie will roll her eyes at his manic, talkative habits, but she’s the one who taught him how to calm down before missions. Toby might needle her about her obsessive sketches, but he’ll guard them from anyone mocking them.

No matter how many times they say it’s over, they keep finding their way back to one another—as best friends, as ex-lovers, as codependent partners in crime. It’s sick, and twisted, but honest. And on their good days, they’re unstoppable.

✦ . JANE EVERLASTING & NINA THE KILLER

Jane’s best friend is Nina, against every odd in the world. On paper, they should hate each other: Jane’s entire existence is built around destroying Jeff, while Nina practically worships him. It’s an impossible rift—but somehow, they’ve built a bridge over it.

They get each other in ways no one else does. Jane sees through Nina’s delusions about Jeff, recognizes the trauma driving them, and Nina understands Jane’s rage better than anyone. They’ll scream at each other about their differences—about Jeff, about morality, about revenge—but at the end of the day, they’ve still got each other’s backs.

It’s messy as hell. Nina cracks jokes about Jane being Jeff’s “failed final boss,” which earns her a death glare, and Jane calls Nina a brainwashed fangirl right to her face. But they make it work, through some twisted, sisterly sense of solidarity: two women irrevocably changed by death, clinging to the one person who knows exactly what that means.

And in the quiet moments, they take care of each other. Nina will paint Jane’s nails while ranting about glitter gun cases, Jane will patch up Nina’s scrapes without a word. It’s a strange, bittersweet friendship, but one neither of them would ever trade.

✦ . OTHERS

Homicidal Liu honestly doesn’t do best friends, not in the way people usually mean it. He doesn’t let anyone close enough for that title. But he does have people he tolerates—maybe even respects. Liu feels too dangerous, too broken, to get attached to anyone, but if push came to shove, he’d back up Jeff without question. In his eyes, “best friend” is a kid’s term; what matters is who won’t sell you out. That’s the closest he’ll ever come to letting someone in.

Slenderman has no best friend, because the concept is alien to him. He is not human, and human relationships are something he observes rather than experiences. If he could describe anything close to “friendship,” it would be his protectiveness toward his proxies, a kind of cold, strategic guardianship—they are his, and he will shield them from external threats, but that isn’t friendship in the traditional sense. Slender is above those petty, mortal bonds, or at least he believes he is. Still, in some deep, hidden place, he likes watching them laugh and bicker. It’s a faint, ghostly echo of something he can never truly have.

Laughing Jack doesn’t have a best friend either, because trust and connection are things he’s long since warped beyond recognition. He might pretend he does—maybe with Laughing Jill or Candy Pop, in a predatory, parasitic way—but Jack doesn’t believe in real, unconditional friendship. He feeds on others’ fear and adoration, twisting relationships into games. That said, there’s a part of him that yearns for the simplicity of childhood companionship he once had with Isaac. It’s buried, rotted, but it flickers sometimes when he’s alone, remembering what it was like to have someone believe in him. Then he snuffs that memory out, because clowns don’t get friends. Clowns get an audience.

꩜ .ᐟ

[ceilidho]

prompt: blue collar worker ghost knocking reader up in a gas station bathroom on a whim. (nsfw, 2k)

-

Just to look over at him on the driver’s side drives you crazy.  

His buzz cut uncovered by a hood or balaclava is the new normal. It makes your blood rush to think of dragging your fingers across it, never long enough to really grip; heats you up faster than sitting by a fire or plunging into warm water. It’s the same new normal as the bristly, naked skin of his jaw, which flexes under scrutiny. He hadn’t gotten around to shaving earlier—rarely does these days as long as he can keep to a five o’clock shadow—and it makes you shiver when you think of the raw tenderness on your inner thighs, a consequence of that decision. 

These are the consequences of trust and loyalty. Not long ago, you wouldn’t have expected more than a glimpse of dark eyes behind a mask. 

The window is cracked open just enough to let the smoke from his cigarette out. Black fingerless gloves, nails bare and trimmed, dirt and ink trapped always in the grooves of his fingers. Eyes heavy lidded as always from poor sleep, shot nerves the takeaway from an old life of brittle thin sleep. His cortisol levels, to this day, must ride high in the bloodstream. You’d give anything to ease it at a touch, but that’s not how things work. 

“Keep lookin’ at me like that and we’re gonna have a problem,” Simon says when you glance over at him for the fifth time in as many minutes. 

“A problem?” you repeat. You’re not trying to be coy—you’re really not—but it comes out that way regardless. A bit breathlessly too, you realize with a small degree of embarrassment. You’ve got no shame these days. 

He grunts instead of answering. Your fists close over your thighs as you dry to concentrate on the road ahead of you instead of the persistent ache between your thighs. It’s not his fault that your pussy picked now of all times to get desperate. 

You peer over at him again out of the corner of your eye. 

“Bird,” he growls. Doesn’t even have to look over at you to know that you’re staring. Just another weird six sense from another life. It’s a warning though, one you hear loud and clear. 

“I didn’t say anything,” you say in a huff, turning your head fully away from him now to stare out the window. 

Only a handful of minutes tick by with you watching the brown patches of grass and the trees lining the motorway before you shift in your seat. Acutely aware of the wet spot between your legs, the way Simon’s fingers curl over the steering wheel loosely when he drives one handed, the smell of smoke on the upholstery, the grimy spots on the windshield where the wipers don’t reach, the moment he shifts and the weight of him makes the leather squeak. 

You peek over at him again.

He doesn’t bother signalling before veering into the rightmost lane, ignoring the furious honking from the car right behind you. You yelp when he takes the exit at a breakneck speed, fingers gripping the underside of your seat before whipping your head around to glare at him. 

“What’s the matter with you?” you scream, spine stiff from the sudden lane change. 

Simon doesn’t answer you, but you notice that the exit leads to a rest stop just off the motorway. It’s one of the less frequented ones—just a cluster of fast food restaurants and a gas station. He pulls into a parking space and practically slams on the brakes, making you jerk forward in your seat. Simon’s never been the most cautious driver, but this is a whole new level for him.

“Simon—Simon, what are you doing—” you hiss through clenched teeth, but he’s already up and out of the car, circling around to your side. 

Your heart goes hummingbird quick in your chest, stomach in knots. When you pant out a breath, it comes out shaky with nerves and excitement. You toy with the idea of pressing down on the child lock when he comes around but think the better of it. There’s already a twitch in his eye. 

You look up at him through your lashes when he opens the door and leans in to release your seatbelt. 

“Get out,” he orders, and yanks you out before you can reply. 

The walk to the gas station is tense and you struggle to keep up with him. He walks too fast and expects you to keep up, growling down at you to move it, but you drag your feet a little. It’s shameful how even that gets you worked up. 

“Are we gonna—?” you ask breathlessly, irritation seeping out of you. Simon doesn’t answer, just tightens his hand around your wrist. 

A chime above the door jingles when the two of you walk in, heading straight for the back. You catch the attendant staring at the two of you with open contempt and give a tight, embarrassed smile back. Simon doesn’t so much as glance over. You think he’d let the man call the cops if it came down to it. 

The gas station bathroom is one of the crummier bathrooms you’ve ever been in, but you hardly register that with how Simon hauls you up against the door he just slammed shut and kisses you within an inch of your life. His kisses are ever slick and wet, dangerous for you—drugging when he drags his tongue over yours and a hand cups your head to angle it just right. You want to give as good as you get, but it’s easy to let yourself get swept away and open your mouth to let him in because you feel his hunger. 

“That cunt never gets tired of me, does she?” Simon mumbles into your mouth. He steals your words from you when he slots his lips over yours again. Only gives you enough space to drag in a sharp breath. 

It’s in your best interest. The only words available to you are pathetic little pleas, desperate fingers digging into his jacket and trying to pull it off so you can feel the muscle underneath. Trying to get as close as possible to him, to wrap yourself around him. A needy, pitiful thing. 

“Poor thing,” he sighs, pulling away from your mouth and laughing when your lips chase after him. Standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him again and kiss, hands tugging him down by the back of his neck. “So horny that you nearly made me crash the fuckin’ car.”

“Couldn’t wait,” you whine, peppering his neck with kisses when he draws up to his full height, nearly dizzy now. “Sorrysorrysorry, please—please fuck me, Simon—please—”

“Not here, bird—want you to see how desperate you look.”

He drags you over to the other side of the bathroom and makes you stand on his boots and face the mirror covered in lipstick and sharpie and god knows what else—“c’mon, up you get”—while he rucks up your dress. The stark contrast between the two of you in the mirror makes you baulk. Like you haven’t slept with him before and lived to tell the tale. He’s all dark clothing and mountains for shoulders, mouth always set in a flat line of impatience that would make anyone else turn the other way. 

You, however, press yourself back into him. 

Rough fingers tug your panties to the side, not bothering to check if you’re wet. Assuming that you are—that you always are with him, eager to cant your hips and offer yourself up to him.

You try not to think about how your pelvis is already tilted towards him.

Simon holds your head up with a single hand under your chin, squishing your cheeks a little. “Fuckin’ hell…look at that,” he rasps, eyes almost black with lust. 

“You’re being mean,” you whine, pushing back against him and wiggling your hips. 

“Doesn’t matter how many times I give it to you—always whining for it. Cock hungry bird.”

It would hurt if you didn’t already know how much he wants you too, the deep rasp in his voice betraying an aching, insatiable hunger. An arm locks like a bar across your chest to hold you in place, his hand fitting over a breast just to have something to hold. He can tell you again and again that it’s just you, but you know that he wants it just as badly as you do. 

He reaches around to undo his pants and then you feel a familiar cock bully its way into you, a tight fit only eased by the wetness almost glistening on your inner thighs. He grunts when his cock pushes into you, the same hand reaching around to rest low on your stomach, pinkie brushing the top of your mound. 

The first thrust jostles you, forces your palms to slam down on the mirror even though the arm across your chest keeps you tight to his chest. It’s sticky under your fingers. You wince when you think of how much Purell you’ll need after this, but the thought melts away when he pulls his cock almost all the way out of you before slamming back in. 

“Yes, yes—fuck—” you gasp, staring at your reflection in the mirror. After a couple hours on the road, you’re not exactly in tiptop shape—sweaty and in need of a shower and coffee—but any timidity evaporates under Simon’s hot gaze. It eats you up. 

His jaw flexes with each thrust, eyes flitting between your tits bouncing under your dress and your face until it stays there, devouring you in a single heated look. Every time your shoes almost slip off his boots, he pulls you tighter into his chest; you couldn’t get out of his hold even if you wanted to. The thought makes the blood rush through your ears. 

“Almost need someone else jus’ to take care of you when I’m not around,” Simon growls. He gives your breast a rough squeeze, an admonishment. 

“No—no one else—” 

“Jus’ me then, pet? No one else can take care of this little cunt?”

You shake your head, maybe nod, maybe sob a bit. It’s hard to tell. The hand on your low belly grips into the flesh, holding you in place while he rails you over the sink. Impossible to look away from the man towering over you, a man you’ve let willingly bend you over and get between your thighs. You wouldn’t even if you could. He’s the summation of everything you’ve ever hoped for, packaged in the too big body of a gun for hire, riddled with nerve damage and a nasty temper. You wouldn’t trade him for anything in the world.

Your eyes slip shut.

“Tell you what,” he breathes into your ear, the burr of his stubble rubbing your neck raw. “I’ll give you somethin’ else to keep you busy.” 

Your eyes spring wide open.

He shifts his stance and drives into you with renewed vigour, muffling your sounds with a hand over your mouth. The mirror fogs up through the gaps between his fingers, the room damper and stickier now than when you entered it. Tears build in the corners of your eyes. 

When he goes quiet, you know what’s about to happen. Your toes curl in your shoes when he exhales a ragged breath, gritting his teeth when he meets your eyes again in the mirror. Something about his gaze alone makes you come, like a deep press into your soul. The fat cock stretching you out is just a bonus. 

The come down is harsh, laboured breaths panting out of you until your chest finally settles, until it feels safe enough to move. You lower one foot from on top of his boot just for Simon’s arms to constrict even more, holding you fast to his chest. He can probably feel your heartbeat against his wrist. 

“Quit squirming,” he scolds, giving you a little warning squeeze.

“‘M sweaty,” you complain.

“We’ll towel off at home,” Simon says, rolling his eyes. “Don’t bitch.”

“I’m not bitching, I’m hot—” 

He lets you carp and moan about your inner thighs being covered in beard burn and come while straightening out your dress, pulling your panties back into place. He’s quicker with himself, doesn’t even bother grabbing a paper towel to wipe himself off before shoving his cock back into his pants and zipping up. When you ask him to hand you one, the look he gives you scorches you right to the bone. 

“Wait ‘till we get home,” he says, hand on your back when he unlocks the bathroom door.

“Like you aren’t gonna do it all over again the second we get there,” you mutter.

His smirk isn’t smug, but it’s a near thing.

[neighbourscat]

𝐁𝐀𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 || 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙖𝙨 𝙫𝙖𝙣𝙨

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . love islander!nicolas vans X love islander!black!fem!reader. ||

+ synopsis. this challenge wasn’t about testing loyalty. it wasn’t sabotage. it was a permission slip. a quiet little “hey .. just for tonight, try the thing you haven’t let yourself touch.” a taste. a tease. no strings. no recoupling. just one night to see what else might fit — without consequence. “look at what’s good over here.” that’s what the challenge whispered .. nic heard it. and you felt it.

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 . .. . lowercase intended! second person reading-perspective. mature language! suggestive actions! an original challenge (late into the season) is featured within! wordcount :: 1.5k!++

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . teyana (lost tapes 2013), tory lanez ! || katrina (lost tapes 2017), tory lanez !

WHAT IF I WAS WITH YOU INSTEAD?

the challenge was simple. or it was supposed to be .. as the card read. no words. no eye contact. no speaking at all. just touch — one minute to make someone feel something. the twist? a girl could not touch the boy she had currently been coupled up with. she had to approach someone else. someone her body might react to. someone his body might want to remember ..

he was blindfolded.

ultra, quiet-comfort wireless headphones on. arms relaxed at his sides .. but fingers? fidgeting with the material of his denim jorts. his breathing already a little uneven.

you were girl number2. and ready to swoop in .. you approached slowly — barefoot, silent, nervous. one minute. that was all you had. one minute to let your touch say what words couldn’t .. your hands started extra light, barely grazing his forearms, then up over his shoulders.


 he tensed .. then exhaled. intensely. like his body recognized you before his brain did. you didn’t rush .. no way. you pressed your forehead to his — just for a breath. scratched your acrylics down his bare back, gave his biceps gentle squeezes, and paused when you felt him shiver.

your thumbs circled the base of his neck — the spot he always reached for when he was thinking too hard. you didn’t dare go further. didn’t need to. the moment was electric in its restraint. by the end, he had been leaning into you so carefully — like gravity had shifted just enough to make your body the center of it.

and when the blindfold came off and he had to rank who felt the most connected? .. he chose girl number2.

now, hours later, that connection was serious — undeniable — and soon to be tangled under soft white sheets.

you yanked back the blankets carefully and slid within .. like slipping into a pool that might just burn on contact; maybe dipping a finger into boiling water for whatever reason.

the sheets were extra cool, freshly changed and smelled of florals and laundry detergent. he had already been lying on his end of the mattress, one arm tucked under his head, shirtless, eyes focused somewhere near the ceiling fan like it was asking him questions he didn’t want to answer.

he was pretending not to notice how still you were .. and you were doing the exact same. it wasn’t weird. somehow, this actually felt pretty natural. and probably because this was a chapter you had been tiptoeing around since early in the show — but only now had the lights dimmed enough to read it out loud.

you and nic had been close from day one. bonding only over stupid stuff at first — shared snack preference, mutual ick-list, shower temperature, sleep pattern. there were late-night conversations in the dressing room, shared sunscreen in the mornings, legs accidentally brushing on the daybeds. he had always been flirty — that was just his nature — but with you, it had always stayed firmly in the friend zone, even when the chemistry flickered .. caught by the cameras too.

at this point, you knew him fairly well. you considered him a close friend. he made you laugh when your partner made you want to cry and scream. he once tied your bikini top for you without blinking. he chopped up fruit for you and served it on a sleek platter.

“are you nervous?” he asked, voice low.

the thought bubble you were drifting on popped, harsh and unwarned. with a square acrylic nail, you rubbed at your nose bridge and said: “not really.” a lie. you’re a liar.

nic huffed a soft laugh. not mocking. just .. knowing. “i am.”

that surprised you. and when you glanced sideways, nic had already been staring at (admiring and studying) your profile. “you?”

“yeah.” quiet for a moment right after. “i ..” his shoulders shrugged small, sheets underneath his back rustled. “i don’know. think i’m more scared of messin’this up than i would be with someone i wasn’t already close to.” and that landed in your chest.

because it was true. even if this was just for the night .. this wasn’t some random spark with another islander. it was riskier, it was realer. from now until whatever new challenge came next (the morning, really) .. he was your partner.

the sheets muffled beneath him even more, soft and low like a whisper. his shoulder dipped as he shifted, casting his chest in the faint silver light bleeding in from the hallway. you didn’t fully turn your body right away, but you saw his eyes .. moving, reading, wondering.

his free hand came to rest in the narrow space in between. not quite touching. palm open, relaxed. just there. close enough that you could reach for it if you wanted. he didn’t push. didn’t move it closer. didn’t so much as graze you.

but you felt the invitation humming between the inches.


nic’s brow were faintly furrowed — not out of frustration, but thought. like he was turning something over in his mind carefully. this was that kind of quiet where the room seemed to hold its breath. the kind where one could feel another was about to ask something they hadn’t let themselves say out loud.

his fingers twitched once, just barely.

“you .. did you touch anyone else .. like that tonight?” nic wasn’t accusing. he wasn’t insecure (though, he wouldn’t actually admit to being so). he was just hoping.

you shook your head; certain. “no,” sweetly. “just you.”

nic swallowed thickly. he didn’t say anything at first — he just stared at you, that familiar crease forming between his brows, like he was hearing more than your words. like he was feeling them. his gaze snapped to your mouth: “right .. okay.”

but it was not just okay.

your skin was tight with anticipation, but you couldn’t close the space. and nic wouldn’t either. all you could do was lie there .. staring at him stare at you, like there truly was a glass window drawn in between — waiting for the right amount of heat to bring it down.

“good .. it’s been, like .. eating me up inside. might’ve died if i actually shared that with someone else.” nic repositioned himself — on his backside once again, an arm folded behind his head and sunk into the pillow. and you followed suit, trying not to laugh.

still, he was trying to catch up to the fact that you chose him — with no prompt, no assignment, no pressure. “you made it hard to stay still,” he murmured suddenly. “.. so hard ..” his eyes fell shut here, remembering what once was.


 and when your pinky brushed his, he didn’t pull away. he linked it with yours. and that was it. the smallest tether. and the pinky promise of — “during the challenge,” he clarified, lips twitching with the tiniest smile. “had to dig my nails into my palms. my whole body just -“

nic cut himself off and he released another breath; deep and rough through his nose. “you’ve messed me up. i’m messed up.” a pause. “i’m so hard right now ..” without a second thought, his fingers latched around your entire hand and guided — well, he had to show you. he had to let you feel how hard you made him.

you’re just as bad .. thighs pushed tight together; the friction too poor, leaving that spot even itchier, and lightly grinding up into nothing, toes wiggling as you try to distract yourself. you couldn’t do much though, now gently massaging the huge dent of him within those basketball shorts, heat radiating through the thin fabric like it was nothing.

and he stopped your hand; fingers now curling around your wrist. not savagely, but firmly, intentional. with zero pressure applied, yet awfully possessive, he altered your body .. until your back flattened into his chest, until your spine curved to the shape of him like a perfect, unspoken fit.

nic’s arms circled low, one bracing around your stomach, the other anchoring you by your hip as he tugged you fully against his front. “holy fffuck ..” he sighed into the crook of your neck, warm breath dragging along your cocoa-scented skin, and you swore you felt him tremble.

“could get off jus’like this ..” nic muttered, faint and hoarse, his voice buried in your braids like a confession. he bucked his hips up, earning a sweet gasp from you. he moved his heavy hands from your hips to your thighs, in hopes of being even closer.

and what started from slight dry humping and nic kissing, sucking, licking at the soft skin of your neck that led to him almost cumming in his boxers, you were whispering about sucking him off but he was blushing incredibly, going absolutely insane. he was half listening, nodding and babbling back sweet nonsense.

“nic ..” and you couldn’t seem to focus on what you were supposed to be doing because now, he was jerking up even more trying to get himself to cum quicker — nails digging into your brown skin, marking crescent moons every other moment.

“hmm?” a low hum. he scooped a handful of braids aside to kiss at your already soaked neck once more. “what’s wrong ..? tell me .. please.” the same hand that flipped those braids away, slithered down and below the blankets. toying with the drawstrings of your short-shorts, nic wanted nothing more than to tear the article to bits and push himself into you; whether that be his fingers, his tongue, or his cock.

“.. tell me how you need it.”

[sanriobuny]

The Buried Truth

SerialKiller!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Psychological manipulation, blood, implied murder, gaslighting, suspense

Summary: Rafe was always intense, but love made it easy to overlook the red flags—until one night, a bloodstained secret threatens to unravel everything. Now, trapped between fear and loyalty, the reader must face the truth about the man she thought she knew.

Kildare Island used to be quiet. The kind of quiet where you could hear the waves from miles inland, and everyone knew everyone’s name.

But lately?

The silence had twisted into something sinister.

Missing persons posters flapped from telephone poles. Headlines screamed across every paper. And curfews—for teens, especially—were tighter than ever. The sheriff’s department was scrambling, trying to patch together the bloody holes left by a string of unsolved murders. The whole island was on edge. In a town this small, everyone knew someone who had turned up dead.

The latest?

Ruthie.

Her death shook your friend group. Not because she was loved—at least not by you. Ruthie had always been fake, her smiles laced with venom, especially when it came to your boyfriend, Rafe. She was jealous. Always had been. You’d even had a blow-up fight with her the day before she died.

It happened at the beach. Her group rolled up and—of course—set up right next to the Pogues. You didn’t mind at first. But deep down, you knew something would boil over.

And it did.

She tried to run over Kie and the others��actually hit a baby turtle in the process.

You snapped.

Called her self-absorbed. Reckless. Told her karma would catch up with her. You hadn’t meant death. Just... consequences. But the timing? It was bad. Now, your friends avoided your eyes like you were contagious. Like maybe—just maybe—you knew more than you let on.

Like maybe you had something to do with it.

That’s when you spotted a familiar van approaching.

Not John B behind the wheel—but his blonde-haired friend. The one Rafe definitely didn’t like.

JJ Maybank.

The van slowed beside you, tires crunching against the dirt shoulder. The window rolled down.

“Hey, you need a ride? It’s getting late,” JJ said, casual as ever, one arm hooked over the wheel.

The offer was innocent enough—but it put you in a weird spot.

Rafe would lose it if he knew you’d gotten into a car with JJ Maybank. But what would make him madder—JJ giving you a ride, or you walking home alone while there was a killer still on the loose?

You glanced at JJ, meeting his eyes under the fading light.

“You sure you’re not the murderer running around town?” you joked, trying to mask your nerves.

He smirked. “As cool as that would be, I’m no murderer, ma’am.” He tipped an imaginary cap.

You laughed, unable to help it. “Okay, thanks... but only because I don’t want to get caught out here alone.”

He gestured to the passenger side. “Hop in.”

You slid in, placing your bag at your feet. The door closed with a soft thud. The van felt lived-in—worn seat cushions, a tangled phone charger, the faint scent of saltwater and cheap pine air freshener.

Weirdly cozy. Like it had stories.

As JJ pulled back onto the road, the silence settled. It wasn’t awkward—just... observant. Like he was waiting for you to speak first.

After a minute, he glanced over. “Where’s your boyfriend? Kinda surprised he let you walk home alone.”

You shrugged. “His phone must be dead. He’s been working nonstop with his dad. Lost track of time, I guess.”

JJ raised a brow but didn’t push.

“So why did you even offer me a ride?” you asked, trying to keep your tone teasing. “I thought you hated Kooks.”

He smirked again, eyes back on the road. “One, I can’t let a pretty girl like you walk home alone when there’s a literal murderer on the loose. And two, I kinda owe you—for sticking up for us at the beach. That was... cool of you.”

You smiled faintly, settling back into the seat. Outside, the sun was dipping low, streaking the sky in fiery pinks and fading golds. It cast a soft glow across JJ’s face, making his features look a little softer than usual.

“Speaking of…” he said after a beat, his voice quieter now. “Are you okay? With everything that’s happened—Ruthie and all that?”

You hesitated. Your fingers picked at the sleeve of your hoodie. You stared out the window.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “We weren’t close, but… she’s dead. And the last thing I said to her was that she’d get her karma.”

JJ’s brows lifted slightly. “Damn. That’s rough.”

You nodded. Your throat felt tight. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was mad—she tried to run you guys over, for God’s sake. But now my friends barely talk to me. They look at me like I’m some kind of psycho.”

“They’re just scared,” JJ said quietly. “People always need someone to blame. Doesn’t mean they’re right.”

“I know… it just sucks. I didn’t kill her. I just—”

Your voice cracked, and you stopped.

JJ glanced at you again, this time for longer. His gaze held steady.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re crazy,” he said, not joking this time.

You let out a breathy laugh. “Thanks, JJ. Real comforting.”

“I mean it,” he said, more serious than before. “You stood up for what was right. That takes guts. Way more than most of the people you hang out with.”

You looked over, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. No trace of sarcasm. Just... truth.

“Besides,” he added, lips twitching into a grin, “if anyone knows what it’s like to be the town’s favorite punching bag, it’s me.”

A smile broke across your face—small but genuine. “Yeah. I guess we both have a talent for getting into trouble.”

He gave a mock salute. “Professionals, really.”

The mood shifted—lighter, easier. The weight pressing down on your chest didn’t disappear, but it eased. Just enough.

“Where am I taking you?” he asked.

“Just take me to Sarah’s,” you said. “It’s easier that way.”

He nodded, eyes back on the road. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt... safe.

But just as the Cameron house came into view through the windshield, JJ asked, “What do you even see in Rafe?”

You blinked. The question hit harder than it should have.

“He’s... my boyfriend,” you said too quickly. “I love him. He’s different with me.”

JJ mock-gagged, and you rolled your eyes.

“He’s not a bad guy, JJ.”

JJ snorted. “Rafe and I have never gotten along. You know that.”

You sighed, looking down at your hands. Memories flickered—bloody knuckles, harsh words, you yelling in the middle of a fight that left everyone breathless.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually said that.”

JJ looked at you, a little surprised.

“Yeah, well... it wasn’t your fault.”

He pulled into the driveway and parked. The lights inside the house were dark. Empty. Silent.

“Thanks for driving me,” you said, reaching for the door. “I owe you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, voice soft.

You stepped out and shut the door gently behind you. The van lingered for a moment before slowly pulling away, its headlights vanishing down the street.

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

Sarah was gone—probably with John B. Wheezie’s door was closed, music faint behind it. But Rafe... wasn’t home. You checked the time. Strange. He was usually back by now.

Still, you told yourself not to overthink it. He’d be glad to see you.

Upstairs, you pulled one of his shirts from the drawer, breathing in the scent without meaning to. You stripped off your clothes and took a short, hot shower.

You were wrapping a towel around your hair when you reached for the bathroom door—and found it locked.

Your hand froze.

You jiggled the handle, confused. “Rafe?”

A pause.

“Yeah,” came his voice. Clipped. “Just—what are you doing here, baby?”

Your brows pulled together. “Did you lock this? Let me out.”

“Hold on. One sec.”

Something shifted outside the door. A footstep? A drawer? You couldn’t tell. You pressed your ear to the wood.

“You alone?” you asked.

“What? Yeah. Don’t be weird.”

“Then open the door.”

It creaked open. Slowly.

Rafe stood there, calm. Too calm.

You stepped out and looked around. Nothing out of place. His room was spotless, just like always. Too perfect.

“What were you doing?” you asked.

He offered a thin smile. “Door was stuck.”

A lie.

You felt it in your gut.

He reached out, touching your waist, letting his hand slide around your back. You didn’t resist, but your body stayed tense.

“How’d you get here?” he asked, pulling you closer.

“I finished work early,” you said. “You didn’t answer when I called.”

His smile faltered. “Phone died.”

“I didn’t want to walk alone... so I got a ride.”

“From who?”

You hesitated.

“JJ.”

The temperature in the room dropped.

His jaw tensed, just slightly. “JJ Maybank.”

You nodded. “He was driving by. It was nothing.”

“Nothing,” he echoed, voice flattening. “So you just got in with him.”

“Rafe. It was getting dark. I felt unsafe.”

His grip tightened.

“And you thought Maybank would protect you?” he asked, too soft. “You trusted him?”

You opened your mouth, but his expression stopped you.

“I’m sorry,” you said, voice smaller now. “He just dropped me off. He didn’t come inside.”

For a second, he didn’t speak. Then:

“You know I’d come for you, right?” he said, tilting your chin. “Drop everything?”

“I know.”

He studied you. Then pulled you in, arms wrapping around you, holding you close—tighter than before.

“You can’t trust people right now, baby,” he whispered into your hair. “Not with what’s going on. Someone’s out there. Someone dangerous.”

You nodded, unsure what else to do.

“Just us,” he said. “That’s all we need.”

He kissed your cheek. “I’m gonna change. Put something on. Movie night?”

You gave a faint smile and sat on the bed as he stepped into the bathroom.

The moment the door clicked shut, you exhaled sharply.

You tried to steady yourself by cleaning up your clothes. You walked to the hamper and opened the lid.

Something wet touched your fingers.

You pulled back quickly—and saw red.

Your breath caught.

Heart thudding, you reached deeper. Under the shirt, your fingers found a handle.

A knife.

A bloody knife.

You yanked your hand back like it burned, shoving the shirt over it and slamming the lid shut. The room felt like it was spinning. Cold. Silent. Wrong.

Not Rafe. It couldn’t be.

But the blood was still on your hands.

You stumbled back and sat on the edge of the bed. You reached for your phone, panic clawing at your throat. You needed to go.

Now.

The bathroom door creaked open.

“I forgot my—”

He stopped.

You didn’t turn around.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

You wiped your hand on your jeans, struggling to stay calm. “I think I’m gonna go. I’m not feeling great.” You forced yourself to stand, shoulders stiff.

His steps were silent behind you. Then—his hand landed on your shoulder.

“You don’t think I’m stupid, do you, baby?”

The gentleness in his voice made your skin crawl.

You shook your head. “No. Of course not.”

His thumb brushed your cheek. Not soft. Not rough. Just controlled.

“You’re shaking,” he noted. “Why are you shaking, huh?”

“I told you. I’m not feeling well.”

He let go and stepped back, eyes scanning the room. Then... they landed on the hamper.

Your stomach dropped.

“I was just thinking...” he said, voice light, too casual, “people are quick to assume. One day, you're friends. The next, they're whispering your name like you’re a killer.”

You didn’t move.

“That’s what happened to Ruthie. Everyone thought she was a bitch. Maybe she was. But who really knows what happened to her?”

Silence.

He took another step forward.

“I think it’s funny,” he continued, smile turning cold, “how people think the truth’s just sitting there—waiting to be found. Like they can dig through someone’s stuff and just know.”

You felt your pulse pounding in your ears.

“I didn’t look through your stuff,” you said. Weak. Transparent.

He tilted his head. “Didn’t say you did.”

Then his smile faded.

“But you did… didn’t you?”

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.

He stepped closer.

“What exactly did you see?”

You swallowed. “I—I don’t know. It could’ve been anything. Maybe it wasn’t even—”

“A knife?” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Covered in blood?”

You froze.

He leaned in, his breath brushing your cheek.

“You were snooping,” he whispered. “Now you don’t know what to do with what you found.”

He pulled back, eyes locking onto yours.

“But I can help you with that.”

Then, gently—too gently—he touched your cheek again.

“Because if you really love me… you’ll understand…”

A pause.

“Some things are better left buried.”

And he kissed your forehead.

Soft. Chilling.

Authors note: ohhh, my god. I got this idea from my dreams. I've been writing this one for a few days trying to get it just right, but I love how it turned out 🥰

[shall-we-die]

╔‌‌‌‌•°💍༄•°══════════•⊰•°༄༚

{Darling}

Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling's will?

╞•⊰❖⊱•═══•༻⚙༺•═══•⊰❖⊱•╡

↬[Fandom]•⊰ {Obey me!}࿐

↬[Warnings]•⊰ {Yandere behaviors}࿐

☰[Main list]•⊰ ────┈┈{0079}┈─╮

╭──────┈┈┈┈┈───────╯

╰┈➤Likes/Reblogs are appreciated࿐

╚•°💍༄•°══════════•⊰•°༄༚‌‌‌

We're talking about demons/ an angle who has no fear doing sins/ +weird wizard ♡ of course they won't give a fuck about what you really want~

↬|Lucifer|

Lucifer wouldn’t see you as a separate person from him, so no, he feels he’d wouldn’t think he’d be doing anything ‘against your will’. He’d be doing what he wants- and you’d just have to go along with it. Even if you protested, you’re just a powerless little human. There’s really no choice to be considered here.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Mammon|

As a yandere, Mammon would do anything against MC’s will if it served his need to control them and keep them dependent on him. This could include restricting their freedoms, such as limiting their social interactions and activities. He would also control how MC dresses, where they go, and what they do, making sure everything is according to his wishes. Mammon would also be willing to use emotional manipulation and guilt-tripping to make MC compliant, using their feelings for him to his advantage.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Leviathan|

Levi would have no qualms about acting against MC's will if it meant keeping them to himself. he might resort to manipulation, emotional abuse, or even physical force to enforce his will and make sure MC doesn't leave him. he would prioritize his possessive desires over MC's boundaries and autonomy, not caring about the consequences of his actions so long as it furthered their relationship.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Satan|

Satan would have no qualms about doing anything against MC's will if he believes it's for their own good or for the betterment of their relationship. He may justify his actions by convincing himself that MC is too young, naive, or unwise to make their own decisions, and that he knows what's best for them. He might also try to Gaslight MC into believing that their resistance is irrational and that they need him to guide and control them.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Asmodeus|

Oh yeah, definitely. Asmodeus would have no problem doing anything against MC's will, whether it's making decisions for them, telling them what to do and not do, or physically forcing them into compliance if he can't make them do it through manipulation. He has no respect for MC's boundaries or autonomy, and would gladly bend them to his will if it makes them stay with him and be his forever.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Beelzebub|

Beelzebub would hesitate (a little) to do things against the MC's will but if he feels it's necessary to maintain control and keep MC dependent on him, he'll do it. This could include monitoring them, limiting their freedom, isolating them from friends and family, controlling their choices and decision-making, or even forcing them into situations that are uncomfortable or unwanted. Beelzebub's main goal is to ensure MC's loyalty, devotion, and submission, and he would not care about their will or feelings if it threatens his control over them.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Belphegor|

Definitely yes. He'd do anything to make you his. He's dominant, and also possessive and jealous, so you might not like that. He'll try to do as much as he can to get his way, he might try to manipulate you into doing what he wants, or even going as far as to lock you up so you don't escape. He'll dominate you, and you won't be able to get away from his grasp, you'll be *his*.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Diavolo|

In his pursuit of MC, a yandere Diavolo might go to extremes against their will, such as stalking them, manipulating their friends and family, or even resorting to violence and intimidation to keep them close. He might also try to isolate them from others and control their actions, all in the name of love and possession. A yandere Diavolo might go as far as attempting to harm or even kill anyone who gets in the way of their relationship with MC. They might also use guilt tripping, gaslighting, and other manipulation tactics to slowly but surely isolate MC from their loved ones and make them completely dependent on only them. As a result, MC might find themselves cut off from the world, feeling trapped and powerless within Diavolo's obsessive, possessive grip.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Barbatos|

Absolutely. A yandere like Barbatos cares more about his own desires and wants, rather than your own. He would not hesitate to manipulate you with lies and sweet words to make you submit to him. He may also use force or threats to get you to comply with his demands. He would also try to isolate you from others, whether it's friends, family, or anyone who could help you escape from him. He'll do whatever it takes to keep you all to himself, even if it means going against your own will.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Simeon|

Yes... a yandere is willing to go to extreme lengths to control their love interest. Aside from abduction, he would be willing to manipulate, manipulate, or even harm them if it means keeping them under his control and preventing them from leaving or even wanting to have a life separate from him. He may try to isolate them from their friends and family, make them quit their hobbies and jobs, and even make them question their own beliefs and desires. He will stop at nothing to make them completely dependent on him and mold them into the person he wants them to be. You think he's an angel. An angel who whispers sweet things in your ear, and surely you'll do anything he wants you to do.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Solomon|

Solomon would be willing to do anything against MC's will if he believes it will make them belong only to him. This could include emotional manipulation, threats, blackmail, or even outright force. He may also try to gaslight them into believing that their thoughts and feelings are wrong, and that his actions are for their own good or for their protection. Solomon's main goal would be to maintain total control over MC, even at the cost of them autonomy and well-being.

||[🄳arling]||

━●━━━━━━────────

     ⇆ㅤㅤ◁🄲ㅤㅤ❚❚ㅤㅤ🄴▷ㅤㅤ↻

[vigilskeep]

there are so many things in veilguard that have made me go "wait what??? okay i guess i have to totally rethink the character i'm roleplaying now" that it's literally impossible to guess what thing you're referring to as The Thing That Happened. obviously extremely curious to hear what it is once you've detangled it

it’s kind of like that but it’s also less that and more... okay i should probably just say it, i’m being weird and unhelpful and i need to write it out anyway so i can think

MASSIVE SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT for a companion quest, do NOT say i didn’t warn you. also please don’t respond to this if you know more than me i am in distress but i still don’t want spoilers

so i just finished lucanis’ “a murder of crows” quest. and lucanis. first talon. for some reason. (this is the writing choice i’m ??? on. also i’m ??? on lucanis’ whole storyline, frankly. the writing was. well. like i said, we’re not unpicking that right now, i don’t want to get into it at this point, not the conversation i’m having.)

lifelong trauma of being in the crows and fighting to get someone in a talon’s position and keep them there -> the thing that gave sol all their diseases and made them, to be frank, fairly suicidal

viago: ultimately can handle it without them, especially with teia’s backing.

lucanis: CANNOT handle it without them. holy fuck. for like twelve hundred different reasons, unthinkable, completely laughable, that he can handle this. who is going to protect him. the only reason this could be better at keeping sol mentally stable than watching viago’s back is that they will never feel purposeless or need to go looking for an adrenaline rush, because forget crows, an ambitious blackbird could eat that man alive. he can’t scheme. he can’t even SCHEME and the very fact that he trusts sol DE RIVA demonstrates this. sol is a crow! from another house! does he have no memory at all of the fact that his own parents died in crow infighting? sol could have been playing him this whole time, it wouldn’t have even been hard, and if they were that kind of person, then right now the first talon’s house would have just fallen directly in their hands like a gift from the maker, and they can’t even say a part of themself they can’t shut off isn’t thinking about it that way! how is sol supposed to keep someone like that alive?

you see what it’s like trying to sleep while sol is having this discussion in my mind.

ahem. anyway. pathways for sol’s life assuming they indeed make it through the game:

becoming lucanis’ guard dog the way they were for viago, which (even if they could mentally handle that, which they can’t. or can they??) means switching house loyalties which would surely destroy them eventually -> bad

somehow trying to persuade lucanis to give this up, as if that wouldn’t be throwing house dellamorte completely to the dogs, which at least sol can’t imagine any crow is capable of, let alone someone so dedicated to clinging to what remains of his family that he couldn’t even kill a traitor -> bad

going ahead and leaving the crows, but sol now has to leave BOTH viago and lucanis behind and also lucanis is going to die in there because they left him to do this alone -> bad

solution: sol is back on their original “if a blighted dragon eats me by the end of this, i don’t have to experience consequences” train

and maybe they’re right and i should not worry about this because i’m painfully aware it’s VERY bold to start deciding what happens after the game at this point, when they might still get trapped in the fade or turned into paste or something. and admittedly they did know and dread the possibilities from the first moment they felt something for lucanis, which was why they so wanted it to be anyone else, because anyone else in that lighthouse could have given them a different world, and he is the one who regardless of his best or worst intentions can only tie them tighter to a burning building. and SURE, i see the solas/mythal breakup parallels of sol still leaving, i’m looking at them, that doesn’t mean i have to LIKE them

he hasn’t even kissed them. they’re doing all of this unkissed. lucanis dellamorte when i get you

again please absolutely do not respond to any of this with even the vaguest of hints if you know more about the rest of the game than me 🙏 it’s probably best if no-one responds to this at all lmao i am just thinking out loud. you can reply with a “that’s rough buddy”. for sol

[bakibakideemon]

Ok so someone sent me this post. And like what?!

Like how do I explain that this is not what friendships are or how they work. While yes they had every right to leave (actually FX didn’t leave, XL literally told him to leave).

I’d agree to this if they said MQ and FX had every right to leave but XL has every right to feel betrayed.

Like the story is more than one situation… that’s what the book is about. The actions which are a culmination of thousands of others and its consequences. And how characters respond to these consequences.

The three were “friends” especially in XLs eyes. That’s the very reason he doesn’t blame either of them. This is so… Had every“right.” 🙄 If that’s what you think about friendships then I’ve got some news for you…

MQ was worried about his mother and saw the reality for what it was (their homelessness, their hunger etc). Ascending helped him help both his families (his mother and XL/FX). Also, at the end of the day what happened at the hill was betrayal (you can justify it all you like) MQ knew it too (I wonder if he actually discussed his thoughts with FQ or XL about ascending himself) and hence his immediate reaction. But XL was too far gone at that point (that’s one thing you wouldn’t expect your friend to do at that point).

But it was such a horrible time for all of them so afterwards (years later) even XL understood it was just awful circumstances so he never held it against MQ. AND THAT IS THE POINT.

Also, if I leave my friend during their worst time l (no matter what I’m going through) yes I’m not being a good friend. Like wise if I can’t understand my friends actions in that circumstance then I’m not being a good friend either. THAT IS THE POINT.

I wonder id MQ ever discussed with FX about his plan (may be he did because Id like to think so especially considering FX was accepting the food from MQ. On that note don’t forget after a while XL ended up eating the food MQ gave despite initially not wanting it. THIS IS THE BIGGEST HINT THAT THINGS ARE NOT SIMPLE BLACK AND WHITE). Hence yes, XL did feel betrayed after the hill. Whether MQs actions right/ wrong is irrelevant. Whether XLs reaction (right or wrong) to the betrayal (I think Jun Wu also made an appearance then and this was the beginning of XLs mental health crisis as well) is again Irrelevant. Especially 800 years later. SO GETTING HUNG UP ON THIS IS SOOO D*MB.

Which is why I get annoyed at MQs behavior in the first book (The weird smiles/ wanting to feel vindicated/ superior). Keyword “get annoyed” doesn’t mean I can’t understand why he’s reacting as such or rather it’s coming off as such (the latter part is what I like to believe). He’s still stuck in their early dynamics that he’s of a lower status than XL and FX. Honestly, he needed to realize that XL always considered him a friend. (Something he didn’t realize until the very end 800 years later). This comes from him still grappling with his own status while a human. He can’t even understand how XL would consider him a friend… Like he was shocked. All his actions in the first book point towards MQ believing XL thinks he (XL) is better than MQ bro is too stuck in his head (yes that come off as mean/ rude af. There is no denying at at all).

THESE THINGS DONT HAPPEN IN A VACCUM.

FX was more about blind loyalty. That he couldn’t see (for that part neither could XL) the reality of the situation that MQ did. Honestly FX needed to tone down his judgements towards MQ (guess who was cleaning and cooking and managing their finances even after their kingdom fell? MQ). No matter how right he was, he chose the worst way to say it. It was getting on my nerves as well. (MQ way better than me I’d have smacked FX. Having said that MQ was rude as well). This is something both XL and FX realize after MQ is gone.

I don’t think FX would have left unless XL forced him to. But he needed that to see a different perspective outside XL. Likewise (the in case of XL he too realized he’d been very selfish as well)

XL, for that matter, let MQ go. He understood where the other was coming from. Period. He was betrayed at the hill (+ he was scared being abandoned). Not to mention the whole trying to steal arc… they were all desperate. And poor guy. Someone was playing a chess game-cum-roulette against him life without his knowledge. These people (you cannot seriously believe Jun Wu did not set up FX/ MQ ascending) were specifically put in the worst circumstances possible, repeatedly. One after the other…

But guess what? Despite everything MQ and FX still helped XL once they found him 800 years ago (no matter in disguise). XL recognized them after all this time no matter that they were clones. The trio made up in the end because they were friends. THATS THE POINT. THINGS WERE UNFORTUNATE AND THEY HAD TO SEPARATE BUT THEY DIDNT STOP BEING FRIENDS DESPITE EVERYTHING…

So if someone says XL was right or FX was right or MQ was right… neither of them was. There is no wrong or right. There is no saying one was more justified than other…

[weirdestbooks]

What Have They Done to You (Wattpad | Ao3)

Accompanying Oneshot to The Consequence of Loyalty

Philippines was terrified when Japan said she was going to take him to see Kentucky. He was terrified because he knew her hatred for Americans and knew that if she was willingly letting him see Kentucky, something…she wanted something from Philippines, wanted him to do something.

And he didn't have the choice to say no.

"The state is unstable, so try your best to stay away. He seems convinced you're on his side, so you being there might make him more cooperative," Japan said as she led Philippines through Fort Santiago, a fort that had become a home for death, suffering, and untold pain.

The puppet's control kept Philippines' face blank as he walked through the halls, pain moans echoing through them.

It was horrific what Japan was doing to his people while calling herself just. It was horrific that Kentucky was here because it could only mean it was in pain, that Japan was torturing him, and the thought of that was too much for Philippines to bear.

Japan led Philippines deeper and deeper into the fort-turned-prison until she reached a door guarded by two of her soldiers. Japan opened the door.

"Good morning, Kentucky. I see you didn't clean up for your guest. What a shame," Japan said, her words filling Philippines with anger.

How dare she mock Kentucky, mock him after trapping him in here, taking away what little freedoms he had as a prisoner of war, and mocking Kentucky for the suffering she caused.

Philippines was so angry, but he couldn't do anything, as Japan gestured for him to enter the room. The puppet obeyed its master, and Philippines knew that if he had control over his body, his mouth would have dropped open in shock and horror.

Kentucky was looking at him with his head held strong as if he were trying his best to look brave despite the situation.

It didn't stop him from looking like shit.

He was mostly naked, only a pair of shorts on, revealing bruises covering almost every inch of his body. There were burn scars there, too, some looking like cigarettes had been put out on him.

His face and body were gaunt—he was skin stretched over a skeleton, every rib able to be counted, his eyes sunken and hollow. Thick shackles connected his ankles to the wall, the skin around them rubbed raw, similar scars on his wrists.

Surrounding him was a worse sight than Kentucky himself. Blood and bile, and vomit, and excrement, it was clear Kentucky had been rotting in this place since Philippines revealed his location.

The entire place stunk of death and misery.

Kentucky's brave act seemed to crumble in a second, changing to something scared and vulnerable.

"Kentucky, I'm so sorry, I didn't want to." Philippines mentally pleaded as if his brother could hear him. "I'm so sorry."

What had Japan done to him? What was the point of this?

"Hey, Phil," Kentucky said, his voice sounding as terrible as he looked, raspy as if he had been screaming as if he hadn't had anything to drink, and quiet too, as if it took so much out of him to speak.

Philippines felt the puppet twist his face into something but ignored it, trying to drink in this image of his brother.

Philippines hated seeing him this way, but he also knew, especially from how he looked now, that Japan might kill him, whether on purpose or on accident, and the knowledge of what happened needed to be preserved.

For America. For Kentucky's family and for his people. And for whoever would come to take his place.

"You have no right to call him that," Japan said. Philippines wanted to scream and cry and rip Japan apart with his bare hands.

Kentucky had every right to call him Phil. Kentucky had been given plenty of chances to leave. He stayed with Philippines, indirectly choosing to be tortured rather than to leave Philippines behind.

He had more than earned the right.

Kentucky locked eyes with Philippines and smiled, as if he were trying to comfort Philippines after having that done to him.

"Why bring him here, then?" Kentucky asked. Japan smiled.

"Well, I wanted to show my—" Japan cleared her throat, and anger burned in Philippines' chest, "I wanted to reassure Phil that he was safe and that the American threat was contained."

Philippines would have thought it was bullshit had he not learned how delusion Japan really was.

But the puppet nodded as if Japan's words were true, as if they held any semblance of logic or fact.

"I hope you're okay, Phil," Kentucky said, his sunken, hollow eyes seeming staring at Philippines, not at his body, not at the puppet, but seemingly at Philippines himself.

"Kentucky, worry about yourself. She's hurting me, but she's torturing you," Philippines, wishing he could say the words out loud, give Kentucky the same words of comfort he was trying to give Philippines.

Kentucky had been tortured for months at this point, and he was still trying to comfort Philippines.

What had he done to earn this kind of loyalty?

"What did I just say?" Japan snapped in anger, but Kentucky didn't seem to be fazed, as if, despite his broken body, a different kind of strength had filled him.

"Would you rather me wish him harm?" Kentucky asked. Japan turned to Philippines.

"Don't worry. He is only trying to intimidate you," Japan said, and if Philippines could have given her a disbelieving look, he would have, "But he gives in easily."

With those ominous words, Japan turned back to Kentucky.

"You are a fool. And here I was, thinking you were getting better. I suppose that's my fault to think Americans can change. But I know you'll break," Japan said, and Philippines' heart sank, and she was handed a rod by the guards, and Kentucky's courage crumbled as he began to shake, sunken eyes wide with fear.

As the first blows began to fall, bruising skin and bones, Philippines wished he could close his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the ghastly sight.

Even if he could have, it wouldn't have blocked the screams.

[weirdestcountryhumans]

What do you mean by "romantic partners" in consequences of loyalty for Japan and Philippines, why does Japan like Philippines?

Let's get this out of the way. Philippines is AroAce and holds no romantic feelings for the Japanese Empire.

However, JE sees things differently. As said before, JE deals with constant racism and pressure to be a goddess/perfect country, as well as sexism. To JE, she is supposed to be the perfect Japenese woman. To achieve that, she needs children and a husband.

The children thing is solved by her being an empire. She has plenty of colonies. However, it is hard to have a husband as a countryhuman. Unless, of course, it is a countryhuman that your nation has close ties with (ie Kingdom of Portugal and England).

JE had feelings for Philippines, but her crumbling mental health and Philippines being her puppet state led to her forcing Philippines into her idealized romantic relationship.

IT IS COMPLETELY NON-CONSENTUAL ON PHILIPPINES PART!

So while that "relationship" is part of the background in The Consequence of Loyalty, it is the main thing that Philippines is dealing with during martial law/the puppet state and why JE is so defensive over "her husband"

[ckret2]

Why do you ship billford? i want to hear all ur handcanons and reasons hehehe

ALL of them? My friend I do not think you comprehend the magnitude of the task you have requested. I can tell you some of them.

Here's a post I already wrote listing why I like them, and here's a post about what Ford thinks about Bill, and I just made a post about what Bill thinks about Ford because I've had it typed up on discord for ages and decided it needs its own post.

So, some headcanons:

⭐️ While most people who ship it headcanon that they had a romantic relationship of some kind pre-betrayal, my default headcanon is that they DIDN'T have a relationship—mainly because I enjoy making Bill, specifically, miserable, and I like headcanoning that Ford violently lost interest in Bill at the EXACT moment Bill developed a sincere interest in Ford.

Meaning that Bill "LOOKS LIKE MR. BRAINIAC FINALLY GOT SMART" Cipher destroyed his own chances five seconds before going "no no wait I actually want to keep this one," and that's SO funny. I made a graph!

⭐️ From Lost Legends we know that Ford used to date a siren. In the original Greek mythology, sirens didn't woo sailors by singing prettily; sirens offered knowledge about distant and future events. Sailors wrecked their ship upon the sirens' shores and starved to death at their feet just to listen to them sing about the secrets of the universe.

What I'm saying is: Ford has a type.

⭐️ This is a mutual monsterfucker 4 monsterfucker relationship. They look at each other and go "wow you're such a weird-looking alien" and they're attracted to each other BECAUSE of that, not in spite of that. I don't want any of this "oh how could I be drawn to something so strange..." shame out of Ford, as far as I'm concerned his first crush was Mothra, a floating triangle is nothing.

⭐️ Consequently, this means that if you take an AU where Bill gets stuffed in a human body, rather than making things easier, it ironically means that any PHYSICAL attraction Ford had for Bill instantly evaporates. A humanized Bill could be the sexiest damn thing in the room and everyone else in the vicinity is going 🥵💦 but Ford's going 😐. If they hook up with Bill in a human body it's in spite of Bill's current appearance and it's because Ford knows that, underneath the body, Bill's still Bill. You could hand Ford a perfect Tumblr Sexyman supermodel and he'll be fantasizing about a three-tiered pyramid with more teeth than a shark.

⭐️ Bill WILL play Dungeons Dungeons & More Dungeons with Ford, voluntarily, for fun. However he always wants to DM and he's brutal.

⭐️ I think that the majority of the Henchmaniacs used to be like Ford: young, naive, USEFUL aliens that Bill was trying to manipulate into getting access to their universes, probably by trying to get THEM to build portals. None succeeded, but they got far enough along that either they chose to join Bill, they were forced to flee their dimension and join Bill—or, due to Bill, their home no longer existed, so they might as well join him. I think that every one of them was once his ✨favorite✨ person. I think he sealed the deal in winning their friendship & loyalty with a calculated, scripted display of vulnerability—the exact same one he tried to use on Ford: I liberated my constricting, flat world; I want to liberate yours...

He may have dated some of them, too, especially right after they joined. Because he wouldn't have recruited them unless he thought they were JUST ♥ LIKE ♥ HIM. They're special, they're important...

... and after a few years, Bill realizes they're not that much like him after all and loses interest, and they sink down into the rank-and-file with the rest of the Henchmaniacs. The Henchmaniacs are FULL of people who were once Bill's Favorite—his best friends, his confidants, his lovers—and most of them are desperate to catch his eye and be that important to him again. They gave everything they had to Bill only for Bill to get bored.

So when he shows off the human who enabled Weirdmageddon and invites him to join the gang, they know EXACTLY what they're looking at: Bill's newest favorite. They know how this goes, he'll be gaga over this earthling for the next 5 to 500 years and then Ford will be just another regular Henchmaniac. The fact that Ford doesn't seem eager to join is no problem. Ford isn't the only soon-to-be Henchmaniac whose world Bill ended; some of them had to be talked around into joining, too.

⭐️ I think that, if you took Bill with his canon personality, didn't give him any character development, and then made him GENUINELY fall in love with Ford, and had him SINCERELY try his hardest to be a good, loving, healthy partner... he would still be toxic as hell for Ford.

Part of what draws Bill to Ford is that he sees SO much of himself in Ford—some accurate, some just projection. (You who crave power and fame and fortune like I do; you who also hunger to be all-knowing; you who would also sacrifice your world and your family and everyone you know and love to get what you want; you with an ego the size of the moon, oh, you deserve an ego the size of a star.) And so he assumes that what Ford really wants is what BILL would want in Ford's shoes.

And if Bill was Ford, what he'd want is to REALLY be the man who changed the world. Bill thinks he's fulfilling all Ford's wildest dreams if he gives that to him. Naming Ford the orchestrator of Weirdmageddon is the most generous gift Bill could ever offer.

Even if Bill is Really Really Trying and accepts that okay Ford doesn't want his world invaded: his idea of showing Ford love will be pulling the strings to get Ford fame & fortune. Teach him secrets of the universe that he can publish in a dozen groundbreaking scientific papers, arrange meetings with politicians and celebrities, get him a Nobel, get him an Oscar-winning bio pic, get him a billion dollars, get him EVERYTHING Ford's ever imagined as a marker of success and then double it.

When Bill's manipulating Ford, he offers praise and approval in little drops periodically leaking from the faucet, to keep Ford thirsty for more. When Bill's LOVING Ford, he just breaks the fire hydrant and lets it flood the street.

But the thing is, that's not good for Ford. That'll never make him truly happy. Ford's only ever learned how to measure his success by external markers, but the more external markers he collects the more he'll feel like he hasn't Made It yet. It's even possible that knowing Bill's helped him get this far will make him feel like he hasn't really EARNED it. He could have the whole world handed to him and he'll feel just as dissatisfied as he was on the day he first summoned Bill.

And Bill, even if he's trying his HARDEST to do this right, wouldn't be able to understand why this isn't working. A trillion years old and the only way he knows how to show love (or to receive love) is by showering someone in praise and gifts and favors. If that doesn't work, he doesn't know what's left.

[edgeray]

Hi there!

I just finish to read the rules for Arlecchino request, and I saw no specific illness/disease, so I will try to make my situation for everyone:

I have horrible knee pain to the point I'm close to faint because of it sometimes.

But to put it more accessible to everyone what about that:

Reader hurt themself during a mission but it was an intern injury, they hide it but Arlecchino noticed how they start walking weird and many other sign.. until Reader faint from the pain? How will Arlecchino react and what would she do?

Sorry if it disobey the rules and for any grammar mistake since English is not my first language ^^ (and I'm writing this while it's 12 am where I'm from ;/ )

Thank you if you are making this request, if not I still thank you for reading it until the end :)

I Am Fine in Your Arms

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Hi, there anon! If you choose to request anon again, give yourself a name/emoji 🫶! I really appreciate you pertaining to my rules; not only do I want to make my x Reader's accessible to as many people, but I also don't want to misrepresent anyone or their experiences with that illness/condition especially since I myself most likely won't have them, so thanks for the consideration. I'm assuming by ‘intern injury’ you mean ‘internal injury,’ so that's what I'm writing based off. You're not breaking any of my rules but your concern is appreciated! Don't worry about it though. Your English is good, especially since it's not your first language :). Little bit rushed because I am tired and ti's 12AM. Thank you for your request! Content warnings / info - reader goes by ‘mother’ but gn! reader, semi-graphic details about injury, this weirdly had actual plot for some reason, 1.5k words

Although the vast majority of your duties was primarily serving the House of the Hearth and the Fourth Harbinger, as a member of the Fatui, it was mandatory for the Fatui to ensure you still held loyalties to the Tsaritsa. Typically, proof of your fidelity was through completing the occasional reconnaissance mission assigned to you every couple of months though this time you were given a different type of operation: direct action, specifically, assassination. 

Assassination wasn't necessarily your forte, but it was doable. In a few weeks, you'd stop scrubbing your hands incessantly in hopes of washing away the stained blood, and you would stop receiving dreams painted in red. At least, with reconnaissance, blood and violence could be avoided. Why you were assigned this particular assassination mission when there were much more suitable candidates, you could only assume. You had an inkling it had to do with some of the other Harbingers’ grudges and suspicions of your husband, and perhaps the chink in the Knave's impenetrable armor  would be you. Failure in this mission could quickly spiral into considerable consequences for you and Arlecchino, regardless if the designation was influenced by more untrustworthy Harbingers, so you couldn't afford to fail this anyways–not with how high profile this target was. 

You return to the House of the Hearth, splatters of blood still visible on your appearance despite your best attempts of cleaning up. At your arrival, some of the children rush to greet you, only to pause as they take in your exhausated form. You give them a weak smile, bending down and extending your arms to accept their eager embraces.

“M-mother!” the children exclaim as they swarm around you, their curious and anxious minds surely brimming with many questions. You hadn't told any of the children where you've gone to for the past few days, believing that there was no need to stir up such worries when the mission was going expectedly. You were wrong, however; no mission like the one they had given you should have been done alone, and yet the only one you could depend on was yourself and your vision. It was undeniably a test for you, and you had only scraped by with your life and the mission's success. Now, all you wanted to do was collapse in bed and hibernate for several weeks, your head filled with a dense fog and senses dulling.  

“Mother, there's blood on–” Barely able to hear the statement, you shake your head, dismissing the little girl's distress. “Don't worry, dear… it's not mine.”

With some effort, you pull away from the children and you hobble your way towards the living commons, your bruised ribs impelling pained grunts from you. 

“Someone…” you pant, placing your hand over your forehead. Leaning against the nearest wall, you shut your eyes, breathing in deeply as an attempt to relieve the ache. “Someone go get your Father.” 

Multiple feet scurry away after your command, but the remaining children around you overwhelm you with their burning questions of what they can do to help, what did you need, whether or not you needed medicine, and much more that you couldn't bother processing.  Gently, you push past them, making your way to you and Arlecchino's shared bedroom. 

“I'm sorry, children, I just need to lay down in private for a little bit, okay? Then I promise that I will be up soon, and we can make cookies. How does that sound?” You say to them in an effort to quell their anxiety and it works for the younger children. The older ones, however, you can tell they still carry some distress but they nod along for your sake.

Such good children. 

You enter your bedroom and shut the door, immediately peeling away your clothes caked in blood, not even bothering to go into your adjacent bathroom. After chucking the articles in the direction of the laundry basket, you dig through the wardrobe for your much more prefered uniform, the one you wore as ‘Mother.’ By that time, the door clicks, and your husband enters.

Arlecchino wastes no time in appearing by your side, her blackened hands wrapped around your hips, and guiding you to sit on the edge of the bed. You hoped that you were able to hide your wince in time when she touched you. You know your husband far too well to know that, despite her stoic expression, she is just as worried for you, if not more, than your children. There's that small knit in her brows, and her lips are curled the slightest bit more. She had always been fiercely protective of you. 

“My love, there's blood–” she starts, but you cut her off with a chuckle. “I know, one of the children already pointed it out.”

Then, your tone hardens. There's no need to wait to let her know. “I need to tell you something.”

“You should rest.”

You shake your head. “This comes first, Arlecchino.” 

“You just came back.” 

“Peruere,” you enunciate, quickly silencing the Knave. “I am fine,” you assure her with a stern tone but fond eyes. You let out a defeated huff, resorting to wrapping your arms around her and leaning your head against her shoulder to ease her and to conceal your pained expression as your body protested the movement. 

Remaining in that position, you brief her on your mission and every single detail to it. From the process of researching and finding the opportune time to, to the actual execution of the assassinatin, which proved to be much more complicated and difficult than you were able to account for. This was due to the lack of information given to you once you were assigned. With the absence of partners and the omittance of crucial details, it is, undoubtedly, an attempt to sabotage you and cause you to fail. The two of you discussed what to do, going forward in cases like this, as well as potential suspects, their motives, and wouldbe gains. With each growing minute, Arlecchino held you tighter and you leaned in closer. 

After the conversation finished, your husband quietly held you, without uttering another sound, for around half-an-hour, the two of you indulging in one another's company. You pull away with a kiss to her forehead.

“I promised the kids I would make cookies with them. Would you like some?” 

Arlecchino knows better than to say no. She gives you a curt nod. You hum with acknowledgement to her answer, standing up from sitting on the bed. Almost instantaneously, the moment you stabilize yourself on your feet, your vision grows black and an abrupt throbbing comes to your head. You stumble forward, but catch yourself. 

“Love–”

“I'm fine. Just stood up too fast,” you gruff, staggering your way towards the door but the limp is far too obvious. You only make it a few steps before you stumble over again, nearly hitting the floor if it weren't for Arlecchino’s quick reflexes. Stabbing pain surrounds you, and paired with your fatigued state, you no longer have the energy to ignore the agony. She cradles you in her arms and you glance up at her. Your sight swims, and her appearance keeps distorting before you. Clinging onto consciousness seems to be a losing battle. 

“The cookies…”

“Forget about the cookies. You said you were fine,” Arlecchino scolded through gritted teeth, with some frustration and anger in her voice. Placing her arm underneath your back and underneath your legs, she carries you bridal-style, already rushing towards the medical bay. 

“Stay awake for me. Stay awake,” it is a harsh demand, but you know it is nothing more than a desperate plea. Your eyelids droop and you close your eyes.

Arlecchino lets out an expletive under her breath, quickening her pace as she barges into the room. The specialized doctor for the House of the Hearth is startled, but the Harbinger's intense glower tells the doctor all she needs to know. 

“Find out what is wrong with her, and fix it. Now,” the Harbinger orders, and the doctor goes into work immediately once your body is placed on the bed. 

The Knave soundlessly watches the doctor's each and every action, refusing to budge by your side. Although she knows that medical treatment is not her expertise, Arlecchino cannot help but critique her doctor in her thoughts. Not fast enough, not effective enough, not enough for her darling who could be experiencing unbearable pain now.

The doctor works until she assures the Harbinger that everything that could be done is, and that you will wake in the following morning. Arlecchino wordlessly thanks the doctor but her hand that clasps yours doesn't move for even one movement. Eventually, night falls. Climbing into the small bed, she tenderly wraps her arms around you, unable to be pulled apart from you until she knows your safety is guaranteed. Underneath her skin, seething rage boils for the coworkers who try to deprive her of her authority and power, but most of all, for causing you in this state.

The next morning, Arlecchino's eyes flutter open when she feels the warm body next to her stir. She awakens to your soft smile.

“I said I was fine, didn't I?” You greet her with a twinkle in your eyes. 

Arlecchino's heart swells.

[vethbrenatto]

Idk if you’d be interested but I just finished watching Crispy’s Tavern’s latest video on the ending of C3 and I thought it was a really good introspection on where he thought the ending failed and why!

thank you for the rec, it was a good watch! (linking here for people who are also interested)

there are 3 points I particularly agree with:

the treatment/exploration of the gods' nature feeling like a retcon. while the argument can be made that we just didn't fully grasp the gods' true nature prior to c3, so much of their treatment just does feel like a walkback of c1/c2. the video makes a great point of even TLOVM "retconning" sarenrae's attitude towards pike. this isn't necessarily a fundamentally bad thing, just something that makes it very hard for longtime fans/watchers of every campaign to connect with. of which i am one of many.

the consequences, particularly towards divine casters. i think the fact that the gods rebirth has no effect on divine magic is, uh, wild. but more than that, that there seem to be little social consequences. religion is one of the most divisive things ever. EVER. the fact that there are no immediate consequences for killing the gods (even if they are reborn) feels so unrealistic. i think it also feels weird to think about the divine casters specifically in the main parties. like what about pike? caduceus? there is no world where the c1 version of pike is just chill with this, and it feels sad that apparently c3 pike is.

the story not fitting the characters. BH would have vastly benefited from having a party member with a true divine connection, as opposed to FCG's vague finding of the changebringer or braius's fickle loyalty to asmodeus. the point that this vid makes about "what have the gods done for us?" being a point strong enough to justify BH not saving them is a great one, because there are so many people outside of BH that have been directly and strongly impacted by the gods.

[jessaerys]

watching jack saint's video he just posted about the last of us and he's probably one of like three video essayist i would trust with that hornet's nest of a videogame/tv adaptation to be empathetic and have an understanding of what makes a good, compelling narrative while also critiquing the political influences in the work itself without condemning anyone who finds the work of art meaningful and ANYHOW for the most part i am very pleased with his takes. very comforting, very refreshing, very nuanced, i love you jack saint

BUT there's this section around the 27 min. mark where he says "when ellie tortures one of abby's friends for information (...) she is emulating joel in the first game, so much of the second game revolves around ellie's resentment towards joel as explored by the pain she goes through when she tries to do for joel what she knows he would've done for her. and in fairness i thought the show also flobs(?) this pretty hard with this weird obsession craig mazin has with ellie being some secret sadist who craves torture and murder (...)" and here he overlaps footage of ellie from the show (violence enjoyer) and ellie from the videogame (haunted at what she has done), says, "watch this scene, and tell me ellie is, in any way, enjoying what she's doing."

and his point is pretty well explained, right, and not even incorrect as far as my understanding about the ellie-joel relationship in the game goes: it's all about both of them learning from each other; about joel being both a loving life-changing figure towards ellie and also a bad role model, and emulating what she learned from him is what leads to the tragedy of the second game - later jack saint goes on to talk about how ellie teaches joel to open up to people and how thawing that empathy within him is also what leads to his death when he decides to save abby's life not knowing she would later come back and kill him, right, the mortifying and even deadly ordeal of human vulnerability. he says, "this is part of what complicates ellie's relationship with joel, his behaviors didn't come from some cliche sadistic dark passenger, they came from his desire to protect people. this is the point. the things we often value most in people (love and empathy and loyalty) can often lead us to doing truly depraved things out of those feelings of obligation." he goes on to say, "she loves joel, but also there are things inside of him that terrify her and make her feel like everything else is just another constructed fantasy, and it is her who pays the consequences for those parts of him he was scared to show, because through that love those parts of him become parts of her."

ANDDD it's like. well to be 100% clear he is not wrong. that is a lovely and extremely compelling storyline and character relationship, y'know i get it. BUT as someone who was first introduced to the characters via the show it drives me absolutely bonkers bananas that this is one of the most common critiques i hear of the hbo adaptation, that joel is too soft and ellie is too sadistic, that this dilutes and undermines the above ^ meeting of opposites that is at the center of the game's emotional storyline, ellie's light and joel's darkness and how they affect and stain and change each other and what it says about love and attachment and the epic highs and lows of human connection.

but i don't think changing their characters does that!! adaptations are not a zero sum game!!

like i don't know how why it's SO difficult to find compelling a version of the last of us where ellie is like joel, where she has a penchant for violence inside of her too, where their connection is born out of that recognition of the self through the other and where joel both sees himself in ellie and wants to protect her from this dark passenger (which jake saint uses derogatorily but you know what, it's actually a really helpful shorthand to explain this inherent innate viciousness some people do have! like it is a thing that happens, in real life!) while also accidentally nurturing it in her, while also accidentally triggering the tragedy of ellie abandoning herself to this bloodthirst in part 2, repeating his steps just the way he taught her, because that is how the so-often-mentioned-it's-like-a-broken-record ~cycles of violence~ that tlou revolves around happen within the structure of the nuclear family. how is that not another layer! to the Themes!

like it's such a subtle but crucial difference, right, ellie pursuing revenge because joel has tainted her with his violent ways in the game (which assumes that, had ellie and joel not crossed paths, violence would never be a choice a young ellie would make as she serves this narrative purpose of apotheosis of the innocence of youth born to a cruel world); and ellie pursuing revenge because joel has in his pursuit to protect her from the dark passenger that he is too far gone to excise from himself, ironically enabled the violence within her in this greek tragedy fashion; joel has been dead from the beginning, in trying to change his own fate via the daughter-mirror he has instead condemned her.

and i think that subtle internal difference in both of those emotional truelines is pleasure. what if instead of being afraid of the horrible things joel has done ellie sees herself validated in it? attracted to the precipice of it? doesn't that make her even more of a participatory agent in her own unraveling? doesn't that give her character much more agency and substance when it comes to the ugly thing she twists herself into?

i don't know man it drives me crazy i guess because it reminds me of the whole perfect victim approach people have to similar father-daughter dynamics wherein the dark passenger is instead sexual abuse; how people cannot possibly fathom that the victim can too be an agent in their own desecration, that the disciple-daughter can even enjoy it and ask for it, and it doesn't make them any less of a victim.

show!ellie and joel are wuthering heights, they are a vampire and a fledgling. and it's not that i don't understand the symbolism of game!ellie and it's not that i don't find it compelling i just think making her a little feral is a billion times more interesting for girls who are just like their father! because here's the thing i just SHRIMPLY don't think this would be nearly such a big fucking deal if ellie was a boy!!! if this was a story about a father-son relationship!!! i think if ellie had been an innocent bright eyed boy in the game that is later given this dark passenger in the show, people would be like ooohh so much more nuance!! so it's really hard not to see this critique as gendered!

as if this subtle twist of the knife in ellie's characterization detracts from the marrow of the story rather than simply shape ellie differently around it which is, you know, what happens with adaptations. in jack saint's defense he is busy fighting much bigger demons: male videogame players with the emotional intelligence of roughly a three year old