#trying to put into words how this series is at war with itself in some interesting ways

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (56/59)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: True friends help you pack - and help you when you're spiraling.

Warnings: a bit angsty (because girlie is scared because of the gala), but Lando to the rescue!!!

Word Count: 2.7k

series masterlist

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A/N: three chapters to go! feedback is appreciated!

You’re not sure what hell looks like, but you’re pretty confident it involves a half-zipped suitcase, a missing camera lens, and a red dress that still has the tag on it. 

The room is a disaster. Not just messy, but cataclysmic. Clothes spill from every corner like they’ve been ejected from a cannon. Shoes are scattered in a chaotic constellation across the floor – heels without partners, sneakers tangled in scarves. Your makeup bag has given up on containment, its contents strewn across the floor and your bed like war casualties. Your phone charger is tangled with your hairbrush in a twisted knot of frustration. You‘re one more wrinkle away from abandoning the entire trip and sending Charles a „sorry, I’m staying in bed forever“ text. 

And the dress – the red dress – hangs limply from the back of a chair, as if mocking you with its still-attached price tag and the elegance it demands that you’re pretty sure you don’t possess tonight.

He’s already in Maranello, of course. Two days ahead for media stuff, tux fittings, and some vague „Ferrari family obligations“ you didn’t ask too many questions about. You’d received a voice message from him earlier, soft and sleepy, his accent curling around the words like ribbon:

Miss you already. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Bring the red dress. I love you. 

You want to bring the red dress. Really. But the thought of stepping into that gala, of being on the arm of someone like Charles – with all eyes watching, all cameras poised – makes your stomach twist into itself.

You’re halfway through trying to decide wether a second pair of heels is overkill or just responsible planning when the front door opens. You don’t look up from the mess you made, simply because you texted him half an hour ago to be a good friend and come help you. 

„Packing of having a crisis?“, Lando asks, stepping over a pile of shirts. 

You just lift a hand and gesture vaguely at the battlefield you’ve created.

He steps carefully over a cascade of blouses and sidesteps a rogue mascara tube with practiced ease, holding a suspiciously bright smoothie in one hand and a calm expression in the other. He surveys the room like a pit lane strategist staring at a car wreck and sighs. „Okay. You’re not allowed to touch anything else.“

Lando puts his drink down and kneels beside the suitcase, already unfolding and refolding like it’s a pit stop challenge. You just sit there and watch him work, marveling – not for the first time – at how he can turn your absolute chaos of life into something resembling order. 

„You found my missing camera lens?“, you ask, blinking in disbelief as he holds it up. 

„It was in one of the side pockets of the camera bag.“ He looks at you. „Honestly, are you okay?“

“No,” you say plainly. “And I still have no clue what jewelry to bring that won’t clash with that dress.” You point to the red fabric draped over the chair like it’s cursed. “And Charles will look like he walked out of a Dior campaign, and I’ll be the awkward plus-one-slash-klutz, praying not to trip on a carpet and end up in Vogue for all the wrong reasons.”

„You’ll look incredible“, Lando says, casually but with more weight than the words probably deserve. „trust me. All you have to do is show up. The dress is just backup.“

You smile in spite of yourself. He always knows what to say, somehow threading the line between sarcasm and sincerity with Olympic-level grace, like he has a map of your panic and knows exactly where to land.

You lean your head back against the wall and close your eyes, echaling through your nose. You don’t want to cry, but you can feel the tension pooling in your chest, just beneath the surface. The kind that’s not really about heels and jewelry or which clutch makes the red dress. It’s about, well, everything else - the attention, the expectations, the invisible weight of standing beside someone like Charles.

„I hate how insecure this makes me“, you murmur. „I hate that I feel small around all of this. And I’m scared that I’ll feel the same way around him, even though he’s never done anything to make me feel that way.”

Lando’s still by the suitcase, rolling your necklace into a pouch like it’s made of glass. He doesn’t speak for a second, and when he finally does, his voice is soft. No jokes this time. 

„You’re not small“, he says. „You’re just going to stand in a very bright light from now on. That’s all. It makes everyone feel exposed.“

You open your eyes and turn to look at him. He’s put the necklace away and leans forward, elbows on his knees, gazing at the floor like he’s trying to find the right words underneath your clothes. „I’ve seen the spotlight mess with people“, he continues. „Even ones who seem like they were born for it. Charles … he carries it well. But that doesn’t mean that it’s easy for him either.“

You furrow your brow.“ „He never talks about how hard it can be.“ That’s not true. You remember how he told you how lonely he sometimes gets when the two of you were at his favorite spot in Monaco. But you obviously don’t tell Lando that. 

„That’s because he’s trying to protect you from it. Trust me, I know what that looks like.“

Your heart clenches a little at that, because you’ve seen – and felt – it, too. The way Charles keeps certain thoughts behind the softest smile. The way he protected you up until now, so you don’t receive the negative comments that will inevitably come when the public finds out you’re his girlfriend, no matter how kind you actually are. 

„I just – I don’t want to disappoint him“, you admit quietly. „Not tonight.“

Lando shifts closer and bumps your shoulder with his. „You couldn’t if you tried.“

You glance sideways at him. „You sure?“

„I’d bet my McLaren on it“, he smiles. 

You raise an eyebrow. „Your actual car or your team loyalty?“

Your friend smirks. „Okay, fine, a Mclaren. Maybe a Hot Wheels one. Let’s not get crazy.“

You laugh despite yourself, and something inside you unknots a little. The weight of everything doesn’t vanish, but it feels lighter with him here. Like if you fall apart, there’ll be someone to help you put the pieces back together – maybe even fold them neatly into your suitcase. 

„You always do that“, you say, still smiling as you lean shift and lean back on your hands, gazing up at the ceiling like maybe it has all the answers needed. 

„Do what?“, he asks, reigning innocence as he returns to tucking your skincare into a zip pouch. 

„Turn a full-blown meltdown into something that feels … survivable.“

He shrugs one shoulders, not looking at you. „It’s a gift. Like folding fitted sheets or making you eat when you forget to.“

You toss a crumbled sweater at him, but he catches it effortlessly, grinning. Then the grin fades just slightly as he glances over at you. 

„Seriously though“, he says, voice quieter now. „I know this world can feel like it’s built for someone else. Like you’re crashing the party, pretending you belong.“

Your stomach twists. „Exactly.“

„But you do“, he continues. „Not because of how you look or what you wear, but because of who you are when all that gets stripped away. That’s what Charles sees. That’s what I see.“

You blink, caught off-guard by how much that hits you in the chest. 

For a second, you don’t speak. The room feels still – quiet, but full of something real. You’re suddenly aware of how close Lando is, how much space he always seems to give you while somehow making sure you’re never actually alone. 

„I don’t say it enough“, you finally say, „but I’m really glad we met at the supermarket and became friends.“

He shrugs again, trying to play it cool, but you see the faintest smile tug at the corner of his mouth. „You say it enough. In your own weird way. Usually when I rescue you from fashion-related disasters or emotionally charged spirals involving the idea to leave Monaco and move to Australia.“

You smile softly and shake your head, then tilt it toward him. „You really think I’ll be okay tonight?“

Lando doesn’t hesitate, I know you will. You’ll walk in, wearing that red dress, and Charles is going to look at you like no one else in that room even exists.“

You bite your lip, nervous and hopeful all at once. 

„And if you do trip, with or withough camera in hand“, he adds. „Just make it look intentional. Vogue girls do it all the time.“

You look down, picking imaginary dust off your leggings. „You think Vogue girls fall?“

„Oh yeah, constantly“, he says with absolute fake authority. „They just call it ‚off-beat elegance‘.“

You roll your eyes, reaching for your suitcase. „Off-beat elegance“, you repeat, trying not to smile. „I swear you make this stuff up as you go.“

He grins. „It’s a skill. Very underappreciated.“

You’re brushing your fingers through your hair, trying to make sense oft he growing chaos on your bed and inside your head, when Lando suddenly says, casually but pointedly, „You ever think about it?“

You glance over at him. „Think about what?“

He tosses a pair of heels into the suitcase with a soft thud and looks at you, eyes just a little more serious than his tone. „That job I offered you. The McLaren one.“

You blink surprised. „Now? You’re bringing that up now?“

„You’re spiraling“, he says, unapologetic. „About the gala, about being the ‚awkward plus-one‘, about Charles looking like a Dior model. So yeah. Now.“

You sink back beside him, crossing your arms over your knees. „I’m not –"

He lifts an eyebrow. 

You sigh. „Okay, maybe a little.“

He leans back on his hands. „I meant it, you know. About the job. It wasn’t just some throwaway offer.“

You look at him wary. „I thought it was. You were joking like, „someone who takes photos like they’re straight out of a dream“.“

„Yeah, that was the line“, he admits with a small smile. „But only because if I was too serious, you’d shut it down.“

You stare at the floor, chewing on your bottom lip. „I didn’t shut it down“, you say quietly, eye fixed on the tangle of charger cords and socks by your feet. „Charles did.“

Lando shrugs, not in a dismissive way, just easy. „Yeah. I figured he might.“

You frown. „You’re not – offended?“

„Nah“, he says, leaning back on his hands again. „I knew it was bad timing. I mean, middle of a three-way phone call on New Years Day? And Pierre told me that the two of you finally found each other? Not exactly a contract negotiation vibe.“

You huff a laugh. „You did pitch it when we just got into our apartment.“

He smirks, then shakes his head slightly. „Whatever. But I was serious, you know. I wasn’t just throwing it out there because I thought it would be fun to work with you.“

You raise an eyebrow.

„Okay“, he amends. „Also that. But mostly because I think it’d be sick to have you come shoot for us at Woking. Headquarters are changing a lot. New tech, new faces, more storytelling. Zak wanted someone who actually knows how to make things look – real. Like they breathe.“

You stare at him, surprised by how genuine that all sounds. Lando isn’t joking now – not in that half-sarcastic, half-serious way he usually does when he’s talking about important things. He’s just – being honest. 

„Woking, huh?“, you say, letting the word settle. It feels unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. 

„Yeah“, he says, picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of his hoodie. „We’ve been doing this big internal shift – kind of trying to reset how we tell our story. Less glossy, more grounded. Real people, real work. Honestly, it made me think of you immediately.“

You smile, a little caught off guard. „I thought you only saw my stuff when Charles and Kika posted it.“

He gives you a look. „Come on. Sure, I’ve seen your stuff on their Instagram, but I trust you.“

You sigh, curling your legs up beneath you. „So what exactly would I be doing? Not that I’m considering it.“

He smiles. „You’ll work in Woking, like I said. Come to HQ, hang out, shoot whatever catches your eye – engine builds, sim sessions, Oscar being weird in the cafeteria. Whatever you think will give a good insight on how the team at HQ is like. Anything to make the team seem a little more approachable.“

You raise your brows. „Thats – actually really cool.“

„It is“, he agrees. „And look – I know your thing with Charles is like carved in stone or whatever, and I’m sure that Charles and you will work great together. I’m just – trying to look out for you.“ He purses his lips. „Giving you something that’s just yours.“

You nod slowly, feeling something shift in your chest. It’s not pressure. It’s a possibility. 

Then, like always with Lando, the moment softens, before it can grow heavier. He leans back again with a huff, stretching his legs out across the floor. „Alright“, he says. „Emotional vulnerability quota reached. Back to chaos.“

You laugh under your breath, grateful for the shift. The air feels easier now, like something’s opened and aired out between you. He pulls out his phone and starts scrolling absently. You sit cross-legged beside him, folding one of your jackets into a neater square just to keep your hands busy. 

„Oh“, he says suddenly, holding the phone closer to his face. „Guess who’s in Italy.“

You glance over at the screen. „Who?“

„Elena“, he says, thumb hovering over her story. „Didn’t she say she was staying in London this weekend?“

You shrug. „I haven’t talked to her since we went to the club“, you reply, scooting closer. He taps through her stories, and sure enough – there she is, framed against golden Tuscan hills, wine glass in hand, grinning into the sun. 

He taps through a few more of Elena’s stories – sweeping vineyards, a blurry photo of a cheese board, close-up of an Espresso – and then hands you the phone like it’s evidence. 

You squint at the screen, then smile. „I should text her“, you say suddenly, already reaching for your phone. 

Lando raises his eyebrow. „Yeah?“

„Yeah. Charles is still in Maranello tomorrow and once the gala’s over I could use a day off from it. Something that feels like real life.“ You glance down at your phone as you start typing. „Just lunch. Something easy.“

You: hey, just saw your stories – Italy looks like a dream. wanna do dinner tomorrow night if you’re free? I’ll be in Italy as well x

You hit send and set the phone down, feeling something settle in your chest – not obligation, not pressure, just something small and grounding. Like reconnecting with someone who has nothing to do with Formula One. 

Lando watches you, smiling faintly. „That’s good. You need that stuff. Normal things.“ He purses his lips. „So, I helped you pack, so I deserve something. A thank-you coffee? A snack? A parade?“

You laugh. „You want a parade?“

He shrugs „A tiny one. Like – a snack parade.“

You throw a sock at him, and he catches it with mock offence. „I take it back. No parade for you.“

Your friend grins, and you both dissolve into laughter, the kind that lingers in the air like sunlight through an open window. 

The gala still looms ahead. The dress, the cameras, the careful choreography of taking Charles‘ pictures and being seen. But for now, sitting cross-legged on your bedroom floor with Lando, laughing like you’ve known him forever – it all feels manageable. 

And maybe, more than that. It even feels a little bit like everything will turn out the way it should be. 

[doyoulikethis-videogame-song]

Ask Masterpost 1/25/2025

I will be answering the BLOG RELATED asks that I have received since opening my inbox. Lucky number three this finally becomes consistent :).

I would like to state here that even though I don't respond to them (I'm persnickety about keeping ask spam low) I very much appreciate everyone's well wishes and compliments and gratefulness for this blog. I screenshot all of them and keep them in a folder. Thank you so much and I hope you keep having fun :).

@forrest-knight asked: Hello! I am here to ask for some clarification regarding the rules: “Songs from multimedia series that are primarily NOT video games (such as the Homestuck minigames, for example) will not be accepted.” I’m a bit confused with this rule, does this mean we’re not allowed to submit songs from licensed video games (aka games made for non video game media), even if the song is originally made for the game (ex. To The Moon from the DuckTales NES game). Or does this rule is intended for something completely different? *please note that I’ve never read homestuck, so this might relate to my confusion Anyways, thank you so much for doing this! And I hope you have a great whatever time you are reading this!

SO Homestuck was the only example I could think of at the time as a series that actually did this. I was specifically thinking about franchises/series/works that 100% did not start off intending to be a video game but, in the nature of being a multimedia series, added video game minigames or mobile games as it developed.

This is referring to things like homestuck (a webcomic that featured small browser/flash games within the comic), many idol gacha games** (hypnosis mic, love live), etc. This does not include series that were 'completed' (loosely used since I know many of these frequently get universe-expanding sequels and threequels and whathaveyou) and then had video game spinoffs, such as Star Wars, Marvel, etc.

** exceptions being tracks that are exclusively used in the video game itself, such as BGM.

I know this rule is probably the most complicated one and I'm still trying to figure out how to word it clearly and precisely LMAO. Fundamentally it comes down to intent, which is why I'm still on the fence some things like tracks used exclusively in promotional materials and things like that.

That being said: if the song is originally from a video game as in literally you can hear it while you are playing the video game you are totally in the clear

And according to your second ask (I won't name the songs in case you want to submit them): The one made for and coming from the NES game is fine (of course), AND the one that is the 8-bit version of the NON-VGM one is ALSO FINE, because it was REMIXED for the NES game :).

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**NUMEROUS QUESTIONS ABOUT PUTTING DISCLAIMERS ASKING PEOPLE NOT TO SPOIL THE SONGS**

The blind listening and polling period is just for fun! If someone really likes a song and wants to know what it is/where it's from, PLEASE feel free to tell them!!! And PLEASE always enter the notes with the expectation that there may be song spoilers!!

I will ask that you keep it in the TAGS rather than the comments or reblogs (you're more than welcome to DM people the title if they ask), just for the sake of people who might want to discuss the song without spoilers. I'll put that in the pinned and the (eventual...) formal rules.

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What's up! New here so sorry if this has been asked before but has the exact same song been submitted more than once before? Like it's clearly different people but the same song keeps getting submitted over and over again?

Ever since Mod Rae cleared duplicates I have no idea anymore, BUT I know there have been a lot of different submissions for a few select Disco Elysium songs. That doesn't shock me because I know it's got a cult following here :).

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do you get a lot of the same people in ur notes or is it like. a few of the same and then it branches out to fandoms where people know the song? or do u not pay attn to your notes at all (also fair)

I do read the notes (when I remember)! I really like hearing people's opinions, and I always look through the tags on songs I know (I find it really hilarious seeing 'is this dark souls?' 'is this nier?' on any orchestral ever). There are a lot of familiar faces but I'd say the majority for any given poll are new or sparsely in the notes :).

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Would you ever consider adding two more "i dont feel strongly/have an opinion" options to the polls? Specifically, "it sounds familiar and i dont have an opinion" and "ive def heard it before and dont feel strongly/have an opinion"? Of course, if theres a specific reason why you dont add those two as options, feel free to ignore this, ty <3

I've considered this -- but honestly, that button has always existed as more of a 'I just want to click a button' option than an actual datapoint I'm looking for (I think I might have answered an ask similar to this before but I don't remember so I'm answering it again LOL). When that option dominates, I always read the notes and tags for discussion and I'd encourage anyone who is genuinely interested to do the same. Actual complex opinions, of course, cannot be captured with the limitations of preset poll options anyways LMFAO.

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@mkcannothelpyou asked: I'm beginning to wonder if spacing series severely further apart and prioritising picks further down the queue that aren't as represented would make for a more interesting order - as it is, it feels like you can more or less still track what people submitted and when, with waves of series (and closely related works within those series, at that) coming in conspicuously densely. Hearing the same style only days apart might impact poll results for the negative as time goes on.

This was mostly the fault of me allowing people to submit multiple songs at once, leading to songs with similar qualities (as they are all liked by one person with a particular taste) being grouped together, even if they're from different series. I limit submissions to one per period now so this will not be a problem in the future :').

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@the-mayor-of-space asked: how long do submissions typically stay open once they are open?

I originally wanted to have them permanently opened (thinking people wouldn't mind waiting for their submissions) until I got an insane amount of submissions, severely underestimating the popularity of this blog. I then tried to do a 24 hr submission period, and then a 12 hr submission period, but both of these still ended up with a fuck ton of submissions so the current answer is 'They're closed until I can figure out something proper'...

I don't want purging the existing submissions to be on the table, but if I get to the 1 year anniversary of this blog without a better option I might have to go that route -- in which case I'd probably publish all the unposted options so people know if theirs was cut so they know to resubmit it if they're still interested.

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**NUMEROUS QUESTIONS ABOUT HOW FAR BACK THE SUBMISSIONS ARE**

WE'RE FINALLY IN AUGUST!!!!!!!!

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are fan/non official/non licensed versions of songs allowed? because i am 100% certain #293 is a fan made remaster and medley arrangement (im not the submitter but i know the song well - i found the youtube video the audio is from and the comments from OP confirm it is a fan remix). if they are, that's totally cool, but i couldn't find anything in the submission rules about it. i dont intend this ask to be rude or hostile at all, and either way im grateful you've created such an active community with this blog!

They're not really allowed unless they're from a mod or fangame. Since it's a fanmade remaster it's kind of towing the line, so I'm not inherently against it, but it might end up just being a highly situational thing.

Note: I'm not familiar with Fire Emblem at ALL but I knew this particular song was from an older game, which is why I wasn't opposed to posting the remastered version. In any future submissions I'd appreciate if this sort of thing were indicated just in case! I will add that to the submission guidelines :). And of course if there's a better way to go about this (i.e if the game is like, 30+ years old fanmade remasters/upscales are permitted or something like that) I will make sure that's made clear as well :).

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sorry if you've answered this before but I was just wondering, are people allowed to submit spoiler songs for the polls? like final boss songs and songs from endings and secret endings

Absolutely! But I think for all future submissions (this doesn't apply now since there's a huge backlog) I might put a hold on the submissions of OSTS from new games for like 1-2 months (i.e No Mario Kart 9 OSTs until two months after the game drops!) so people who are playing/going to play the game have time to play it before hearing the OSTs unprompted.

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@its-daisukenojobito asked: Just out of curiosity, do you prefer the more obscure submissions, or more well known? I feel like for the sake of reach, the more well known the better, but as a participant, i love being able to hear something I wasn't expecting, and knowing it!

I have no preference, but it's always fun hearing good stuff from games and series I've literally never heard of!

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@venonomnomicon asked: am i allowed to DM to check the status of a submission? it was a couple of months ago though i do respect it's probably just deep in the queue as you get hundreds of submissions a month lol

Absolutely, but you'll have to DM my main blog (@himejoshi) because apparently tumblr doesn't let you have DMs when you have more than one blog admin.

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@royvalentine asked: is the form supposed to be only submittable once?

Yes, so people would only submit one song per submission period. I intended to make a new form for every submission period... There just hasn't been one since.

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hi question, do pinball tables count as video games?

I don't think I have enough experience to answer this question... What do y'all think????

[animazi]

vade mecum iii

dhuoda’s handbook tr. c. neel // the phantom menace // attack of the clones // revenge of the sith // return of the jedi

vade mecum, latin: ‘go with me’, a handbook. vader, latin: 'to go'.

be brave, and don't look back.

prev/next

I am talking here! Because as ever I spent way too long choosing specific screenshots to use for this - and for this one specifically, while the theme of this series overall is to do with Shmi, and using the ideas of Dhuoda's text as a mother writing to her absent son to discuss some of the general Anakin Tragedy. For some context Dhuoda was a Frankish noblewoman writing between 841-3. Her handbook is the sole (surviving) Carolingian text written by a woman iirc, and it's a teaching manual for her son, William, who was a hostage in the court of Charles the Bald. She hadn't seen him since he was 14, and he would later be executed by Charles after trying to avenge his father (who Charles executed). When I was reading it, I was getting sort of three layers of psychic damage; one from the text itself, one from the part of my brain relating it to Star Wars, and the third from the fact that any part of me instinctively jumped to SW in a somewhat tasteless manner. sigh.

ANYWAY! so this is a more ironic (and meta) take on the quote than how I'm presenting the others in this series - "From the first line of this little book, know that all of this is written for your salvation." The meta aspect is obvious - combined the PT and OT are the story of Anakin, it very literally is a story of his salvation. He is saved by Luke. Salvation History is seen as linear, but I think there's some inherent subversion of that when looking at the (Anakin) story of SW, because forward momentum is kinda denied; the decision to have Force Ghost Anakin be his ROTS-era form essentially passes judgement on Vader as a separate form; this is not so much a straightforwards story of falling and being saved, but rather is one where the falling itself is an error, and through salvation is 'erased'. Is this a perfect analysis? No, and I'm not going to claim it to be, but I do think that sort of loop that is brought in is interesting, especially when extending the layer of meta analysis out further to the fact that even as Anakin's salvation is done by Luke, the PT retroactively saves him once again by depicting his fall. You know the joke - give a villain a sympathetic backstory, and then you've already done the legwork of redeeming them for the audience. So, the 'little book' then is not only Shmi's message to Anakin, but it is also the whole story of Star Wars. Because of this, there is an element of irony there, in Anakin's fall at all - events that Shmi never knew, of course. When she says goodbye to him, both times, he does not need salvation. He has not fallen. So then, there is a rather bittersweet touch that she knew perhaps the 'purest' version of him. I don't particularly like that word, but it's being used. Shmi's actions, her decision to let go of him is grounded in multiple desires - Destiny and the reality of Life on Tatooine perhaps chief among them. Dhuoda's handbook was deeply concerned with the spiritual education of her son, the handbook is a work towards his salvation in part because it is so focused on stressing Christian principles and practise. For Shmi, in the context of this series, the handbook is the world and also herself and her actions. I will talk more about this later, please put in pin in that. All that is written is what she has done, and it is the Force, in universe Which brings me onto my interesting tangent*, and one that will certainly get me pilloried by certain aspects of SW tumblr: the Force IMO is (often) far less Buddhist than it is Christian. This is undoubtedly influenced by the PT being my area of expertise (and IRL being very interested in Medieval Catholicism), but, regardless, as any familiar with my web weaves probably can tell, the element of determinism brought in with full force by the PT is something I severely fuck with. So, the the story is also the salvation of Anakin, the restoration of him to who he once was, and this is an in-universe salvation - and I use salvation in its full religious sense there. Getting back more in-universe then, my decision to open with that interaction between Anakin and Palpatine was also very deliberate in this, due to his construction of (depending on your personal interpretation of canon etc etc) some level of Anakin's fall, hence why he is positioned with the narrative.

There is also similar a decision I made with 'know that all this is written for your' images. For Shmi's grave, and Padme's funeral I chose motivation over depiction of atrocity, again because I am in making this (ideally) in communication with the narrative function of the PT: why did Anakin become Vader? Well, because of Glucas' love for refrigeration. The 'your' image is a little different from that - I chose it both as a representation of that sort of final positive relational bridge being burnt, so to speak, and for the fact that it, as an image, represents that he has strayed so far from the path of good. He's been excommunicated from the Jedi Order, if you will.

And with that, I have One More point to make before I shut up. It's about the women, and isn't so much of an actual point as an acknowledgement and brief discussion of the way that the narrative does compress Shmi and Padme down into very secondary characters, revolving around Anakin. Which, yes, this post does implicitly also do. I'd like to bring back Dhuoda here, because I am deliberately trying to draw a parallel between the 'male' focus of SW and, well, history. As I said, Dhuoda's handbook is the only work written by a Carolingian woman that we have. It is so entirely about her son, and by implication her inability to fulfil her maternal role - everything she says in it would assumedly, in a normal situation, be passed on by her through discussion, rather than in an advice book. Women were moved around a lot more than men - the daughter leaves the father to go to the husband. What does this wife then do when her husband leaves her and takes the children - in this case for a 'greater good'? Stay behind, and wait. The roles of women within a patriarchal society are slim; they are in essence the bedrock of family (if you want me to I will elaborate on this) but they are also constantly degraded and seen as inferior. The Carolingians were not feminists, to put it lightly. Women were 'wife' or 'mother' more often than they were people. Julia Smith said on this that 'anonymity obliterates identity', and SW is an unfortunate continuator of this. Padme actively had her role outside 'wife' be cut down. Even the cut germination of the rebellion is still, in essence, a 'motherhood'. She gives birth to hope and then dies. Shmi never has the 'wife' element which does expose a little more of who Padme is to the world, she is mother to a degree that the Carolingians would probably approve of. When I was first coming up with the concept for this series, it was that giving up of her son that first sparked parallels. That Shmi is absent in image from this set is not a coincidence; the world is ordered around her removals from the world, not her presence in it.

*Yes, this is a deliberate reference to the Anakin's Thesis series on YT by Seals Are Good. I find it funny ok!!!

[mononijikayu]

we can’t be friends (wait for your love) — gojo satoru.

GENRE: alternate universe - reincarnation

WARNING/S: romance, domesticity, fluff, family, break up, comfort/no comfort, angst, trauma, implied death, hurt/comfort, character death, depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of graphic content, depiction of emotional breakdown, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief;

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

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you were always reminded of how beautiful and sad wintertime is. when you were younger, you excitedly put on your winter boots and puffer jacket, hurriedly running out to play in the snow, your muffler trailing behind you. you had fond memories of those snowy days, and that sentiment only deepened as you grew older.

winter became even more special the night you met gojo satoru at his birthday party, when your friend had dragged you along. you were so happy then, to have been able to have this man steal your heart. since then, winter had been warmer, happier. but lately, it wasn’t the case.

that was what you hated about winter—sometimes, all it brought was bitterness and a putrid cold. the nights were frightening, and the breath you took felt like it punched the air out of your lungs. everything stayed frozen in time, suspended by the snow that seemed to crush the earth with its weight.

nowadays, you can’t remember if you ever waited eagerly for the snow to fall. you don't look forward to winter as you did when you were a child. it was too hard to smile at the falling snow. but you still try. you really want to. you think that maybe, if you smile, it would be easier. if you smile, maybe your face will remember only the warmth. maybe if you smile, you won’t feel the bitterness—you don’t want to turn into winter itself.

you tear your gaze away from the narrow echoes of the windowpane. and for a moment, winter tears itself in two, into that bitterness and warmth. sometimes, looking at him makes it easier, and some days, it makes it harder. you supposed you always knew he was like snow itself—pure as the driven snow and yet so brutal with the weight you bear for it.

gojo satoru shifts carefully on the mattress, and before you can think, you are instantly beside him. you couldn’t help but put his hand gingerly in yours, making sure not to jostle him too much. you never expected this. that he would be in such a state. he had been so healthy all his life, and now he wasn’t even able to stand up by himself anymore.

it's very hard not to worry over someone whom you've loved your entire life. satoru, whom you would gladly go to war for. satoru, the man you had called yours at one point. the very same satoru from the life before this. from all the lives before this one. you look at him and see not the previous version of him you've once held in your arms, but the young boy you first met so many years ago.

“how are you, 'toru?” you ask him tenderly.

there is hurt and pain in these isolated walls, this stupid little winter cabin of his. there is the looming knowledge of what is to come, too, and it is something you can’t face. you already knew the answer to the question. the doctor told you. but you didn’t care about what science says. you wanted to hear it from him.

at the end of the day, you are still hopeful. because he's here. satoru is still here with you. his usually warm hand is cold; it had never been cold when it touched yours. not until recently. but you think that it doesn’t matter. cold or warm, you still held his hand.

it was still yours to hold. and you were together. the world didn’t matter right now. your own husband, your career, your reality—nothing mattered. you wanted to be here. you wanted to be by his side. you wanted to be his world again, just as he was yours.

“it’s cold today, darlin’." satoru whispers to you, trying to squeeze your hand, as though to reassure you that he was still here with you.

he wasn’t as strong as he would have liked, you knew that well. but he still held you. he still held your hand and would not let go. you don’t realize too late that you’ve been holding your breath.

you squeeze his hand and you try to smile for him, to be happy for him. satoru opens his eyes to look at you, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips. he likes it when he can see you smile for him, as you always did years ago.

you don’t think it will ever sink in. this isn’t real. this isn’t happening. you could feel the bile stuck in your throat. you already knew that this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. you have experienced much worse together. you have done much worse to each other.

you have pulled each other through collapsed barricades just to find safety elsewhere. even when you weren’t together anymore, you have managed to survive it all. because you still had each other.

that was then, and this is now. here you are, huddled together for warmth, satoru’s lips chapped and blue. your ex-husband could only try and make a front for you, one that you think he could not hold for much longer. even if he wished he could, there would come a time when it would all be over.

the room is silent except for the faint sound of the wind howling outside, the winter storm a harsh reminder of the reality you are facing. you clutch satoru’s hand tighter, as if your grip alone could keep him tethered to this world.

“satoru, love.” you whisper, your voice trembling. “stay with me.”

his eyes flutter open once more, and he looks at you with a softness that breaks your heart. “i’m trying, darlin'.” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “for you, i’m trying.”

you bite back the sob that threatens to escape, not wanting him to see you fall apart. you need to be strong, for him, for both of you. you lean closer, pressing your forehead against his, your breath mingling in the cold air.

“i know, love.” you say softly. “i know you are.”

the moments stretch on, each second feeling like an eternity. you talk to him about anything and everything, recounting memories of happier times, of your first meeting, of the countless winters you spent together. you tell him about the future you once dreamed of, the life you wanted to build together. you pour your heart out, hoping that your words can keep him here a little longer.

but as the hours pass, you can see the light in his cerulean eyes dimming, the strength in his grip weakening. he is slipping away, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. you feel a crushing weight in your chest, the pain of losing him more than you can bear.

“satoru, my love.” you say again, your voice breaking. “please don’t go. i can’t do this without you.”

he looks at you with a sad, knowing smile. “you’re stronger than you think,” he whispers. “you always have been.”

tears spill down your cheeks, and you shake your head. “not without you,” you insist. “i need you.”

his hand moves to your cheek, his touch feather-light. “i’ll always be with you." he says softly. “in here.” he taps his chest weakly, indicating his heart.

"how do i live on without you?" your tears blur everything in sight, even him. but you don't want to. you don't want it to.

"you learnt how, when we got divorced, darlin'." he smiles at you. you can tell, he was having a harder time speaking. "you'll learn again. you've always been a fighter. my darlin'. you've always been a fighter."

you nod, even though it feels like your heart is shattering into a million pieces. you lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, savoring the warmth and love you’ve shared. as you closed your eyes, you could feel it tremble with tears once again.

“i love you.” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

“i love you too.” he replies, his voice fading. “always.”

you hold him close as his breathing grows shallower, his grip on your hand loosening. you can feel his life slipping away, each moment more painful than the last. and then, with one final, shuddering breath, he is gone.

the room feels impossibly quiet, the weight of his absence suffocating. you hold onto him, your tears soaking into his shirt, your heart breaking in ways you never thought possible. the world outside is a blur of white, the snow falling relentlessly, indifferent to your pain.

winter has never felt colder than in that moment.

you stay there for what feels like hours, unable to let go. you waited for the paramedics to arrive. you call his kids, to tell him what happened. and then....nothing. emptiness. the quiet. not even the snow falling made a sound.

the memories of your life together play in your mind, a bittersweet reminder of all you’ve lost. you remember the warmth of his smile, the sound of his laughter, the way he made you feel alive. and though he is gone, those memories are yours to keep. you fall in love again. and that tears you apart. it kills you whole.

eventually, you find the strength to stand, to face the world without him. you know it won’t be easy, that the days ahead will be filled with pain and heartache. but you also know that satoru would want you to keep going, to find a way to live life as you always have.

when everyone arrived, you knew it was time to go. you didn't want to leave his body. but you have no right to be there anymore. his kids tell you that it was too dangerous out. but he was gone. you say your goodbyes, you walk over to the coat hanger. your eyes red, your heart heavy - you make your way to leave the cabin.

you could feel how cold it was when you stepped out into the echoing blizzard, this unforgiving winter. the snow crunches beneath your feet, each step a reminder of the journey ahead. you look up at the sky, the falling snow blurring your vision, and you take a deep breath.

winter will continue for a long time, you think. and perhaps, you’ll only ever breathe winter snow again, as bitterly as you could. but you hope maybe, one day—you’ll think of him and be warm again. you bit your lips, tears flowing freely.

maybe if you're lucky?

you'll be reborn again.

maybe you'll love him again.

[lunesviolettes]

Void - 04.

(This series was originally posted on my Wattpad, so I’m bringing it over here)

pairing: MCU!bucky barnes x MCU!female reader

word count: 2.2k

summary: Y/N was far from any normal girl in Brooklyn during the 1940s. Her physical and mental strength were far from ordinary and her mother and father were nothing short of strange, just like her. Secrets and strange occurrences were all that she had ever known and with the approach of a second global war, it seemed that everything would only become stranger. A powerful organization, a target on the back of a young girl, a serum, and an infinity stone were all that it would take to change everything she knew about her world.

chapter warnings: none

a/n: This fanfic follows the course of the MCU movies (The First Avenger - Thunderbolts). It’s more focused on the story aspect of the MCU and is very much a slow burn type of story with not a lot of focus on smut.

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

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"So it's not complete yet?" You asked, ducking down until your eyes were level to the beaker of a bright blue liquid. It was beautiful, but there was something almost sickly about it. Like it was meant to kill rather than grant them incredible superhuman abilities. "Yes."

"How do you know? I mean you had to have tested it before, right?" You turned, crossing your arms over your chest as you looked to Erskine. "It was tested...but I'm afraid that is classified information." You hummed, glancing back over your shoulder at the small beaker of liquid.

Your eyes narrowed as you took in the array of varied chemicals in their own separate vials. "Can you tell me everything that has been put in it so far?" You asked, to which Dr. Erskine was happy to explain to you.

You were truly amazed at the number of compounds that existed in one small mixture. Your mind was nearly caving in on itself trying to figure out what exactly needed to go in it. Abraham Erskine seemed particularly eager to not disclose what had happened to the first test subject, but that was the information you needed. If you knew what reactions were produced on the human body then you could use that to determine what needed to be added. So far, you were lost. Without that information, the serum might as well have been trashed.

After days and days of working and pleading with Dr. Erskine if he could just tell you what happened, he finally caved and sat you down for what you figured would be a very long conversation.

"I am assuming you know who Hitler is," he began, earning a hesitant nod from you. "He had come to me, telling me that I would make his people strong. When I expressed my lack of interest he instead sent someone from Hydra, or rather the head of Hydra, Johann Schmidt. An ambitious man that wanted the greatest power known to mankind. When he heard of my plans for this formula, he seized the opportunity to take it."

"And what did it do to him?" You asked, although part of you was unsure you even wanted to know said information. "It changed him. Yes, he became stronger, but his skin had begun to burn away. The only reason he is still alive today is because of the strength the serum gives to him." So the serum worked to an extent. There was just a side effect.

"Radiation." You whispered, biting away at one of your fingernails. You barely heard Dr. Erskine's response as you shot up from your seat, crossing towards the nearest slip of paper you could find. "There wasn't enough radioactive exposure! There needs to be some sort of electromagnetic radiation with enough stabilizing properties to help properly activate the serum. There's no missing ingredient in the serum, there's just somethin' that needs to be activated at the same time!"

You released a small breathless laugh, meeting the eyes of Abraham Erskine who still seemed in a state of shock at your outburst. "Now I just need enough time to figure out exactly what kind of electromagnetic rays will be weak enough to not permanently mutate the host. If I can just do that then...Dr. Erskine! Are you coming?"

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"Miss Y/L/N, I am sure you have already met Mr. Stark who, like me and your parents, is part of the Strategic Scientific Reserve. He will be assisting us in our quest to find what sort of radioactive wavelengths will give us the best results." You were the first to nod, smiling briefly as his eyes landed on your own. "That was quite the argument between you and your parents." He responded to which you felt your face heat up in embarrassment. "Sorry you had to see that."

"I'm not. I've seen how passionate of a person you are and that seems like something we need on our side to defeat these damn Nazis." Howard Stark pulled you into a short side embrace and it was then that you realized he must not be a huge fan of human touch…or any interactions at that. Interesting. You thought to yourself. "So, Dr. Erskine tells me you need help to create some form of electromagnetic radiation that will help activate the serum properly."

You nodded, following the man around the room as he moved from one machine to the other. Soon, you fell into step beside Dr. Erskine, leaning over to whisper into his ear. "Is he always like this?" The doctor stood back to his full height with a smile, nodding to which you released a quiet chuckle.

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Days passed. Weeks passed. Nights were spent working down in the lab underneath the antiques building and you found yourself growing closer to both Dr. Erskine and Howard Stark. You often called the man ‘Mr. Stark’, something he was not fond of in the slightest because he claimed it made him sound older than he was. One of the smaller offices in the lab was soon stacked with piles of paper that were filled with each of their experimental ideas.

On the days that Abraham Erskine was not available, you and Howard would be working side by side, or rather laying across the desk in various uncomfortable positions as you scanned through your hastily written words.

"I don't think any of these are quite what we are looking for," You announced on a normally quiet Monday afternoon. "Polonium is a no-go unless we want to kill the tester. I don't think we're gonna find any answers in these damn elements." You laid your head down on the desk, overcome with a sense of defeat and exhaustion. A month had passed and still nothing.

You could barely remember the last time you spoke to your parents, Steve, or even Louise. You had no idea how Bucky was doing during his training and it was only contributing to the mass amount of insanity you felt had been taking over your mind.

Howard lifted his head, blinking away the few minutes of sleep he had just gotten. "If only we could just create our own electromagnetic radiation that could do whatever we wanted it to..." Your voice slowly died off as you met the wide eyes of both Howard and Abraham Erskine. "It's not a terrible plan." Dr. Erskine said, clicking his tongue as he sorted through the papers in front of him.

You smiled, pushing yourself away from the desk before sprinting from the room. The bright lights ahead led you straight into the open lab space and you began to compile all the information you collected over each of the radioactive elements and what they were composed of.

As the days carried on, you and Erskine had spent the most time together, conducting tests and trials of small samples of what elements or compounds were in his possession. With promising results, the two of you felt that you were closer than ever to finally creating a successful formula. But there was one issue. None of the elements produced an electromagnetic radioactive current strong enough or weak enough to activate the formula.

It seemed that you were so close to the end goal, but there was one wall in your path that none of you could seem to climb...until you were finally left to your own devices.

You had originally planned on working with a small sample of Uranium Ore Pitchblende, attempting to crystallize it and work through each of the nonmetals it could be combined with that you had access to. You made sure to take note of the sort of reactions it would have with water. The next steps were the process of finding Radium, breaking it down, its dissolving process in water, and that was what you thought would be your one-day examination before resuming work with Dr. Erskine.

What you created had been entirely by accident. It was when you rose to leave that you knocked over a small vile of what you could not visually label due to its nearly translucent color. Your first concern was that it had touched another sample, but, upon finding no such reaction, you managed to compose yourself and your heartbeat long enough to put on the proper protection before disposing of it. Long hours were not uncommon and that day, in particular, had lasted nearly forty-six hours without any sleep.

To say you were fatigued would’ve been an understatement, but it still came as a shock when you moved into the path of the chair right beside you and hit the table as you fell. You cursed underneath your breath and slowly dragged yourself back up onto your feet. As you neared the table, you caught a strange and foul odor leaking into the air. It was as if you were shaken awake by an imaginary force. Sleep deprivation was no longer a concerning factor as you moved away from the table at inhumane speeds.

The sample of radium you were working with had jolted during the fall, a few particles of its dissolved substance meeting the remaining droplets of the translucent liquid. What you found went beyond anything you ever believed was possible. The combination of the two liquids had crystallized completely, creating an entirely black substance, its edges sharp but brittle as a few of its peaks crumbled onto the table.

You were captivated by its existence. One could almost say that it was beautiful. Far more beautiful than coal, but nothing like diamond. The horrible stench soon left the air and you felt it was finally safe enough to uncover your nose. You were unsure how many minutes had passed of you continuously staring at it on that table, but it was long enough that your legs began to fall asleep from holding you upright.

With a pair of tweezers in hand and a spare test tube, you slowly pushed the substance inside, knowing it would’ve likely been brushed aside into the trash otherwise.

Despite how late it had been, you stayed in the lab, observing it underneath a microscope to better process its properties. How is that possible? You thought, checking it once, twice, and then a third time before you realized you were not imagining anything. It was almost similar to Uranium, but in the center was what looked like a kaleidoscope of textured patterns. What you were looking at was something you had never seen before and that alone seemed impossible. The elements and their appearances were something you took pride in knowing.

This however, it was a mystery. You didn’t dare say the words out loud for they seemed too foolish. I might have just accidentally created a new element…or created a new variation of some previously existing one. Even hearing it spoken in your mind seemed unhinged. Narcissistic almost. This wasn’t supposed to happen, but somehow it did. You were working with something that had not yet been recorded…ever.

The particle you broke off, had already changed when you peered back into the microscope. The kaleidoscope in the center had separated into two and seemed to be shrinking in front of your eye. The two pieces eventually came back together into the original shape you observed before repeating the process again. The number of protons or neutrons did not change, and that had eventually raised the question of whether or not what you were observing was similar to gamma decay.

If it truly was like gamma decay, you might have very well found the missing piece that was needed to bring Dr. Erskine's project to life. You just needed to test it. You found one of the extra vials of the serum that was made and placed a small sample onto the slider before breaking a piece off of the black substance, placing them together. The reaction that occurred was almost immediate. The serum turned a deep shade of black before it was completely absorbed by the foreign substance.

Okay…not what I was expecting. You said to yourself, soon turning to the next best thing. A sample of your blood would likely show similar effects that the true test would. Your hands shook throughout the entire process and although you had only taken a small sample of blood, you couldn’t help but be concerned. Another small piece of the substance was broken off and you put it in close proximity with your blood, watching with a careful eye underneath the microscope.

The cells in your blood had begun to split apart as expected, but very quickly burst. Your eyes widened and you sat back, frowning. Dr. Erskine himself said that the serum alone wouldn’t work. A single injection of the serum with the substance would only repeat Johann Schmidt’s failure. This new substance should work. You saw the gamma decay…or what you believed to be it with your own eyes. You just needed some sort of contraption. Something to break down the substance into its radioactive components.

A chamber to neutralize and stabilize it. The substance was the key, the machine would be the activator. And that’s where Howard Stark would come in. "I did it." You whispered victorious, pushing yourself away from the lab table. You had accomplished something that seemed impossible only a few months prior. With your eyes clamped shut, you lifted your hands into the air, a silent cheer escaping you.

Next Chapter

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 57 Cope Posting

Not like this, dear void... not like this. The blessing/curse of Kagurabachi chapters ending in 7 being absolute banger cliffhangers continues and there is not enough copium in the world to get me through to next week. This entry is an absolute mess...

Let's start with practicing on the editor's comments again. Sorry if the colours are hard to read on brighter backgrounds, I live in Dark Mode as much as possible.

First page: ハクリが飛宗の転送に成功! そして- [Hakuri ga Tobimune no tensou ni seikou! Soshite-, Hakuri successfully transfers Tobimune! And then-] Last page: 座村, 漆羽… 事態は混沌へ… [Samura, Uruha... jitai ha konton he..., Samura, Uruha... the situation turns chaotic...] noting that the word used for "situation", jitai (事態), specifically has negative connotations (as opposed to 状況 [joukyou], which is neutral).

These comments are rarely more than fluff just to give the editors some presence in the work itself, so I don't take them as definite indicators of anything going on in the plot. But man. Man. "Bad situation" seems to be putting it lightly. I was ready to take you off the list of possible traitors, Samura! I was seriously going to do it! Whyyyyyyyyyyy

Chihiro and the Pink Menace

Fine, first up... school?

How does our cast stack up to the average student after getting home schooled in murder and cool action poses?

It was obvious to everyone that this arc would involve Chihiro learning about the unpleasant sides of his dad's legacy. So this is just a "hey don't forget" moment for us that also highlights how far removed Hiruhiko and Chihiro are from regular society. Those two (and Hakuri) should be in their last year of high school, complaining about homework or stressing about their future college/job plans right now instead of fighting to the death. Poor guys.

I don't want to presume too much about Hokazono-sensei's views, but I really like directly acknowledging that winners write history and so their wartime cruelty is often downplayed or re-framed as heroism. These kids and even Chihiro only know the revised version of what happened, not the truth of the matter.

Home schooled Chihiro confirmed! Kinda!

Anyway, some more John Plan Reveal. He wants Chihiro to learn the truth about his father's legacy and the impact it's had- that's why he hasn't been "harvested" yet. This implies that there's some terrible thing that could upend Chihiro's entire worldview to be learned. But we kind of already knew that based on everything I just said.

I hope this isn't a flag for John trying to convince Chihiro to join him. There are awful secrets that are going to be unearthed about Kunishige and the Kamunabi this arc for sure, but it's kind of a waste of our time to do the "oooh it was worse than you thought why don't you join us to set things right" rigamarole.

Obviously the Hishaku have some compelling reasons to do all this if they can get someone as loath to kill as Samura on their side to murk his war buddies. It's just never gonna convince Chihiro so I hope we don't get a moralizing yapfest to accompany John's outstretched hand. I trust the writing though! So far it's been almost nothing but excellence so... chill, me. Just wait and see.

I think that no matter what happens Chihiro will continue to forge his own path with allies who care for him at his side. He won't choose the government's path, or the Hishaku's, or even his dad's- he'll create something new. Standard stuff for a shounen series but I never get tired of seeing it!

Before moving on to the coping session, there's something neat in this scene that I want to ramble about:

Local yapper yaps while the guy listening to him literally overthinks

I'll use the JP version if I have to, but I like how Chihiro's inner monologue deliberately overruns Hiruhiko's speech bubble to show that he's not paying full attention while his thoughts are in overdrive. He's still partially listening but he's not quite as composed as he appears to be on the outside, which is confirmed by the close-up zoom into his stressed look with the sweat drops. Yet when we zoom out, he seems a bit more put-together like usual. He's still exhausted from yesterday, man! Really should have rested up... at least the author acknowledges it. (Forced bed rest soon? Hopefully?)

This is how Hiruhiko was able to get the drop on Chihiro. Chihiro's got a lot on his mind and he has trouble focusing, just like Uruha chided him for on the train. His resolve is unshaken but he's still prone to wavering in the moment as he tries to process things. He even misses the fist time Samura's name was mentioned! Clearly Chihiro needs Hakuri or Uruha or someone there to yell encouragement at the right time to stop him from getting lost in his own head. But he's got a lot to think about and work through right now, so it's understandable why he's so stressed out.

Poor Chihiro. He's coming to the conclusions that we, the readers privileged with having weeks IRL to ponder new information, came to long ago. The Master is not treated like a hero but a prisoner, and probably for very, very good reasons. Ones good enough to convince Samura to make a deal with the devil.

What Actually Happened?!

Not all the blades have themes from nature, it seems. Geisha offered many different types of entertainment to guests, from performing music to conversation to serving sake. So now we have the idea behind the name [Swaying Sake]!

First up to delay just a little longer: Kumeyuri power reveal! Seems to be based in some kind of performing arts aesthetic with the geisha that were conjured. Fitting for the guy who wears kabuki eye make-up right? ...And for the next bearer, who interrupted a kabuki performance to pick it up in a theater... I see you and your foreshadowing, Hokazono-sensei.

Fine. I'll admit it. The ending of the chapter makes it crystal clear that Hiruhiko is the new bearer contracted to Kumeyuri by having his origami butterflies come undone as he grasps the hilt in his teeth. Can't even hope it's another case of someone "borrowing" power like Kyora did with the Shinuchi of the bunch.

Magatsumi's the only blade that can be used by someone not contracted to it, hence the extra protections it needed.

So that means... yeah. Uruha's gone. Just like that.

There will be thousands of theories about what exactly happened to Uruha, why Samura made a deal with John, what the details of that deal were- we'll get the truth soon. I'm most interested in the reasoning that ties into Samura's sincere beliefs of killing being an evil act.

The burden of death weighs so heavily on him that he blinded himself in penance. But he's willing to let his own apprentice die -probably even kill him himself!- because of... what? What was so horrible about fighting with the Master and Kunishige's weapons for the good of the nation? What compelled him to help the Hishaku kill the remaining bearers and upend the peace they earned?!

Hey, Samura. Is it really so bad to be called a war hero while being treated like a prisoner in a comfortable government-provided jail facility? Is it so horrible that "alternative facts" pass for real history to bury whatever horrors you witnessed and possibly perpetrated? Is it truly awful to have people willing to die for you despite all the grave sins you've committed? That they're likely completely unaware of thanks to government propaganda and being too young to have witnessed the truth?

...I need those Seitei War flashbacks pronto.

*----------------------------------------------------------------------------*

Wait a minute. Jail? Even the friggin' onsen?

Yup! The Master's the only one being treated like a dangerous criminal outright, but the 慚箱 [sanso] are just dressed up prisons for the Bearers. The Kamunabi ain't even subtle about it.

慚 [san] - to feel shame 箱 [sou] - box

The government put these guys in specially-constructed (or repurposed) buildings officially referred to as "shame boxes" and told them they couldn't leave. Even the name given to one of them is a bit much! 国獄温泉 [Kokugoku Onsen] translates to:

国 [koku]- country/state/national government 獄 [goku]- jail/prison 温泉 [onsen] - hot spring

Gee, I wonder if Uruha was having a good time at State Prison Hot Springs?

That said, while there may well be some bitterness between the Bearers and the Kamunabi, it's not the main motivating factor for Samura. His is definitely rooted in how they all acted during the war and how guilty he feels now that they're promoted as heroes.

*----------------------------------------------------------------------------*

It looks like Chihiro's being summoned by Hakuri in the very last panel so we might get some perspective on Samura's reasoning next week. Probably no clear answers right away, but at least enough to see if he really was the one who killed Uruha and a bit of insight into why. And to see if Uruha's dead at all... I mean, if we don't see a body... let me be delusional, okay?!

I'm just not able to go all-in on believing Uruha's dead. But it's not because I don't think he actually is... it just doesn't feel real after spending weeks preparing to let go of Samura. Not to mention the tried-and-true tactic of baiting out strong emotions with implied character deaths.

Normally I don't take death foreshadowing like this too seriously in shounen series. I just wait to see if the author is faking me out or not before getting stressed (unless it's Hakuri, in which case I stress responsibly). But Kagurabachi is a series that lured the MC with a child's severed leg and showed two suicide attempts on-screen, one of which was horrifically successful- right in front of someone who was already traumatized too. Hell we lost most of the anti-Kuregumo squad without much fanfare back in the Sojo arc! Only actually showing a child being tortured on-screen is too much, apparently. This series is dark as hell when the author wants it to be and Uruha's death is probably another one of those times.

There's hope in me that Uruha can still come out of this alive just because I like him so much, but I want the author to follow through on his death when it's presented as such an ominously real scenario. All signs point to Uruha being a goner, so don't make it look iron-clad then say "nah" the next chapter with some technicality that we couldn't have known about until the reveal. I would rather lose Uruha in an unexpectedly painful way than be faked out just to get the reaction out of me, y'know? Don't toy with me. Commit to crushing my heart, dammit.

But, God... oh man. I fell for the bait and got stupidly attached to a Bearer in the arc named after killing them. I even knew bad times were coming because of all the levity at the start of the arc but still went on hoping nothing would happen so soon. Laugh at me, I deserve it. I probably helped this manifest by mentioning how awful it would be if Chihiro found out a Bearer died because Hiruhiko was able to contract with one of the blades. Saying "I crave the angst that will come from this situation with every fiber of my being" in a post tag was overkill. It's just:

Author: names the arc after assassinating the bearers

Reader: gets attached anyway

Author: assassinates a bearer

Reader: ╚(•⌂•)╝

Coping Theory

May as well put my two cents in on how it could have gone down while I'm here...

I wonder if he planned to die in the raid instead so it looked like an unavoidable accident, sparing everyone else from the carnage.

This exact sequence- the Makizumi talking about honor in death for saving Samura, and Uruha's words that the Bearer's lives need to be valued above others'- is what solidifies Samura's resolve. This man is filled to the brim with guilt and self-loathing (much like another swordsman we know). He cannot save himself, but... perhaps he can take some equally bad sinners down with him for the greater good. He's not only a mirror for Hakuri, but Chihiro as well- one's resolve to save no matter the cost to one's self, and one's resolve to go to hell for what they believe is right. That's how I'm reading this until we get his own insight on the matter, at least.

It's not a stretch to infer that Samura thinks the Bearers are better off dead in large part due to the powers they command and things that were done during the war. That's still a huge mystery to be unraveled but I mean:

Seeing the bare minimum of Magatsumi in action really drives home how horrific these "heroes" could seem out on the battle field doesn't it? No wonder the clone sorcerer described the Seitei war as "hell on earth". But the public has no knowledge of this. They only got the sanitized version fit for PR purposes and feel-good stories.

The Hishaku seem to be intent on dismantling this image. Perhaps that's how they got Samura on their side? Not sure how the current Bearers dying and giving the Hishaku access to that dreadful power is better than the status quo, but that's something that will become clear with more reveals about the ideology driving the group. Maybe Samura doesn't care so much about the rest of the world and just wants to do what's best for the truth that's been buried under nearly two decade's worth of secrecy.

As to what happened with Uruha... two things come to mind. One I think is more likely, and one I want to cling to until it's ripped away as I sob and beg for just one little bit of comfort.

Most likely, I think Samura and Uruha had an exchange about ideals and the value of their lives. Samura overpowered Uruha per the plan as the "trump card" and that was that.

In delulu land, I want Samura to have been double-crossed. As in he made a deal on the condition that the lives of the people he cared about would be spared, but of course Uruha couldn't be allowed to live. So the Hishaku ensured that he'd die there no matter what. It's a bunk theory since Mr. Hatshaku left once the situation turned against him... maybe incorporate some of the datenseki mind control stuff in there somehow? I don't know. Just let me have this until canon proves otherwise.

Hakuri and Chihiro, Though?! And Miscellaneous Questions

(Ch. 46) I'm not going to be okay for a while and neither are they.

Best boys are really gonna go through it no matter what Chihiro is summoned back to. They'll be in a rough way... not only did they lose Uruha and hand Kumeyuri to Hiruhiko, but Samura betrayed them all... oof. So much for proving themselves to the Kamunabi. They're going to get an earful and be set back in the "negotiations" big time.

No doubt Chihiro will put this burden on his shoulders too, even if no one could have predicted Samura's defection to the enemy. It's his dad's legacy that's causing all this strife right now. He'll be more motivated than ever to unravel the war's true history and I'll be right there with him hoping he doesn't push himself too hard or harshly. The son shouldn't be responsible for the sins his father committed before he was even born. But that's just like, my opinion, man.

Meanwhile...

"I'm still good for it," wheezes the guy with blood gushing out of his nose at an alarming rate.

Hakuri will probably blame himself too. Depending on how things shake out, it could be for anything from accidentally arming a traitor to seeing someone die in front of him again. There's a good chance he'll (temporarily) lose the thing that makes him useful too, so that'll be an extra layer of angst for him to deal with. What value does a broken tool that couldn't fulfill it's one purpose have?

I also wonder what prompted Hakuri to summon Chihiro away from Hiruhiko. He's kind of in rough shape to do it just 'cause he misses his (boy)friend. They have cell phones to communicate with so it seems a bit abrupt to summon him back without checking first. Hakuri's also not the type to impose on someone to protect him. Nor is he the type to drop Chihiro into the middle of a life-or-death situation without a sense of mutual understanding first. So there had to be some kind of pressing need. The timeline of events means he's summoning Chihiro right after Uruha was killed, so... more soulmate stuff maybe? Their souls call out to each other and resonate when they're in distress, after all (it's canon baybeeeeee). They're in perfect harmony and all that. Sorry for the shipping nonsense I just need any bit of fluff I can get right now.

So many questions that might not get answered...

What about the Makizumi? Will they defect to serve Samura? Or will they try to help get Hakuri to safety with the Kamunabi? Samura doesn't want to kill them at all so no matter what happens they'll live at least. Hooray an elite squad that didn't bite the dust... (I think they will choose Samura because of everything he did for them).

How did Hiruhiko know when Kumeyuri was usable anyway?! Was it some signal from his mystery supporter that was lurking outside the window? And who was that- did Worst Jeanist show up?

Samura's loath to kill innocents, but does Hakuri count as one? Would losing his sorcery be enough to count him as neutralized for the Hishaku's purposes? Was exhausting Hakuri the main reason why Hiruhiko sent all the forces to the temple in the first place?

Hiruhiko wasn't surprised to see Tobimune disappear, so the Hishaku probably know about Hakuri's power. Their mole within the Kamunabi should get a bonus for the turnaround time on learning that bit of info and sending it on. Unless John's playing 5D chess and knew about Hakuri's awakening and team-up with Chihiro before they even met the Kamunabi anyway... perhaps even orchestrated it too... that would definitely need a very good explanation.

Alright. Okay. Let's wait on tenterhooks together, dear void. No waterworks until they show the body, got it?

[sob]

[cherrygummybears]

at last here it is!! the piece i wrote about mash for my final project for my geography class. i originally made this on arcgis and the site is being super annoying. i’m not able to post a link to the piece in its original form without doxxing myself, so i’m just going to put the text and photos directly in the post. (under a cut of course).

essentially, american media has a tendency to depict other countries in a very ignorant and inaccurate way, and while mash does have its own issues with this, I thought it would make a very interesting case study of the larger issue in hollywood because it’s an example where the writers were trying to get things right and trying to be genuinely progressive. based on that i made some conclusions about american individualism and how i think it affects our interactions with the rest of the world.

a few asides: some photos from the original version are removed because i’m unsure about copyright. i also had interactive maps embedded in the original which i unfortunately cannot transfer to a tumblr post. i changed the wording of a few spots to remove unnecessary geography terminology that i included to meet assignment requirements. im also really sorry if the writing is a little janky or if I got anything wrong! I made this entire project from start to finish (including research stages) in the span of probably about 48 hours. and i was very sleep deprived the whole time but I tried very hard to make it the best I could in spite of the time crunch I was under!

(also, i don’t know them and we aren’t mutuals so i feel too awkward to tag them outright, but huge thank you to tumblr user mashhistorian. i would not have been able to pull this piece together without the information i found on their website.)

anyways! full piece below the cut :)

————————————————————————

On February 28, 1983, roughly 106 million Americans tuned in to CBS to watch the finale of the 1970s sitcom M*A*S*H, cementing the 2.5 hour special as the most viewed episode of a television series in American history (a record which still has not been surpassed today). Not only did the show eventually help blueprint the AB plot structure and the dramedy genre, but it also promoted a strong anti-war stance to a large audience. Set in a fictional Mobile Army Surgical Hospital unit in the Korean War, taking place near Uijeongbu, South Korea, and debuting in 1972, M*A*S*H began airing on television at a time when the US military was still directly involved in the Vietnam War. This involvement ended only a year after M*A*S*H began, but the overall unpopularity of the Vietnam War in the years leading up to the show’s debut heavily motivated its anti-war position.

Though this message became the centerpiece far more often in seasons 6 through 11, the writers and cast always had the goal of emphasizing the tragedy and uselessness of war. Given the large audience that M*A*S*H quickly grew, this was a powerful position to take, and a rather unusual one at the time. Other shows that were airing during the same time period as M*A*S*H were usually comedies, and did not make such direct commentary on relevant political issues. However, although this message was very well intentioned, it was not always executed perfectly, and incongruities and inaccuracies sometimes arose. American movies and television shows are not strangers to inaccurate depictions of foreign countries, and in line with this issue, one criticism of M*A*S*H was its general inaccuracy in portrayals of Korean people and Korea itself. Given the way M*A*S*H subverted its own initial comedic structure and consistently made commentary which rebelled against the traditional politics of mainstream American television networks, the show’s depiction of Korea makes for a remarkably unique case study of the shortcomings of American media when portraying foreign countries.

(A modern photo of Uijeongbu, South Korea)

Today, as a result of significant urbanization, the city of Uijeongbu has become a satellite community of Seoul with a population of roughly 460,000 people. Information on the size of the city at the time of the Korean War is very limited, but it seems that during those years Uijeongbu was likely a small village. However, M*A*S*H was not actually filmed anywhere near Korea, or even southeast Asia. Rather, it was filmed entirely in Southern California. The show had an indoor set at 20th Century Fox Studios, and an outdoor set located in Fox Ranch, now called Malibu Creek State Park. The producers actually chose the location for the outdoor set because they felt that it bore a resemblance to Korea. In some ways, this choice worked in the show’s favor when it comes to the physical geography of its canon location. Uijeongbu is surrounded on multiple sides by a mountainous landscape, and Malibu Creek State Park also boasts a mountainous backdrop.

(A modern photo of Malibu Creek State Park. It has noticeably more yellow tones in its greenery than the modern photo of Uijeongbu.)

At the same time, however, the southern California filming location does not align quite so well with the setting of Uijeongbu. Southern California is warmer than northern South Korea, and has far less variance in temperature, with the Malibu area rarely having temperatures outside the range of 40-90 degrees Fahrenheit at any time during the year. In contrast to this, Korea has significantly more differentiation in the weather between seasons, with Uijeongbu sitting in the 20 and 30 degree range in winter and the 70 and 80 degree range in the summer. It is difficult to find information on how the Korean climate may have been different at the time of the Korean war, but based on the accounts of some former soldiers, it seems the winter weather could reach far below this range. While this would align with the numerous M*A*S*H winter episodes which emphasized the biting, windy cold, current information about Uijeongbu’s climate matches up less well.

In terms of greenery, the two locations seem relatively similar, though Uijeongbu is greener today than Malibu Creek State Park. It is hard to find photos of what Uijeongbu’s landscape looked like during the Korean War, but based on the photos available, along with photos of nearby Seoul at the time, it was likely less green than it looks today, partly because of the destruction caused by the war. If anything, this probably would have made it more similar in greenery to Malibu Creek State Park because of the combined greenery and desert-like landscapes that make up many areas of southern California.

The camera and television quality that was available at the time of the show’s production also likely plays into things, as the same locations within Malibu Creek State Park look different when photographed with less grainy cameras, and the show itself likely looked different when broadcasted onto the much smaller television screens of the 1970s. Overall, based on this information, the climate differences between Korea and California did not seem to cause major issues with M*A*S*H’s portrayal of Korea. Most likely, any noticeable discrepancies in the landscape and weather are attributable to older technology and mild dramatization typical of American television (although the fact that domestic landscapes are not treated with this same dramatization is still something which should be discussed).

(A comparison of the M*A*S*H filming location from the time of filming to now. The grainier camera quality of the 1970s causes the colors to appear more brown than they are in reality.)

M*A*S*H’s biggest issue in its depiction of Korea lies in its portrayal of Korean people. There were no regular Korean characters, and a limited number of recurring ones. The majority of Korean characters on the show were one time characters, and were also rarely played by Korean actors (rather, they were frequently played by Japanese or Chinese actors instead). There was also the supposed issue of the language and accent being spoken inaccurately, and the one dimensional and cultureless way with which Koreans on the show were portrayed. Although M*A*S*H’s producers Larry Gelbart and Gene Reynolds actually went to South Korea to ensure greater accuracy in the show, their visit focused very heavily on the experiences of American doctors and nurses in the former 8055th MASH unit, a real MASH unit which existed during and after the Korean war and was instrumental in inspiring the show. In documentation of a 1974 news article on this topic, there is nothing indicating that Gelbart or Reynolds spent any of their interviewing and touring time with any Korean people (instead indicating they spent the entirety of the trip at the 8055th MASH).

(Korean actor Soon-Tek Oh playing Mr. Kwang in an episode of M*A*S*H. He was one of only three Korean actors involved with the show (the other two being Philip Anh and Richard Lee-Sung. Each of these actors played a number of different Korean characters.))

Interestingly, this article also notes that Gelbart went to Korea once before in 1951. It is highly likely that this previous visit influenced the writing of Korean characters. At the time of Gelbart’s apparent visit in 1951, the Korean War would have been underway, which means that he likely saw a disaster-struck version of the country due to the destructive effects of the war. This is supported by a 1997 article in Las Vegas Sun which discusses M*A*S*H’s less than accurate depiction of Korean people from a more Korean-focused perspective. In the article, Gelbart says that he saw significant wreckage and destruction during his first visit to Korea, likely referring to his trip in 1951. It seems that the suffering and damage Gelbart witnessed upon his first visit to Korea informed the way he wrote Korean characters. But by focusing on the disasters Korean civilians faced, the rich culture they carried with them was neglected in M*A*S*H’s characterizations. The lack of dimension given to Korean characters leaves them with little in the way of individuality, so they end up defined largely by the tragedies they go through rather than by their culture or personality, an issue which the main cast of American characters on the show notably did not experience in the same way.

(A photo of Seoul in 1950, damaged as a result of the war. This is the sort of destruction Gelbart would have seen on his trip in 1951, and given that he visited a year into the war, it's possible the destruction had worsened from what this image shows.)

Ultimately, M*A*S*H targeted an American audience, and the intent was to present this audience with a very anti-war message. It is clear that a lot of effort went into accurately portraying life in a MASH unit for American doctors and soldiers. However, the show’s extremely heavy focus on American experiences in the war, while effective for advocating the futility of war to an American audience, neglected the experiences and lives of Korean people. The fact that the show began as a thinly veiled allegory for the war in Vietnam likely only amplified the problem. It is clear that the unpopularity of the Vietnam war among the American population helped drive the desire to speak out against the war in the show, but because of the political volatility of the issue at the time, the Korean War made for a backdrop that CBS would find more acceptable. This was particularly because it allowed for the anti-war stance to be phrased in a more generalized manner, which slightly softened the blow of its political intentions.

However, the intense focus on this stance centered the experiences of Americans, and its broader generalization only further pushed Korean experiences to the wayside. In a very unfortunate way, this effect in itself is somewhat of an unintentional commentary on American involvement in wars. M*A*S*H, with its American writers, characters, and audience, aimed to send a message about the useless tragedy of war, using Korea as a means. But because the goal of the show was so centered in American politics, the events of the show centered American experiences as well. This often left Korean people misrepresented to the American population in the process, the same way foreign countries are frequently misrepresented to the American public when America enters a war in order to further some political or economic doctrine.

(Nurses from the 8055th MASH unit in the Korean War. A surgeon from this unit wrote the original book which inspired the M*A*S*H movie and later also the TV series. On their trip to South Korea, Larry Gelbart and Gene Reynolds visited the unit and spoke with its members. They also spoke with some former members of the unit in the US to use their experiences as inspiration for episode plot lines.)

Furthermore, while M*A*S*H does have a number of episodes which tackle the issue of racism, they generally feature a domestically American brand of it. This was remarkably progressive for its time and place, but it was also American-centric, focusing on America’s issues with racism domestically while forgetting how those issues impact America’s interactions with other countries. Overall, M*A*S*H was remarkably progressive in the context of domestic American politics, but outside of that context, it was noticeably less so. The way the show’s characterization is frequently brilliant with American characters while falling short with Korean ones, as well as the American-centric political motivations that influenced the show, are indicative of a larger pattern of self-centeredness which has long permeated American society.

As globalization and cultural exchange become increasingly widespread in our world, it is important to recognize that historically this exchange has not happened in an equitable or balanced fashion. As Americans, we often expect people in foreign countries to have a certain level of knowledge about our culture while insisting that it should be acceptable for us to have a far more limited knowledge of theirs. The performatively individualized nature of our society causes us to lack community and fall into traps of self absorbed thinking, and as a result we do not hold ourselves to the same expectations for cultural understanding that we frequently level at others. Even when we try to have progressive political discussions, our focus on domestic political issues often blinds us to the impact our political problems can have on the rest of the world. Even if American pop culture was not as widespread as it is, it would still be important to make sure we put the same effort into depicting other people around the world as we do into depicting ourselves, for the sake of being respectful and building a more open minded world. But particularly because of the influence that American pop culture often has, it is not only disrespectful but irresponsible to misrepresent other cultures in our media.

In the case of M*A*S*H, Korean culture was relatively unknown in America at the time the show was on air. Today, because of the Korean Wave and the rise in popularity of K-pop music in America, awareness of Korean culture among the American public has likely increased from what it was when M*A*S*H was airing on television. Of course the offensiveness of poorly done depictions of other cultures are reason enough that we need to correct these mistakes, and of course we should not rely on television and movies to inform our perspectives. But the influence American media has on our mental mapping of other countries makes it even more important to get things right. In a world where cultures are being shared with increasing frequency and openness, giving foreign characters the same effort and accuracy we give American ones is the least we can do to start making this exchange more balanced.

[ricanvvas]

Hinata Hyuga Slander and why it is obnoxiously idiotic.

I actually thought the Hinata Slander was a joke or one or two people sided with it. But I am totally taken aback to realize that it’s actually real—and a little popular—it’s real?

Prepare for a run down through Naruto Series kids, because some few fellas clearly did not watch it properly. Either that, orrr…they’re filled with unreasonable hatred for a character who should be the last to be hated. By literally anybody.

I’m going to try to keep this short (I’m lying), but there are going to be topics on Hinata I’m going to go over so it’s not a messy bunch and rather organized and you can skip to which ever you find most relevant.

Before anything, a remark, I never overly cared for Hinata’s existence and she isn’t even in my top 15 Naruto characters but that does not mean I dislike her nor do I look down at her character. Now imagine a person like me going out of their way to take time and write an entire blog for her—yeah, it’s that ridiculous.

There will be that one person—and I’m saying this beforehand—who will barely skim through this and childishly reply to my blog. Catch me caring though!

All of the topics will include manga based evidence as well as a breakdown of the scene and what they portray, therefore, canon reasonings. There are plenty of other and more evidence out there, I will only provide some and main ones that back up claims. Here are topics I will be going over:

Hinata Hyuga as an anime character/character writing

Personality

Goals & Dedications

Skills & Strength

Incessant Love for Naruto Uzumaki

#1 Character Writing

While many people believe that Kishimoto is terrible at writing female characters, I’d like to disagree. Females like Temari, Konan, Ino, and Karin all pass the main checkmarks of being an exceptionally “good” character; a solid background/past, special abilities, and set personality. What I do agree with though is that he does not know how to put them to use, and it is obvious why. These females were not the only ones tossed aside—so were good characters like Lee, Neji, Jiraiya, and so on, all because of the author’s obsession with the Uchiha as well as Sasuke’s story.

Hinata is included in the “good” character checklist, and rather exceeds. The difference between her and the rest of the women is that she is the best representation of an individualistic woman and had incredible character development.

↓ How did we go from a girl so easily shaken and brought down with mere words

↓ To the girl who had the guts to charge against an Akatsuki member,

↓ And seeked frontlines during the war?

It may look like it’s only for the sake of Naruto, but it’s not entirely the reason, only partial. Everybody was set on saving Naruto anyway, instead of fighting the war themselves because they knew Naruto was their key to winning.

Hinata’s introduction may have started with her admiration for Naruto Uzumaki, and it did play a big part, but her entire existence never just revolved around romance. She had way more to her. Hinata’s character itself promotes women empowerment despite her not being the main female protagonist.

Through her writing, we learn that women don’t need to not seek love in order to be independent and a powerful female with goals and dedications that have nothing to do with romance. Hinata is a perfect example of this.

As a side-side character, Hinata excels in character writing, and is interesting enough to keep the audience invested in her existence. The next few manga pages and break-downs will explain it well.

#2 Personality

Her personality did not revolve around her undying love for Naruto only. She was her own person, too.

↓ While shy and timid, Hinata is also a pure and kind hearted soul, as we do not know any character she actually has bad blood with, making her somebody easy to be around with. She’s very gentle, making the atmosphere around her almost tranquil.

↓ Her conflict with Neji was very one-sided, and despite his harsh treatments, she still used honorifics and respected him.

↓ Yes, she might be a soft human being, but not to the point she is unable to pick out flaws in other people.

She seems more warmed up in Shippuden than she was in Classic, and it’s fair to say that ever since Chunin exams, she had gained confidence with the help of Naruto’s cheering. Confidence in herself and her skills. (Panels above may help)

Something to keep in mind is that Neji was known to be more cold, arrogant, and stronger than Sasuke during this time, by Kakashi’s words.

↓ Yet Hinata did not back away even after being told to, multiple times I believe, even by Kiba himself.

↓ This was the beginning of her journey of trying to be more assertive about herself, as she believes she could keep on going without chickening out.

↓ And she didn't back away when someone from the Hyuga Clan told her to do so--she was persistent.

Hinata was never meant to be somebody with great leadership skills; she has always been a follower, almost, who takes a lot of inspiration from people she looks up to. The obvious person, Naruto, and Neji were mentioned.

#3 Goals & Dedications

Her goal had never been only to be a wife and a lover to Naruto. It was one of her goals, the hope to get Naruto to acknowledge her, which he did several times. But that was not it, there was more.

Hinata did not seem so close with her family, so she had no certain goals regarding the Hyuga Clan. She was almost avoiding them and was deemed to be a shinobi, which she probably preferred, participated, and found likeness to, rather than the next heir to the Hyuga Clan, simply because her father did not believe her feather-like personality was fit for it, nor did Hinata seem too interested to lead a clan with such twisted rules and laws.

Despite her father's harsh, degrading words (and Neji's), she did not let it effect her because she continued to get stronger later on.

Hinata always wanted to be self-assured, and wanted to be as confident as Naruto always has been. She wanted to be of use, somehow. Refer to #2, second last image.

↓ Here, too, we see her admitting that she never believed in herself, until she did.

"I stared liking myself a little more..." shows she had very little fondness for herself.

Hinata wanted to change herself for a very long time. She did not ever want to stay the way she used to be--scared.

Another admittance,

But then...

All of these images show that Hinata had something she was thriving for, something she was dedicated to achieve that was not just romance. So, props to Hinata (and Tenten, but that's another story) for actually having a goal/objective.

#4 Skills & Strength

All powers Hinata has been shown to use/possess:

Byakugan (Kekkei Genkai)

Gentle Fist (Specific Taijutsu)

The Eight Trigrams (Air Palm, Palm Rotation, 64-Palms)

The Gentle Step; Twin Lion Fist

The Eight Trigram; Twin Lions Surging Shots (Utilizes Hagoromo's Chakra)

Hamura Otsutsuki's Chakra

And some others I might’ve missed

I'm not going to make this section breaking down each ability, but I'm going to use this information to factually prove that Hinata has more amounts of known and used abilities than probably all female characters, as well as like 90% of overall Naruto characters or something. And she's definitely stronger than a lot of characters, logically, despite her not having been in fights very often.

During younger years, Hinata Hyuga was put against Neji Hyuga—once again, claimed to be possibly stronger than Sasuke at that time—and Hinata was actually able to put up with Neji. For a bit, or a while, it doesn't matter. For a young, scared girl who has never been in a fight before to be able to do so speaks for her skills.

Inexperienced against the nearly strongest genin, one filled with hatred, among her generation, Hinata exceeded enough.

↓ In Shippuden, we even get a scene where she protects Neji!

There's a very few people Hinata actually canonically fought, but when she did, she did plenty well for being a side-side character.

↓...And that same side-side character, Hinata Hyuga, was the only kunoichi in the entire show to actually land a hit on Pain, during Pain Arc. The inevitable praise.

Here comes the cries of, “but she was flung LOL” “hinata didn’t achieve shit from this” “he threw her like she was nothing”

Frankly, those are most ignorant things you can say regarding her actions. To stand up against an Akatsuki member? That takes a lot of balls, considering that nobody was standing up for Naruto, and practically gave up, giving into Pain’s near-victory.

The entire point was not even to defeat Pain—it was to defend Naruto. And in doing so, she stalled for a bit, preventing him from immediately killing Naruto. In that amount of time, the few who remained could’ve backed her up, they could’ve offered some sense of rescue, but because of twist of fate, and the expected, Hinata was unable to keep Pain off of Naruto. It brought her to near-death, triggering Naruto Uzumaki’s 9-Tail-Fox.

Hinata was the fiercest woman. She wasn’t stupid, she accepted she was weaker and couldn't win before she even got onto the battle field. But she tried.

The scene was never about physical strength to begin with; it was her strong mindset and dedication. She was aware of the consequences and still stepped in, demonstrating her everlasting commitment for Naruto. This entirely proves that she not only had great self-development, she had the audacity to stand against the strongest Akatsuki member (excluding Obito), who killed a Legendary Sannin.

#5 Incessant Love for Naruto Uzumaki

In the entirety of Naruto Anime existence (excluding Boruto), only one of its movies have been considered canon, that being Naruto: The Last.

While I hoped it would show us Naruto promoting to Hokage, all of it was focused on Hinata and Naruto's relationship, and we found out a lot through it. Like, a lot.

There are very few couple/characters in Naruto that actually have past together/some story and strong reasoning to start liking their love interest. Such characters being Kushina, Karin, Konan (the K's lol), and of course, Hinata.

There are filler episodes that go before The Last, but I wouldn't count them (even if they add on to the actual story), but in The Last, we figure out that Hinata and Naruto first met when he protected her from getting bullied due to her Byakugan, and he gets beaten up for it.

"Never go back on my word" was one of Naruto's internal rules that he stuck by and it made up his entire personality, almost. Hinata really seemed to respect it and use it for herself.

She tend to turn his imperfections into motivations,

Those feelings seem to get more bold in Shippuden and more confronting. So much so she did not hesitate to put her life on the line for the boy. Not "just because." Hinata gave a list of unavoidable reasonings, that we were able to point out, too.

And vice-versa, she did make a difference in Naruto's life pre-marriage. She gave him courage, motivation, and a reason to keep going. Refer to the fourth image in this section, too.

Then, our closure, he finally realized that Hinata has been there for him since the beginning of the times (also in The Last).

“…but…but…! Hinata is a stalker! She was always watching Naruto! She’s so creepy!”

Okay, but her canonically shown watching Naruto was like, twice in 700 episodes… ↓

And...honestly...it's not really...that...deep...lol? Old Japanese humor. And don't act like girls nowadays don't stalk the shit out of the boy they like--let's get real here. Just get over it. It's an exaggerated cartoon.

People have different views when it comes to love. But one thing I heavily disagree with are weak or false reasonings to fall in love with somebody. You’ll screw yourself over. Seeing a guy walk through the door and finding him physically attractive should not be your reason to “fall in love” and keeping that reason forever; you’re falling in love with his body, not him. It could be the start of your interest. Taking your time to get to know what kind of individual they are, and then accepting their personality, and falling in love with that person is guaranteed success. Reasons are important.

And Hinata understood that well, unlike someone who didn’t (I’m throwing shade!)

(A very quick addition and counter-argument I might get is that Hinata was the cause of Neji's death. I didn't want to put this into an entire section because it'll involve mentioning Neji's own character. But to be frank, Neji chose to protect Hinata and died that way. And I idiotically love Neji far more than Hinata. You don't need somebody's permission to protect them, nor did Neji do it just because he was the lower branch of the Hyuga Clan. Neji and Hinata’s relationship was beyond that. Way beyond. Reread the manga, or even rewatch the anime, and listen and figure out why he did what he did. It had nothing to do with Hinata being a higher rank than him, at least not entirely at all.)

__________________________________________

I was going to add another section titled, "Comparison", but because of image restrictions and as well as the thought that this blog is only about Hinata, I scratched it out.

I don't even praise Hinata. She isn't my favorite Naruto female, either. Personally, for me, she just existed as a character. But I'd be damned if I threw any dirt on her for any reason.

If anything, I believe Hinata Hyuga's character is underappreciated in the way she should be appreciated. She's not just some...loyal, attractive girl (hell, Kishimoto never canonically even drew her with tight/exposing clothing, they were always baggy. So, screw the anime studio.) She was a figure of a powerful woman, better written than any other female in Naruto, and a strong individual, with more story than several, several other characters.

So when I heard "Hinata Slander" was a real thing, truly, I was baffled. I'll admit my blog was quite messy despite my effort to keep it organized with main claims and obvious evidence, but there are still multiple more panels that back up everything I've mentioned that make up Hinata's character.

After all this, I really don't think there's anything that can be said against her in the context (and lie) of "she is a horrible character." And there aren't a lot of characters she can fairly be compared to, anyway. She's just awesome.

As a person, and a side-side anime character, Hinata Hyuga undeniably exceeded.

"Hinata Slander" is fake. Find something better to do than embarrassing yourself.

[brevityisnotmywit]

Soldiers Of The Fall Series (RvB)

General Warnings: Locington, Angst

3 Fics

WAR

CW: Nightmares, Coping,

The first note is discovered when Locus is going through his current alias’ mailbox. The paper isn’t crisp, but there’s a clear exactness to the way it’s folded over itself. The same can be said of the cryptic contents within.

[‘Do you remember standing on a broken field

White crippled wings beating the sky

The harbingers of war with their nature revealed

And our chances flowing by’]

-We need to talk.

The writing is, at a glance, flawless. When Locus looks more closely, there’s a delicate tremble running throughout the pen strokes. The only thing that’s clear cut is that the bulk of it is made up of song lyrics. Probably some locals pulling a prank. A small part of him wants to save the letter, for some reason.

Locus elects to burn it instead.

---

He’s on another Earth-controlled planet when the datapad is slipped to him. The man hardly gets anything at this place, so he’s not ‘blown away’ when the text flickers to life. Unprepared, yes. Awestruck, no.  

[‘If I can let the memory heal

I will remember you with me on that field

When I thought that I fought this war alone

You were there by my side on the frontline

When I thought that I fought without a cause

You gave me a reason to try ’]

-Not as hard to track as you think you are.

Well, if they found Locus predictable, they were going to learn just how elusive he could really be if he put his mind to it. The ex-mercenary leaves everything but his armor and vanishes into the night.

---

Locus has come to the understanding that his enigmatic letter writer is equally equipped to roam the universe as he himself is. The song gradually winds its was towards its end, be it on paper, digital media, or in one instance a singing-telegram service. (The poor sap almost pissed himself when Locus came to the door.)

If he can’t put a stop to it, Locus might as well put forth some effort in deciphering the meaning of it all.

While it was simple to find the song that contained the lyrics, Locus is doubtful it will help him in the long run. He’d started to pick up on a trend running through the whole debacle. Locus pulls out a pen, noting the underlined words and which notes they belonged to.

1st) WORDS- Remember, Crippled, Nature revealed, chances. NOTE- We need to talk.

2nd) WORDS- Memory, Will remember, Thought, Frontline, Thought, Try. NOTE- Not as hard to track as you think you are.

3rd) WORDS- Something new, Torn, Stunted view, Dogs, Memory heal, Remember. No note, just an outdated map of North America.

4th) SINGER- Kid handed me the directions he was given. WORDS- Thought, Alone, My side, Impossible, War, Without, Reason why. NOTE- Having a good trip through the stars?

Then the fifth arrived on a flashdrive. It was a clip of the rest of the song set to footage of Chorus. The words were superimposed over top of the video, underlines still present as in all before it.

[‘With no-one wearing their real face

It's a whiteout of emotion

And I've only got my brittle bones to break the fall

When the love in letters fade

It's like moving in slow motion

And we're already too late if we arrive at all

And then we're caught up in the arms race

An involuntary addiction

And we're shedding every value our mothers taught-]

Suddenly the video shifts to the footage of Felix monologuing to the-...no. There’s no way they could have pulled this off...could they?

[‘-So will you please show me your real face -]

Then it shows a scan of the North American map he’d been given. As the last of the words flash by, it slowly zooms in. By the time it stops, Locus feels like a fool for not connecting the dots sooner.

[-Draw the line in the horizon

Cos I only need your name to call the reasons why I fought.’]

The ending goes unheeded by Locus because the map is centered on Washington State. The theme of emphasizing terms relating to thought and memory all makes sense now. As if he was unsure if Locus had finally come to the solution himself, an all too familiar steel and yellow gauntlet slides a datapad into the feed of the map with clear coordinates. Below is a final, rather slyly worded note.

-Memory is the Key, Locus. Don’t keep making me wait.

---

When Locus approaches the rendezvous spot, he notices that someone (Presumably Washington.) had taken great care in selecting the site. It wasn’t in the middle of a field where snipers like himself would feel on edge. Yet, it isn’t caged in by the region's well-known mountain ranges. It was a fairly young forest, with trees unsuitable for gunners to take as vantage points.

Leave it to ever paranoid Washington to be sure he had at least some form of advantage, regardless of however minor it may be. Anything to compensate for that perceived lack of skill.

Speaking of the agent, Locus hears a shrill whistle and whips around. Washington is beckoning the cloaked man over, seemingly uncaring if it looked like he was waving at thin air to anyone who didn’t know better.

Locus hesitates before dropping his invisibility and it takes a shamefully large amount of restraint to suppress a childish pout. “I am unsure why I even bother at this point, if you just continue to spot me.”

"Can't be sure myself. " Washington’s voice sounds rough, like the bad end of a faulty transmission. It couldn’t just be the helmet to blame, not when Locus had witnessed the crimson spraying from the agent’s throat first hand.

Locus was pushing A’rynasea as fast as it could manage with one hand. The other was occupied with trying to keep pressure on Washington’s wounds. The agent lets out a wet sounding whine, struggling to move. Before Locus can push him back down, he makes out the man trying to speak.

“Mn? Mhn?” There’s not much beyond that, as the hospital looms ever closer in Locus’ line of sight

-

Locus hid, unseen by the staff and listened to what the doctor was going to report to the Reds and Blues.

“So he’s getting the hang of that new vocalizer I whipped up for him, now that he’s coming around from the anesthesia. Hey, Parker, did you catch the one that dropped him here?”

The medi-vac pilot glances at her like this was a frankly silly thing to ask, and shakes his head.

“Well that sure is a shame, huh? He keeps asking for us to go find Maine and wants to know what the deal with his new armor is!”

Locus freezes.

“Buuuut, he’s also having an ‘Autotune fight with the Autobots’ in his words, so it’s probably nothing!”

“Hey, Earth to Locus? You went all quiet. Not even your broody kind, either.” Washington has moved right up to the edges of Locus’ massive personal space bubble.

The former mercenary clears his throat, still coming off a touch sheepish. “My apologies, Agent Washington-”

“You know it’s okay to use Wash, right?”

Locus huffs a bit, looking off into the forest. “Why are we here?”

“Because you saved me.” The freelancer leans on a tree trunk, visor not hiding how he intensely watched Locus’ every move. “I’d like a chance to say thanks.”

“You tailed me across the cosmos to say that?”

Washington laughs like a worn down toy’s voice box. (Likely because he now spoke with one.) It wasn’t like the old footage Locus had snatched from the PFL servers. Before he would laugh in this breathy way that sounded like sunshine felt. Locus tries to shake that comparison from his mind, frowning.

“Of course I didn’t. You forgot to yank the standard issue GPS out of that new helmet of yours. Simmons gave me a hand in tracking it. I’d send you something once you stayed put for more than a month.”

“Fuck.” Locus hissed to himself. He was getting lazy now that Fel-...hmph.

Washington shrugs. “I’ve also got an offer for you.”

Locus waves in a ‘well don’t let me stop you.’ way.

“I’ve got a place you can use. I don’t stay there, so I want you to have it.” The agent kicks over a rock at his feet.

Locus scoffs, shaking his head. “I don’t need your charity. I’m not poor by any stretch of the imagination.”

“Did I call you poor?” the older man challenges. “I’d feel better knowing you’re nearby.”

The ex-mercenary sighs, turning on his heel. “Is that all, Agent Washington?”

“For now. Here.” Washington chucks a ring of keys to Locus. “I know you have my contact info, so keep in touch, yeah?”

“We will see. Goodbye, Agent.”

“See you soon.”

---

Locus found the cabin convenient. He had no other reasons for why he stayed as often as he did. (He had many reasons.) It was well stocked with dry firewood, electricity, and a spacious kitchen to make it comfortable for extended use. The first time Locus wandered into the house, he was taken aback that the fridge was brimming with his favored foods.

Locus likes to think he’s not a fool. He’s mulling over the discovery in his mind when he hears the distinctive crunch of tires on snow. In an instant, he’s cloaked and slinks out the back.

There’s a beat up SUV out front and it doesn’t take a sniper's eye to spot Washington in civilian clothes sliding out of the cab. Locus silently stalks around so Washington is sandwiched between himself and his cabin. Locus knows better. Locus knows the agent is too aware of his surroundings, but still he reaches out for the freelancer’s throat as he checks his phone.

Just before he can make contact, “Evening, Loc’s.”

Locus goes still on the snowy drive. Silence reigns for many long moments. “Why are you doing this.”

Washington glances over his shoulder at the invisible sniper. “Because I’ve been there, Locus.”

“Not your problem.”

There’s a scoff, wispy clouds escaping Washington’s teeth. “I don’t care. You need someone on your side. I know I did.”

That gives Locus pause. His silhouette shimmers before fading into nothing. With some thought, he settles he hand hovering near Washington’s chin onto his shoulder. This soldier was watching out for him, the sheep standing guard over the sleeping wolf.

Locus finds the attention is not unwelcome.

---

Washington turns up a few weeks later, one small bag at his side. “I just need some time off from the Reds and Blues. Let me go set up the futon, can you get the fire going? A storm’s rolling in sometime tonight.”

Locus nods quietly, trying to stamp out the panic bubbling up into his throat. ‘Washington isn’t going to care about seeing your face.’ He scolds himself. ‘You get to see his face, it’s only fair.’

There’s a pathetic, rusty shriek of hinges when Washington pulls at the frame of the longer of the two couches. After a minor struggle, it gives up, flopping open  The freelancer rasps out a chuckle. “Y’know, this is the only thing I have from before I enlisted. Kept it in a storage unit we all shared during PFL.” Something shifts in his tone so subtly it almost went over Locus’ head. “Everything here used to be in it. I couldn’t stand to see it rotting away in there.”

Locus glances around with a deeper understanding, and things make a bit more sense. “Are you willing to elaborate?” He asks while striking a match to set the tinder alight.

The futon creaks loudly when Washington sits on it. “Yeah, I can. The stuff in the kitchen came from pretty much everyone outside of Tex. Even the freelancers the Director didn’t give a shit about, Like West and Indi’s crew. The table was C.T.’s that’s why it’s covered up. She used to stab the shit out of it when she was learning knife skills. The butcher block is hers too, but she took good care of it for obvious reasons. The bed’s Carolina’s, didn’t even remember we had that unit when I asked to go get everything from it.” The older man smiles softly, staring up at the ceiling.

“York had the barstools, the chairs at the table were Wyoming’s. Florida had the other couch, and a few of the quilts. The deck chairs were from Illinois. North had a couple bookshelves. South had the footlockers and the old ass TV.” Washington's voice wavers, going faint. “...Maine had the rest of the blankets and the dressers.”

Locus resolutely focuses on arranging the logs, watching how the sparks swirl throughout the hearth.

“You look like him…” is whispered, as if the freelancer is scared to admit to it. “...but your skin is darker, less scars, more hair. Your eyes, they’re the biggest difference. His were like those little bits of amber they sell at museums.” Washington's voice trembles. “Sorry…”

Locus shakes his head. “Don’t be. It’s quite apparent he meant a great deal to you, so I consider it a compliment.” He sneaks a glance over his shoulder.

Washington has thrown an arm over his eyes, but the corners of his mouth draw up into a wistful smile. “That’s what I was going for with it.”

The fire pops, and the conversation ends.

---

Locus is startled awake by a panicked, broken scream. When he throws open the door, pistol in hand, he sees Washington arching off the futon, fingers clawing at the back of his neck.

“Agent Washington.” The ex-mercenary tries, stalking over to the freelancer. “Agent Washington!”

The noises that tumble from Washington can’t be classified as words. In the dark of night, it’s all too clear how lasting the damage had been. Locus can’t let this continue, lest Washington lose what little recovery he had. The man strides forward, grabbing an arm as it swings out without a thought.

Washington’s eyes fly open, still foggy with sleep. He expertly breaks Locus’ grip before twisting the younger man’s arm violently.

On reflex, Locus jerks away, thankful that Washington didn’t have the leverage or brute strength to snap his wrist. “ Wash! ”

The freelancer stills, blinking up at him in confusion. “Who?” He sounds even more off than before.

“You. I was speaking to you.”

“Use my name then, dipshit. You the new rookie, or something? Name’s Church, so get it right next time.” Washington scowls at him in a way that is very unlike himself.

Locus wished he was less understanding of what was going on, but the freelancer wasn’t the only one with wicked night terrors. In that mindset, anyone could lose themselves. The key difference was that Locus didn’t have someone else's memories to sift through. Maybe he could help somehow.

“No, I’m not a new recruit, and your name is not Church. You go by Washington. You are in your cabin in the middle of a snow storm.” Locus is treading carefully, wary of how the older man would react.

Washington just searches him with a haughty air of suspicion. “I’m just expected to buy into that?”

On a hunch, Locus points to the mirror hanging behind the living room. “Look at yourself, if you don’t.”

Washington tsk’s, lazily throwing a look over his shoulder, then double takes. “I-what the fuck?” Then he looks at his hands, flexing them many times, like they’re a puzzle in need of solving. Eventually, Locus can see the haze dissipate from his eyes. Once more he searches Locus for something only Washington knows.

“I had a nightmare, didn’t I?”

Locus nods, stopping Washington, predicting his reaction. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. I’m glad I could help out.”

In the dark cabin, Washington looks so very small. His eyes are watery, catching the barest hints of light. “...Will you stay with me?”

There’s not even a fraction of hesitation before Locus says, “Of course.” He sits carefully at the edge of the futon, not expecting a trembling hand to close around his arm.

“Thank you.”

Sharing a bed with Washington is so fundamentally different from sharing a bed with Felix, it gives Locus emotional whiplash. Felix usually needled him relentlessly, only stopping when he had what he wanted from Locus. (Sex, usually.) When he eventually did sleep, Felix as always jabbing with an elbow or a knee, all points and hard edges.

Washington allowed Locus the space he always craved. All he seemed to require was to hold onto Locus’ hand until he fell back to sleep. That was some how intensely more intimate than anything Felix had ever done to Locus. Maybe it was that Washington let Locus decide for himself. It bothered Locus too much to think about it.

---

Locus learned many things from the year that followed.

Locus always felt the cabin was too big when Wash wasn’t visiting.

Wash showed up every other Sunday with fresh food.

Locus worried more than he should about Wash’s safety.

Wash had a caffeine problem.

Locus had adjusted to civilian life better than Felix said he could.

Wash liked to sit on the same couch as Locus, but didn’t touch without his permission.

Locus liked how Wash curled against his side when he did give permission.

Wash wanted to help him get better, but allowed Locus to decide if he was alright with going to a therapist.

Locus realized he might have gotten in too deep when he stopped calling Wash ‘Agent Washington’ in his head.

Wash liked Locus for the ways he wasn’t Maine, rather than liking him for the ways they were the same.

Locus liked Wash. He liked him quite a lot.

CHILDREN OF THE SUN

To say Locus was apprehensive about meeting the Reds and Blues was technically accurate. Accurate in the same way that a rocket could be called a big firecracker. There was a reason the ex-mercenary left after making certain that Wash was safe. He wasn't a foolish man by any means. After the clusterfuck of Chorus he had no intentions of ever contacting them. Life had other ideas, clearly.

Locus isn't sure why his ship started malfunctioning when it had, but it led him to Grif babbling like a lunatic to a set of sports equipment painted in a childish manner. When they'd taken off, the endless stream of questions about Locus’ intentionally secretive life began. Things the man never wanted to think about again under normal circumstances.

They meet at a coffee house that is a favorite haunt of Wash. He'd cashed in a favor and after it had officially closed for the night, the Reds and Blues were huddled inside to avoid the brutal January weather. Outside, Locus can see them from the window, able to mostly guess on their identities. Sarge was fairly obvious with his bright red polo and buzzcut. The tall one with thick, messy curls must be Caboose. Simmons arm gave him away, despite the long-sleeved sweater doing it's damndest to hide the well oiled chrome, though the long braid trailing over his shoulder was a surprise. Tucker was the one who tried to spend as little time as possible in his armor, so Locus was quite familiar with his cropped hair and dimples. Carolina was almost exactly how she had been in Freelancer. Shorter hair, but still red as fire. Grif was snoring away on a couch, with who Locus thinks must be the medic and some fellow in a pink parka.

He's startled from the old habit of memorising people's faces by a hand slipping into his. Wash glances up at Locus with one of those tired, lopsided smiles he seems prone to.

“C’mon. Let's get this done.” The older man inclines his head to the door, gently tugging Locus along.

The door chimes when Wash opens it and everyone's attention is on the pair in an instant. Locus’ lingering doubts snap at him. Mentally he chides himself, “ You agreed to this. You promised no armor, remember? Wash is right there, you’ll be fine.”

“What the fuck , why is Locus a trashy romance novel beefcake?!” Tucker balks, nearly spilling his drink over the table.

The room erupts in a mix of cackling and irritated demands for silence. Locus clutches Wash’s hand firmly, his desire to remain hidden growing into a nigh unbearable need. A sharp whistle slices neatly through the din.

“All of you shut up and pay attention.” Wash rasps irritably. “Locus isn't here for you to gawk at. You asked to meet him, so get on with it.” The Freelancer's calloused fingers tighten around Locus’ palm. At some point he had placed himself between the ex-mercenary and his comrades.

The sheep diligently watches over the wolf.

“Fine-” Tucker sniffs dismissively. “-how about what the hell were you thinking, running off like that?”

“I don’t-” Locus tries before Sarge snappily adds on.

“It ain't rocket science, kid. Y’ could’a stuck around fer a few days, at least. Hell, what if we needed yer help with Susie Spec’ Ops’ over there?” He grumbles, nodding to Wash.

The man in question looks offended, opening his mouth to interject when Caboose cuts him off.

“Oh oh! Can I also have another hug??”

Everyone throws dirty looks at the Blue trooper.

“So Tucker can call him a book but I don't get a nice hug?” Caboose pouts dramatically.

They drop the subject. Grif rolls over, unkempt hair flopping into his eyes. “Sup Locs. Sorry I went nuts on you before... actually I'm not, but whatever.” He shrugs a shoulder. “You probably do owe Simmons a 'good job’ since he helped Wash track your dumb ass.”

Locus glances over at Simmons, finding he isn't the only one who wasn't thrilled with the whole situation. The thin soldier wrings the tail end of his braid, practically jumping out of his skin at the mention of his name.

“I-It was no big deal, don't worry about it!” He stammers rapidly, shoulders hunching, giving the impression that he was sinking back into his turtleneck.

“It was a big deal, nerd!” Grif retorts, pushing away from the lumpy overstuffed sofa, arms folded across his chest. “You kept bitching about how it was gonna be a pain with our old tech!”

Before another squabble can break out, Wash lets go of Locus’ hand to intervene. There’s a clear exhaustion threaded along the bow of his spine. He’s holding his arms out, glaring at both of them. “Don’t start. I need everyone to cool it.” The Freelancer drags his fingers through his hair, sighing. “Let Locus get a word in too. This isn’t an intervention, it’s a conversation.”

The medic pipes up from the far end of the sofa. “This is pretty normal for us, remember?”

“Of course he remembers, what a stupid question.” Locus thinks, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He’d grown used to Wash’s personality when it was just the two of them in that cabin. He wasn’t like the overly intense facade Locus had observed in the limited recordings of his time chasing the Meta. Not the intimidating soldier that had been sent after Epsilon, or the (admittedly lovable) goofball from the Freelancer era. He was quiet but shouted at the appliances when they didn’t work well. (The oven had been the target of many rants.) He didn’t sleep well but would pass out on Locus’ lap when they occasionally watched movies. He made dry-jokes, chuckling to himself quietly. He certainly wasn’t a pushover. They had argued like anyone with their histories would. Wash could be a force to reckon with if he was so inclined.

Yet here in this little room, he seemed to wilt. It was as though the intensity of these people made him lesser somehow. He didn’t feel able to fly his true colours. A memory flickers, triggering many more.

“I just need some time off from the Reds and Blues.”

“Hey, sorry, needed a bit of quiet time.”

“I’m fine, Car’s just...y’know.”

"I can't sleep, can we go do something?"

"I needed a peaceful place."

It’s just enough to push the ex-mercenary to speak.

Locus clears his throat, squaring his shoulders. Wash’s head snaps up, eyeing the ex-mercenary cautiously. “Normal changes sometimes. It isn’t exactly...efficient to argue all the time.”

“Part of our charm, numbnuts.” Tucker snorts, a snide smirk on his face. “Did you miss the memo?”

Locus wants to punch something.

He takes a breath instead. “It’s not the most charming habit, if you want my honesty.”

“Yeah, because killing people totally charms the underpants off’a folks!” The one in the pink parka taunts.

That thread holding Wash in check snaps in an instant. “Donut!”

The blonde jumps, upending his mug onto the floor.

“All of you can say what you want but Locus is trying. He’s known war just as long as we have, if not longer.” The Freelancer starts pacing (A nervous habit.) around an empty table. “We’ve all been assholes to each other so what makes him any different than me?”

“You weren’t a mercenary.” Carolina coldly states from the booth she’s taken over.

“I-” Wash stumbles over the tip of his boot, eyes a fraction too wide.

“You didn’t perpetuate a planet wide civil war, or spring a prison ship-” She calmly adds a finger for each reason, ignoring the way Wash tries to interject. “-You didn’t plot an elaborate trap to kill our troops, didn’t murder them, and you didn’t betray your own-”

The sheep had kept the wolf safe for so long now. Time to return the favor.

Locus steps between the two, putting a hand on Wash’s shoulder. “If I recall properly, Project Freelancer had just as bloody a record as I myself did. You may not have sent a government into death throes as was done to Chorus, but you did ruin countless lives. Wash and yourself are evidence of that fact.”

Carolina levels him with a glare, cheeks darkening. She starts to speak, but Locus isn’t exactly invested in hearing out her predictably fragile argument.

“From my research of the footage, you raided many innocent cargo vessels without thinking twice. Orders are orders . Right Agent Carolina?” Locus drones, brushing hair from his eyes. “While it was by no means as elaborate as what you’re alluding to, you and Wash have both done harm to these simulation troopers. If you want to argue that I’m wrong, I have numerous instances I can bring up. Though they weren’t fully successful, I have a remarkably clear clip of Wash shooting one of the Red troopers point blank in the stomach.”

“Oh yeahhhh, you did try to kill me Washy! I almost forgot about that…” Donut chuckles, scratching at his belly through the down coat.

Locus wasn’t sure why he didn’t remember this being the same soldier but it does give his words a solid weight with which to fight. Felix used to claim the best way to win an argument was when someone on the opposing side willingly vocalized you had a point.

“A point-” He claimed. “-is how a knife so easily slides into a beating heart.”

Not everything Felix had taught him was bad, it seemed.

“Maine.”

All eyes are on Wash again. Carolina blinks owlishly, tilting her head. “Wash what-”

“I betrayed Maine. I had a chance to save him, and I didn’t. I saved myself.” Wash glances over at the Reds and Blues. “I saved them. Not before I betrayed them, though. I took the offer that I was given for a chance at freedom. I turned on them, and…” He bites his lip, gaze drifting aside. “In all honesty, I didn’t feel bad about doing it. It gave me an insight into how the world really works. Everyone can be good and bad. They’re not a mutually exclusive thing. The Reds and Blues aren’t heroes, but they changed a lot of things for the better. They can be douchebags but also save a planet. I can be the mean Freelancer but also try and support these troops because I don’t have to pick one. I just have to adjust to what they need me to be. Maine wasn’t a monster but he made a choice at the end. I made my choice.”

Wash exhales, the very sound itself laced with deeply repressed hurt. “We promised we’d stop looking back Car’. That we would better ourselves. That’s why we all left. We needed time to be ourselves again. Not just soldiers, or war heros, or guns for hire. Just...us.” He looks up at Locus, a fleeting smile crosses his face. “ All of us deserve another chance.”

Locus stills, glancing to Carolina. He’s not expecting how steady his voice is when he starts. “I’m here to make amends. If that means you choose not to speak to me after this, that’s acceptable. All I need from you is to promise me you won’t intentionally prevent my goal from being reached.”

The room is by no means silent, Grif ‘whispering’ to Simmons, Caboose humming absentmindedly, Tucker sighing, Sarge grumbling a string of curses. It’s the quiet  that Locus has come to associate with these troops. They always had something going on, but the fact that they thought to lower their typical volume meant quiet to them.

Carolina huffs softly, thumb running over a small metal object tucked into her palm. She looks up, sharp green eyes catching the light from the lamps overhead. “Fine. If you really want to do better, I won’t be the one to mess it up.”

On a rare impulsive whim, Locus asks, “I’d also like it if you tried to work on your relationship with Wash. He seems to almost cower when it comes to you. He deserves better than just playing dumb to avoid your temper.”

Wash startles under his palm, stammering. “I mean I-I don’t think you’re...I don’t-...uh…” He fidgets with the edge of his jacket until Locus gently nudges him forward, yet still keeping a protective grip on his shoulder. “I mean, playing dumb is kinda harsh, but Locus has a point.”

Hopefully the point hit home for once.

“We’re equals in this Car’. I’m all too quick to just give you the right of way because of the Freelancer days. I shouldn’t roll over and let you take responsibility for all our choices because that’s not how communication works. There’s only so much I can do, though. We should all feel free to ask for things. That we can speak up when we feel we’re being neglected. Car’...it’s time to let us grow up. We’re not kids any more.”

There’s an overly dramatic gasp from Caboose. “Whaaat?! You two were brother and sister this whole time?” His voice turns smug. “I knew it allll along, I said you know they don’t look it but I’m telling you Washingtub is Carol-Timer’s baby brother!”

Wash yelps, “Wait, what?! No! It was a metaphor, we’re not related! Also I’m older than her by a long shot!”

Caboose just keeps grinning and repeating, “I called it.”

The rest of the night went better, by the end Simmons had rigged a monitor to run some terrible movie called Thankskilling which had the room erupting in horrified laughter and repeated cries of ‘WHAT?!’. Wash ended up taking Caboose aside to make hot chocolate and they emerged with a stack of paper and a fistful of crayons from the depths of the kitchen. A clever ploy to avoid traumatizing the Blue soldier.

By the time the credits rolled, Simmons wrestled the controller from Grif threatening to break his arm if he didn’t let them change channels. Considering the power in his cybernetic limb, it wasn’t the emptiest of promises. Wash drifted back over with Caboose in his wake. The young man excitedly shows Locus a crude (yet oddly charming) scribble of what he claimed to be all of them. The ex-mercenary takes it gently, taking it all in.

The biggest was Caboose who was the only one who had hair of them all. He was labeled as both the ‘best!!’ and ‘me!’. To his right the medic and Red team. The medic (Locus really needed to get his name at some point) was in his signature purple, smiling with an outdated headband that Locus is fairly sure was worn by dentists rather than doctors. He was described with ‘nice!’. Then Donut, grin breaking from the confines of his face and hands thrown over his head, the descriptor this time is ‘hapy’. Shouting next to him must be Sarge in fire engine red. His head is square for some reason, and he’s noted for being ‘angry’. At the bottom right corner are Grif and Simmons, the former of which looks like he swallowed a balloon, the latter with one green eye. Surprising attention to detail there. When he takes another look he realizes Grif seems to be kissing Simmons. If they thought they were being subtle, they failed to fool even Caboose’s notice. Grif is simply stated to be ‘fat’ and Simmons is ‘smart!’.

The rest are to Caboose’s left, starting with Carolina. She’s got a rather grumpy look on with exaggerated eyelashes and her hands on her hips. At her feet is the word ‘mean’. Then to her left is Tucker who is either doing his recently named “finger guns” or flipping someone off. Hard to tell. In faint crayon above him he’s credited with being ‘dum’. With his grey body and yellow limbs, Wash looks almost depressed compared to the rest of the bunch. He’s just named ‘tub!’ rather than any actual description like the others. Oh, Locus was part of this too. His arms and legs are a forest green along with the detail of his scar. The rest of him is grey with an irritated look on his face. Above him in grey is the word ‘scary’. Below him in green however, it says ‘hug’.

When he squints he realizes he’s holding Wash’s hand. Maybe Caboose was more observant than he gave him credit for. “You...you did a good job.” Locus says finally.

Caboose lights up light a firecracker, bouncing on his feet before delivering a crushing hug to the ex-mercenary. He can hear the room burst out into laughter, even catching the wheezy edge of Wash’s own chuckles.

“Okay, Caboose, he needs some air now.” Wash swallows another giggle fit, patting at his shoulder.

When he’s released Locus knows everyone’s staring. They keep staring and they don’t scowl like they did before. With an unusually nervous chuckle he shrugs at the rest.

“It’s not exactly the first time he’s done that to me.”

FALSE KINGS

CW: Nightmares, Suicidal Thoughts

To say Locus was apprehensive about meeting the Reds and Blues was technically accurate. Accurate in the same way that a rocket could be called a big firecracker. There was a reason the ex-mercenary left after making certain that Wash was safe. He wasn't a foolish man by any means. After the clusterfuck of Chorus he had no intentions of ever contacting them. Life had other ideas, clearly.

Locus isn't sure why his ship started malfunctioning when it had, but it led him to Grif babbling like a lunatic to a set of sports equipment painted in a childish manner. When they'd taken off, the endless stream of questions about Locus’ intentionally secretive life began. Things the man never wanted to think about again under normal circumstances.

They meet at a coffee house that is a favorite haunt of Wash. He'd cashed in a favor and after it had officially closed for the night, the Reds and Blues were huddled inside to avoid the brutal January weather. Outside, Locus can see them from the window, able to mostly guess on their identities. Sarge was fairly obvious with his bright red polo and buzzcut. The tall one with thick, messy curls must be Caboose. Simmons arm gave him away, despite the long-sleeved sweater doing it's damndest to hide the well oiled chrome, though the long braid trailing over his shoulder was a surprise. Tucker was the one who tried to spend as little time as possible in his armor, so Locus was quite familiar with his cropped hair and dimples. Carolina was almost exactly how she had been in Freelancer. Shorter hair, but still red as fire. Grif was snoring away on a couch, with who Locus thinks must be the medic and some fellow in a pink parka.

He's startled from the old habit of memorising people's faces by a hand slipping into his. Wash glances up at Locus with one of those tired, lopsided smiles he seems prone to.

“C’mon. Let's get this done.” The older man inclines his head to the door, gently tugging Locus along.

The door chimes when Wash opens it and everyone's attention is on the pair in an instant. Locus’ lingering doubts snap at him. Mentally he chides himself, “ You agreed to this. You promised no armor, remember? Wash is right there, you’ll be fine.”

“What the fuck , why is Locus a trashy romance novel beefcake?!” Tucker balks, nearly spilling his drink over the table.

The room erupts in a mix of cackling and irritated demands for silence. Locus clutches Wash’s hand firmly, his desire to remain hidden growing into a nigh unbearable need. A sharp whistle slices neatly through the din.

“All of you shut up and pay attention.” Wash rasps irritably. “Locus isn't here for you to gawk at. You asked to meet him, so get on with it.” The Freelancer's calloused fingers tighten around Locus’ palm. At some point he had placed himself between the ex-mercenary and his comrades.

The sheep diligently watches over the wolf.

“Fine-” Tucker sniffs dismissively. “-how about what the hell were you thinking, running off like that?”

“I don’t-” Locus tries before Sarge snappily adds on.

“It ain't rocket science, kid. Y’ could’a stuck around fer a few days, at least. Hell, what if we needed yer help with Susie Spec’ Ops’ over there?” He grumbles, nodding to Wash.

The man in question looks offended, opening his mouth to interject when Caboose cuts him off.

“Oh oh! Can I also have another hug??”

Everyone throws dirty looks at the Blue trooper.

“So Tucker can call him a book but I don't get a nice hug?” Caboose pouts dramatically.

They drop the subject. Grif rolls over, unkempt hair flopping into his eyes. “Sup Locs. Sorry I went nuts on you before... actually I'm not, but whatever.” He shrugs a shoulder. “You probably do owe Simmons a 'good job’ since he helped Wash track your dumb ass.”

Locus glances over at Simmons, finding he isn't the only one who wasn't thrilled with the whole situation. The thin soldier wrings the tail end of his braid, practically jumping out of his skin at the mention of his name.

“I-It was no big deal, don't worry about it!” He stammers rapidly, shoulders hunching, giving the impression that he was sinking back into his turtleneck.

“It was a big deal, nerd!” Grif retorts, pushing away from the lumpy overstuffed sofa, arms folded across his chest. “You kept bitching about how it was gonna be a pain with our old tech!”

Before another squabble can break out, Wash lets go of Locus’ hand to intervene. There’s a clear exhaustion threaded along the bow of his spine. He’s holding his arms out, glaring at both of them. “Don’t start. I need everyone to cool it.” The Freelancer drags his fingers through his hair, sighing. “Let Locus get a word in too. This isn’t an intervention, it’s a conversation.”

The medic pipes up from the far end of the sofa. “This is pretty normal for us, remember?”

“Of course he remembers, what a stupid question.” Locus thinks, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He’d grown used to Wash’s personality when it was just the two of them in that cabin. He wasn’t like the overly intense facade Locus had observed in the limited recordings of his time chasing the Meta. Not the intimidating soldier that had been sent after Epsilon, or the (admittedly lovable) goofball from the Freelancer era. He was quiet but shouted at the appliances when they didn’t work well. (The oven had been the target of many rants.) He didn’t sleep well but would pass out on Locus’ lap when they occasionally watched movies. He made dry-jokes, chuckling to himself quietly. He certainly wasn’t a pushover. They had argued like anyone with their histories would. Wash could be a force to reckon with if he was so inclined.

Yet here in this little room, he seemed to wilt. It was as though the intensity of these people made him lesser somehow. He didn’t feel able to fly his true colours. A memory flickers, triggering many more.

“I just need some time off from the Reds and Blues.”

“Hey, sorry, needed a bit of quiet time.”

“I’m fine, Car’s just...y’know.”

"I can't sleep, can we go do something?"

"I needed a peaceful place."

It’s just enough to push the ex-mercenary to speak.

Locus clears his throat, squaring his shoulders. Wash’s head snaps up, eyeing the ex-mercenary cautiously. “Normal changes sometimes. It isn’t exactly...efficient to argue all the time.”

“Part of our charm, numbnuts.” Tucker snorts, a snide smirk on his face. “Did you miss the memo?”

Locus wants to punch something.

He takes a breath instead. “It’s not the most charming habit, if you want my honesty.”

“Yeah, because killing people totally charms the underpants off’a folks!” The one in the pink parka taunts.

That thread holding Wash in check snaps in an instant. “Donut!”

The blonde jumps, upending his mug onto the floor.

“All of you can say what you want but Locus is trying. He’s known war just as long as we have, if not longer.” The Freelancer starts pacing (A nervous habit.) around an empty table. “We’ve all been assholes to each other so what makes him any different than me?”

“You weren’t a mercenary.” Carolina coldly states from the booth she’s taken over.

“I-” Wash stumbles over the tip of his boot, eyes a fraction too wide.

“You didn’t perpetuate a planet wide civil war, or spring a prison ship-” She calmly adds a finger for each reason, ignoring the way Wash tries to interject. “-You didn’t plot an elaborate trap to kill our troops, didn’t murder them, and you didn’t betray your own-”

The sheep had kept the wolf safe for so long now. Time to return the favor.

Locus steps between the two, putting a hand on Wash’s shoulder. “If I recall properly, Project Freelancer had just as bloody a record as I myself did. You may not have sent a government into death throes as was done to Chorus, but you did ruin countless lives. Wash and yourself are evidence of that fact.”

Carolina levels him with a glare, cheeks darkening. She starts to speak, but Locus isn’t exactly invested in hearing out her predictably fragile argument.

“From my research of the footage, you raided many innocent cargo vessels without thinking twice. Orders are orders . Right Agent Carolina?” Locus drones, brushing hair from his eyes. “While it was by no means as elaborate as what you’re alluding to, you and Wash have both done harm to these simulation troopers. If you want to argue that I’m wrong, I have numerous instances I can bring up. Though they weren’t fully successful, I have a remarkably clear clip of Wash shooting one of the Red troopers point blank in the stomach.”

“Oh yeahhhh, you did try to kill me Washy! I almost forgot about that…” Donut chuckles, scratching at his belly through the down coat.

Locus wasn’t sure why he didn’t remember this being the same soldier but it does give his words a solid weight with which to fight. Felix used to claim the best way to win an argument was when someone on the opposing side willingly vocalized you had a point.

“A point-” He claimed. “-is how a knife so easily slides into a beating heart.”

Not everything Felix had taught him was bad, it seemed.

“Maine.”

All eyes are on Wash again. Carolina blinks owlishly, tilting her head. “Wash what-”

“I betrayed Maine. I had a chance to save him, and I didn’t. I saved myself.” Wash glances over at the Reds and Blues. “I saved them. Not before I betrayed them, though. I took the offer that I was given for a chance at freedom. I turned on them, and…” He bites his lip, gaze drifting aside. “In all honesty, I didn’t feel bad about doing it. It gave me an insight into how the world really works. Everyone can be good and bad. They’re not a mutually exclusive thing. The Reds and Blues aren’t heroes, but they changed a lot of things for the better. They can be douchebags but also save a planet. I can be the mean Freelancer but also try and support these troops because I don’t have to pick one. I just have to adjust to what they need me to be. Maine wasn’t a monster but he made a choice at the end. I made my choice.”

Wash exhales, the very sound itself laced with deeply repressed hurt. “We promised we’d stop looking back Car’. That we would better ourselves. That’s why we all left. We needed time to be ourselves again. Not just soldiers, or war heros, or guns for hire. Just...us.” He looks up at Locus, a fleeting smile crosses his face. “ All of us deserve another chance.”

Locus stills, glancing to Carolina. He’s not expecting how steady his voice is when he starts. “I’m here to make amends. If that means you choose not to speak to me after this, that’s acceptable. All I need from you is to promise me you won’t intentionally prevent my goal from being reached.”

The room is by no means silent, Grif ‘whispering’ to Simmons, Caboose humming absentmindedly, Tucker sighing, Sarge grumbling a string of curses. It’s the quiet  that Locus has come to associate with these troops. They always had something going on, but the fact that they thought to lower their typical volume meant quiet to them.

Carolina huffs softly, thumb running over a small metal object tucked into her palm. She looks up, sharp green eyes catching the light from the lamps overhead. “Fine. If you really want to do better, I won’t be the one to mess it up.”

On a rare impulsive whim, Locus asks, “I’d also like it if you tried to work on your relationship with Wash. He seems to almost cower when it comes to you. He deserves better than just playing dumb to avoid your temper.”

Wash startles under his palm, stammering. “I mean I-I don’t think you’re...I don’t-...uh…” He fidgets with the edge of his jacket until Locus gently nudges him forward, yet still keeping a protective grip on his shoulder. “I mean, playing dumb is kinda harsh, but Locus has a point.”

Hopefully the point hit home for once.

“We’re equals in this Car’. I’m all too quick to just give you the right of way because of the Freelancer days. I shouldn’t roll over and let you take responsibility for all our choices because that’s not how communication works. There’s only so much I can do, though. We should all feel free to ask for things. That we can speak up when we feel we’re being neglected. Car’...it’s time to let us grow up. We’re not kids any more.”

There’s an overly dramatic gasp from Caboose. “Whaaat?! You two were brother and sister this whole time?” His voice turns smug. “I knew it allll along, I said you know they don’t look it but I’m telling you Washingtub is Carol-Timer’s baby brother!”

Wash yelps, “Wait, what?! No! It was a metaphor, we’re not related! Also I’m older than her by a long shot!”

Caboose just keeps grinning and repeating, “I called it.”

The rest of the night went better, by the end Simmons had rigged a monitor to run some terrible movie called Thankskilling which had the room erupting in horrified laughter and repeated cries of ‘WHAT?!’. Wash ended up taking Caboose aside to make hot chocolate and they emerged with a stack of paper and a fistful of crayons from the depths of the kitchen. A clever ploy to avoid traumatizing the Blue soldier.

By the time the credits rolled, Simmons wrestled the controller from Grif threatening to break his arm if he didn’t let them change channels. Considering the power in his cybernetic limb, it wasn’t the emptiest of promises. Wash drifted back over with Caboose in his wake. The young man excitedly shows Locus a crude (yet oddly charming) scribble of what he claimed to be all of them. The ex-mercenary takes it gently, taking it all in.

The biggest was Caboose who was the only one who had hair of them all. He was labeled as both the ‘best!!’ and ‘me!’. To his right the medic and Red team. The medic (Locus really needed to get his name at some point) was in his signature purple, smiling with an outdated headband that Locus is fairly sure was worn by dentists rather than doctors. He was described with ‘nice!’. Then Donut, grin breaking from the confines of his face and hands thrown over his head, the descriptor this time is ‘hapy’. Shouting next to him must be Sarge in fire engine red. His head is square for some reason, and he’s noted for being ‘angry’. At the bottom right corner are Grif and Simmons, the former of which looks like he swallowed a balloon, the latter with one green eye. Surprising attention to detail there. When he takes another look he realizes Grif seems to be kissing Simmons. If they thought they were being subtle, they failed to fool even Caboose’s notice. Grif is simply stated to be ‘fat’ and Simmons is ‘smart!’.

The rest are to Caboose’s left, starting with Carolina. She’s got a rather grumpy look on with exaggerated eyelashes and her hands on her hips. At her feet is the word ‘mean’. Then to her left is Tucker who is either doing his recently named “finger guns” or flipping someone off. Hard to tell. In faint crayon above him he’s credited with being ‘dum’. With his grey body and yellow limbs, Wash looks almost depressed compared to the rest of the bunch. He’s just named ‘tub!’ rather than any actual description like the others. Oh, Locus was part of this too. His arms and legs are a forest green along with the detail of his scar. The rest of him is grey with an irritated look on his face. Above him in grey is the word ‘scary’. Below him in green however, it says ‘hug’.

When he squints he realizes he’s holding Wash’s hand. Maybe Caboose was more observant than he gave him credit for. “You...you did a good job.” Locus says finally.

Caboose lights up light a firecracker, bouncing on his feet before delivering a crushing hug to the ex-mercenary. He can hear the room burst out into laughter, even catching the wheezy edge of Wash’s own chuckles.

“Okay, Caboose, he needs some air now.” Wash swallows another giggle fit, patting at his shoulder.

When he’s released Locus knows everyone’s staring. They keep staring and they don’t scowl like they did before. With an unusually nervous chuckle he shrugs at the rest.

“It’s not exactly the first time he’s done that to me.”

FALSE KINGS

CW: Nightmares, Suicidal Thoughts

Locus knows something's a miss when he hears the rusty shriek of the brakes on Wash’s SUV that Monday morning. The freelancer should be at his job by now. Wash was well known to never miss a day.

The engine cuts off and the car door slams. Heavy work boots crunch over the gravel that makes up the driveway. Wash shoulders open the screen door, glancing around the cabin. (The habit of checking for threats still stuck with the stout man.)

With no words, the older man strides over to his well loved coffee machine. He gets it set up to brew espresso, drumming his fingers on the countertop.

The stormy silence reigns until the shadows on the porch grow long, hints of starlight peeking through the blue sky.

“I lost my job.”

Locus glances up from the fruit he’s slicing for a pie. “...How?”

“Had a flashback. Thought my supervisor was the Director. Broke his jaw.” Wash grumbles, opening a tin of pain relieving gel.

Locus makes his way over, taking the container before the freelancer can dip his fingers into it. The ex-mercenary drags a thumb over the surface of the balm to work into the shoulders of his boyf-

The thought skids off the rails. He had never considered Wash as a boyfriend, a partner, even with the clear relationship they had. Was Locus allowed to think like that? It makes his chest ache as he returns to the task at hand.

Rough fingers massage scarred, tense shoulders. The distinctive smell spreads throughout the cabin.

They don't speak for the rest of the night.

---

Wash has a whiteboard because his therapist insisted that it was a good idea for Wash to write his thoughts after an episode. The only times Locus saw it being used was when Wash woke from nightmares. (Often writing as if he was someone else.)

The words he finds this morning sends a stab of familiarity through his heart.

[Getting lost singing their song.

Caught up in, all I've done.

It's all I know , but not what I need.

Cut by my love, cut till I bleed. ]

Locus takes a photo of it on instinct. The next time he walks by, the board is clean. The ex-mercenary gets the feeling that this was just the start of something new.

---

A month passes, and Wash gets a new job. He’s there for two days before he’s fired again. The company refuses to pay him, and Locus knows all too well that the seething freelancer won't take the matter to court.

That night, Wash wakes up, referring to Locus as Maine for three hours.

The whiteboard gives up more when Locus gets up at noon to make pancakes for lunch.

[So I want to run to your shelter tonight.

Run to your shelter tonight.

United in silent resistance,

Of bowing to false kings.

So let me run to your shelter tonight.

Run from this meaningless pantomime.

I'll swallow my pride, give up the pretense,

Of bowing to false kings .]

Locus takes another picture and starts his motorcycle.

The tall man seeks out Tucker, because he knows the man's crude jokes are a thin veil for how deeply he cares about the freelancer.

The sim trooper gnaws at his thumb as he reads. “Loc’s this is like...this shit scares me.”

For once, Locus wholeheartedly agrees with Tucker.

“I need you to help me find a decent place for him to work. Some place that helps veterans. You know the town better.” Locus pleads softly. “I need- no, Wash needs all the assistance we can offer.”

Tucker nods, eyes glinting with steely determination. “I've got this.”

---

It's a week before the next part shows up.

[ Bought their smiles, liquid and smooth.

Took their words, for the truth .

Edge of light and shade.

My broken soul , once more enslaved -]

It trails back into the chorus, and Locus goes looking for a pen. He still has his notes from the first time Wash used music to relay a message. He already knows that the tone had taken a far darker tone this time.

Lost, All I've done, I know, what I need, I bleed.

Want to run, tonight, run, tonight, silent, false kings, run, tonight, run, I'll, give up, false kings.

Bought, took, the truth, edge of, shade, soul, enslaved, let me run, tonight, run, I see, I see, end.

Alarmingly when Locus walks into the living room, there's more scrawled across the windows. His heart sinks like a stone.

When, cold blood runs, without grace, do I, soar? Need, your, new ways, end, wars, I'm yours.

Want to run to you-, run, tonight, united, kings, let me run, from, my pride.

Locus abandons his notebook, going to search the bedroom. He can hear Wash's rattling snores from where he stands, fear lacing through him like puppet strings that compel him to check Wash's vitals. Regardless of the knowledge that the freelancer could, and would likely see him as a threat in Wash’s sleep addled mind. The ex-mercenary doesn't care if he gets busted up as long as Wash is safe.

The instant the door latch clicks, the snoring stops. Rough muttering is muffled by the bed clothes.

Locus goes to draw back the quilt and can't quite avoid a strike to his face. It's a glancing blow, but it still stings like a bitch.

Wash pauses, blinking a few times before squinting at Locus. Guilt sinks into his frame. “Shit, I'm sorry Loc’s…”

Locus shrugs lamely. “I'm well aware of the risks of startling you. Especially from sleep.”

“Oh...why did you wake me up?”

The ex-mercenary takes a breath to soothe the tremble threatening to creep into his voice. “The writing.”

Wash sighs in a way not in line with a man being confronted over dark thoughts. “Did I do more?”

Locus nods. “You moved to the windows this time.”

“Son of a bitch.” Wash grouses, dragging a hand down his face. “Sorry, I'll go clea-”

“I didn't wake you up to make you clean up. I'm worried that…” the tall man stills, biting his lip. “The words you underlined this time paint a... significantly darker picture than before.”

Wash stops mid-stride. He stares up at Locus, so intense it's overwhelming. The younger man looks away from the other. “...You think I'm gonna kill myself.”

There's no question to be found. A cold, hard statement of facts.

Locus holds out the notebook, still unable to meet Wash's eyes.

The freelancer skims the page, shoulders slumping. “...Locus, you know I'd never go through with it.”

“What I know, is that nothing is certain. I... I love you too much to just ignore something like this.”

Wash's cheeks flush darker, head ducking down. “I-I mean, when you put it like that... yeah, it makes sense.” With a tiny snippet of static from his vodacoder, the older man adds, “Thanks for looking out for me. I love you too. Sorry if I’m bad at showing it.”

“You’re not bad.” Locus insists. “You show affection how you feel is right. You’re fine.”

Wash hesitates before holding out his arms to ask for an embrace.

Locus pulls the freelancer close, holding fast to him. Wash’s hair smells like the regulation toiletries that he must have stashed from the years of military service. Maybe he even ordered it online for the sake of consistency. The older man tucks his head under Locus’ chin, evening out his breaths. His ribs expand and contract smoothly under Locus’ palms.

It’s a nice sort of calm that settles over them after that lingering fear. Then Locus’ phone shrieks out some bland, royalty-free nonsense.

Jolting, Locus extracts himself from their embrace. Glaring at the screen, it kindly informs him that Tucker is calling. Locus swipes the answer button, responding with a snappy, “What is it.”

“I found Wash’s dream job, and they’re hiring.”

---

Leave it to Tucker to find the one cafe Wash didn’t know about. It goes by the title of Research Roasts. Apparently some big-shot Smithsonian scientist bought the building where the cafe was now located, then badgered her friend into taking his coffee house idea seriously. Low overhead in a high class part of town would do that to most people. Totally free overhead would get just about anyone to bite.

The real kicker for Locus was they only hired veterans. Especially ones suffering from mental issues after their experiences with the war. It sounds better with every word out of Tucker’s mouth.

They get Wash an interview with the promise that Locus would get to accompany him as well. Whatever it took to pull Wash from his most recent spiral was perfectly acceptable.

The place is what one expects at first. Posters with microscopes and technobabble, the table of elements and beakers. Science stuff. Yet when Locus takes a closer look, he also sees diagrams of many standard issue firearms from the war.

The man behind the counter is slender, with fluffy dark hair piled into a messy bun. He’s got what Locus likes to call ‘Felix Syndrome.’ Basically, when someone looks perfectly normal, attractive, or otherwise harmless. Yet something gives away a glimpse of something altogether dangerous, if not downright lethal.

“You’re the ones that called, yeah?” Even his voice is perfectly soothing, but leaves a lingering sense of paranoia. Sibley (that’s what his name tag says.) nods towards the back. “Go on. Boss knows you’ll be dropping by soon.”

Wash mutters a nervous thanks, whereas Locus gives a simple nod to the mysterious cashier as they pass.

Everyone they pass by either has Felix Syndrome, or looks like they’d fit right in with Wash and Locus’ crowd. Tired eyes with exhausted smiles. They were, however, pretty clearly happy. Happier than Wash had been for many months.

They reach the door mentioned in the email and Wash’s hand hovers an inch or two away from the wood. He swallows around the lump in his throat. Locus takes his free hand and squeezes it.

“I’m here.” He offers gently.

Wash knocks.

Instead of being told to come in, Locus hears the squeak of a chair, leading to uneven footsteps. The door swings open, and Locus’ spine stiffens.

Siris. Mason fucking Wu himself is looking back with an equally startled expression.

“I-...Locus?” Siris whispers just loud enough for his former teammate to hear.

There’s a nod that straddles the line between polite acknowledgement and nervous tick. “Siris.”

Wash looks justifiably baffled, but Siris just brushes the hair from his eyes and beckons the two in. When they do, the door clicks shut.

“We worked together.” Locus answers Wash’s question before his partner can even ask it.

“Oh.” Is the only reaction Wash gives, taking a seat in the nearest chair.

“You…” Siris starts, trying to focus. “You must be Wash.” He extends a hand. “Mason Wu. I’ve been accused of running the show here.”

That does earn a weak chuckle from Wash, though it doesn’t get a smile. He does take Siris’ hand, shaking firmly. “Hope the rumors are true.” He offers dryly.

Siris smirks at that, sitting at the chair behind the plain desk. He’s still warily keeping Locus in sight. In all honesty, Locus is doing the exact same thing.

As they get down to brass tacks, Locus actually finds himself desperately hoping Wash gets this job. He knows Siris. Siris is the sort of man who would get through to the paranoid freelancer just by chatting. He was who taught Locus many of the essential tools that he used to keep Wash happy and healthy.

Two wolves circling the sheep. Both know their own motives. They haven’t a clue of the other’s thoughts.

They speak.

---

It seems to go well. From where Locus sits that is. He’s almost certain Wash got the job. Before they can go, Siris grabs Locus’ arm.

“I’m trusting you, Ortez.” he whispers sternly. “Don’t make me regret that.”

“Funny. I was going to say something similar.” Locus realizes that that may have come off as sarcastic. He scrambles, tacking on, “Wash means a very great deal to me, so-”

Siris snorts, patting Locus’ arm. “I know what you meant, kid.”

Locus’ cheeks darken with embarrassment. “I’m not that much younger than you.”

“Ten years isn’t something to sneeze at.” Siris grins slyly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Locus sees Wash trying to hide a matching grin of his own behind his palm.

It’s a good start.

[tobiasdrake]

Dragon Ball Daima 01x07 - Collar

Well, that's an episode title. Guess it's time to talk about that collar that Third Worlders have to wear.

...hehe...

...hehehehehehe....

...a lot of time, you say?

<.< >.> There's a room for that. Right here in this temple. Room meant for just such a scenario as this.

It's a perfect solution. Take the ship into the Room of Spirit and Time! Bulma can go in there, immediately implode from the intense atmosphere pressure, and then this is all-a y'all's problem now, fuckos. Wish me back when it's done.

Don't worry, Bulma. This feels primed to become important to the story later down the road, after we've been to Daimakai once and conveniently picked up the missing element.

It could just have been a goose chase to give these characters something to do while waiting for their turn at the plot, but I'm going to give it the benefit of doubt and assume the ship's been set up as a Chekhov's Gun.

At some point we'll be back here like "But we need to get back to Daimakai! How do we do that? Oh, I brought this neat rock back with us...."

The way Vegeta takes one step to the side as he turns, with audible footstep as the only sound that breaks the silence. Moving positions specifically to shield Bulma from whatever fresh Hell this is.

He only has one job around here but he is going to fucking do it.

Bulma: If I had a nickel for every time a Majin conveniently showed up right here in a spaceship to take us to King Kadan while I was working on this ship, I'd have two nickels....

WHO'S READY FOR ANOTHER EXCITING ROUND OF DEBATES ABOUT GOKU'S FATHERHOOD LET'S GO

What. XD Why isn't Popo looking after the temple? When did it suddenly become Kibito's job to do housekeeping for terrestrial deity Dende?

Did Popo pull "Pecking Order" the second Kibito was left alone with him for the first time?

Daima is going so hard to assure the audience that it remembers all of Goku's abilities. Trafficking him through a surprise inspection by remembering that he can just fucking teleport. XD

While also once again marking itself as not existing in continuity with Super. "Goku can't sense God Ki" is not a thing in this series.

It's funny that, despite the clever scheme to avoid suspicion, we end up having to beat up the soldiers anyway. Sometimes plans go awry. That's just how it is.

And the worst-case scenario happens!

STOP. WRECKING. THEIR. PLANES.

GUYS. GUYS.

WE SHOULD STEAL ONE OF THOSE.

GOKU YOU CAN TELEPORT

WE LITERALLY JUST WENT OVER THAT YOU CAN TELEPORT

TELEPORT ONTO THE PLANE AND CLEAR IT OUT SO WE CAN HAVE IT FOR OURSELVES

no

okay

BUT NOT FOR LACK OF TRYING

Incidentally, "Gendarmerie" is a weird way for the subtitles to translate 憲兵 kenpei. It means "Military Police". Gendarmerie isn't incorrect, but it is a weird French word that nobody says so I'm not sure how many native English speakers even know what that means.

Like. Imperial Stormtroopers are a Gendarmerie. But if you said "You know the gendarmerie from Star Wars?" nobody would have any idea what you're talking about. What the fuck is a gendarmerie?

I'm pretty sure this happened because if you stick 憲兵隊 kenpeitai or "Military Police Squad" into Google Translate it comes out:

Thanks, Google. That's French, but sure.

That is probably not what they're going to be called in the dub.

You know, I was wondering about that. If you put an indestructible collar on an infant it's going to strangle them eventually. The size has to be adjustable in some way or another or else the logistics just don't work out.

I'm glad they didn't drag the collar drama out too much. Panzy had it for just long enough to establish what it is and explain how much it fucking sucks, and now it's gone.

KAIOSHIN OFFICIALLY HAS A REAL NAME

Bootleg Bulma has a Bootleg Dragon Radar. She uses it for something else but still. The audacity. They aren't even trying to hide that she's derivative.

Okay he says that, and I'm sure Goku will abide by it because Goku's an athlete first and foremost. He's in it for love of the game. He wouldn't have it any other way than a 1v1 match.

But. Like.

What actually enforces that? That's a weird thing to have as a rule. The way this works is there's a big scary robot man with a Dragon Ball in its chest, and you have to defeat the robot man to get the Dragon Ball, right?

What's to stop three guys from jumping the Tamagami, beating the shit out of it, and taking the Dragon Ball? I mean, if they can win that, then... I mean, a win's a win. You're beaten to a bloody pulp; You aren't exactly in a position to contest the victory.

What stops "cheaters" from taking the Dragon Ball? Will the Tamagami file a formal complaint with the Wish Dragon Committee?

I dunno. I get the concept of "There are these insanely powerful warriors who are so OP that no one has ever matched them, and they guard the Plot Tokens." What I don't get is how there would be traditional Rules of Engagement for challenging such entities, or why anyone not named Son Goku would abide by them.

I love how Panzy's scarf initially disguised the fact that she was wearing a collar, and now it disguises the fact that she isn't.

Oh, this is definitely related to Glorio.

Some of the lines in the subs have this weird conversion artifacting that you'd expect to see from poorly encoded fansubs but not in an official product. Between that and the Google Translating I caught them doing, I have concerns.

It's fun when characters use powerful characters as yardsticks without realizing that our protagonists surpassed them a while ago. Remember that time Kaioshin tried to convey how strong he was to the Super Saiyans by comparing himself to Frieza? Same energy. XD

Dabra's a more relevant yardstick than Frieza was at that time. But still, what Panzy doesn't know is that the only one of the Saiyans Dabra was a threat to was Gohan, and only because he was out-of-practice.

I was not prepared for these things to have personalities and I am so, so happy that they do.

This is gonna be fun.

Ahh, what a fun episode. This one kept things moving and never felt dull. We learned some interesting new details about the characters. Panzy got her collar off. And now Goku's going to fight his first Tamagami. Looking forward to the next.

Also Team Bulma is finally in Daimakai. I wonder when they'll catch up to Team Goku? It'd be kinda funny if they just remained in pursuit for the entire series. XD

[sokkastyles]

Hi, what do you think about the whole "Zuko never felt sorry for burning down Suki's village" argument? Because it didn't feel to me like the place was destroyed at all, no more than Aaag, Katara and Sokka destroyed Omashu.

Well, we are shown the damage that Zuko's bending caused and Suki does confront Zuko with it later, so we are supposed to treat this as damage Zuko caused that he should feel sorry for that is distinct from the gaang accidentally destroying things with cartoon shenanigans. Zuko came to Kyoshi to capture Aang and he didn't care about the damage he caused to the village as long as he got what he wanted. He's the bad guy there.

That said, there is a limit to how much the show can take this seriously and that's why they don't, and it is absolutely ridiculous how some people will demand that Zuko needs to further atone in some way or that he doesn't care or that what he did was worse than it was.

It's not like Zuko went there and razed the village, which is an intentional war crime. He only cared about capturing Aang and the fires were caused by reckless bending. It's still bad, and fits in very nicely with the responsibility of firebending that is part of both Zuko and Aang's storyline, plus Zuko's arc of learning personal accountability and having a more balanced perspective on things vs only thinking about himself at the beginning of the story. But it's not akin to knowingly destroying an entire village - something which Jet tried to do, in contrast - and I've even seen people insist that Zuko burned down "multiple" villages and like...lol where?

It also can't be treated like it's similar to razing villages in the real world because the fire gets put out by Aang riding a giant sea monster. Like in the Omashu situation you mentioned, there's an extent to how seriously you can take this when the show itself treats it like cartoon shenanigans. And if you DID want to hold these characters accountable in that way, then you have to treat every instance of the gaang destroying something like it's serious business. And that's completely ignoring that ATLA is a fantasy comedy action cartoon created for children. It is not a serious drama about war, even if it deals with those topics at times.

That's why Suki herself doesn't bring up what Zuko did to her village beyond that one humorous exchange. The other reason is because he's clearly changed by the time he meets her again. It would be really strange for her to constantly hold this against him when he's currently trying to break her out of prison. And I don't know where people are getting that he "never felt sorry." Zuko has shown enough regret for his past actions that he doesn't need to speak about every single one to prove he's sorry. What, you think Zuko is sorry for all the things he explicitly apologized for in the series, like trying to capture Aang, hunting the gaang, attacking the Water Tribe, hiring Combustion man, and betraying Katara and Iroh in Ba Sing Se, but he's not sorry for attacking Suki's village because he didn't explicitly say those words onscreen? Be serious. Accountability is not about constantly self-flagellating, and if risking his life to rescue her from the most secure Fire Nation prison is good enough for Suki to forgive and trust Zuko and think he is genuinely sorry, it's good enough for me.

[disgruntledexplainer]

AI

i think a lot of people really misunderstand what the actual threat that "AI" poses is. AI is not going to try to wipe us out for any reason intrinsic to it, because AI is not capable of having intrinsic motivation (thankfully). rather, AI is a problem because it increases the power of those already powerful, and further marginalizes anyone who isn't powerful. In other words, the problem with AI isn't AI itself, the problem is those who use it, who are altogether too human.

Two major threats come to mind, both of them incredibly obvious when you think about it.

First, corporations will naturally favor any innovation which cuts costs or gives them an edge over their competition, regardless of the consequences to both their workers and their customers. Those in charge of the corporation will always seek to automate any part of the company that isn't them to cut costs, even if it is significantly less efficient or more infuriating to work with. This means that, as with the agricultural revolution and the various periods of automation during the industrial revolution, we are on the cusp of a massive loss of employment across all sectors as humans are replaced with machines.

however, this will be worse than previous periods, because while in previous centuries the removal of some jobs would introduce new jobs to replace them, such will likely not be the case for jobs replaced by AI. Further, certain occupations which we had assumed would be safe have turned out to not be safe from automation at all. Nobody seemed to care about how automation will destroy jobs until "AI art" became a thing, and do you know why? because everyone assumed that creative work was safe. and while algorithms cannot truly match an actual gifted artist in skill and creativity, it doesn't need to, because it's just more convenient, and much more cost-efficient to generate an image procedurally rather than commission it.

maybe next time the art community will take the threats posed to the working class by automation more seriously smh. But i guess it's too late now.

And when I say that corporations will replace humans regardless as to it's efficiency, I mean it. Have you noticed that almost no major company has an actually useful customer support system any more? it's all automated, and it's all useless. Some companies are flat out just not hiring humans for customer support any more, instead relying on a series of generic automated response trees that do nothing to solve the problem and just make the customer angry. What's to stop them from doing the same thing, but with everything from marketing to janitorial work?

AI will continue to replace jobs over and over again until the only jobs left will be the ones that are actually doing the replacement themselves. In other words, at a certain point we will reach a point where the only jobs are government jobs, high-level corporate jobs, and the engineers who are designing the AIs. And if any engineer is stupid enough to design an AI that can design other AIs, that job may be gone too.

the other major problem with AI is what happens when it gets into the hands of government agencies. Which it already has, to an extent. We have been using simple, dumb AI in drone targeting systems for quite awhile now. Despite the fact that it doesn't really work and gets civilians killed more often than not, governments still use this software because it doesn't put their own men at risk. Likewise, the government will almost certainly begin employing robotic soldiers as soon as they become available, even if they don't work very well, because it means they aren't putting their own people at risk. But often in war you need people to be there, in order to make judgement calls. What if a lazy commander tells the machines to "kill everyone in that bunker", but the bunker turns out to be a civilian residence and now dozens of civilians have been killed? The issue here is that AI WILL obey whoever orders it to do something, regardless as to if the order makes any sense or has been negated by unforeseen circumstances.

all this to say that if AI destroys civilization as we know it, it will be because humans told it to. in order to survive, we must restructure society, remove the focus from profit and place it on human dignity. We must deliberately employ people even if it would be cheaper not to do so, because not doing so will have horrific repercussions. Also because it's the right thing to do.

while we're at it, it would probably be best to decentralize government and corporations so they don't get the chance to do something like this. *cough distributism cough principle of subsidiarity cough*

[mwolf0epsilon]

The Umbaran Pathogen - Day 17: Hypothermia

Summary: Fives, Kix and Rex arrive at the medical facility first, which doesn't help them all that much considering they have no idea what they are looking for.

Warning: N/A

Prev / Next

[In which the events on Umbara are worsened by an unknown pathogen taking hold of both the 501st and 212th. These series of drabbles will follow a non-linear timeline based on the AI-less Whumptober prompt list for 2023.]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

---

"It's freezing in here..." Rex hissed between chattering teeth, immediately regretting having taken off his bucket as soon as they entered the Umbaran medical facility.

The Captain was right too. The quick preliminary scans that Fives had done upon the trio sneaking in, revealed that the entire building was at almost sub-zero levels of cold. For what reason, he couldn't be sure, but it probably had something to do about storing bacterial culture samples or whatever the hell it was that natborn doctors did with the stuff they collected off their patients during tests.

He had already lived through a lifetime of medical tests performed by plenty of Long-Necks and Droids, that didn't particularly care about his or his vode's comfort during said procedures. He didn't really need to know what the nattie docs got up to outside of the war efforts.

"Put your helmet back on." Kix ordered as he uneasily looked around the hall they'd ended up in, after climbing out of the dusty ventilation system. "Your armor's thermal regulation system should keep you from freezing your shebs off."

"Tell me something I don't know..." The blond grumbled as he put his bucket back on, sighing in relief as the bitter cold was chased away in mere instants. "Much better... But moving on, we need to find a floor plan for this place..."

A wise idea, as they couldn't waste time running around blindly. If they got their hands on a map of the facility's various floors, they'd be able to find what they were looking for much faster, rather than risk getting lost in a maze of recovery areas, operation theaters, or even storage closets.

There was no telling how long they'd have before General Kenobi and the 212th could no longer stall for them, and with no word from Coric's group things were starting to look a little grim.

Getting to the facility itself had been a struggle. Between hiding from the Umbaran scouting parties, avoiding the aggressive wildlife, and keeping an eye out for the infected, the journey had been a constant uphill battle where they couldn't even resort to using their blasters. Unwilling to bring unwanted attention to their positions.

Given that they hadn't encountered the other medics, they assumed the others were struggling just as terribly. If not worse. They had no idea if they'd escaped from the base unscathed. For all they knew, Coric, Pitch, Twitch and Sponge had already been caught. Or worse...

And with only a vague idea that they needed to access a database to seek out some critical (but not very explicitly elaborated upon) information, the trio really wasn't all that prepared for this sort of excursion.

One medic would definitely not be enough, should they find a cure. That much they figured, considering the number of infected troopers in the 501st alone. Kix wouldn't be able to tackle the issue on his own.

"You think the others are ok?" Fives asked as he looked around, somewhat unsure if the way they'd chosen to go first would get them anywhere of use. He was walking slowly, steps as light as the bulk of his armor would allow, keeping an ear out for trouble.

"They're tough." Rex nodded slowly. Trying to be optimistic, considering he knew how frighteningly stubborn the medics could be, but still coming off as somewhat unsure in the end. The circumstances weren't easy ones after all. "They're probably just being careful, like we were..."

"Yeah... Yeah probably." The ARC nodded back, before motioning for the other two to stop near a corner where the hallway turned. He had a very quick look, and then gave them the all clear. Moving just a bit quicker now that he had a goal in sight.

Down the hall was a flight of emergency stairs. Besides it, attached to the wall as per standard safety regulations, was the digital emergency floor plan. The three rushed forward to have a look, barely containing their elation as they realized the interactive floor plan had pages that displayed the other floor layouts.

Thumbing through the available information, they saw exactly what they were looking for. The main datahub, which would contain all kinds of data-banks stock full of useful medical information.

"Basement floor." Fives groaned. "Of course the dang thing is in the creepy basement..."

"Not so much creepy, as probably absolutely frozen over..." Kix shook his head in disbelief. Sounding somewhat put-off at the possibility of facing even lower temperatures. "The entire basement of this huge building is dedicated to computers and the server banks. The amount of heat generated would need to be mitigated by considerably frigid mini-climate..."

"Kix, it's already pretty cold out here. I doubt the basement will be much worse..." Rex pointed out. "That said, if it IS worse, we should be as quick as possible. Even if our armor will protect us from the bitter cold, it won't do us any good if we stall and end up overworking the thermo regulation system. We'd freeze on the spot."

"Wouldn't want a case of frostbitten tootsies." Fives nodded, sounding morbidly amused at the idea. "Or hypothermia."

"If there ever was a place to catch your death, I suppose a hospital isn't the worst of options..." The medic responded with his own amusement.

They carried on, hoping their fellow troopers would meet with them soon. They could really use some help looking for the correct data at least... Hopefully the cause for their delay was indeed caution.

[misshoneyimhomeagain]

Chapter 14 - Part II

Summary: William and Julia, after months of nurturing a deep bond and close friendship, finally reignite their physical intimacy, sealing their renewed connection with a passionate encounter;

Tags; William NylanderxOfc; “We never go out of style”

Warnings;  18+ content; Oral sex (f and m reciveing); unprotected sex (p in v);

Author's Note: Although this chapter mostly contains smut, it marks the conclusion of the series; However, there might be additional follow-ups planned, delving into the aftermath, as I do have some ideas for what comes next; nontheless, as always, please enjoy ;) 

Word count: 4.3K

_

"The road that was broken, brought us together"

It was nothing short of perfection.

The ambiance. The companionship. Everything.

Fireworks were loud outside, while inside Julia and William found themselves in a tender moment, sharing romantic closeness after their very first New Year's kiss.

It embodied everything they'd built up for months; and finally, they were here - wholeheartedly cherishing each other and acknowledging what had been simmering beneath the surface.

However, despite the tender and affectionate moment, the New Year's party continued, and naturally, there was only one sure fire way this group knew how to celebrate best.

"Alright! Who's ready for some karaoke?" Mitch exclaimed, obviously eliciting enthusiastic applause from the team and their partners.

It had been one of the minor requests the girls had made when coordinating the event with the banquet team – a small stage for karaoke.

And amidst the buzzing excitement in the venue, Mitch was the first to take the stage. A lively rendition of ‘Wonderwall’ filled the air from the speakers, and the crowd eagerly joined in singing along – perhaps mostly to drown out Mitch's somewhat brassy voice. Nevertheless, it infused a great deal of joy and a festive atmosphere.

Shortly after, Auston made his entrance, passionately belting out his persistant favourite Queen song, swiftly followed by the duo's performance of "Living On a Prayer" by John Bon Jovi.

Amid chuckles and hearty laughter, Julia couldn't resist leaning into Charlie.

"I swear, there might be a murder tonight if they butcher any more iconic songs," she joked, trying to make herself heard over the loud music.

"Don't worry, I have a way to silence him," Charlie offered a playful wink, sporting a huge smirk, which made Julia burst into laughter.

"Charlie! Get down girl,” she teased her friend. “But shit, I hope the walls here are soundproofed, because this hotel is going to be echoing with a lot of sex tonight."

"Count yourself lucky that you and Willy have your own suite."

"Oh, I definitely am."

And just as the girls had recovered from their laughter and banter, their names were announced for the next song.

"What?" They both exclaimed in surprise.

"Come on, you didn't think you could escape without showcasing another one of your ABBA performances?" Auston cheekily shouted across the room.

The girls simply shook their heads, grinning, and made their way to the small stage.

Naturally, they had to put on a show. And as the music began and the lyrics flashed on the screen, there was no holding back.

My, my At Waterloo, Napoleon did surrender Oh, yeah And I have met my destiny in quite a similar way The history book on the shelf Is always repeating itself

The crowd erupted in cheers and joined in singing along enthusiastically.

Waterloo I was defeated, you won the war Waterloo Promise to love you forevermore Waterloo Couldn't escape if I wanted to Waterloo Knowing my fate is to be with you Wa-Wa-Wa-Wa-Waterloo Finally facing my Waterloo

William couldn’t help but smile as he watched his newfound love confidently singing her heart out alongside her friend in front of his team and closest friends.

The way she shone and sparkled like a star mesmerised him, reinforcing his belief that she could potentially be the one for him. Which was a feeling he never imagined he'd experience quite like this.

My, my I tried to hold you back, but you were stronger Oh, yeah And now it seems my only chance is giving up the fight And how could I ever refuse I feel like I win when I lose

Nobody had ever evoked the emotions she did in him; that was one thing he was certain of. He wasn't just deeply in love with her; she had also become his closest friend over time, which made her someone he could confide in, relax with, and be completely himself around. With Julia, he didn’t need to pretend or put on any facades, ever.

Waterloo I was defeated, you won the war Waterloo Promise to love you for ever more Waterloo Couldn't escape if I wanted to Waterloo Knowing my fate is to be with you Wa-Wa-Wa-Wa-Waterloo Finally facing my Waterloo

Applause filled the room as the girls stood proudly in their New Year's attire, delivering the final lyrics in perfect harmony. Nothing could have been more fitting to conclude the evening than a hearty song among friends.

And as Julia descended from the stage, she was greeted with a smug William on the other side of the room. However, just as she was about to wrap her arms around him, another Swedish voice interrupted. 

"Wow, JJ – you're getting quite good at that, huh?" Rasmus chimed in as he came to join them.

Julia couldn’t help but smile. "Well, I've been practising, just to impress you, Sandin," she chuckled in response, followed by teasing remarks from the rest of the Swedes.

"It’s good to see that you’re already embracing the Swedish culture," Calle added with a smile. “It might just be your near future.” 

"Easy lads, let’s just slow it down a tad,” she laughed. "I mean, I'm Danish, so I can't just go against my roots, right?" She flashed them all a sweet smile and a playful wink, earning great chuckles from them all. 

And amidst the friendly banter, William couldn’t help but add in his own remark. 

“Don’t’ worry guys, I think there's plenty of time to change her mind.” 

The banter carried on for a little longer while more players took turns on the stage, belting out their best renditions of classic karaoke hits.

However, as the room gradually began to clear out, William held onto Julia tightly, leaning in to softly whisper into her ear.

"So, want to get out of here?" he said in a rather seductive tone of voice, sending a shiver down her spine.

His warm breath against her delicate earlobe and his hand resting on her waist stirred a sense of eagerness within her, making her curious to discover what he had in mind. Lightly biting her lower lip, she glanced up at him and nodded gently.

"I've got a room," she smirked, satisfaction evident in her expression, and with that cue, he grabbed her hand tightly, swiftly leading her out of the hotel venue and towards the lift across the lobby.

As they pressed the round button, illuminating it, both waited with anticipation for the bell to ring. And William, gripping Julia's waist firmly, couldn't contain his excitement.

However, just as they stepped into the lift, about to embrace each other in another passionate kiss, more people entered, joining them for the upward journey. And Julia couldn't help but chuckle at the slight disappointment on William's face.

"Don't worry, just a few more minutes, love," she whispered as she nestled closer to him.

And with a smirk appearing on his lips, he leaned down to her ear once again.

"Baby, I've been waiting for four months already - can’t do much more.”

Another shiver coursed down Julia’s spine as impatience also began to build within her. It had been far too long since she'd been intimate with a man, but what made it better was that she was now with someone she truly desired.

Feeling a bit playful, she subtly slid her hand to lightly brush against the crotch of William’s dress trousers, only to be surprised by the larger bulge she encountered compared to how his suit typically fit in that area.

"So, I can tell," she whispered seductively. 

_

By the third ring of the bell, both of them released deep sighs as they promptly exited the lift and hurried down the hall towards Julia’s room. And with a click following the key card swipe, they entered the room and were immediately ensnared in a passionate kiss, shedding William’s blazer. 

Yet, in that brief moment, Julia sensed a hint of nervousness. For months, she and William had exchanged banter, jokes, flirtatious moments, and shared both soft and vulnerable times. And now here they were, back where it all began, engaged in an intimate kiss, on the verge of undressing each other and sharing their most private and intimate selves.

Sensing Julia’s slight hesitance, William tenderly ended the kiss and cradled her face in his hands, resting his forehead against hers.

"You alright?" he whispered, and she simply nodded.

Because there was really no doubt in her mind that this was what she desired. What she yearned for.

Breaking away for a brief moment, William gently took her hand and led her to stand in front of the bed.

In the soft glow of the dimmed room, he carefully gathered all her hair to one side before planting delicate kisses along the exposed skin of her neck. His soft, pouty lips against her, trailing over her neck, and further over her shoulder, where he with one finger, gently removed the fabric of her dress. 

Julia couldn't help but release soft moans, surrendering herself to his touch.

Mirroring his actions on the other side, he used his other hand to remove her dress from her remaining shoulder, still continuing to place delicate kisses as he let the black fabric cascade down and settle on her hips.

Then returning his lips to hers, he passionately engaged in a deep kiss, intertwining their tongues, sharing their breath. Meanwhile, his gentle fingers made their way to her back, swiftly unfastening the clasp of her strapless bra. And as the undergarment fell to the ground, exposing her bare breasts, his hands tenderly cupped them, offering a gentle massage while he continued to kiss her fervently.

Breaking the kiss, both panting for air, William couldn’t help but offer a faint smile as he softly whispered, “So fucking stunning.”

With a smile of her own, Julia released a light breath as he continued to massage her breasts, delicately pinching her nipple.

William’s lips departed from her neck, embarking on a journey downward. He traced a trail from her neck to her collarbone, gradually moving southwards to focus first on one breast and nipple, then bestowing gentle attention on the other.

Ensuring equal devotion to each, he then slowly traced his path down her body while kneeling, planting kisses along the way. His lips descended to her belly button, halting just before the fabric of her dress.

Sinking to his knees, he gazed up at her with a smug expression, while she bit her lip in anticipation.

Simultaneously, he delicately hooked his fingers on her dress, gradually pulling it down until it gathered by her heels, revealing her black, alluring thong. And after a brief pause, during which they shared an intimate moment, he tenderly kissed the thin fabric covering her heat, prompting a soft moan to escape her lips as her hands found their way into his hair.

Very gently he bit his teeth through the fabric, before his fingers once again found a hem, and pulling down her last piece of clothing, leaving her completely bare in front of him. While holding his hands onto her hips, William’s mouth found its way back to her core, and paid attention to her soft folds, licking her up between the lips before he began to gently suck on her pulsating clit. 

“Fuck, Willy,” Julia moaned, as the man kneeled in front of her, passionately sucked and licked her needy cunt. She couldn’t help but lean a little forward as deep breaths came from her mouth, her head completely hazed by pleasure. 

With a smirk William hummed into her core, earning yet another moan, as he could tell she’d shut her eyes closed, and her legs starting to tremble in his palms. Her grip on his hair signalled that she was getting close, and he had every intention of pushing her over the edge. 

And he didn’t need to do all that much.

“Willy I-“ she could barely finish the sentence, as the work of William’s mouth, finally send those intense vibrations through body, causing her muscles to tightened and her legs to lightly squirm under his touch, as she arched her body, threw her head back, and reached an intense orgasm. 

Offering a few gentle licks, he helped Julia through her rush.

And after placing a final delicate kiss on her centre, William, with a contented grin, stood up from his position and positioned himself in front of her. "You taste so good, baby," he murmured softly, before drawing her closer with a hand on her head, indulging her in a kiss that allowed her to taste her own juices.

As they parted from the kiss, Julia couldn't help but smile.

"It's not fair; I'm the only one undressed here," she whispered affectionately.

And with a smile appearing on his lips, William took a small step back and began to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt. Simultaneously, Julia skilfully undid his belt and unzipped his trousers. She then delicately caressed his hard member through the fabric of his boxers, prompting a slight moan to escape from his lips.

Left only in his boxers, she fixed him with a penetrating gaze, casting a glance at his noticeable bulge before meeting his eyes again, sensually running her tongue over her lips. However, William simply shook his head faintly.

"I want to feel you around me," he murmured, running his fingers through her blonde hair, lightly caressing her soft cheek.

And with a gentle smile on her face, she opted instead to gracefully position herself on the bed, lying on her back while maintaining eye contact with William. Still wearing a smirk, he then knelt between her legs, delicately cradling one of her feet in his hands, skilfully removing her stiletto, and tenderly kissing her ankle before gently placing it down on the mattress. He then repeated the same gesture with her other foot and ankle.

His hands glided smoothly up her legs, past her thighs, with one hand gently caressing her tattoo, before, he positioned himself over her, assuming the missionary position. Leaning in for a kiss, he used his right hand to guide the tip of his throbbing cock to her entrance, initiating a gentle push into her warm, deep core. And as her walls enveloped his full length, both of them couldn't help but emit loud moans of pleasure.

And when he was balls deep inside her heat, William let out a light breath.

"Fuck... I forgot how tight you feel," he murmured softly, relishing the tightness around his cock.

Julia tenderly cupped his face, her fingers once again entwined in his hair, drawing him down for a passionate kiss.

William then slowly pulled out and pushed back in, gently rocking his hips to find a satisfying rhythm. Sensing him deeply within her, Julia raised her legs slightly, experiencing the tip of his member stimulating that highly sensitive spot, as her heels lightly pressing into his lower back.

The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, a mix of romance and sensuality.

It was like all the memories of their first night came flooding back, however, this time, it was much better. This time, it wasn’t just about the satisfaction of sex. This time, it was also about that intimate, vulnerable and shared connection they’d found between each other. 

With every thrust, every deep breath, every moan, and every kiss, it was sharing the deep feelings they both held inside of them. The love and care they had for each other, and the desire to be together for the future. 

William maintained a steady rhythm with his hips, that had them both feel the build up to their climaxes. His cock began to twitch within her, sensing her gentle clenching as she started to experience the familiar wave of pleasure building in her lower abdomen.

"Harder, Willy," Julia moaned, her fingers gripping his hair tighter, urging him on. Responding to her plea, William intensified his movements, strengthening every muscle in his arms, the pendant around his neck swinging against his chest. His thrusts grew more forceful, the sound of their skin meeting echoed in the room, accompanied by louder moans that filled the air, both hoping that there was no one in the neighbouring room. Because they were not holding back.

Then with his right hand, he moved it to rub her sensitive bud of nerves, helping her to reach that much needed climax, as he could feel himself coming closer to his own. 

Sweat glistering from his skin, as he increased his speed once more, and Julia’s hands moved to the back of his shoulders, uncontrollably digging her nails into his skin in mere pleasure.

“Yes, I’m gonna,” she moaned out louder than before, feeling the sense of rush flooding through her veins. “Willy, I’m gonna come.” 

“Fuck, baby come for me…” his hips slammed harder into her, passionately and roughly fucking her through her orgasm, as she tightly clenched his twitching cock. “Fuck baby! Yes!” William groaned as he withdrew his hand away from her clit, and grabbed onto the headboard of the bed, as he forcefully thrusted a few more times; and with loud grunt, he reached his orgasm, intensely releasing himself into her core, painting her walls white with his liquids. 

While panting, and trying their best to catch their breaths, they both slowly came down from their highs, and out of euphoria. Still remaining in the position, they shared smiles and light kisses, as they gathered strength to gently untangle from each other. With care, William pulled himself out of Julia, and came to rest next to her, propping an arm behind his head as he lay on his back. 

Their faces lit up with smiles as they gazed into the empty space of the room, then turned to each other, sharing light chuckles. Not because it was funny, but rather the sheer joy of having finally surrendered to their mutual desires and long-craved intimacy.

"Four months, huh... worth the wait," Julia quipped, breaking the silence, eliciting another chuckle from William.

"Maybe, but let's not wait that long for the next round," he remarked, his racing heartbeat gradually calming as his breathing returned to a steady rhythm.

"Agreed," Julia replied with a simple smile. She then shifted onto her side, resting her head on her arm and leaning in to plant a gentle kiss on William's lips.

Once again, they shared a tender moment, with William delicately caressing Julia's cheek while locking eyes with her.

The room was enveloped in silence, filled with the lingering scent of passionate lovemaking and sweaty bodies. Only the faint sounds from the hallway penetrated the air, as they both lay there, gazing intensely at each other. Several minutes passed before William then broke the comfortable silence.

“Why did we wait so long?” he timidly asked, prompting Julia to take in a deep breath before speaking softly. 

“Because we weren’t ready,” she offered him a sweet smile. “You weren’t considering a relationship, and I… was just a mess.”

William nodded gently feeling satisfied with her heartfelt, honest response, before he spoke again. 

"Want to join me for a shower?" he inquired with a faint smirk, and Julia merely responded with a sweet smile and a nod. 

“You just go ahead, I’ll join you in a minute,” she spoke with a timid voice, and after he placed a gentle kiss on her lips, William got up from the bed and made his way to the bathroom, while Julia lay still for a short moment, as she felt like she had to collect her thoughts. It had been much like their first night together, but just way better. 

They’d shared their mutual feelings, a New Year’s kiss, followed by a heated round of passionate sex filled with genuine intimacy and a deep connection. 

Letting out a satisfied sigh, she then rose from the sheets and walked to join William who was already enjoying the warmth if the water. 

Julia stood still for a moment, just taking in the man before her. His gorgeous muscular body, the hair covering his chest, as the water cascaded down his almost, slightly tanned skin. 

“Are you joining me, or just enjoying the view?” he chuckled as he saw Julia’s intense stare, prompting her to shake her head. 

“What wrong with enjoying the view?” she chuckled as she stepped in to join him under the warm water, standing closely to his body, as he wrapped his hands around her waist, and she rested hers on his chest. 

“There’s nothing wrong with it, but you’ll have plenty of chances to see this handsome body and face,” William smirked, cocking an eyebrow. 

"Is that so?" Julia chuckled in response. "Well, I do have four months of catching up to do."

She embraced his neck, leaning up on her toes to share another kiss before returning to her heels.

“Hm, that’s not entirely true - I believe I saw you ogling me a few times,” William teased. 

“Perhaps, but you did the same with me.”

“Oh, I definitely did.”

_

As the morning light filtered in, Julia stirred awake to the persistent ringing of her alarm. Suspecting William might forget to set his, she had set it herself before the champagne and countdown last night. 

And after taking a few moments to admire the naked figure beside her, she then quietly slipped out of bed and made her way to the bathroom for a quick refresh.

Knowing they had to check out of the hotel soon, most of the ladies were planning to have breakfast together – provided they could coax their partners out of bed.

However, like the ever-sleepy Swede he was, William seemed firmly lost in dreamland, and Julia couldn't help but stifle a light chuckle upon returning to the room. William lay half-covered by the sheets, with half of his bum peeking out, and so, she paused for a moment, taking in how the sport he played definitely helped sculpturing his physique.

"That ass," she thought, appreciating the view before gently made her way to the bed.

Seated beside him, she gently caressed the side of his face, eliciting a loud grunt as he shifted in his sleep, rolling onto his back, revealing a noticeable morning wood.

Julia couldn't help but let out a chuckle at the sight before her. Lightly biting her lip, she mused on the thoughts that often come to mind when one sees their attractive partner in such a state.

And so, she decided to give into temptations.

Placing herself with a knee on each side on his leg, she started to kiss up his inner thigh very gently stroking his member with her hand. Carefully, she then began to place small kiss on his swollen testicles offering firmer strokes. 

William started to shift in his sleep, small grunting noises escaping his lips, and Julia couldn’t help but smirk into his skin, as his leg started lightly trembling underneath her. 

With confident, she then slowly made her way further up, starting ti gently lick the tip of his cock prompting him to moan a little in his sleep. Yet, she could sense that he was slowly come awake by her touch, only urging her to continue. 

Gently, she wrapped her lips around his throbbing cock, and slowly she began to take him further in and down her throat, coating his length with saliva, as she moved her head up and down. 

William felt a deep sense of pleasure, as he slowly drifted out if his deep sleep, and arousal was filling his body, prompting him to open his eyes, blinking a few times. 

Looking slightly down his body, he saw the beautiful woman he’d fallen asleep next to during the night, seductively taking his cock into her mouth, while looking lustfully up at him. 

With a smirk adorning her face, Julia kept bopping her head, swallowing William’s length as much as she could while working the rest with her hand. The moans that escaped his sweet, pink lips, only urged her to keep going and speed up. 

“Yes, baby, keep going,” he managed to speak in between moans as he could feel a climax building up. 

Julia understood the message and increased the intensity of her work. Feeling his thigh muscles twitching, she knew it wouldn’t take much longer, and so she eagerly strived to give him what she thought he deserved the most right now, his release.

Bopping her head, a little more, feeling her saliva drooling down his length, she could feel his hips lightly moving along to her rhythm.  And with heavy breaths coming from the man above her, she tasted the sweet pre-cum before his moans became louder, forming into deep grunts, as came to his climax and spilled his seed deep down a throat. 

“Fuck….” William groaned, as he once again had reached a high accompanied by Julia and her skilfully mouth. “Shit, baby, that was amazing,” he breathed out, as Julia seductively licked her lips and came to rest on his chest, a satisfied smile creeping on to her lips. 

“You enjoyed that?” 

“Enjoyed it?” William chuckled. “I could fucking get used to being woken up like this.”

The two of them shared a hearty moment of laughter, as William slowly came down from his high, and looked a Julia with lovingly eyes. 

“Let’s just agree that it’s for special occasions,” she smiled, leaning up to place a gentle kiss on his lips, locking their eyes, as they melted into another soft moment of intimacy. 

“I’ll look forward to it,” he chuckled lightly.

A few seconds passed as they lay there feeling the rush of lust for each other, embracing the love between them, and sharing every intimate part of themselves. 

“Godt nytår, Willy.” (Happy New Year, Willy) Julia spoke in a soft tone of voice. 

“Gott nytt år, JJ.” (Happy New Year, JJ)

[the-s1lly-corner]

I wish to hear about the knd oc

>:3c

Give us the lore Silly!!!!

Sososo sorry for taking so long to get to this! Admittedly I was putting this off simply because theres so much lore! I'll be adding a cut to this because with me summarizing stuff, it's still a lot! I'll try to break it up in sections, since there are different.. chapters... for lack of a better word.. this ocs entire life is plotted out! From early childhood to present day when the show takes place! That's a lot of lore considering the character is well into adulthood by the time the main series happens!

Apologies if it's all over the place and some points are.. whack.. this is my first time putting everything into writing! I'll also need to talk about other ocs so this main one can make sense, mostly it'll be talking about their sector, in regards to other ocs! Also its 3am at the time of writing this + my stomach is being MEAN

With all that said, let's hope this doesnt turn into a novel!

Also also** lore may contradict what's in canon, maybe.. I'm not sure! I'm still not done reading the comics and I havent touched anything GKND so I'm unsure if theres any extra info that in unaware of that would complicate things

Feel free to send any questions about the oc!! Lore stuff, interactions with canon characters, ect!

cws: mentions of controlling/toxic parents but i dont go too in depth about it but just know that this is a part of her story. mentions of sexism as well, obligatory its there because "admin uses his ocs to process his experience with his gender as well as being afab and other stuff" but i dont go toooooo deep into it

Name; Rose Wood

Pronouns; she/her

Age; obviously since we're sliding around all over her time line I'll let you know based in the section... but shes in the same age group as Benedict and Monty

Appearance, present day; short, rocking a chubby mom bod! Red hair that's a little faded with a prominent streak of grey. Green eyes. Very curly and fluffy hair! Not sold on a length, but currently it's just last her shoulders! Often wears cardigans or sweaters, though I'm yet to make an "official" outfit for her... her default outfit! Short :( she stopped growing in her early/mid teens height wise, about 5'5

Appearance, KND era; assuming this is in the later half of her time as a KND operative shes tall by kid standards (assuming like. 4'6 is the average for girls as google is telling me). Lanky!! Very long hair, hair is more vibrant but that's really just a design choice rather than an in universe thing. Hair changes length, it starts at mid back but she cuts it to her jaw a few months before shes decommissioned. No default outfit but she swaps between her school uniform and baseball uniform (sports kid before her dad made her stop!!)

Personality; very sweet and kind, patient.. however shes no nonsense, though that develops slowly over time and really roots and shows itself in her young adult years. Lots of internalized feelings, as a child and teen, she feels she had to suck it up and put on a happy face because to do anything else would be "unbecoming", at least according to her parents. As an adult shes oblivious to the whole child vs adult war and doesnt realize how serious it is, shes just vibing

Occupations, past and current; knd operative (decommissioned), teacher (current)

Family; she doesnt talk to her parents all that much however she keeps in touch with her grandfather (very old, think 80s, rose was an oops baby + so was her dad LMAO), and 2 younger sisters. She does have other family members however they're not very fleshed out currently. She does have a son who is a teen by the time the main series takes place! Maybe I'll make a short follow up post on him!

Former Sector teammates, numbers and names; Numbuh 246 (Rose Wood), Numbuh 165 (Jamie Robinson), Numbuh 162 (Kimberly "Kimmy" Wilson), Numbuh 527 ("Sammy" Jones), Numbuh 129 (Davis Peterson) (the leader of the sector)

i'll probably make a separate post for her teammates, this post is already pretty long LMAO

KND days;

she joined within the very early days of the KND, after monty started it. i would go further and say shes a "first generation" knd operative, being there when they fought and overthrew grandfather. she didnt actually join a sector until the last year or two of her time as an operative, working solo prior on missions and helping built up the operation. thanks to her experience, she was sent to go basically work and "pass off her knowledge" before shes decommissioned.

a actually wrote in parallels between her sector and sector v for thematic reasons but i wont get into that here; but if i had to make a comparison shes like the numbuh 5 of the group. fairly level headed and in tune with whats going on as well as being able to step up when it counts to push through on a mission

"if she was sent to basically pass her experience, why wasnt she made the leader?". tight schedule on her part, parents cared a lot about keeping up appearances and they worked rose like a horse by having her sign up to a bunch of extra curriculars + her having her share of chores as well as her parents being strict. she just did not have a lot of time to spare. a lot of her ark is her slowly becoming more and more independent as time passes, but as of now shes pulling herself between being this model student to appease her parents and fighting for the knd's cause. ironic given the whole fighting against adult tyranny thing

there was some friction in the beginning when she first joined the sector, shes the second newest member the newest being 527 (Sammy). a lot of coming from 165 (Jamie), actually throws her failures in her face if they ever fumble a mission because of her whole history. they do eventually become buddies though, but its a slow burn!

she does get what she was sent to do done before she turns 13, her decommissioning is your standard decommissioning albeit with some pizzazz; she was a first gen operative but she was one of the last remaining ones at that time so its like. a whole chapter ending in their history with only a handful of others remaining. she doesnt get to be a secret operative

Teenager;

probably the most underdeveloped part of her story, i mostly focused on her childhood as well as the present day.. so this section and early adulthood is a little under baked. a lot of the themes as before are still here, overbearing and controlling strict parents completely dominate her time so she doesnt have much time to just. be. she does end up reconnecting with some of her old teammates, but theyre all of course decommissioned at this point in time. the only one who is still an operative is sammy, but thats due to them being so young in comparison to the rest of the sector and even then theyre at the end of their time as an operative. due to the whole "operatives arent to mess with the lives of ex operatives" rule thats mentioned, sammy doesnt interact much with rose or the others unless they approach them first.

main thing to note is that rose and davis have a short fling that quickly burns out due to teens being dumb: short explanation davis was insecure and jealous and rose did not want to deal with that on top of everything else going on with her. good for her for looking out for her health

she was not an evil teen, though, far too deep in her studies to really do anything rebellious as well as being afraid of falling behind and disappointing her parents

around this time, not long after her and davis break up her and her family moves out of town

Young adult;

she went NC with her parents not long after she turned 18, moving out soon after. she does keep in touch with her younger siblings, though. the breaking point was really her parents confirming that theyre disappointed with her existence. literally all but saying they wish they had a son instead of a daughter as a first born, lots of old values/views there that finally pushes rose over the edge. noting now that rose did have some feelings about her gender but never really explored it due to feeling the need to conform + this takes place pre 2000s so... but moving forward she does start to embrace herself and slowly take the time to get to know herself now that shes got the time and space to do so. i do like the idea of her experimenting between now and present day, and while she does eventually lean more towards presenting feminine there are instances where shes presenting more masc/feels more masc

while at college she meets someone, obligatory "i havent given him a name yet", they get together. everythings good, they have a kid. they break up. im still cooking up a reasoning for why they split but for now its just "they changed because they got married young, and now theyre older"

Present day;

a few years before the events of the show she moves back to town, i was going to say she moves in during the current events but i decided to be nice and give her a chance to get accustomed to being back in her hometown. i havent decided how it happens but she ends up getting in with the villains but like. not in the way that shes a villain too, in the "shes like the nice lady from down the street who makes some killer brownies so we all vibe with her". kind of just started as a joke that i turned into the canon for her because i can... kind of see that happening... this leads to her meeting benedict, blah blah she vaguely remembers him, they catch up and it leads to them getting together

i actually didnt originally ship them because "ooooooooouuugh father kinda...." actually it was because "the delightfuls need a decent parent figure because GOD!! i love father and my take on him does soften him a bit with time but GOOD LORD" and then it mixed with that and the "ooooooough hes kinda..." LMAO

not much to say other than shes the cool mom at the PTA meetings and just gets along with everyone, probably thinks the delightfuls and sector v are friends. which drives both of them up the wall they HATE it LMAO

Post series finale;

Dead/j

Okay well, that's just a concept. Admittedly I dont know what to do with her after the series finale takes place. Logically one can assume she just continues on with her day to day because shes not really involved in the fight against children, shes quite literally. Vibing and staying in her own lane asides from when she gets dragged into things by the people around her; even then shes still.. oblivious.. not much different than how Monty reacts to the knd stuff, when hes not recommissioned. Simply thinking it's this elaborate game of sorts, ESPECIALLY if she were to get dragged in through the delightfuls (who are. You know, effectively her step children thanks to her relationship with father)

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Hurricanes / Hummingbirds: X

Series Synopsis: As the years go by, you find that it is incredibly difficult to survive wars and fight storms, especially when the only thing you have by way of a cursed technique is the blessing of a tiny bird.

Chapter Synopsis: Kashimo takes you to meet a person that might be able to help you in your battle against Ten.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Hajime Kashimo x Female Reader; slight Kento Nanami x Female Reader; slight Satoru Gojo × Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.4k

Content Warnings: swearing, enemies/rivals to lovers, character death, canon-typical violence, angst, gore, original characters included

A/N: kashimo stans how are we doing...😔

You and Kashimo were exact opposites. He was the god of lightning. You were blessed by the hummingbird. There was no universe in which you and he could coexist. Perhaps this was where his drive came from, his natural determination to see the end of your existence: you were not meant to live at the same time. There could only be one of you, and yet for so many years it had been both of you, taking up space and jousting for dominance over a sky that hated you both equally.

The truth — and this was a secret that you had never told anyone — was that you wanted to fight him as badly as he wanted to fight you. It was the most thrilling, illicit thing you could imagine, your guiltiest pleasure, picturing a battle that you fought for no other reason than because you wanted to, a battle that you might not win, one where your life was truly on the line instead of a routine exorcism that meant nothing in the long run. It would be a break from the monotony of your life, and an escape from the crushing obligation of having to defeat Ten in exchange for the power the hummingbird had lent you. Maybe that was what you fantasized about the most; not the clash itself but the freedom that it would bring you.

At night, you had been dreaming of him. Hisashi could never know this, but ever since you had intruded upon Ten’s domain, your nightmares about your parents had vanished. Now, it was Kashimo you saw. The visions varied: sometimes, your sword would drive into his heart, his hot blood spurting out and covering you in red, and on other nights, his lightning would dance through your veins until you blacked out from the pain, the most sensation you had ever felt in your life. The commonality between the dreams was him, always him, only him. You could not close your eyes without seeing his cold expression, and after two weeks, you resolved to seek him out once more and demand him to leave your mind.

There were dark shadows under his eyes when you happened upon him, bruises like roses blooming on the face of the invincible man. Who could’ve caused such wounds? Was it your imagination, or had he been easier to find this time? As if he knew what you must be thinking, his fingers flitted to his face, tracing the outline of the purpling.

“I’ve come to see you,” you said finally, when it became clear that he was not going to say anything. He dug his nails into his skin, though lightly, not hard enough to draw blood.

“Have you, now?” he said. “I know you have not defeated Ten yet, so there must be some other motivation for you to be here. Is it to torture me?”

“It seems there is no need for my intervention in that regard,” you said. “Seeing as someone else has beat me to it.”

He raised his eyebrows, his hands falling to his sides again, his shoulders slumping. You had never seen him in such a way, his weapon-like body faded into a shadowed copy of itself, frail and trembling and easily breakable.

“No one else could ever beat you to it,” he said. “No one else could ever beat me.”

“But I have not even seen you in so long,” you said. “How, then, can you put this recent turn of events upon me?”

“I am sick,” he said.

“Is it a fever?” you said.

“No,” he said.

“Your stomach?” you said again, narrowing your eyes, trying to discern what ailment he had.

“It is not that,” he said.

“Then a cough, perhaps?” you said.

“It is you,” he said.

“I am no disease,” you said.

“You might as well be,” he said icily. “I find no joy in anything but the thought of killing you. I want it more than I have ever wanted anything in my life. But — but what if it is not me? I cannot stop thinking about it. What if someone else does it first?”

He paused, looked up at the sky. The clouds covered the stars, and you frowned slightly. Perhaps it was strange, but you found you missed them. It was hard to believe that they were there when you could not so much as see them.

“I don’t want that,” he said. “I don’t want another person to be the one that gets that right. It should only be me.”

“No one will get that right,” you said carefully. “It will not be you, nor Ten, nor anyone else.”

He reached out for you, and to your surprise, you let him. His grip was strong enough to crush a weaker person’s wrists, but it did nothing to yours, despite his best efforts. You gazed at him steadily, waiting for him to speak.

“Draw your sword,” he said. “Please, draw your sword.”

“No,” you said.

“Kill me,” he insisted. “If I cannot kill you, then I want you to kill me. I want to know what it’s like to triumph — but if I cannot have that, then at least once I would like to lose.”

“I dream about it sometimes,” you said, then paused. “No. All of the time. I promise — I promise that in the end it will be us two. You will have to wait until such a time comes to pass, however.”

“Ten,” he said, dropping your wrists and exhaling. This time when he looked up at the sky you understood what he meant by it.

“I have challenged him,” you said. “It will not be long. Even now I can feel it, feel his restlessness, how he wonders if I will make good on my promise and kill him or not. He will come for me soon.”

“Then you will need a better weapon than that sword of yours,” he said.

“What do you mean?” you said.

“That Gojo clan trash,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “It’d snap in an instant if you put any actual amount of cursed energy into it. Most cursed tools aren’t strong enough to withstand the amount of power needed for sorcerers like us to go all out, the way you indubitably would need to against Ten. You should forge your own sword; it’s what I did with my staff to ensure that it could handle my lightning.”

“I haven’t the faintest clue how to forge a sword,” you said. The sword you currently used was one that Hisashi had gifted you, a plain, workmanlike tool that did what you needed it to do. Sometimes you dreamt of a blade more suited to you, one that shone with the power of the hummingbird, but for your current purposes, Hisashi’s sword served well enough.

“You needn’t forge it yourself,” he said. “Your purpose is to imbue your cursed technique into it as it is created.”

“You act like such things are commonplace. The forgers of cursed weapons have never been ubiquitous, and in recent times have grown rarer than ever — largely in part to people like you,” you said, to which Kashimo only smiled slightly.

“I suppose you believe the rumor that I murdered the man who made my staff so that no one could ever have a weapon equal to mine,” he said.

“It wouldn’t be out of character for you to do such a thing,” you said.

“Perhaps, but in truth I did not,” he said. “I left him alive in case I ever needed him again. What good fortune that I did, as that hour has finally come.”

“You don’t need him,” you pointed out. He actually laughed.

“Perhaps I don’t,” he said. “However, don’t you?”

“I suppose that is the case. How long will it take?” you said.

“Maybe months. Maybe Ten will not be patient for that long,” he said. “You ought to begin as soon as possible, lest you keep your lord waiting.”

“He is not my lord,” you said. “He is my parent’s killer. He is the one I was born to defeat.”

“Yet he rules over your life regardless, and so cannot be called anything but,” Kashimo said. It was that same wry humor that he employed whenever speaking of yours and Ten's eventual clash, that half-disdain, half-envy, as if he found your devotion ridiculous and, at the same time, wished you were that devoted to him instead.

“He is the lord of the sky,” you said. “If anything, he is your lord, o god of lightning.”

Kashimo’s face grew strangely pale, as if you had something particularly blasphemous, something that offended his sensibilities to the max. Well, to be fair, you certainly had — he was the independent deity who hated to think of anyone as above him, and yet here you were implying that he was nothing more than a pawn in Ten’s game.

“Never say such a thing again,” he said. “No matter who they are, I will never fall to my knees for another person.”

“Hm,” you said. “Maybe that’s true. Though it doesn’t matter; I know you hardly even believe in Ten. How could you kneel to something that does not exist?”

Kashimo frowned. “Of course I do not believe in him. But you do.”

“And so?” you said. He extended his hand, palm facing the moon. You stared at it for a moment before setting your own atop his, suppressing a flinch when sparks pinpricked your skin.

“And so he must definitely exist. Somewhere, somehow, he is real, or I will make him be so. This waiting, this torture you force upon me…if Ten does not exist, then it isn’t worth it. Then this entire charade is worthless on your part. Therefore, I have to have faith that he is an actual being,” he said. “Because you are many things, Y/N L/N, but I find that the one thing I cannot think of you is worthless.”

Then his fingers closed over yours and he took off at an impossible speed, one you could only hope to match with the Hummingbird’s Blessing active. But you did not even need to run, his hurtling momentum carrying you along behind him effortlessly, so that your feet were pushing at air instead of striking against the ground.

Almost as soon as it had begun, the breathless flight was over, Kashimo skidding to a stop in front of a large camphor tree. You slammed into his broad back, which he took no heed of, his glittering eyes trained on the camphor’s boughs, mouth tugging upwards into a smile.

“You can come out now,” he said. “I haven’t come to kill you. In fact, I’ve brought someone I need you to help.”

It was the kindest you’d ever heard him say anything — a request, not a demand. There was a shuffling sound and then a ripple in the air in front of us before a sharply-dressed, dark-haired man blinked into existence, scowling at Kashimo, who fairly beamed at him.

“Hajime Kashimo,” the man said. “To what do I owe the honor of the so-proclaimed god of lightning paying a visit to my humble abode?”

“I told you already. I have someone who needs your help,” he said.

“And since when has it been in your nature to try and help others?” the man said, arching a neat brow at Kashimo.

“It’s self-serving either way,” you interjected. “He only wants me to have a better weapon so that I may defeat Ten and then fight him. Don’t think that altruism is a virtue he’s suddenly gained.”

“Who might you be?” he said before pausing. “No, wait. If Hajime wants to fight you, then there’s only one person you can be: the Hummingbird.”

“At least, I am blessed by such a creature,” you said, as graciously as you could.

“Of course,” he said. “Y/N L/N. The sorcerer who’s received the Hummingbird’s Blessing. Ah, forgive me for my lack of manners; my name is Daisuke Hinode.”

“Daisuke Hinode!” you repeated in surprise, for the name was one you recognized. “You don’t mean to say you’re —”

“Yes,” he said, interrupting me before you could finish. “That Daisuke Hinode.”

Daisuke Hinode was a man that had been erased from the history books, or at least Kichiro Kamo had been doing his very best to ensure that that was the case. His sly technique and deadly weapons made him Kichiro’s bitterest rival, an enmity only matched by the one Kashimo held for you. But unlike you and Kashimo, there was no equality between Kichiro and Daisuke; in fact, in any match the two had, Daisuke would come out the winner. So, instead, Kichiro endeavored to destroy Daisuke in another way, the way that really mattered: from the memories of posterity.

How sad it was, you thought to yourself as you scrutinized Daisuke — who you found to have a sort of unassuming charm about him — that in a few decades, he would be forgotten completely. Would he ever have descendants? Would there ever be anyone else who carried on his name? And what of his technique, that secretive, elusive thing? Would it be lost to the ages?

“I hid him,” Kashimo said proudly. He was strange around Daisuke. Gentler. As if Daisuke was someone he could genuinely consider a friend instead of just another person he had to fight.

“He did not,” Daisuke said. “I hid myself with my technique. He just suggested a place that would work the best. Will you tell Kichiro Kamo?”

“I shan’t,” you said. “Not if you can help me the way Kashimo is convinced you can.”

Daisuke hummed. “I have no reason to trust you, you know.”

“Of course not,” you agreed readily, though you were altogether put out by the development. Your association with the Big Three Sorcerer Families was generally helpful due to the respect the clans commanded, but in times like this, it was actually a hindrance.

“Bar one,” he continued. “If Hajime brought you here…”

Kashimo himself shrugged. “Her trustworthiness was of little concern to me when I did so. She needs a sword, Daisuke.”

“A hummingbird’s sword,” Daisuke said. “I wonder what such a weapon could be called. It would be such a magnificent thing…and so I demand payment.”

“Payment!” you said. Kashimo snickered.

“Of course you do,” he said. “How do you aim to collect, Daisuke?”

“It is twofold,” Daisuke said, holding up two fingers. You frowned, wondering what absurd requests he would make of you.

“Go on,” you said warily.

“There is a girl,” he said. “The daughter of a prostitute and a European tradesman. We were friends in our youth, and I wish — I wish to meet her again. If you can find that girl and bring her to me, then I will consider the first request fulfilled.”

“Very well,” you said, though in truth such bastards were not exactly a rarity, and there was no guarantee that the girl whom Daisuke spoke of even remembered him. “And the second?”

“Aid Kichiro in his quest,” he said. “Erase me from the pages of history. Make it so that Hinode is a name no one knows of; I wish to vanish as verily as if I had used my technique.”

“Why is that?” you said. “Isn’t the aim of every man to be remembered?”

“Being remembered and being loved are not the same, Y/N L/N,” he said. “I would take the latter over the former any day. If Kichiro cannot wipe all evidence of my existence, he will surely slander me in every story that is told. I wish to spare my descendants the humiliation that bearing my name will hold if such an event is to occur, and so I repeat: make it so that I disappear, so that there was never a man named Daisuke Hinode. If you can do that, then I will give you a sword that can shatter the heavens.”

“Fine,” you said. “I will do my best.”

“I will help,” Kashimo said imperiously.

“What help would you be?” you said, raising a critical eyebrow at the warlike man, who you had never known to offer help to anyone. He shrugged as if it was something he did everyday, like he was a regular patron of the needy.

“Do you know the girl Daisuke speaks of?” he said. You scowled, because of course you did not, so you found that it was altogether rude of Kashimo to tease you for it.

“No,” you said.

“I do,” he said. “When we were young, the three of us…spent some time together.”

You realized you knew frighteningly little about him. You supposed he was aware of that, which was why he was dangling the information in front of you, frustratingly out of your grasp but close enough that you kept reaching for it like a fool.

“Well, won’t Daisuke tell me who she is?” you said.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Kashimo said. “What sort of payment would it be if there is no difficulty to it? And you have been blessed by the Hummingbird, so if you know her identity, it would be so easy for you to find her that Daisuke could never feel sufficiently reimbursed.”

“Wouldn’t it be the same if you tell me who she is?” you pointed out.

“As if I would just tell you!” Kashimo said, like that was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. You pouted, though it was a childish gesture. You had been hoping he would just tell you who she was, so that you could get it out of the way, obtain your sword, and then get your fight with Ten over and done with.

“You’re right,” Daisuke said. “I was actually planning on telling her, but if she is as strong as the rumors say, then it wouldn’t make sense. Surely she can figure it out with her supposed power!”

“Kashimo,” you hissed. “If I did not know that threatening to murder you would only excite you further, I would do so right now.”

“I promise I won’t even try to fight you until Daisuke has forged your sword,” he said, every word sparkling with the utmost of sincerity, ignoring your threat completely. You snorted.

“We already agreed that we would not fight until I defeat Ten, or have you forgotten already?” you said. He opened his mouth and then closed it, repeating the process a few times before exhaling in defeat.

“I suppose that that’s true,” he said.

“So it’s not some great concession the way you’re making it out to be,” you said. “In fact, this is all for your benefit. The sooner I can get my sword and defeat Ten, the sooner I can fight you. Don’t act as if you’re going out of your way to aid me.”

You had figured out during the course of the conversation Kashimo’s true motives in wanting to help you find the woman. There was no affection nor empathy in it; it was the same reason he had taken you to meet Daisuke in the first place. He wanted to fight you. He would do anything to fight you. But before you would fight him, you had to defeat Ten, which meant that for the moment, you both were temporarily aligned in your goals.

The only thing that you couldn’t understand was why he wouldn’t tell you who the girl was, but you decided to attribute this to a mischievous streak you had not known about until now.

“Whether or not it’s a concession on my part, the fact remains that you need my help if you want a sword from Daisuke. Unless you feel confident about your current weapon of choice?” he said, nodding at the sheathed sword which hung from your hip.

“Fine,” you said, though you were loath to do so and knew Hisashi, if he ever heard of it, would be furious. “Then we shall help each other.”

“How will you help me?” he said.

“I will forge the sword,” you said. “And I will defeat Ten. Then, I will defeat you.”

“You are a vain woman, to think yourself capable of defeating our very own god of lightning,” Daisuke said, before squinting and looking at you. “Well. Maybe not. I wish you luck, Hummingbird.”

With that, he turned and walked into a ripple, which formed in the air like it was fabric. In an instant, he was gone, a phantom that left behind nothing but a soft wind whistling through the branches of the camphor tree.

It took an entire day for you to gather the courage to tell Hisashi your plans. Even then, it was a doctored version, with Kashimo’s and Daisuke’s involvements edited entirely out of your recounting.

You pretended like the woman was someone who knew a sword forger — naturally, this was true, but that was not exactly why you were seeking her out — and could point you in their direction so that you could have a suitable cursed tool to face off against Ten. You thought that he might be averse to it and ask you to instead continue using his sword, but he did no such thing. He only nodded and agreed that it would be best for you to have something that you could use to channel your cursed technique, and that was the end of it.

“I am surprised the white-haired one did not come with you,” Kashimo observed when you reined your horse to a stop by where he leaned against a fencepost. You bristled at the insult to Hisashi, though it was barely even an insult.

“He would’ve,” you said. “If I had asked. He would go anywhere if I asked.”

Kashimo considered this before untying his own horse and swinging atop its back, kicking it forward and gesturing for you to follow him. You did so reluctantly, though every step the mare took away from your home with Hisashi felt like a betrayal to the man you were meant to marry.

“He wants your technique,” he said.

“His father coveted it, yes,” you said. You knew the reason why you had been engaged to Hisashi: the power of the Hummingbird, which the Gojo clan believed could smooth over the Six Eyes’ disappearance in recent years.

“How long have you known him?” Kashimo said. It was idle small talk, but there was a deeper purpose. In asking these questions, he was learning you in a way that you could never learn him. Perhaps it should’ve been a frightening proposition, the thought of Kashimo knowing you so intrinsically, but you found it to be more soothing than anything.

“Since I was a child,” you said. “Very young. I was promised to him the night that my parents were killed, right before the man with the stitch-scarred forehead came to meet me.”

For a little girl, the kind prone to romantic flights of fancy, a boy such as Hisashi Gojo was akin to a dream come true. The heir to a clan and possessing lovely, fine features, you had believed him to be a hero come to sweep you off of your feet.

Of course, such heroes did not exist, and so the early years of your engagement were devoid of much happiness. Hisashi did not hate you, but neither did he love you; he was a boy three years your elder, and so for the most part he thought of you as a child come to bother him, following behind him when he would rather be playing with Kichiro and Naoki.

When you two grew to be teenagers, he began to tease you incessantly, and so the roles were reversed in that you were the one frequently irritated by his presence. Naturally you did not realize that he was doing this because he had, in some way, grown to be fond of you, but that was the truth of it. He was becoming a man, and you a woman, and unlike you he was at the same time growing aware of this development. You believe it made him uncomfortable, the entire concept of the girl he had once known wearing the pretty face of an unrecognizable stranger, and so he lashed out at you in the only way he knew how.

He was never cruel. Hisashi at his heart has always been gentle, and even at his worst he didn’t know how to hurt you. You always thought his father might detest him for it, at least a little, that in such a violent existence he was still kind, but even if that was the case, it did not stop him from his softness. Maybe it was his own form of rebellion against the world.

You kissed Hisashi for the first time when you were —

“Alright, that’s enough,” Kashimo said. You snickered at his disgruntled expression, which he took no heed of. “I don’t need to hear about that part.”

“You asked,” you said.

“I distinctly did not,” he said haughtily. “It was a question that did not necessitate an entire story being told to explain its answer.”

“What else do we fill the time with?” you said. “Unless you’d like to tell me about your life.”

“No,” he said. An awkward silence stretched over the two of you. You gave Kashimo a telling look, and he frowned. “Fine. Tell me another story from your life. But — but not one with Hisashi Gojo in it. I care little for him and his gentleness.”

“Certainly, you only respect strength, so the value of a kind person would be lost on you,” you said. “Alright, what if I tell you about the man with the stitches on his forehead?”

Kashimo hummed contemplatively. “Fine.”

The night your parents died was the same night you met that man, the one who would define your existence forevermore. He had no great demands; indeed, he was overly generous to the point of suspicion. When you asked him the reason for his kindness, he told you that it was because your father had offered him something in return, made a Binding Vow to ensure your protection. And what authority did you have to question him? You were alone. Your parents had left you and you did not know where they had gone or why they had done it.

He was a handsome person, with an angular face and dark hair tied neatly back, as was customary for the time. The single blemish on what was an otherwise artistically perfect image was the row of stitches engraved into his forehead, standing out angry and red against the pale skin. You remembered this the best about him; even so many years later, when the shade of his eyes and the pursing of his lips had faded into the recesses of your memory, the stitches stood out as clearly as they had on the day you had met him.

That man — and he refused to tell you his name, claimed ‘names had power for creatures such as hummingbirds’ — was the one who gave you the book Tales of the Hummingbird. He also told you what it meant for you to be blessed in the way that you were.

The eternal conflict with the lord of the sky. He was the one who told you about it, who told you about Ten. Perhaps if it had not been for him, you never would’ve known that you had to fight that great being. Well, that’s likely not true; if you were born to do it, then you would’ve found out eventually regardless. The man only sped along the process, made it so that you knew your life’s purpose from the moment you could think deeply enough about your existence to begin wondering what it might be.

You asked him what your father’s Binding Vow had been, but he never told you. He only patted his lap, bade you to sit upon it and then stroked your hair as he spoke. You remembered that there was a warmth lacking from the gesture, though this could be put down to your fascination with the grotesque appearance of his brow leading to a lack of appreciation for the comfort you were sure he was trying to provide you.

He told you that the day would come when you, too, would make a Binding Vow with him. You said you would not, that you were not in the business of making Binding Vows with just about anyone, but he only chuckled and told you that things would change in the future and one day you’d beg him to do it, beg him to give you the chance to get what you most terribly wanted.

Even now you didn’t understand what he meant by that — after all, how could a Binding Vow with a mere man grant your deepest wishes? The only theory you had ever come up with was that somehow the nature of his technique was as such, but it felt a flimsy explanation.

When you asked Hisashi and Kichiro and even Naoki if they knew the man of whom you spoke, they shook their heads and told you that they had never seen a person like that. So he remained a mystery, one you never again encountered but thought of frequently.

“That was a little anticlimactic,” Kashimo said.

“Whatever do you mean?” you said. He shrugged, reaching up to hold a tree branch out of his way and then letting go so that it sprung back and would’ve slammed into your face if you had not ducked in time.

“So a man made a vow with your father and gave you a book. I don’t understand why you’re so impressed by that. If I give you a book, will you think of me frequently?” he said. You rolled your eyes.

“No,” you said. “And you cannot make a vow with my father, as he is dead, so think of some other way to occupy my mind.”

“Really, though, he was probably just some relative of yours or another that took the chance to mold you into the perfect, powerful little sorcerer that would do as he asked in the wake of your parents’ death. He was probably lying about all of it,” Kashimo, ever the practical one, said. You let out a heavy exhale.

“It’s possible. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that there was something odd about the entire situation,” you said. “After all, why did he have that book? Until that point, it was not even certain if I had a cursed technique or not.”

“If you look for fantastical explanations, then they will manifest. Conversely, if you look for the reasonable methods, then they will surely make themselves apparent,” he said.

“That’s true,” you said hesitantly. Kashimo blew out a huff of air.

“You tell boring stories. I suppose that’s that, then; I’ll have to tell you one about myself,” he said.

“Will you, now? Which one?” you said. There was so little you knew about Kashimo that you could not help how his statement piqued your interest. He grinned, a smug, self-satisfied expression that was so at home on his face it was a wonder he did not wear it more often.

“I’m sure there is much you’d like to know, and before I kill you, I will tell you it all and tell you it well, but in the meantime, we should begin with a more innocuous story,” he began.

“Get to the point, Kashimo,” you said. “What are you going to tell me?”

“You won’t indulge my theatrical desires when I am going so far out of my way to help you? Cruel woman that you are, I guess it isn’t too much out of character for you to do such a thing,” he said.

“As I said earlier, you are not going out of your way. You all but forced your way into helping me, when I would’ve been able to find this woman perfectly easily without your interference and your egging on of Daisuke,” you said.

“Well, you wouldn’t have even found Daisuke without me…but that’s beside the point!” He hastily cut himself off when he saw you open your mouth to argue. “The story I’m going to tell you is actually related to both the woman and Daisuke. In fact, it is the story of my childhood and how it is that an orphan, one who was born with nothing to his name, came to be known as the god of lightning, making up for his lack of blessings by becoming a deity in his own right.”