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snelbz · 3 years

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Life As We Know It {Chapter Seven}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays and Thursdays. Chapters will be posted on both my and Tara’s blogs! >> @tacmc.

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Nesta was out with Elain, Mor, Emerie, Amren, and Gwen for the night.

She had no idea when she’d be home.

This meant one thing and one thing only.

It was Cassian’s first night alone with Nyx.

It was no different than being home alone with Nyx during the day, which Cassian had been a handful of times thus far. However, Nyx didn’t seem to need as much during the day.

Eat, sleep, play, repeat.

At night, he needed a dinner, a bath, his bottle, to be rocked, to be put down for the night…which was something he never liked doing. A daytime nap? He didn’t mind. Sleeping for nine hours? Apparently that thought just pissed him off.

Nesta was a pro at getting him to sleep for the night. Cassian had offered once to do it and failed miserably.

“Not tonight, little man,” Cassian said to Nyx as they sat at the dinner table together. “Tonight, you’re going to bed the first time for Uncle Cassian.”

Nyx looked at Cassian and giggled.

Cassian scoffed. “Don’t mock me.”

Dinner with Cassian meant Nyx got the good shit. No puréed green beans or mashed carrots tonight. After he’d polished off a small jar of the cinnamon apples, Nyx had eaten nearly half a tube of puréed sweet potato, and Cassian was eating his own food. He took a bite of supreme pizza and pointed at him, before holding up a single finger. “After this, we’re gonna take a bath, and you aren’t going to throw water everywhere or poop in the tub, got it?”

Nyx just banged his little hand on the tray of his high chair, causing more sweet potato to fly onto himself, grinning up at Cassian.

“Then one last bottle before bed, while I read you a story,” he said, holding up a second finger. “I’m sure there will be a diaper change in there somewhere, so please go easy on me, yeah?”

Nyx played in the mess of mixed food in front of him.

“And then you go to bed, so I can watch a movie and pass out myself, and boom. Nesta can’t say anything about my parenting anymore cause I managed to keep you alive for a whole night.”

Nyx blew a raspberry at him before he started babbling.

Cassian took that as agreement.

“Perfect,” Cassian said, ruffling Nyx’s dark hair as he shoved the rest of the pizza into his mouth with his other hand.

He got up to clear his plate, and by the time he went back to Nyx’s high chair, he had managed to make orange streaks in his black hair.

Courtesy of the sweet potatoes.

With a sigh, Cassian took the tray off the high chair and unbuckled Nyx, picking him up and carrying him toward the bath.

“You first, tray second,” Cassian said.

Nyx started patting his little potato covered hands on Cassian’s cheeks, giggling at the sound it made.

Cassian cringed at the way it felt. “Thanks for that.”

He filled the bathtub up, ensuring it wasn’t too hot, like Nesta had shown him, and got Nyx out of his messy clothes and into the tub. After he’d wiped his own face clean of sweet potato, he went to work on Nyx, who had somehow managed to get it on the back of his knees.

Twenty minutes and a full change of wet, soggy clothes later for Cassian, he was sitting in Nyx’s nursery, in the rocking chair in the corner, a book open in his lap.

“This would be a book your parents bought you,” he muttered, opening the front cover. After clearing his throat, he began, “The night sky of Velaris greeted all the townspeople, letting them know it was time to go to bed.” Nyx patted the page and babbled something incoherent. Cassian nodded. “Yeah, it’s a nice picture, isn’t it?” He went on reading the story, written by a local author, no doubt, and Cassian found himself snorting at some of the sentences, but Nyx was fully engaged.

By the time he had finished the book, Nyx was leaning back against him, fully relaxed in his pajamas.

Even Cassian let out a yawn.

“You know, the Velaris starlight was important to your parents,” Cassian said, rocking Nyx back and forth. “They fell in love on Starfall. At least, that’s what Rhys always said. He was in love with your mama long before that, but she started falling for him on Starfall.” Nyx’s dark lashes began to fall, his eyelids drooping. “That’s why they named you Nyx. In Greek, Nyx means night.”

Nyx’s hand gripped Cassian’s thumb. He looked down at the sight and chuckled, quietly.

The baby looked up at him then, with those big, blue eyes, eyes that were so blue, they looked violet in the dark. That dark hair that was starting to need a trim, falling into his eyes. Cassian blinked quickly, trying to keep the sudden tears from spilling over. “You look so much like your dad,” he whispered.

Nyx just continued to watch him, pacifier in his mouth, those eyes getting sleepier with every rock of the chair.

Swallowing harshly, Cass set the book down and resituated Nyx so he was laying against his chest. He gently rubbed his back, the way he saw Nesta do when he would get fussy.

“I miss your dad,” he said, softly. “I know you do, too, you’ve known him your whole life, but—. But so have I. And after twenty-eight years he’s just…gone.”

That dark head snuggled in closer against him, one of his little hands clutching Cassian’s t-shirt.

Cassian said nothing else. If he had, he wouldn’t have gotten them out clearly.

He rocked. He rocked and he rocked and he rocked until Nyx was snoring, softly. As carefully as he could, Cassian rose and laid Nyx down in his crib.

After waiting a moment to make sure he didn’t wake up, Cassian tiptoed out of the room and across the hall to his own bedroom.

He had just laid down and unlocked his phone when he heard crying.

Tossing his phone back on his pillow, Cassian was instantly up, hurrying back across the hall. Nyx’s feet were kicking, his arms waving wildly, perfectly unhappy.

“What’s going on?” Cassian asked, picking the baby up out of the crib and cradling him against his chest. “Huh? You were sleeping so nicely.”

He continued to cry, and no amount of bouncing or patting his back was seeming to work.

“Come on, dude,” he muttered, sitting back down in the rocker. He resumed the slow back and forth motion, praying it would soothe Nyx back into peaceful sleep. “We did the bath. We did the bottle. We did the book. This is when you go to sleep.”

He kept crying and Cassian just shushed him quietly, his hand resuming the gentle rubbing he had done before. It helped, but Nyx still sniffled. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “I don’t know how to do any of this. I’m still scared I’m gonna do something to fuck up and I wouldn’t just be doing it to you, it’d be to Rhys, too.”

Nyx’s wailing returned, and Cassian tried to close his eyes and take deep breaths. It wasn’t working. With everything he tried, Nyx only cried more and more and more.

“Come on, buddy,” he begged. “It’s time for bed, alright? It’s time to calm down.” Nyx let out a cry so loud that Cassian nearly jumped, which only scared Nyx, making him cry louder.

Cassian tried changing his diaper, tried getting him to take his pacifier, but nothing helped. He continued to rock, continued to pat, continued to walk Nyx around his room, but nothing worked.

Nothing.

Defeated, Cassian laid Nyx back down in his crib. “Come on, bud. Come on.”

Nyx kept crying, and Cassian rubbed his temples, trying not to join his nephew in his agony.

“Shhhhhh,” Cassian began, leaning over the crib, patting Nyx’s stomach. “It’s time for bed, Nyx. It’s time for bed. If your parents were here right now, I’m sure you’d already be asleep. Shit, if Nesta were here, you’d already be asleep.” He shook his head. “It’s me, isn’t it?”

The baby replied by continuing to cry.

He swore quietly, and hurried across the hall grabbing his phone, dialing a number he’d unknowingly memorized. She answered on the second ring.

“Is everything okay?”

He couldn’t hear music and laughter in the background of the call, but heard how panicked her voice was. She must have stepped away from her friends. It only made him feel that much worse.

“I can’t get him to stop crying and go to sleep,” he admitted. “I don’t know what else to try.”

“You gave him his bottle?” She asked, and he nodded. Then audibly answered her. After that, she ticked off the checklist of things she usually went through. Every single one he’d already tried.

“It’s like it’s just me,” he said, trying to calm him down while he held the phone to his ear. He scooped him up into his arms and sat down in the rocking chair. “He hates me and won’t go to sleep.”

She was quiet for a minute. “You know that’s not true, Cassian. He loves you.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said, quietly, low enough that he wasn’t sure if the receiver could pick it up over Nyx’s wailing.

But it didn’t matter, because he heard footsteps hurrying up the stairs.

When Nesta rounded the corner, she wasn’t expecting to find Cassian looking defeated in the rocking chair. She pretended not to see the tears on his handsome face as she dropped her purse by the door of the nursery and took Nyx. She began to soothe him and tried to give him back his pacifier, but he wouldn’t take it.

“He’s cutting a new tooth,” Nesta said, carefully looking into his mouth, wide open thanks to a drawn out sob. “That’s all. He’s just uncomfortable, isn’t he?”

By the end of the sentence she was looking at Nyx, an over-exaggerated frown on her face.

She handed him back to Cassian and was downstairs and back with cooling, teething toy she’d pulled out of the freezer. He began to chew and gnaw on it the moment she handed it to him.

The crying quieted.

“There,” she said, smoothing his dark hair back from his forehead. “Better, yeah?”

Taking him from Cassian who hadn’t said a word since she walked in, she put him back into his crib and gently rubbed his belly. Within minutes, he was asleep again.

He murmured, “Thanks. You…didn’t have to end your night early for me.” He gestured toward the front door. “You can head back out. I can— I can handle it now.”

She shook her head. “I was on the way home. Turns out I wasn’t really in the going out mood.”

Cassian nodded, and said no more. He simply watched Nyx, his chest rising and falling. Nesta gave him a curt nod and walked out, back into the hall.

Cassian followed, shutting the nursery door quietly behind him.

“You did that so effortlessly.”

Nesta stopped and turned to face him near her bedroom, a brow raised. “Effortlessly?”

“I’ve been struggling for hours and you came in, and less than five minutes… He was out.” Cassian shook his head. “I’ve known him since the day he was born and I had no idea what he wanted.”

“He’s a baby, Cassian. He doesn’t even know what he wanted.”

“You knew,” he said, exasperated, exhausted.

She blinked, not expecting the tone of his voice to have sounded so…empty.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Nesta said, looking at him, willing him to meet her eyes. He didn’t look up.

“It’s not okay,” he said, and suddenly his words were sharp. “Rhys trusted me to take care of him but I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

She shook her head. “They trusted us, but they knew it wouldn’t be easy. We knew it wouldn’t be easy. We just have to take it day by day and-.”

“It’s not okay!” His words weren’t loud but they were panicked. “I have to provide for him and I can’t fucking do it if I don’t know what he needs.”

“Cassian-.”

“Why would they choose me?�� He asked, his voice quiet. Tears filled his eyes. He hated himself for it. “I never even wanted kids! I have no idea what to do with a kid, Nesta. I don’t know what parents are supposed to do, what dads are supposed to do, I didn’t even fucking have one.”

Nesta remained quiet, afraid to speak, afraid to move. She had never seen Cassian like this.

She didn’t think anyone had ever seen Cassian like this.

“I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to do this,” he repeated. “I can’t— I can’t do this.”

She knew her words would mean nothing, reassuring him that he wasn’t alone in this, that they would figure it out together. It wouldn’t help him, wouldn’t ease his mind or his heart. That heart that was still broken from the loss of his best friend, his brother. So she did something she never thought she’d do.

She closed the space between them and wrapped her arms around him.

Cassian didn’t move for a moment, he just let her slim arms wrap around his waist, not realizing that he was on the brink of losing it. He was fairly sure that right now, she was the only thing holding him together, both mentally and physically. But after a long minute, his own arms wrapped around her shoulder and he buried his face into the top of her hair. He didn’t care that his tears were soaking her hair, didn’t care that this was the woman he’d spent the past five years hating and avoiding like she was the damn plague.

He didn’t care that he was falling to pieces.

Standing in that hallway, with Nyx sleeping behind the closed bedroom door, Cassian wept, and he didn’t care who saw it.

#life as we know it #snacmc lawki #lawki #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

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baeddel · 3 years

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is Caliban and the witch worth reading?

i've never read it. i've had the good fortune to have discussed it with three good friends who have, however. cc @canmom @epee-prisme @matador

i think it's worth reading. anything is worth reading. but is it a better use of your time than reading Lazarillo or Religio Medici or Tsurezuregusa? i apparently did not think so.

here is my best argument against reading Caliban and the Witch. Caliban and the Witch is Federici's big book where she proves her theories about primitive accumulation and reproductive labour by putting them to use in an analysis of the origins of capitalism. it is thus a test of a theory using history. but all of the history she uses is wrong. she inflates figures up to orders of ten, she neglects relevant facts and includes false ones. insofar as it is history it is bad history; so insofar as it attempts to prove its theory through history, it fails to prove it. now you are reading for the theory alone, which, while not proved by this book, might still be correct. but if you are reading for the theory alone, why read Caliban and the Witch when the theory has been laid out just as well elsewhere? you should instead read Fortunati's Arcane of Reproduction (1981) and Federici's Revolution at Point Zero (2012). between the 151 pages in Fortunati's book and the 148 pages in Federici's book you'll have to read 299 pages. since the first section of the Revolution... covers much of the same material as the Arcane... you could skip the first 65 pages and read only 234 pages all together. that commits you to between 15 and 80 more pages than you'd need to read to finish the Caliban... (all page numbers exclude covers, acknowledgements, etc.), all covering the theory in more detail and unburdened by factual inaccuracies.

you might want to read for other reasons, although those reasons still might not persuade us. you might read for Federici's wit, but the author of Lazarillo is more witty. you might read for Federici's clever rhetoric, but Thomas Browne's rhetoric is more clever. you might read for Federici's moving arguments, but Yoshida Kenkō's arguments are more moving. is there no reason to ever read Caliban and the Witch? lets not go too far.

here is my best argument for reading Caliban and the Witch. it is, first of all, better to read bad history than good history. when you feel comfortable in the hands of a scrupulous historian you will accept whatever they say. when you know the historian is unscrupulous and expect them to lie you will accept nothing they say. in the first case you will relax as you read and let yourself be impressed by the facts; in the second case you will investigate every claim and scrutinize every argument. we are lazy readers of good history and vigilant readers of bad history. even worse, after you have finished a good history you will set it aside and feel satisfied that you have learned something; yet soon you will forget it, and you have really learned nothing. while you read a bad history you will 'read around the subject', you will confront it with other sources, and you will feel proud and tell your friends whenever you defeat one of its false claims; after you finish you will seek out good criticisms and perhaps write your own. you will never forget this bad book and how you got the better of its scandals.

second of all, the task of reading the Caliban will be to extract the theory from the false facts. the task of reading the Arcane and the Revolution will be to scrutinize this theory which is naked in those texts. it is much easier to discover the underlying theoretical structure of a text than it is to scrutinize it. in the first case you need only the Caliban itself. but to scrutinize the Arcane and the Revolution you will have to be aware of Marx's theory of value and what he means by production, of the various conditions enjoyed by women in various societies, and of competing theories like Roswitha Sholz's value-dissociation. so while you may only need to read 15 more pages to finish the Arcane and the Revolution, in reality you may need to read a few thousand pages before you feel satisfied, whereas with the Caliban you will feel satisfied after only 219 pages.

we admit these are crummy arguments. instead of reading bad histories it would be better to become a vigilant reader of good histories; and you should of course not read only to understand one book but to understand the things it discusses. let me make my real best argument, then. what if we were to read the Caliban not as an academic history, and then find that it is a bad one, but as the same kind of "useful history for life" that Nietzsche liked to write? if you wanted to know something about the history of Chrsitian morality you would be very poorly served by reading the Genealogy of Morals. Christian morality was not first developed by slaves, so it couldn't really be a 'slave revolt' against the morality of slavemasters. but if you feel you have defeated the Genealogy with only this fact you will have fundamentally misunderstood that book and everyone will say so. in the same way that in Plato's dialogues there are not just arguments but characters and situations, and in the Zhuangzi there are not just ideas but "striking images" "the darkness of the Northern Ocean, the bird Peng, the cicada and the dove, the giant gourd and the useless tree" which, for Møllgaard (2005), adds up to a "speculative rhetoric" ("borrow[ing] the term coined by Pascal Quignard") which the arguments about language and understanding cannot be extricated from, in the Caliban we find witches burned at the stake, women in bridles, the trossfrau platoons of sex workers marching after soldiers, heretics living communally on the outskirts of society, and so forth, a speculative rhetoric made up of some things which happened often, some things which happened rarely, and some things which Federici made up. as academic history we find it to be false and dismiss it trivially. but it was ultimately not the inflated figures that made it so useful to communist trans women (we virtually all read and loved it even though it is expedient now to pretend otherwise). perhaps we have not yet begun to really read Caliban, or we have forgotten how to read it. so you should read it, not alongside serious histories about the witch trials and early capitalism, but alongside Nietzsche's On the Uses and Disadvantages of History for Life (1874) and books about hermeneutics. you must begin a new reading of Caliban and the Witch, the coordinates of which we do not already have on hand.

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jean-does-not-have-a-horseface · 3 years

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Hello!! Could you please write an scenario where Levi got hurt (not badly) during an expedition but he refuses to go to the nursery when they got back, making the reader worried for him so she asks if she can tend to his injuries and he lets them? (Maybe while she's at it they kiss if u want) Just some care for our Levi:)) Sorry if my English isn't good, it's not my main language

Yoooo that was a rather hot thing to write 👀👀👀👀 I hope you enjoy, also, don't worry about your English. In fact English isn't my first language either❤️

Pairing: Levi/ Reader

Tags: fluffity fluff, smooches, slurpy hot smooches, yes I'm doing God's work, awkward Levi brrr

The Moon Is Full, I Guess

It was outdated at this point. Your hand clenched in a fist probing onto the dark mahogany door, the beating of your heart that throbbed inside your chest as the though of the person on the other side of the wall swirled through your mind, your ratched breaths, gulped by the lump in your throat, everything was tiring, dull.

The feeling was embarrassing and overwhelming. They way it overtook you, they way it threw you off tracks at his mere presence was causing anger to dwell in the pits of your stomach. But even if you had to look past that, you couldn't get over yourself for wanting to be of help.

It was an egoistical act before it was a selfless one. You wanted to be the first to reach out to him, you wished to be the only one to help him and you felt disgusted with yourself that your twisted brain created scenarios in which Levi felt enamored by your generosity. But love did that to you. And even if you despairately wanted to fight it, you couldn't realistically pick a fight a feeling.

Because if you could, love would have gotten your fists.

"State your name business."

"It's (y/n)." You puckered your lips as your name sourly slipped out of your mouth.

There wasn't anything that didn't plainly scream mechanical and awkward as Levi's grumpy voice ordered you to state your name and business and you anathematized it, cursing softly under your breath as your shagged, hardened palm reached for the door handle upon hearing the familiar grunt of approval to your request. That was it. The small victory of your ego dwelled inside you, poisoning the spit under your tongue.

You panicked, only momentarily, and only at the thought of a sour breath that tingled on the top of your tongue. Your eyes widened below puckered eyebrows as your mind repeatedly alarmed you of the bitter taste inside your mouth canal. Your cool though wasn't bugged further, with a stern inhale you composed your weaker side in the binds of your fond chest.

"Levi."

You stuck your palms to the door, bum extended on them as you leaned with your back on the wood, your goal to simply shut the door tenderly achieved as you heard the tiny click of the handle. It was your footstep that was heard next, the heel of your boot that clashed with the mahogany tile overpowered Levi's hiss of your name. You simply let your footing roll naturally in trying to approach him, although your lungs, agreeing with the part of your brain that accused you of being a rotting egoist, protested.

"Sit." He hissed and your breath hiccuped.

"No, Levi, I won't." Refusing to sit on the loveseat by his desk you set your fiery gaze onto him. "In fact, I'm not here for any reason you'd like to hear."

The movement of Levi's orbs was adorned with a short blink of his eyelids. It caused you to bite the side of your top lip harshly but your heart was already heaping at the sight by the time you felt your canines dig into the soft piece of flesh. You figured Levi didn't notice, whereas it was usual for him to pick up on any reluctancy in your antics, it seemed as if the pain of his injury overpowered his mind. And somehow, in some twisted way, you were thankful for that.

It meant you couldn't really degrade yourself more to him.

"Why didn't you line up for the infirmary when we arrived? You got injured!" You pouted, (e/c) eyes burning brightly into his.

"There were too many who were heavily injured and needed immediate help. My minor injury is not something anyone should be bothered by, probably a shitty broken rib, I'll be fine if I lay on the low for a while." Levi sighed and kept his voice low as he spoke to you calmly.

He averted his gaze off of you for a moment, his own foot started tapping obnoxiously without any certain rhythm on the floor beneath him. In a nervous movement he run his hand through his hair. There was sulk written on his face after he licked his lips. In an attempt to mask his pain, he even bit his own lip, mimicking your previous actions. Whether you considered this a symbolism or not, was completely up to you.

"You're not serious."

"I'm shit serious."

"I figured you'd deny anything actually, but," you sighed "can you at least let me tend to you?"

You were hesitant as you extended your arm to him, (e/c) eyes meeting his for the upteenth time in such a short period of time. There was no denying; the confidence it took for anyone to handle Levi like was something you didn't lack of, you could blame that for having spent half of your life with him in the underground but your stubbornness made up for that abomination of self respect you had. Thus yet, when you were definitely sure you'd have to pull your empty hand back to your embrassed self his palm confidently clasped over yours and your stubborn stomach immediately started churning in a mixture of emotions.

In only a matter of seconds you felt your head drifting and Levi's gaze somewhat softened as it landed on your linked palms, the man finally deciding to balance his weight between his foot and your grip. You forced your strength to gather on your hand to support him as he slowly got up, never letting his hand go off his side.

Levi's boot missed numerous steps as you took the task of carrying him onto yourself and grunts of pain filled the air with every marching you made towards his private quarter. The small chamber smelled incredibly strong of lemon and vinegar, but you chose to ignore it with a scrunch of your nose. You knew what it meant; Levi had pushed himself to meticulously clean the room in the early morning before the expedition began, probably due to his immense amount of stress and you were in no place to bring it to his attention right now. You shouldn't even try to interfere with anything else other than tending to his injury.

But that tiny little day dreamer in your head refused to let you get through with what you had in mind.

Setting him onto the edge of his bed, you clapped your hands on his thighs in a silent instruction for him to stay put. Levi simply bored his eyes into yours, watching as you bucked on your knees in order to straighten your posture and then marching straight to his dresser. You stopped absurdly, seemingly puzzled as you balanced your weight on your right leg, popping on your hip at the process.

His gunmetal gaze was nervously averted at the sight and his cheeks stung as if a thousand needles were punched through his skin; he felt noticably guilty and vague when he caught himself looking at you in such way. It was definitely something he could manage to hide well, he had figured that much at least, because he didn't want to cause anything awkward to inflict between the two of you.

"Where do you usually keep gauze and bandages?" You inquired, throwing your head over your shoulder to look over to his direction.

"In my underwear drawer, top right corner." As Levi spoke, you puckered your lips, despairate to turn your hot head away from him, setting your goal to find the medical supplies you needed to tend to him.

Turning around in triumph, you suppressed a smug smile from spreading on your face as you held the bundle of bandage tightly in your hand. Levi shot you another bored look followed by a sigh as he pushed his lips in a thin line. You couldn't figure if he seemed disappointed in your actions or he was just as bugged as he'd be most of the time, and your stomach punched the insides of your torso in quick anxiety.

Sitting next to Levi on the bed did nothing to stop your coiling stomach, if anything, it sent your whole body in churning fury. You felt miserable and vague, bringing yourself in this very position, but you couldn't simply resent it in the last moment, it probably would make things look worse for you.

Nevertheless, you let out a sigh and avoided his look as you brought your hands on top of his shoulders, quickly slipping them on the inside of his camel leather jacket and sliding them down his shoulders in order to push the piece of clothing away from him to save him from excessive movements. Levi darted his chin away from your direction as not to have his head collide with yours and you almost let out a hitched breath at that.

"Wait," Levi said as you tagged on the collar of his button down shirt. "I have broken rib, bandaging me up won't do any good."

Your head dropped when he finished speaking, your gut burning in the somehow gory defeat of your ego. You sweared under your breath and onto his clothed collarbone, cussing your silly clouded brain for not even considering his actual injury. Your lungs demanded to punish you by refusing to be satisfied with any oxygen you would try to fill them with and you knew you deserved it for being so engrossed with the thought of taking care of him instead of actually doing so.

"You good, brat?"

"Yeah, I- I'm just stupid aren't I?" You spoke, lifting your chin up to meet with his gaze.

"Once a moron, always a moron." He confirmed, almost playfully.

You fondly inspected the skin on his face and neck, trying to worry your guilty eyes away from his; you felt as if he was reading you like an open book, which he could easily do, yet your chest was dwelled with too much pride to allow him to speak any other word of concern.

Pushing any poisonous thought to the back of your brain you demandingly bit on your lip and pulled a few inches away, just enough so you could directly look into him. With another look at his gunmetal eyes you stopped your next breath from exiting your body, feeling your heart throb inside your whole body. With trembling hands you searched for his, engulfing his short calloused fingers into your palms almost immediately upon your blind discovery.

It was now or never.

Yet, you barely spoke. The inability to utter even the most incoherent sounds was conquering your body, probing you to duel with it in any case you wanted to expose the nature of your feelings. Nevertheless, you stomped your foot on the mahogany floor and furrowed your brows dangerously before you parted your lips. Though the line you chose to utter was supposed to be nothing more than an internal thought.

"Thinking of you is a poison I drink often."

"You into poetry yet or what (y/n)?" Levi blinked his eyes boringly into yours as he spoke, never flinching for even a mere second.

You knew, under any other circumstance you would have burst laughing in his casual sarcasm, but as all air exited the room, you weren't sure you could bring yourself to make another sound.

"The moon is full, I guess," Levi sighed, pulling his hands to his face, causing yours -thst never loosened their grip on him- to tag along. Your pointed and middle fingers delicately hung from the space between his thumb and his face, lingering just enough to make your presence still know to him. "I'm a lost cause. If you're looking for romance that is. That's as much as I can do."

Nervously looking back and forth you contemplated on the meaning of his words for a couple of moments, your heart churning as your mind hazed over every single syllabus he had just spoken.

Reluctantly, and only when you made up your mind, your hands came to loosely cup the sides of his sharp face while the gaze you were set to spared on his lips was hesitant and lingering. Your thumb idled with his cheek in soothingly soft circles as your breaths paced back and forth, forming uneven masses of fog inside the frozen room. Yet despite the jawbreaking cold that smothered the two of you in the well known piercing manner, in this very moment everything around you seemed to have gone extinct. Time was slowing down, just for the two of you.

You didn't know what pushed you to act upon that little flicker in your heart, but your head was immediately sent in vertigo as you felt his pointed button nose bump into yours. Nothing could break that moment, nothing could rip you off him now that your lips were hovering dangerously over his. With your trembling hands you pulled him closer, hoping on closing the gab between the two of you.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you steadily engulfed his bottom lip with your own mouth; you moved mellowy, painfully slow as you tried to warm him up, eliciting occasional whines to come out of your own self. It was painful and overally miserable to think about how you managed to drag the actions of your lips against his but your knees were weak with every passing second as you savored his taste.

There wasn't another way to make Levi understand how this over the border peck ignited every flame you had inside of you, but you wished the looked you spared him as you parted could do the job. His gaze was furiously set on you, eyes blinking hard into yours as if trying to predict your very next move. You couldn't simply leave him hanging; there was hunger in his eyes, you recognised as much because you knew him so damn well, thus as if on cue you pressed your lips to his, briefly.

And then you did it again.

And again.

And once more.

And then, before you could repeat the -now familiar- peck you felt his own hands cup the back of your head and in furious movements you were pulled into him, lips colliding and teeth clashing against eachother. It wasn't a serene kiss just like the ones you shared before, this one was sloppy and raw, it took all the air out of your chest and it made you unable to try and seek for oxygen.

Your head was prohibited from moving freely, yet you were mostly dominating over the kiss. With a speactacularly quick wit you sucked on his lips roughly, passionately enough to make him gasp more than a few times. Pulling away from each other wasn't an option -no- you weren't going to take such dispicable chance, you simply tagged on his shagged raven locks before daring to dart the tip of your tongue out of the crevice of your own mouth.

Levi accepted it eagerly, sending his own tongue to welcome yours inside his mouth, occasionally pressing it into his pallette before guiding it on the underside of your tongue. You couldn't know, but he wished your tongue was longer, long enough to reach deeper, simply because he needed it to. There was no explainatiom as to why he enjoyed such sloppy, saliva dripping kiss, but the way you scouted every single inch of his mouth was exciting to a point of no return.

It was only after letting you win over his mouth completely that he pulled back, his hands finally letting go of their grip on the back of head. You stayed in your position, however unable to move, unable to speak, unable to find enough oxygen to fill your lungs with.

"That much.. Sure I can do." Levi coughed.

You simply moved your orbs towards him, wide in despair and surprised by his unmatched sarcasm. Out of breath and flustered enough to ignore the fact that your brain had completely shut off, you hung your head lower before muttering something about having to bring him a cool pad for his injury. Now, you really needed to tend to him in order to repeat that again.

You couldn't help the enchanted smile that masked your face as your finger grazed over your lip, making sure to mesmerize the tingling sensation that boiled inside your swollen pieces of flesh.

Taglist go off 👉🏻👈🏻: @sasageyowrites (love you thanks for reading half of this hshshshhs and telling me it's good) @nobody-knows-anymore (full credit for the line you sent me to include my dear) @ladyofpandemonium @ackermans-freedom-inc @hawkssnugget @berrijam @callmepromise @alrightberries still am I forgetting anyone :( pls tell me if I forgot you, I only have one brain

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman imagine #levi ackerman #levi #levi attack on titan #captain levi #aot #attack on titan #snk #shingeki no kyojin #snk x reader #aot x reader #snk imagines #aot imagine #aot season 4 #snk season 4

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ushidoux · 3 years

Text

Be My Last - Iwaizumi x Reader

Summary: You have trouble getting over a past relationship and it’s preventing you from moving forward. (~3.5k words)

Warnings: stubborn ass reader, very slight nsfw at the end

A/N: It took me a long time to write this because I have trouble with fluff and also trouble with characterizing Iwa lmfao, I might need a second watch. I hope you enjoy! Happy Thanksgiving!

Part 1|| Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

---

“Are you serious?! Are you really saying no to this face?”

Your best friend was now leaning so far across the fast food dining table that she had practically climbed on top of it, holding up her phone just inches from your face to force you to take a better look at the picture of the blind date she had arranged for you.

Your eyes crossed uncomfortably by reflex and you pulled back sharply to grab the phone from her and take a better look. On second glance, you had to admit that the guy standing next to Oikawa was quite good-looking, a couple inches shorter but with a sturdier build, sharper features and just enough scowl in his facial expression to intrigue you.

In fact, he was exactly your type.

“Just one date,” your friend insisted. “You’ve been pining over your ex for almost a year now! You don’t have to fall in love but maybe a small distraction? Plus, double dates would be so fun, come onnnnn~”

Your friend was only rarely this animated so you knew she really wanted this but the idea of even considering romance again after being dumped so harshly before was so undesirable that you stubbornly shook your head instead and took another bite of your burger.

“___, please?”

You frowned, and your friend’s pout grew deeper once she realized there was a pretty good chance you wouldn’t budge about this. After all, you’d rejected every single person that so much as looked in your direction so effectively these past few months that it had essentially become an afterthought.

She leaned back in her seat, occupying herself now with picking out a particularly long fry off of the platter you were sharing, trying to minimize her disappointment. Despite how much she hoped you would say yes, she could understand why you felt the way you did.

“I’m sorry,” you offered, sipping on your drink. She let out a defeated sigh.

“Well, I’ll try to figure out a compassionate way to let Iwa now that you’re not interested. Honestly, Oikawa will probably be more offended by it than me.”

At this last comment, her eyes twinkled softly with a mild amusement and she started to text her boyfriend. However, knowing that it would possibly be a bigger deal to reject Oikawa’s best friend right off the bat than to just endure a date once, you reconsidered.

“Fine! Stop, I don’t need Tooru yelling in my ears. I’ll go.”

She smiled. You’d fallen right into her trap.

---

Exactly 72 hours later almost to the minute, you found yourself standing before the duo of childhood friends at the entrance of a town fair, your friend by your side.

Oikawa’s partner-in-crime was, to both your surprise and chagrin, even better looking in person. Kinder too, if you discounted the glare he shot at Oikawa when he introduced him mock affectionately as ‘Iwa-chan, his very best friend in the whole wide world’. You stifled a laugh as Iwa released Oikawa from a headlock, and introduced yourself politely to him noticing the very faint pinking of the ears that accompanied the softening of his expression as he shifted his attention to you.

A small fluster you couldn’t help but find cute was evident in his voice as he shared his full name - Iwaizumi Hajime. Strike one.

Strike two was the careful distance he left between you two as you walked through the street fair, just steps behind Oikawa and your friend who trekked confidently and comfortably linked hand in hand. His questions were respectful but pointed, like he truly wanted to get to know you as much as possible, and as he listened he leaned in just so, making sure to hear you clearly over the bustle of the busy crowds.

He helped you with your safety belts as you strapped in together on small thrill rides and you could catch his furtive glances in the corner of your eyes as you laughed and screamed.

A part of you wondered if it was too quick, if it was a bad omen that he already appeared smitten with you despite having just met. However, you had missed the feeling of someone liking you genuinely and explicitly so, dating back from even before you had started having problems in your last relationship, so you appreciated it wholeheartedly.

Strike three was him immediately setting a time and a date to meet again, without the hovering presence of your best friends, which he emphasized loudly to listening ears behind you (Oikawa made his disappointment at being excluded quite apparent by groaning loudly within earshot).

“I really enjoyed spending time with you today, ___.”

It wasn’t too much, wasn’t too little and wasn’t too soon.

“So did I.” You replied with a smile more genuine than you’d had for months.

---

Date two went as smoothly as date one.

Dinner and a movie, a classic. Iwa had chosen a psychological thriller that you had been looking forward to for a couple weeks and prior to meeting you’d started to text back and forth regularly about theories, so thereafter sprang forth endless spirited debates. As the evening progressed, you noticed him yielding earlier and earlier, and you noticed that he got quieter as the night went on, preferring to sit back and watch you talk. You couldn’t tell if it was the few cocktails with dinner but soon you were distracted by eyes that rested on you easily with an accompanied smile. It was enough to make your face grow warm.

“Am I talking too much?” You asked, sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I get like this when I’m excited.”

“I love hearing you talk,” he replied with a small laugh. “No one can talk as much as Oikawa so don’t worry.”

Your smile spread from ear to ear and you could feel your bruised heart grow ever so slightly.

---

Date three, four and five had you swept off your feet and you found yourself falling between hikes, picnics and aquarium trips.

Which was why when your friend called you to gloat about how she was right about you two all along, you realized just how deep you had fallen and almost instantly, that familiar fear that you had been nursing for the past year settled back into your consciousness.

You couldn’t bear another heartbreak. The thought of Iwa’s warm smiles becoming addictive and constantly craving the feel of his hands on your skin only to then be discarded like a participation ribbon hung heavy on you.

“I.. I don’t think I can keep seeing him,” you said, in sudden realization, despite the fact that you had been gushing about your dates just minutes earlier.

You could hear a pause on the other end of the line, and then your friend asked softly, “Is it because you still miss him?”

The other him. Of course you did, you still lived in the apartment the two of you had shared right after college, having given yourself multiple excuses not to move out. You hadn’t even bothered to change the decorations you’d bought together and thus every part of this place reminded you of him.

You even watered the plants he had left behind every morning. You couldn’t tell if it was because you had grown attached to them or worse - because you thought maybe, just maybe, if he ever came back, he’d want to know that you were always nursing your love.

“I’m… not sure,” you replied.

Your friend sighed audibly into the phone.

“You’re missing out on someone great, but I’ll support you regardless.”

---

Your graduate classes ended late the next evening, and you stumbled into your apartment with mild exhaustion, kicking off your shoes and slipping off your jeans before plopping on your bed.

Iwa had said he wanted to come see you, and even though just a few days ago you had been excited at the prospect of spending time with him in your own home, your stomach fluttered with a different type of alarm when you considered the fact that if you were to tell him you were no longer interested in letting whatever was between you bloom, it would have to be now.

Would it be better to tell him over text message or on the phone or in person? You didn’t want to see the look on his face when you hurt him; you knew it would change your resolve.

If you called him on the phone, would you be able to withstand hearing the disappointment in his voice? Would he demand a reason, and would he tell you your weak one wasn’t enough?

If you sent him a simple text and then blocked his number, would you be the awful person too chickenshit to say the words to his face?

Your phone buzzed just as you were paralyzed with your choices.

I’m 20 minutes away. How was your class?

You froze.

20 minutes to make a decision. Would you have him come all this way just to drop him without a very good reason in the comfort of your own home?

You stared at your phone for five minutes longer, perseverating, only to be startled out of your trance when you saw his name flash over the front. You forgot you had read receipts on; it had never been a problem before.

“Hey, are you okay?” His voice dripped of concern. “You read but didn’t answer.”

“Y-yeah, of course! Class was good… I’ll see you in a bit.”

---

You soon wished you hadn’t let Iwa into your apartment. Now that he was here snuggled with you on the couch, close enough that you could take in his scent, all you could think of was the thought of his lips on yours.

5 dates and you hadn’t yet kissed. Maybe that was for the best, you were planning to break up with him anyway, weren’t you?

You weren’t exactly sure when you had crept so close to each other, but your head now rested gently on his shoulder and his hand had at some point snaked around your waist to pull you against him. You could feel your heart pound in your chest as you stayed close in the dark, and maybe you could feel his own heart beat, steady as his breathing despite the tension building in the air.

You had lost track of the plot of the movie on your flat screen long ago, too preoccupied with the flurry of potential ensuing scenes between you in your head.

What would stop you from going full speed ahead? The fear that you wouldn’t matter enough to him once months came to pass and he learned just how far short you fell from his perfect perception of you? Or that you would once again find yourself in darkness, wondering how many times you’d open your heart only to wish you had kept it guarded?

Or maybe it was the reality that you weren’t sure that you really wanted to move on?

Iwa was a good person, he didn’t deserve your hesitation.

He shifted ever so slightly beside you and in the backlight of the flashing scenes on the television screen, you could see his eyes settle on your lips.

“Is it okay if we-,” he started, only to be interrupted by the fact that you had already pulled him in by the shirt collar and were lost in the taste of him on your tongue. You could tell he was surprised, but Iwa leaned into your kiss, pulling you now fully onto his lap and holding you steady by the waist as the two of you made out.

Your hands crept up to his face, fingers gently trailing then cupping the curve of his jaw, and the longer you kissed, the more of him you wanted. When his hands started to tug just slightly at the edge of your shirt to warn you he was going underneath, you tensed but nodded to allow him to palm a breast and roll a nipple between two fingers.

A soft moan left you, renewed when Iwa’s lips left your mouth to kiss a spot just before your earlobe, and his other hand pressed firmly into the small of your back to secure you even closer to him, close enough that you could feel his bulge pressing through his jeans and against your body. Knowing that you could feel him, he whispered breathily into your ear:

“I won’t continue if you don’t want me to.”

Did you want him to continue?

You pulled back from him to study his face, glowing with an earnest desire for you and suddenly you felt so guilty.

“I… I think we should stop here,” you choked out, ignoring the warmth in your cheeks and the flicker of disappointment in his face, and you slowly climbed off him, embarrassed as you stood on your feet.

He didn’t ask why and replied with acceptance.

“Okay.”

---

What he didn’t accept was you finally telling him you no longer wanted to see him in a text message hastily conjured in the middle of the night after a particularly hard day.

He called immediately and you let the phone ring, biting your lip the entire six rings it took for him to give up. He didn’t leave a voice message, but sent you a short text.

I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Can we please talk?

You fought back the urge to cry as you turned over to go to sleep.

He called again in the morning, and when you ignored his call for a second time, the unreasonable part of you waited for a follow-up voicemail or text message which never came. Good for you. You couldn’t understand your own feelings right now and you didn’t deserve to have him sort them out for you.

At least if you acted like a bitch, he would drop you before you could change your mind.

---

“A text message? Really?”

Your friend had dropped by the following Saturday morning for brunch and while you had dreaded this conversation, you had expected it to happen and steeled yourself for the admonishment. You shrugged, avoiding looking at her in the eyes and focusing on watering the plants at your windowsill. Your friend watched you carefully, irritation bubbling within her in response to your stubborn silence.

“I wouldn’t be so insistent if I knew you didn’t like him, but you do! Everyone can see it!”

You didn’t reply, opening your blinds instead. Plants needed lots of sun in addition to water.

“___, I didn’t want to be harsh but he’s not coming back. Even if it’s not with Iwa, please… please get over him.”

You finally turned and gave her a meaningful look, tears now coming to your eyes. Your friend’s mouth fell slightly ajar and realizing just how harsh her truth had been, she got up from your kitchen table and walked over to you to envelop you in a hug as you came undone.

---

A total of three weeks passed, and you finally admitted to yourself that you missed Iwa but it was clearly too late to fix anything. Calling him up would just get you ignored (and rightfully so) and you couldn’t bear to send another text message after ghosting him. Instead you watered your ex’s plants and focused on your classes.

Your best friend had forgiven you for your cruelty even though she let you know she was still suffering from Oikawa’s wrath on your behalf, so instead you decided to distract yourself by going out with other friends and picking up new hobbies.

A girl you were getting to know from class was very excited about a new high-end gym that had opened with nice amenities including a pool and a sauna and free physical training sessions with membership so you indulged her by going as a guest on a weekend.

You had to admit that the place was beautiful, and you made a beeline for the elliptical, a tried and true contraption. She had been making a fuss about one of the instructors being attractive which you had in all honesty paid very little attention to, until she dragged you by the arm to hiss into your ear.

“There he is, don’t look too obviously.”

You turned to find yourself staring straight at Iwaizumi Hajime, physical trainer.

“Oh shit, he’s looking at you,” she whispered, but you were already making your way to the exit. “Wait, where are you going?”

Your pace had gone from a walk to almost a run.

“____!” you heard him call behind you as you scurried as fast as you could off of the premises. Embarrassing. So, so embarrassing.

His voice was starting to sound aggravated, and your run stuttered to a standstill. What were you doing? Running from someone because you told them you didn’t want to date them?

He caught up to you in the parking lot and he no longer smiled; there was a tinge of mild irritation that graced his facial expression as he looked at you.

“Please stop running from me. You don’t need to make it awkward… I... I’m not thinking about it.” He glanced away at the last statement, but you knew he was being sincere while you were being ridiculous.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, and you thought maybe you would say more but he cut you off.

“You don’t have to be sorry. Have a good workout. If you need any help, I’m available, as are the other instructors.”

Professional and curt, he bowed before turning, and before you realized what you were doing, you found yourself tugging onto the sleeve of his shirt to hold him back. When he looked back to you again, while he didn’t give you the fierce scowl he reserved for Oikawa, his expression was still harsh as he looked down at you, waiting to see what you had to say.

What did you want to say? You already said you were sorry, there wasn’t much else to add.

Words failed you and you recoiled ever so slightly. He sighed audibly, and turned fully to face you.

“___, please don’t play with my feelings.”

You deflated as he waited just a few more moments for you to come up with the courage to say you still wanted him, and when you were unable to come up with the words, he bowed again, and returned to the building.

Moments later, you texted your friend to tell her you were sorry, but you were going home immediately.

---

It was a few minutes past 9pm and you had all but forgotten the sting of Iwa’s words as you focused on homework, listening to lo-fi music to help you concentrate. Your phone buzzed once, and you expected maybe your classmate to yell at you again for ditching her, but instead you found a message from Iwa.

I’m sorry for speaking to you that way.

Your heart thumped hard once in your chest, and you flipped your phone over to get back to work, but it was too late. Your concentration was shot for the night.

I’m ready to listen to whatever you have to say, a second message read.

What would happen if you wore your heart on your sleeve just one more time?

Iwa called you before you could call him, and this time you picked up, breathing a hesitant “Hello?” into the phone.

“___, I like you. A lot,” he paused, as those words sank into your heart. “I’m sorry, I wanted to get that out of the way.”

“I do, too,” you replied just as quickly.

Another pause. You swallowed hard and continued,

“I just don’t want to hurt you.”

His reply was fast. “You couldn’t if you tried.”

You frowned. “You don’t understand… I still think I have some unresolved feelings for someone else, and I just… I don’t want to wrong you in the long run.”

Another pause. You pressed your eyes shut, anticipating the worst, whatever it was. It felt as though you were on the line for ages, until suddenly Iwa finally spoke.

“Try me.”

“What?” Your shock was audible, and he repeated himself.

“Use me if you need to.”

You couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“But-”

“I know we’ve only been seeing each other for a short time, but I can’t explain it… I know I’m willing to risk it.” The confidence in his voice was almost shocking, and it made your heart swell.

“Hajime…”

“May I come over?”

---

The conversation ended with Iwa promising you that he’d make you forget your ex, your faces now just inches from each other, him hovering above you as you laid on your back in the comfort of your bed, eyes feasting on his exemplary physique. Starting up where you left off just three weeks prior, you held onto him for dear life as his hips rolled against you, his body pistoning into you carefully and precisely, his hands gentle and steady, and both of your hearts full.

If you were worried about using him, then don’t. Use him as much as you need to. He was giving you permission, is what he said.

Would you take advantage of him?

Now that you were in his embrace, you found it unlikely: for the very first time in a year, you knew that while you weren’t in love yet, you could feel yourself falling very, very soon.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwa x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime x reader #hajime x reader #hajime iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu x reader #mae.writing #haikyuu!#not sfw #series: be my last

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necros-writing-stuff · 3 years

Note

"You're joking." Bailey took another drag from his cigarette, an unamused glare leveled at his only real friend. Eden sat across from him, on the other side of his desk. The chair he was in, too small for his height and weight. It creaked when the hunter shifted, sitting up straighter in the chair ment for children and teens.

"I'm not." Eden's deadpan expression and monotone response felt like a punch in the gut. Or a knife in the back. Not that Bailey would let him know that.

The caretaker let out a cloud of smoke before snuffing his cigarette in the ashtray to his left. He opened one of the desk drawers and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, the cheap stuff you used to get wasted fast. He kept the good stuff at home, the expensive, quality kind ment to be sipped on while reading by the fire, his spouse's head in his lap. Resting, or blowing him; he didn't care which. God, he wished he could be there instead right now.

The cap of the bottle was uncerimoniously flicked off, bouncing off the wall and landing in the trash across the room. Bailey brought the glass to his lips and began drinking the amber liquid.

"Nice shot-"

"Don't fucking start with me, Eden." Bailey snapped, bringing the whiskey down hard on his desk. The sound was a lot louder in the otherwise quiet room. For a moment, the only sound was from his ancient computer. The monitor humming with life. He had three new emails from high paying clients, but he couldn't focus on anything but the sick joke in front of him.

"You're being childish." Eden grunted, shifting in the wooden chair.

"Childish? I'm being childish?! You're the one who's trying to fuck my kid!" Bailey's hands came down on the desk, his chair pushed out from under him as he stood. Eden quirked an eyebrow.

"You sell children all the time. Figured it'd be the same with that one." He shrugged, much too calm for Bailey's liking. He grit his teeth and breathed heavy out his nose. There'd be no good in killing Eden. He'd feel bad about it, his kid would be crushed and, most importantly, his spouse would be upset.

He used his foot to drag his leather office chair back to him and ran his hands through his hair, mussing it. He dropped back down in his seat and glowered at his "friend".

"It's different with my kid." He said sternly. He hadn't kept many secrets from Eden in regards to his home life. Hell, he let you visit him! Eden knew damn well you were one of two people he gave a shit about and yet here he was!

"Is it because your spouse?" Eden asked, cocking his head to the side like a dog. He spent too much time in the woods. He was going feral. He was going fucking feral and he wanted to buy Bailey's only (actual) child. He didn't give a shit if you were an adult, almost finished with high school and ready for uni. He was your father damn it! You were still a baby to him!

"No. It's not because of my spouse." Before he felt the itch to grab his gun itch up his arm, he took another long swig of whiskey. How could Eden not get it? He was like family to you! To him! What the actual fuck?!

"You think someone else would take better care of them?" Eden countered. Had Bailey said that out loud? Regardless, the caretaker pinched the bridge of his nose.

"That's not the point Eden." He let out a defeated groan.

"What is?" Bailey stared hard at Eden, searching for any hint of humor or malice, or anything that might give away that his childhood friend didn't actually want to bone his baby.

"The point," He found none. Bailey ran his hands through his hair again.

"Eden, is that you're like an uncle to them. It's as close to incestuous as you could possibly get. Not only that, you're significantly older than them and quite frankly," Bailey pulled out another cigarette and lit it. He took a long drag before letting the smoke fill the air between them.

"I'd rather they leave for uni and never have to come back here. I don't want them living in the forest with a man who's forgotten basic decencies. Like not requesting to engage in sexual acts with their friends' kid." Bailey held his fresh cig between his middle and ring fingers, studying Eden. He didn't want it to come to blood, but he'd done worse things in his life. Eden chuckled.

"So there's something you won't take money for." He said, his smile genuine and amused. His spouse would be so upset if he killed Eden. They'd be so, so disappointed if he went home with bruises and bloody knuckles from beating the shit out of their friend. He was sure they would understand, of course, he just didn't want them knowing it came to blows. His perfect little spouse was already aware of all the horrible, fucked up shit he did. He didn't want to push it.

"Two somethings." Bailey corrected. He had a small picture of you and your other parent hidden in his desk. Helped him not kill the orphans that were too young to sell. It was also helping him resist the urge to smash the half drank bottle of whiskey over Eden's head.

"I'm not asking for you to pimp them out." Eden spoke like they were talking about the weather. Like Bailey wasn't doing his damndest not to kill him.

"I said, I wanted to buy them. For keeps." Bailey flicked the ash off his cigarette.

"And what does for keeps mean?" Bailey could see the gears turning in Eden's head. He didn't like it. Eden wasn't dumb muscle. He was strong, sure but he was also smart and resourceful. That made him dangerous. After an agonizing minute passed, Eden spoke.

"Like you and your spouse." Bailey blinked slowly, dumbfounded.

"You want to marry my eighteen year old. Who you've known since they were an infant."

"Yes." Bailey sat back in his chair and pulled a phone from his pocket. Not one of his burner phones he used for criminal activity, but one he bought specifically to contact you and his spouse. He quickly selected your other parent's number and called them.

The pair listened as it rang, and a soft voice came from the line. The sound of something boiling and the clattering of dishes could be heard in the background.

"Hello?" Bailey's spouse answered. Bailey ran his free hand through his hair again, further wrecking it. He was an incredibly prideful man. If Eden had been anyone else, he'd be dead. If his spouse was anyone else, he wouldn't speak to them. If you were anyone else, he wouldn't give a shit. But three strikes and he's out.

"Eden's lost his mind. I can't speak with him. Please explain to him why he can't marry our child." He knew he sounded pathetic and defeated. He was caught between a rock and a hard place. Thus, he chose the option that wouldn't affect his marriage.

"I'll be there in five." Oh. They sounded so... Angry. He hadn't expected that. They were always so soft and gentle, they rarely got really, truly angry at any one person. Of course, this was their baby they were talking about. You were as precious to them as you were Bailey.

Eden seemed just as curious to see them pissed off as he was.

(- anon 🚩 then Prequel!pc showed up, the three of them yelled at eachother, exchanging low blows and personal insults and then current!pc came in cause no one was home and eden proposed and they said yes and they left together and fucked for a whooooooooole week. The end.)

Oh what I would give to be a fly on that wall.

And you just know Current-PC and Eden would come visit for dinner every week and Bailey would have to sit there while his best friend hand-feeds his kid, who still sits in his lap regardless of where they are. Pre-PC might purposefully burn Eden’s food.

#🚩 anon #younger au #spill your guts #Eden the Lonely #Bailey the Caretaker #others stuff

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bilgisticallykosher · 3 years

Text

Happy Ending; Years Alone, Then Not

Helping Establish Yet Another Transformation Nuzzle

Who remembers this? No one? Great, good, I wrote a fic about it after I started it March eleventh of last year out of nowhere with no planning. Wrote it in a week and then didn't touch it again.

Please read the original How Easy You Are To Need by delimeful here or on AO3 here

Warnings: Uh, some possessive thoughts about people. That's it?

Word Count: 1615

Masterpost | Next Chapter | AO3

-----

That first full moon, he'd been surrounded by his humans. Dealing with the apparently-greater-than-he-could-have-thought misconceptions aside, it had been nice.

Mostly.

He hadn't paid much attention to it, of course, not with the I'm-a-bigger-idiot-than-even-I-knew revelation. But there had been something missing. Something off. Something that could have been better.

Over the next several months, and subsequent full moons, things changed. (He could practically hear Patton's 'You mean aside from your Shifting?' joke, and resolved not to bring up that particular turn of phrase out loud, (at least not around Logan, for his sake.))

He certainly shifted around the full moon, but it wasn't exactly a rare moment that he was found in his wolf form the other three weeks of the month. He didn't necessarily sleep while shifted, but when he did, one or more of his humans would join, cuddled around him, arm over his furry pelt like he was nothing more than a slightly oversized dog.

But that was the rest of the time. Around the full moon was another story entirely. He hadn't realized it fully back when he was by himself in the forest, day in and day out, but his personality was naturally a little…different around the time of the moon.

He'd always had a natural inclination to monitor the perimeter of his forest, watching over it. He'd always prevented it from magical damage, unnatural threats, dangerous intruders, save three humans that could have so, so easily been threats. That had been true no matter what point in the month it was, so he'd never noticed an increase in feelings when the moon was waxing.

Now, however, he'd noticed that he'd become a little more territorial. Or, maybe a little more than a little more territorial. He'd been embarrassed when Logan had idly asked him about it one day, in between moons, but he secretly felt that he couldn't help himself. Especially after all they'd been through, back when he'd had those unbelievable beliefs.

So it was now common that in the days leading up to the full moon, he'd give an extra lap or two around the forest, mine, no one touches, mine, nobody hurts it, nobody hurts them, mine, nothing comes between me and what's mine, mine, mine. His humans, meanwhile, would pile up in the big bed, able to fit all four of them with room to spare, and they would not cuddle up around Virgil.

Instead, they arranged themselves all pressed together, and allowed Virgil's big, fuzzy body to lie across all three of them as he snuggled into them.

It was thus that Virgil found himself in bed on his back, a mockery of that first time he'd exposed his weak point to them, with Patton finally giving him belly rubs. He had to admit, they were really quite nice. Patton was the only one of his humans that was ready for bed right now, but he was able to push down the urge to worry about the others, mostly because he could see them from his current position. He watched as they brushed their teeth (taking turns at the sink in the bathroom visible from the bedroom) and putting on their pajamas with the door closed.

Virgil at least had enough sense that he didn't listen to the part of him that said he had to watch them get dressed. Privacy was privacy. But even if they had been willing to have him in the room with them…well, that was a layered issue, anyway, and he'd get to dealing with that hopefully never.

For now, he enjoyed the belly rubs that Patton was so enthusiastically giving. The second that Logan came nearer to the bed, Virgil turned and jumped off, prompting a small yelp of surprise from Patton. He'd feel worse about that later, but he was too intent on circling around Logan, sniffing him to make sure everything was alright. If something had happened to him in the short time he hadn't been paying as much attention, he couldn't allow it, nobody could touch…

But he was fine. Virgil allowed himself to relax that much more, but not fully, until Roman was back, too. He listened to Patton and Logan chatting idly, determining what their sleeping arrangements were, as Logan took off his glasses and other accessories. It wasn't long before Roman entered, and Virgil enthusiastically gave him the same once-over (okay, maybe thrice-over) until he was satisfied.

Roman chuckled and scratched behind Virgil's ears. He ended in a light tap on his nose, muttering a quiet boop! Patton pulled down the covers beside him invitingly, and Roman bowed, once to Virgil to excuse himself, and once to Patton. Logan and Virgil shared an eyeroll, but he followed after him as he headed for the bed anyway.

Roman climbed on, settling next to Patton, and Logan followed suit. Virgil finally jumped on top of them, delicately, if he bruised them or scratched them or made them bleed or- and lay down with his head on Logan's chest. They exchanged goodnights, Virgil doing the best that he could in this form, and they gradually fell asleep.

At some point during the night, Virgil woke to the sensation of someone trying to get out from underneath him. Well that was just unacceptable. He growled lowly, opened his eyes, and turned his head to see Patton trying to wriggle his way from under his haunches. He growled again, and Patton frowned, not stopping his movements.

"I'm sorry, Virge," he whispered, trying not to wake the others, "but I have to pee." Virgil just growled at him again. That meant that he had to get up. Not allowed. Virgil had to be on top of him to protect him, and Patton had to be in the bed to be protected. "Viiiirgiiiiiiiiil," he whined. "I've gotta go, come on!" Virgil shook his head back and forth once. Didn't he know in the calm of the night was a dangerous time to be up and around alone?

Patton sighed. "Okay, how about you walk me to the bathroom, so you can watch over me?" How did he know that was what the problem was? Logan must have discussed his theories with them. And knowing Logan, his theories were probably dead on. He should be mortified. Instead, he was glad of the offer, even as he grumbled in apparent reluctance.

He gently rose onto his legs, careful not to shift the mattress too much, and lightly jumped off of the bed. Patton made a relieved noise as he joined Virgil on the floor, immediately heading towards the bathroom. They were halfway through the door, Virgil, alert, at his side, when they heard Roman shift, and speak. They looked back at the bed.

"Mmmm…….. cold." And that was all the warning that he gave before hefting Logan up and over onto his body like a living blanket. Logan yelped loudly, waking up immediately and struggled for a moment, until he was able to gauge what had happened. Roman, somehow still half-asleep, eyes closed, shushed Logan, patting him on the face. He huffed and accepted his fate, relaxing slightly, before giving Virgil and Patton a defeated look. Patton was shaking with silent laughter, leaning against Virgil slightly for support.

Virgil gave Logan a wolf-y grin, nudging Patton until he was upright, and came behind him to guide him the rest of the way to the bathroom. He waited outside the door, Patton's snickering eventually tapering off as he did what he needed to. Virgil kept an eye and both ears out, listening for anything off, either in or outside the house. Soon, he heard Patton call out that he was almost done, along with a flush and the sound of him washing his hands, before coming back out to Virgil. He gave him a few scratches around his ears before returning to the bedroom with him.

They had to pause at the doorway again, to allow Patton to be overwhelmed by cute. Logan seemed to have fallen asleep as he was, on top of Roman. As they composed themselves and walked closer, Logan's eyes fluttered open.

"Help," he implored, not looking all that urgent. Patton hid another snicker before getting back in bed, gently tapping Roman on his shoulder.

"Ro," he attempted to peel off one of his arms wrapped around Logan. "Come on, Virgil's back, you can let go now." He gave another tug, which seemed to wake him enough to relax his grip, and Logan was able to escape back to his spot with a heavy sigh. Roman started frowning again, hand reaching over towards Patton, so Virgil took that moment to jump onto the bed, back to his position by Logan, and returned to his protective sleep pose.

Immediately he felt Roman relax, which prompted him to relax also, safety assured once more. There was minimal movement as he waited for them to all fall asleep again, not content until they did, not able to quell his instincts until he was assured they were safe enough to stop watching over them.

Maybe at some point, they'd have to have a talk about it, or he'd be ashamed of it. Right now, though, as he felt Patton's arm swing over him, Roman clutching at his fur like a lifeline, and Logan cuddled up with his front paw between his arms, he didn't think they had much of a problem with it. In fact, he realized as he heard their breathing even out, it almost seemed as though they needed to watch out for him, as much as he needed to watch out for them.

He was asleep within the minute.

---

Hey, I've got a discord based around my cursed fic, come join!

@katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @royal-stormcloud @thefivecalls @awkwardjester @ollyollyoxinfree @intruxiety @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven @just-your-typical-trans-guy @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun @callboxkat @legendsgates @nonasficcollection @rainbowbowtie @10moonymhrivertam @idont-freaking-know @somehow-i-got-an-account @aceawkwardunicorn @enby-ralsei @cottonwoolsocks @silverobsidion-speaks @robinwritesshitposts @a-fandom-trashdump @averykedavra @demoniccheese83 @drarrymalecsolangelo

#my stories #delimeful #heyatn #virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #werewolf au

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skellebonez · 3 years

Note

Since it's been a while since I prompted you, 38/51 for Traffic Light Trio and Spicynoodleshipping?

It’s also been a while since you... sent this... I am getting through my prompts slowly but surely! Hopefully the wait was worth it, it has been a while since I have written TLT or SpicyNoodles alone so this was really enjoyable! I apparently missed this more than I realized as this is quite long! (There are references to a past fill as well, but this can be read stand alone.)

If you move from that spot, so help me, I will tie you down/Can you two save the kissing for later?

“For the love of- stop trying to get up Noodle-Brain!” Red Son snapped, albeit more with exasperated worry than anger this time. “You’re only going to make it worse!”

“No, really, I’m fine!” Xiaotian insisted, moving to once again attempt to stand.

He was not fine and his face soon came into contact with an impromptu date with Red Son’s open palm, catching him before he landed on the floor instead. Normally Xiaotian would have pulled his face back with a muttered "sorry" or "thanks" or "wow Red that was shockingly nice of you".

Instead he groaned and allowed himself to just kind of... hang there, his weight being held by that palm that probably felt oddly normal temperatured to him at the moment. Understandable given that his face was flushed red and that even to Red's naturally warmer body temperature touch he felt overheated in fever.

This was not quite the sight Red Son had expected to see when he had ventured out into the city on his own, just wanting to have some kind of time away from his work to gather his thoughts about... well, a lot of things. Ever since the entire fiasco with the Lunar New Year festival his mind had been wandering back toward when he worked with Xiaotian and Xiaojiao and things that happened afterwards.

He still had the phone he had accidentally kept from the green dragon and they had talked a few times. More than a few times. ... ok, maybe they had been texting near daily and had calls every other night and maybe he started watching her streams out of curiosity, and maybe he had been added to a group chat with the Noodle Boy and started to text him too, but he didn't really have anyone else to talk to outside of the his parents and Bull Clones! They were still enemies, just friendly ones! Frenemies! And it had been... nice. To talk to someone who seemed interested in what he wanted to say. And maybe understood him a little. Maybe possibly... didn't actually dislike him as much as he had believed initially.

... and maybe Red Son was deluding himself when he said he didn't actually like either of them, but that was neither here nor there! His thoughts were getting away from him!

The point was thus- he'd gone into the city for a break with the intention of heading to his private apartment he had for such occasions, happened upon one Noodle Boy laying face down on the seat of his (otherwise empty and clearly not being used for work that day) delivery vehicle looking absolutely miserable and burning up, and against his better judgment he took him back to said apartment. That was shockingly easy considering Xiaotian was pretty much passed out due to the high fever combined with his moving around and the fact Red Son could lift the vehicle himself if he wanted to (he didn't, he just took the keys with them so no one would make off with it).

And so that was how Red Son found himself in this predicament. In his apartment with the AC on just enough to be slightly uncomfortable, one sick Monkie Kid doing his best to remove himself from his couch with a cold compress on his forehead while insisting he was fine when he clearly was not, debating on whether or not he should have taken this dumbass to the hospital instead. If only because he was being frustrating to keep still.

"You are most clearly not 'fine', now lay back down," Red Son said with a warning growl, pushing his rival (gently, he wouldn't be so callous as to kick someone while they were down like this) back into the mound of pillows he had laid out for him. He never had visitors so he may as well make the best of this and pull out what he had in storage so they could be used for once. "If you move from that spot, so help me, I will tie you down."

"... ok," Xiaotian finally acquiesced, closing his eyes and laying back into the plush around him and looking even worse than he had before he had been trying to convince the other he was fine. (Though had he not looked clearly sick the sight would have been almost cute to-NO! Red was not going to think that.)

Red Son didn't know what precisely was wrong with him, though based on his symptoms and reactions it was likely a basic but now out of control flu (regardless, he knew he himself was in little to no danger of most human illnesses) and helping him recuperate here (because no one except Red Son was allowed to defeat the Monkie Kid, not even an illness!) was looking like a more reasonable idea now. But he couldn't help but wonder how had the other man allowed himself to get this bad. Why had he even gone outside in his state? He wasn't working, his lack of normal uniform or delivery orders was evidence enough of that, so it wasn't as if he had been forced to go out by his boss. Was he just too stubborn? Did he think he would be ok for a few minutes and not realize he was this ill? The delivery boy was of no help in that regard, brushing off every attempt from the fire demon to learn the answers to those questions. He wasn't delirious, he just refused to answer!

So instead of trying to push again Red Son sighed and stood up. When Xiaotian opened his eyes to look at him in curiosity he frowned at the deep dark bags under them (had he ever been sleeping?) and the dull sheen they seemed to have before he held his hand up in a "stop" motion.

"You stay right there. I meant that threat. I am going to be back in 10 minutes. Do not test me..." Red stood, lifting both his arms for a moment before giving the other another glance. "And don't, uh... die, I guess."

And then Red was gone in a wave of his arms and a flash of fire.

He landed at the entrance to a nearby convenience store, not somewhere one would normally think he would frequent but convenience was convenience. And they had very good coffee to grab when he ran out in his apartment. Yes, he was a Villain with a capital V and could just torment the staff for free goods... but he knew that if he did that long enough the stores would start causing him trouble or close down and that would negate the convenience.

No, it wasn't because the first cashier that greeted him was willing to pay for his goods believing he had forgotten his wallet and thus felt guilty for his first attempt at doing so. And he would deny that until the day he died.

That wasn't his goal for the day, however. Red Son may not get ill the way humans did, but it felt useful to him to know how how to treat the more common ailments in the event his family may be forced to work with one. So he grabbed a basket and made a quick beeline straight for the nearest aisle with medicine.

In even less than the 10 minutes he cited he had a basket filled with flu medicine, more cold compresses, soup broth, and much more. Yes, all of this was absolutely necessary. He didn't care that much about his nemesis, he just wouldn't let an illness make him weak. Nope. That was the only reason. Nothing else. He totally wasn't caring for someone he considered a friend, he didn't have friends, not even Xiaojiao was a-

"Red?"

Crap.

"What are you doing standing in line at a convenience store?" Xiaojiao asked, and as Red turned back to her he saw that she had... some very similar items in her own basket, plus some comics. At his eyes widened in realization she looked down at his own basket and sighed. "... either this is a very interesting coincidence or Xiaotian did something he shouldn't have."

Red entered his apartment through the door, the noise rousing the apparently lightly sleeping man on his couch.

"Red? You're back alrea-!?" Xiaotian snapped his mouth shut as he turned his head and opened his eyes to see the wide smiling face of a, clearly to someone who knew her well, angry Xiaojiao. "... I'm in trouble aren't I?"

"Oh you have no idea," she replied lightly, setting down the snacks and books and other assorted items she had purchased while Red made his way into the kitchen with his purchases. "I told you I would be at your apartment with stuff after I finished covering your shift for you, so would you like to explain why Red Son found you nearly passed out in your tuk-tuk half way to the nearest store?"

Though her words were sharp and snappy, it was clear to the listening Red that they were so in genuine concern for her friend. There was a mutter from Xiaotian and a questioning sound from Xiaojiao before the man cleared his throat and repeated himself.

"You already helped me out... I just wanted to try to get that stuff myself so you wouldn't have to do more. I was feeling pretty ok until I drove for a while..."

Ah. So that explained it. Xiaotian had just been going out for medication himself. Not the best idea with a fever of his magnitude, but understandable if he believed he could handle something that simple. Red had begun to wonder if he had been trying to head to Flower Fruit Mountain with bow evasive he was being, but this was a much less disastrous answer.

"Xiaotian, you're my best friend," he heard Xiaojiao say in a much softer tone, and there was the sound of the shuffling on the couch. "I wanted to help you, it didn't matter to me how much it was. I've helped you get to Flower Fruit Mountain and kick demon ass! A delivery shift or two and a convenience store run is something I'd do in a heartbeat. Now open your mouth, I grabbed a thermometer so we can see how bad off you actually are."

There was an agreeable sound and a chuckle, then silence as Red continued what he had been doing. Taking out a dose of medication and preparing something for Xiaotian to eat. Or, rather, drink along side the tea he was also preparing for himself and Xiaojiao. It was little more than chunks of tofu and soup broth with some mild flavoring, something simple and easy to make and eat while sick and-

Red Son held his face in his hands and groaned softly as he waited for the broth to warm. What was he doing? His greatest enemies were in his living room, one sick with fever, and he was preparing medicine and food for him. Frenemies? Only he could defeat them? Is that really what he was telling himself to justify his actions? That they were friend-enemies and they were his to beat?

That was a bold faced lie and he knew it. Had known it for a while. Maybe since he first called Xiaojiao just to speak with someone who would listen to him. Maybe since he first watched her stream in curiosity. Certainly, though, since he accepted being added to the group text she had named "Traffic Light Trio" (really? What kind of name that that?). He would have never done that had he not considered them his friends, he knew that deep down. He just didn't want to admit it (and he super did not want to admit that he maybe felt his own face warm up when they complimented him or that he had butterflies in his stomach the off times they called him by nicknames).

As he turned off the now lightly boiling broth and set it to the side to cool, Red Son began to admit to himself that maybe he was just as much of a dumbass as the Noodle Boy. It seemed that out of the three of them Xiaojiao had firm hold on the only available brain cells when it came to interpersonal relationships.

But that train of thought was not helpful at the moment, so he pushed it down (deeeeeeep down) as he gathered everything up and made his way to the couch again.

The sight that greeted him gave him pause Xiaojiao sitting on the arm of the couch and running a hairbrush through Xiaotian's tangled hair, Xiaotian looking slightly better thanks to the compress against his forehead and smiling softly against the pillows.

There were those butterflies. Oh. Red Son had it bad.

"So?" He asked, drawing their attention to himself as he sat everything on the nearby table. "How bad is it?"

"Not enough to take him to a doctor yet," Xiaojiao answered with a chuckle as she hopped down. "Though I think what you did before helped with that."

Red flushed a bit himself in response, grumbling under his breathe as he shoved the medicine and a cup of water into Xiaotian's hands. "WELL. Take this and. Maybe it’ll stay that way!" He attempted to sound as snappy as normal but the looks on both his guests faces told him he failed miserably in that regard.

"Thanks, Red," Xiaotian said with an earnest smile, and the butterflies were back and Red Son couldn't help the slight sparking of his hair in response.

"Don't mention it. Ever." He grumbled a bit, taking the cup before sighing and helping Xiaotian sit up straighter. "You shouldn't eat half laying down." He maneuvered the pillows to make a little wall between Xiaotian and a space next to the arm of the couch. A space he quickly occupied himself before handing him the bowl of broth over his shoulder. "So you don't have to move more."

The other two looked at each other with surprise on their faces before Xiaojiao smiled and sat on the other arm as they grew silent. Xiaotian eating, Xiaojiao playing on her phone, and Red... well. He tried to look like he was doing something on "his" phone, the one he took from Xiaojiao and replaced the old case with a showy flame covered one. But in reality he was just sitting there staring into space thinking "holy crap this is happening what have I done what happens next oh crap".

"Hey Red?"

"YES!?" He asked far too loud and quick with a squeak in his voice as his hair flared at Xiaotian's words, clearing his throat before repeating himself in a much more appropriate tone (only to earn a giggle from Xiaojiao).

He felt the other man lean back against him, and before he could even begin to fight his flush on his face he heard him chuckle as well. "I appreciate your help."

"L-like I said... don't mention it..."

Xiaotian chuckled again in reply and sighed, leaning completely against Red Son and as he looked over and down he saw his relaxed face and flushed deeper and... it felt nice.

He wondered why he ever pushed down his feelings before.

Xiaojiao grabbed the dishes with a knowing smirk, heading into the kitchen with a few parting words.

"Can you two save the kissing for later? Maybe when Xiaotian isn't sick?"

Both men flushed as deep as they could and sputtered out denials in response, and if that wasn't an indication that Xiaotian maybe felt similarly to Red as Red did to him...

#oh god i must have missed writing them a lot #monkie kid #lego monkie kid #ship fic #mk #qi xiaotian #red son #mei #long xiaojiao #traffic light trio #spicynoodleshipping #chimerashipping #(if you want it to be)#prompt fill

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kareofbears · 3 years

Text

plainly in truth, chapter 5/5

"Without you around, it's sorta like stuff is just kinda...bleh."

Or: hiding, confiding, and misguiding.

read the final chapter below or the entire work on ao3

—

“Help us, Saras—” a stream of coughing rings out, eating up the rest of the words.

“What the hell happened!?”

“I don’t know! One minute he was kicking ass, and the next—”

“He’s down! Oracle, scan him for signs of life.”

Their voices sound far and muffled, like he was under a foot of ice.

“He’s alive, I know he is. Kikur…” More coughing, wet and almost retching. “Dammit!”

“Skull hasn’t moved in ages and we pumped him with more Diaharan than we know what to do with!”

“Then why isn’t he moving?”

He feels like he got hit with back-to-back garbage trucks, all fully loaded with an entire city’s trash and was going eighty down the freeway.

“I...I don’t know…!”

“Why not? Why the hell not?”

“Joker!”

“Unicorn—” Actual retching comes this time, sporadically. “Why isn’t—!”

“Please stop! You’re only going to get yourself hurt!”

“Akira. Quit it, or I’ll cast a Dormin so strong you’ll wake up next year.”

A groan escapes his lips, and all arguing stops.

“Oh thank god,” Makoto’s voice sighs in relief. “Skull? Can you hear us?”

“Skull?” A leather-clad hand touches his cheek. “Are you with me?”

Ryuji suddenly bolts upright. “Konoe!” The whole world lurching sideways but he ignores the nausea. “Where is he?”

“Gone,” Yusuke replies. He’s looking slightly better than when he last saw him, able to stand on his feet again. “Disappeared, just like the rest of them. In no small part thanks to you.”

“It was more than that,” Haru disagrees. “It was nearly completely thanks to him. Your last battle with him was quite a spectacle.”

“It really was,” Sophia agrees. “You got hit near the end, though.”

“Oh,” he forces a laugh. “My bad. Must’ve worried you guys. Thanks for the heal.”

“‘Thanks for the heal’?”

Any levity that was present gets sucked away as Akira pulls his hand away from him, expression unreadable. “It wasn’t just a heal, Ryuji. It was a Recarm.”

He winces, eyes darting away. “That must’ve been scary for you,” he mutters. “Sorry.”

“I’m not interested in an apology. I’m looking for an explanation.”

“What am I supposed to explain? He caught me off guard, it happens. I might be good, but I’m not getting out of a fight with the creator of the Metaverse Part Two without a scratch.”

“It was a scratch. I’ve seen you take bullets better than that,” Akira says flatly. “The strangest thing about all this is that I think you knew about this. I think you knew what would happen if you got hit, no matter how light it was.”

Do not panic. Do not panic. “Spit it out. What are you trying to say?”

“I think something’s up and you’re hiding something from me.”

“Guys,” Futaba whispers. “Don’t fight.”

Akira turns on her, taking in her expression for a long moment before his eyes widen. “You know about it,” he realizes.

“What?!”

“You knew that he changed, and you didn’t tell me.” His eyes flashed. “Futaba, he could’ve died, and you didn’t say anything.”

“Stop it.” Ann’s voice was low and hard. “Don’t take out what you’re feeling on her.”

Looking away from Futaba, Akira scans each and everyone of their faces, and it dawns on him. “You knew.” Hurt takes up every syllable, heavy but small at the same time. “You all knew, and nobody told me. I can’t believe this.”

“Don’t get mad at them,” Ryuji snaps. There’s no way he’s letting his friends take the fall for his own actions. “You’re getting worried over nothing. I took a hit—that’s it. Bad guy defeated, let’s move on.”

“I’m not moving on if people on my team, people that I thought I could trust are hiding things from me,” he insists. “Especially you. Dammit, Ryuji, I thought I could trust you!”

His stomach doesn’t twist. Instead, a gigantic pair of scissors made up of Akira’s words goes ahead and snips off his stomach from his intestines, and he’s free falling with nowhere to crash land.

“What the fuck else do you want from me?” Everyone but Akira flinches at his words. “I beat Konoe, didn’t I? You were worried about that, you wanted to retreat because you thought I wouldn’t be able to do it, but I did it!”

“What I want from you is to be safe. That’s it.”

“But that shouldn’t be the only thing you want! Don’t you want us to win? Don’t you want us to be able to finish what we started?”

Akira shakes his head, frustrated, and starts rummaging through his pockets.

“What are you doing?”

“We aren’t fighting here.” A Goho-M flashes in his palm, and before anyone can say anything, they blink and suddenly they’re at the entrance of the Jail again. “Everyone, get out.”

Ryuji glares at him as the rest scurries to the entrance as quickly as possible without making it look like they’re making a run for it. Akira stares back.

“...Fine.”

The familiar but unpleasant swirl between the transition of the Jail and the real world takes over them, feeling their cells tear apart from each other before instantly clicking back into place, and then they were at the foot of the Tenboto tower.

Akira’s eyes don’t leave his. “Everyone who isn’t Ryuji, go find something else to do. We need some time to talk.”

Nobody questions it except for Futaba. “Um, do you want me to take—”

He shoves his hand in his pocket and throws his phone at her. Usually, the rose gold shade always makes him crack a smile, but he doesn’t even look at it this time. “Here.”

When she still doesn’t leave, Akira spares her a glance. “What is it?”

“Don’t...don’t be too harsh on him.”

��Don’t push it. I’m still upset that you didn’t say anything about this.”

Futaba’s head falls downwards as she walks away, Sophia in tow.

“So?” Ryuji crosses his arms. “Are we good?”

“No, we are not good, Ryuji. You argued with me over something stupid, spat in my face and deliberately went against with what I knew would be better for all of us, and worse than all of that, you knew that your defense is down by an insane amount.”

“Who cares if it’s down! Get the fuck over it, we already won.”

Akira's jaw goes slack. “Who are you? Why are you acting like this? What’s gotten into your head that you’re trying to pretend that I don’t care about your health and your safety?”

“Because you shouldn’t,” he insists. “You’re slowing the rest of us down by doing this whole hero schtick—if you just focus on what we need to do rather than something like my god damn endurance then things would go so much faster!”

“I don’t give a shit about efficiency, and do you have any idea what it even means for you to have a drastic change in your Persona? Or are you just looking for another stupid thing to argue about?”

He draws back, shame instinctively bubbling at the implication. “No, but it can’t be that damn important for us to be fighting like this.”

“Personas are the strength of the heart,” Akira roughly prods at his chest. “Whatever you’re feeling, whatever you believe in, your Persona would reflect that.”

“Okay? So what?”

A shift overcomes his expression, and Akira closes his eyes. When he speaks, it’s like he’s an ethereal being rather than a boy his age. “You seek power, correct? Since your name has been disgraced already, why not hoist the flag and wreak havoc?”

“The ‘other you’ who exists within desires it thus,” Ryuji finishes, frowning. “Why do you have that memorized?”

“Because I’ve memorized everyone’s awakenings, and because I think that’s the reason why you can’t take a hit anymore but you can throw a punch the way you can,” Akira shoots back. “You awakened your Persona to ‘wreak havoc’ on the people who piss you off, right?”

“Yeah.” His patience is waning thin. “What’s your point?”

“What if that feeling—rage against corrupt adults, your need to wreak havoc on them—what if that gets flipped around and you direct that on yourself?”

“What?” Ryuji shakes his head. “Is that even possible?”

“I can almost guarantee it, because your stats are shuffling like crazy. Your endurance is down, yeah, but do you know what skyrocketed in its place? What nearly tripled?”

“My strength?”

“Exactly. Look, I don’t know what happened, but something has shifted in your heart enough to make you believe that it’s more important to be strong than to keep yourself alive.”

Akira shoves his glasses higher on his nose, and Ryuji swallows when he sees his hand shake. “Tell me. Please. I won’t get mad, or disappointed, or whatever you think I’ll feel if you tell me. I just want you to be honest with me. I want us to work this out.”

It’s the way he says it, like it’s really that simple. Like the two of them can take on any problem together, no matter how big it is, because it’s them. They’re two pieces of a puzzle—they can only ever see the bigger picture when they both click into place. It would be easy, because Akira makes it easy.

A droplet of rain lands hard on his shoulder. He opens his mouth.

“Just because I’m not telling you something, doesn’t it mean gives you the right to hound the fuck out of me until I cave.”

Akira recoils like he’s been slapped in the face. “I just want to understand.”

“And I just want you to leave me alone, okay?” He wipes away the rain from his face only for it to be replaced almost immediately. “You don’t—you just don’t fucking get it, Kurusu. You have no idea what it’s like being a piece of shit, you have no idea what it’s like being a moron, with everyone hating you—”

What? He doesn’t mean that. Of course Akira gets it. That’s how they got to know each other in the first place.

“You don’t know what it’s like to hear so much shit about you wherever you go—”

That’s not true, either. Why is he saying this?

“To have no one even take a look at you, to be a ghost, to not even exist anymore—”

Are you kidding? That’s all Akira lives through in his hometown.

Ryuji levels a gaze at him, chest burning. “You don’t know what it’s like being nothing,” he finishes.

Akira stands there, staring at him, refusing to wipe the rain away from his face. His mouth opens, before closing again, and shakes his head. His movements are jerky and stilted.

When Akira looks up, his eyes are empty. “You don’t know a single thing about me.”

He turns around and walks away without another word, leaving Ryuji to stand alone, drenched in the rain and feeling like gasoline is eating through his chest, and all he can do is burn.

Osaka has bright lights and has the scent of mouth-watering in its every nook and cranny, but the only thing Ryuji can process right now is the squelch of his socks with every step he takes.

He’s only vaguely aware that he’s moving, traversing through Dotonbori in a hazed state. It’s like his consciousness left his body, trapped and distant, the burning in his chest turned into something smoldering, filling his entire being with suffocating smoke.

Ryuji’s spent who knows how long staggering through the streets, unfamiliar sights with unfamiliar people, and none of it has the same excitement that normally comes with them visiting a new place. The rain hasn’t let up, and his t-shirt has long since been soaked through. His body is still crazy sore, with his ankles begging for rest, but the idea of stopping makes him nauseous.

A large body hits his shoulder, and it nearly knocks him sideways. “Watch where you’re going, dumbass.”

“S-sorry,” he manages, but the stranger is already gone by the time he finishes.

Ryuji scrubs his eyes and looks up, surprised that he isn’t horrifically lost. He’s at one of the dual bridges in Dotonbori, a place that he recognizes because he and Ann stuffed their faces with so much takoyaki they could barely breathe afterwards.

His body sags against the bridge’s concrete railing, exhaustion making itself known, forearms pressed in an odd angle that he knows is going to leave weird patterns etched into his skin. In his pocket, his phone buzzes angrily, but he ignores it.

He scrubs his eyes again, harder. He hasn’t cried, which sucks. In fact, he hasn’t even felt the familiar panic build up in him, and he didn’t even know it was possible to miss that feeling. The feeling of something other than the gaping hole inside of him, only getting bigger.

For the first time in his life, he wishes he was angry, just so he can stop feeling this never-ending plane of nothing.

That’s a lie, actually—there’s some anger, too. A lot of it. At himself.

His phone buzzes again, and Ryuji can’t even muster a meager response. I’m fine, don’t worry, is what he’s supposed to say.

Bullshit. All he can ever do is say bullshit, over and over again.

Pressing his forehead against the edge of the concrete, he grits his teeth, staring down at his hands, miserable and desperate for something to take away this gnawing feeling inside of him, eating its way through his gut like an insatiable parasite. He tries focusing on the waves lapping against the stone below him, on the pitter-patter of the rain that’s coating his skin, on the chatter from the people behind him, but he can’t because all he can see behind his eyelids is the hurt in Akira’s face and the crack in his voice when he spoke and it’s Ryuji’s fault because he fucking sucks and he’s incapable of keeping anything good in his life and he’s trying to cry but it’s not coming, why isn’t he crying, please let him get some fucking relief, why can’t he cry—

A shadow casts over him, and he’s about to move out of the way when shoes enter his periphery. Standard sneakers except for colorful beads tied into the shoelaces.

“Yo,” Futaba greets, holding an umbrella over him.

Ryuj tries for a laugh, but it comes out hollow and pathetic. “You track my phone?”

“No.” There’s a pause. “Akira mentioned that you have a thing for bridges.”

His heart goes utterly still, before beating into overdrive. “Leave me alone,” he finds himself saying. “Just fucking get out of here, Futaba.”

“No.”

“No?” It’s sick how fiercely glad he is to be able to grasp onto anger like a lifeline. “I don’t want to be around anyone, don’t you get it? Leave me alone, Jesus, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one in the group.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“And why not?”

“Because you didn’t leave me, even when I really, really wanted you to.” The gaze behind her eyes is unreadable. “You dragged me out of my tomb, screaming and kicking, but you didn’t let go.”

His lungs tightened up. “I don’t want to be around anyone right now,” he says weakly.

“Then I’m not here.” Futaba readjusts her grip on the umbrella, careful that he was still covered. She trains her eyes on a random point in the distance, away from him. “No one’s here. I’m just another stranger, and you’re just some guy who’s talking to the rain.”

They stand there for a while, unspeaking. Each passing second lets the aggravation seep out of him, bit by bit.

“Can…” he tries eventually. Maybe he can let it out, just a little bit. Enough to stop the boiling froth from spilling over the pot, maybe the water would stop rising. “Can I ask you a question?”

When she doesn’t answer, he looks down into the black water.

“What’s it like hating yourself?” he asks. “Like, really, really hating yourself. All you want to do is hide, in your room or away from everyone else. You don’t want to die, you don’t want to disappear, either. You just want to...stop. To the point where you don’t even know what you want anymore—do you want to just keep hiding? Do you want to tell everyone, to finally let someone know? To let the one person who fucking matters know what’s happening to you?”

A boat passes underneath them, and he can see a couple drinking together, laughing. “Isn’t it so embarrassing? You failed so fucking much, and you’re only making it worse by hiding it from everyone. You hid it so much, you were so unwilling to let them know, that you actually ran the damn risk of them leaving.”

The last of Ryuji’s resolve, weak as it was already, crumbles. Something inside Ryuji cracks, and his eyes are wide, so wide they might roll out of their sockets. “I couldn’t tell him, Futaba,” he rasps out. “I couldn’t—what if he leaves me? What if I lose the only damn thing that made my life something worth getting out of my room for? What’s going to happen when he realizes I’m nothing more than the kid with the fucked up leg who failed high school?”

Futaba continues to listen in silence, unable to hold back the streams of hot tears running down her cheeks.

“He loves me,” he says this with an unshakeable force, an unforeseen barrier unwilling to be broken down by anything. “I know that for a fact. But—” he sucks in a breath, and before he can stop himself, he leans his body over the bridge.

“I’m so fucking selfish!” he yells. “I can’t! I can’t tell him! I can’t face another failure, I can’t do it, it’s going to kill me, I swear to god. I failed myself, I failed all of you,” he wildly gestures at her. “I failed my mom, but I can’t fail him. Not him, anyone but him.”

“Sir Sakamoto Ryuji.”

He turns his head to her with a crumpled expression, and she wipes her face with her sleeve before grabbing his hand, pulling him away from the bridge. Ryuji is too surprised to resist. ”W-what?”

She doesn’t turn back, and despite her hoarse voice, her words don’t shake. “I will not let you continue your great sin of wrath unto yourself. You cannot,” she tugs harder, and he stumbles forward. “You cannot keep yourself in this, this darkness of hatred and anger, and thus I, Sakura Futaba, a member of the Phantom Thieves, have decided to intervene.”

“Was—” It took a lot of effort, but he composed himself enough to keep up with her short legs. “Was that a calling card?”

“You’re damn right it is, with or without the fancy paper.” Futaba glances back, and her eyes are shining and determined. “I wasn’t ready at all when you guys showed up in my room to take my heart, but good thing you did, because that was exactly what I needed. So here I am dragging you out, kicking and all. You’re going to tell Akira—”

“I can’t,” he pleads, weakly crossing the street when she keeps pulling. “Dude, I just told you why I absolutely cannot.”

“You’re going to, and that’s final.”

“No!”

And to his absolute shock, she stops in the middle of the road, expression defiant. Cars honk and flip them off, but it does nothing to deter her.

“Get out of the way!” he screams, roughly pulling at her, but Futaba doesn’t budge. “Get off the road!”

“Welcome to my ultimatum: I’m not moving until you go to him!” she points directly at him, ignoring the way headlights flash over her and puddles splash on her shorts. “You say he loves you? Cool, now prove to him that you love him.”

Ryuji rolls up his sleeves. “I’m going to carry you off of the street, you gremlin.”

“Try me, because I’m going to scream so loud,” she says seriously, and he knows she is.

“You’re insane!” he yells back, because she is.

“And you’re a moron, and it’s not because you couldn’t do academic whatnot!” Her glare is hot steel and he’s nothing more than a warm stick of butter. “He’s known you since day one, has seen you at bedrock level, and he’s still following you around like you’re some kind of queen bee and he’s the hive. You’re going to talk to him, or I swear on my mom’s grave that I’m going to jump in front of a big truck and you’re gonna have to be the one to explain to everyone why I died.”

Screw it. He rushes forward, picks her up and, because she’s never been one to back down in anything, she screams from the top of her lungs until he eventually sets her down on the other side of the road.

“Hey!” she stomps her foot. “That’s cheating!”

“Are you out of your damn mind?”

“No more than you, you clown!” she yells. “Why don’t you want to tell him?!”

“I already told you why!”

“Then what if he felt the same? What if this happened to him, and he kept it from you this entire time?”

The thought is enough to make him feel uneasy. “He doesn’t feel the same.”

“But what if he did?” Futaba insists.

“Then of course I’d want to know,” he answers before he can stop himself, and quickly adds, “But he doesn’t.”

“If he was, though, then you—” she prods his chest. “Are hurting him. You’re hurting him, and I thought you loved him, and I thought you didn’t want to disappoint him. You’re a gigantic hypocrite, and screw being a bad boyfriend,” she spits the word as if eager to rid it off her tongue. “You’re being a really freaking bad best friend.”

They stare each other down, with Futaba breathing hard and him, completely unseeing.

“You’re right.”

“I’m always right,” she says immediately. “But elaborate.”

“I’m being a really, really bad best friend.” His fingers make their way to the root of his hair and starts pulling. “I made this entire thing about me, and my problems.”

“To be fair, they were pretty big problems.”

“Yeah but...holy shit, I completely—I completely forgot that this trip is about Akira and to make sure that he’s smiling, and happy, and stress-free and—I fucked all of that to hell.”

“You did,” she agrees, relentless. “Totally screwed the pooch, but hey, you know what? There’s a big plus sign to all of this:” Futaba throws up jazz hands weakly. “You can still fix this!”

“I can still fix this…” he repeats, in a daze, and he slaps his face with both hands. “I can still fix this, dammit! This isn’t going to be another failure; I’m going to take this,” he wildy gesticulates around himself. “And shred it down so Akira doesn’t have to worry anymore. I’ll talk to him, he’ll understand, and we’re going to have a fan-fucking-tastic rest of the summer vacation, even if my life is horrible and falling apart.”

She nods enthusiastically. “But we can all fix it together once we get back home. One step at a time. First,” she levels him with a look. “You’re going to talk to Akira.”

“I have to. He’s had my back since day one, and I promise I’d do anything for him.” Even if it means showing himself, every ugly part of himself, to the most amazing person that’s ever walked on planet earth. The panic twitches inside of him, coming alive again, but he doesn’t push it away. He lets that feeling wash over him, that adrenaline, and he starts jumping on his feet. “I’m going to talk to Akira,” he announces, looking around to see any place that Akira’s eye might catch. “I need to find him, ASAP.”

“Say no more.” She pulls up her phone. “This won’t take more than two minutes.”

Glancing around wildly, something catches his attention, and he grins. “No need. I know exactly where he is.”

“You do?” A hard slap lands on his back, pushing him forward with a yelp. “Then go! Run to him! Get out of your tomb, Ryuji! I’ll see you on the other side!”

He takes a few steps forward, before turning around and quickly taking Futaba in a hug. “Love you, shorty,” he says seriously.

“I love you too.” She hugs him back tightly before letting go. “Get out of here before you find a new insecurity to change your mind.”

Ryuji opts to ignore that last bit and sets off, sneakers slapping the wet concrete as he runs, Tenboto Tower already in his sights.

“Akira!”

Everyone jumps as he slams the glass entrance open, loud and unyielding as he runs past tourists, wildly taking in each of their faces and pausing at none of them. He sucks at everything—at school, at being a good friend, at basic communication. But this? Facing public humiliation in front of strangers?

“Akira!”

He can do this any day of the week.

Nervous employees start to approach him and Ryuji books it before they can get close. Not on the ground floor, but he knew that before he even came in here. Elevator, he thinks, skidding to a halt to see that it’s already six floors up. It would take too long.

Letting out a sharp breath, he lets his feet take him to the stairwell, apathetic to the fact that he’s about to sprint up eighty-eight meters.

He’s an idiot. A moron. World’s biggest buffoon. That doesn’t surprise anyone, least of all him.

The soles of his sneakers squeak as it slaps against concrete stairs, using the railing to propel him up faster.

And he hates it. He fucking hates being the dumb one so much that it hurts.

A couple that was making out screams when he barely dodges them, and he doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed.

He wants nothing more than to bury that part of him. Shamefully, completely. Like a corpse, or some ancient artifact. Gone for the rest of time.

Sweat streams down his back and it’s gross and he doesn’t care, not one damn bit.

But if burying it means destroying what he built with Akira? If scrambling to hide actually makes things worse when the only thing he wanted was to preserve what the two of them have?

His throat is drying up and he can feel his thighs about to split in half, but he keeps going, keeps running.

Then screw it—the whole world is about to know what a big failure he is.

Ryuji bursts through the door to the top deck, gasping for breath and dozens of heads turn to him. Gulping down as much air as his lungs can take in, “Akira!?” he booms, and he knows he’s being an asshole but he doesn’t care right now.

Nothing happens. He grits his teeth and starts running again, soaked shoes ruining plush carpet as he looks for a familiar patch of messy hair. Ryuji evades tourists left and right, around gift shop stalls and hundred yen telescopes, ignoring the picturesque view from the huge glass windows. Just like he thought—from up here, it looks eerily like you were overlooking the entire city of Tokyo if you were desperate for any sense of familiarity.

And that’s exactly what Akira had needed at the time.

Come on, come on. He’s about to hit a full circle around the observation deck and he still hasn’t spotted him. I know you’re here. There’s no way that you’d be anywhere else in the city.

Ryuji takes in another breath, ready to yell out his name for the upteenth time, when he sees an open balcony, nearly empty except for a boy leaned over the parapet, eerily still and barely underneath the glass covering above him.

Despite his earlier fervor, Ryuji slows down to a walking pace, chest heaving and feeling like his heart is going to burst.

It’ll be okay. It’s him.

He takes his place beside him, mimicking his pose, leaning over the cool metal railings. Akira doesn’t even look up, which is what he deserves, really. The wind is light, and the city sparkles below them.

No games. No bullshit. Just him and his best friend.

“I failed second-year,” he says. “And also I think I’m at a real, real low point in my life.”

Akira’s face flits in mild surprise, but Ryuji doesn’t stop, doesn’t want to give himself an out.

He starts from the very beginning—from getting called into his homeroom, to Ushimaru giving him a look that said he expected this because that’s ‘just the type of student he is’, to hiding it from his mom, from Ann, from him. He tells him how being alone is tiring, but being with people is exhausting.

And the tears. The minute he started talking, the tears came and kept coming no matter how many times he wiped it away. At first he thought it was from humiliation, at the guilt from keeping it from Akira. But after a while, he realizes that keeping this huge, weighty, life-altering secret from Akira was hurting him, too. It’s like the entire sky got lifted off of him, and he can finally breathe again. For the first time, he feels relieved.

Akira stands there, silent the entire time, not looking at him but he knows he’s soaking in every word that he’s saying.

Ryuji stands up straight and faces him. His voice is barely above a whisper, used up and crackled like dried out stone. “Akira, I’m so, so sorry. I said horrible shit and I kept you in the dark for so long, and-and I forced everyone not to say anything because of my own issues, and I could’ve—” he flinches when he remembers feeling his life deplete out of him from a single hit. “I could’ve died, dude. And I kept it from you over something so petty like being bad at algebra. I know I shouldn’t have kept it from you. I know that now, and hindsight is a bit of a bastard.” He looks down, sees people from below, small as ants. “There’s no good excuse, I get that. It’s just...I was fucking terrified, dude. Of whatever you see in me fading away once you see me for what I actually am.”

Ruffling his own hair, he lets out a long breath. “Alright. I’m done. It’s your turn, if you want it.”

“Is that really how you feel?” Akira asks, emotionless.

“With my entire body.”

His feelings are twisted together between shock that he actually did it, and earth-shattering fear that something bad might happen. No, Akira would never in a million years openly mock him, but he can easily imagine a small, faint smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. An it’s okay. I get it. A shallow hug and a kiss on the cheek. An obligatory comfort that Akira feels he has to give but Ryuji never wanted.

But what he didn’t expect was for Akira to suddenly start laughing.

Ryuji stares in shock as his shoulders, always straight back, hunches in on itself, shaking uncontrollably, hands instinctively flitting to his mouth but unable to hold in the snort that escapes through his lips.

“Uh,” he asks, confused. “What?”

“I—” Akira tries, but doubles over, gripping the metal railing. “Give me a second, sorry—”

They stand there for a few long minutes, Ryuji bewildered and Akira laughing harder than he’s ever seen him. Whenever he looks like he’s about to finish, Akira gives him a look, and starts laughing uncontrollably again.

Eventually, he sobers up enough to resume his earlier position. “Ryuji,” the smile is still stuck on his lips. “I love you.”

“...Okay?” he replies, still lost.

“And I’ve been in therapy since April.”

The entire world halts to a grinding, screeching halt.

“You’re—” Ryuji fumbles. “You’ve been in what?”

“Therapy.”

“Why?!” When Akira raises an eyebrow at him, he backtracks a little. “Okay, I didn’t mean to say it like that. It’s just...surprising.”

He can’t even imagine what kind of metaphor he’d have to use to begin explaining the complexities of a Persona and Palaces. “Is it tough trying to explain all of this?”

“It’s not about the Metaverse or anything,” he says, and, with the slight mirth still stuck on his features, “It’s because I’ve been depressed for a few months now.”

About a trillion questions want to fly out of his mouth right now, but he settles on one for now. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Akira looks up, staring at the few specks of stars that still poke out despite the light pollution of any big city in Japan. “I just think,” he starts. “That I’m really, really lonely.”

Before Ryuji can say anything, he cuts him off with a look. “Please don’t blame yourself.”

“I won’t.”

“Good,” he says, relaxing. “Because it’s not your fault, or anyone else’s. I’ve just…It’s been hard, going back to that life after living such a good one in Tokyo. When I finally came back home, it’s like I was stuck in a time loop. Every day that I stay there,” he stares down at his hands. “Is another day that everyone’s moving on without me.”

Ryuji nearly bites his tongue off in an effort to hold himself back. Move on? Without Akira? Not a snowflake’s chance in hell.

“It didn’t help that no one would even look me in the eye there,” he continues. “It got to the point where the days just blended together, the same cycle of nothing, the same day of being alone, over and over again. Worrying about being forgotten, being trapped and stuck.” Akira’s pale cheeks turn red. “Eventually, my grades started dropping,” he admits. “My parents noticed, because of course they did, and…”

Akira curls his fingers around the bar. “They threatened that they wouldn’t let me go if it stayed down.”

“Son of a bitch,” he hisses, unable to help himself. “What the hell, man?”

“I know,” he agrees. “Bad move on their part, considering that it got even worse after they said that. It’s...it’s actually why I’m getting tutoring now. Not necessarily for Tokyo U, but I really do plan on going to a Tokyo-based university. Because if I don’t…” he trails off.

“I am the only person in the world who isn’t allowed to say this, but,” Ryuji shakes his head. “Why didn’t you say anything, Akira? I could’ve visited you more, or had more phone calls, or, I don’t know. Something to help.” To help you the way you helped me.

“Good question,” he muses, slightly amused. “Alright. Imagine this. You’re a new kid in town with a criminal record. Everyone hates you, more than they usually do, and you were starting to accept that your life is just going to be like this. But suddenly, a guy comes barreling into your life.” Akira’s expression softens. “He’s loud, tough, and extremely cute, and next thing you know, he became your best friend. You don’t know what he sees in you, you don’t know what you did to make him approach you in the first place, but the only thing you know for sure—”

“Is that you’re never letting him go,” Ryuji finishes for him. “Even if it means hiding yourself away, yeah?”

Ryuji’s gazing down at the city beneath them, unseeing. He can’t react the way he wants to, but what the fuck.

Akira is the best person he’s ever met and he’s pretty sure at least twenty other people scattered around the streets of Tokyo would agree with him on that. Yet he hid such a massive secret from Ryuji because he thought that Ryuji would leave him? That’s beyond ridiculous. That’s messed up, that’s—

Ryuji looks up to see that Akira’s already looking back at him, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Yup,” Akira tries to pull it off like he was scratching his cheek, but the shine of the tear makes it obvious. “You got me.”

Finally, Ryuji cracks.

“I’m—” he chokes, wracked with grief. “I’m so fucking sorry. I am so, so sorry, you were going through so much and I didn’t even—”

Akira takes a step back, shocked. “Why are you the one apologizing? I’m the one who was too busy wallowing to notice that you had changed enough that your Persona—”

“Because you’re depressed, and I should’ve been there to help you!”

“And I said that it was never your fault!”

“That doesn’t matter, I should’ve helped you go through that, wait outside the clinic with you, I don’t know!”

“And I made you think that I would have left you if you failed high school, which is insane—!”

“Kurusu, I lied to you. I lied to your face, I said so much shit, I jeopardized the entire team all because I didn’t want to lose you—”

“Don’t,” he pleads. “I know why you did it, but me? I don’t have an excuse. I’m your leader—”

“I’m your partner—”

“I’m your best friend—”

“And I didn’t notice!” they both finish in unison, distraught and breaths heaving, hearts pounding in time with each other, always together.

And then they both laugh; it’s teary, wet, and they probably look insane to any tourist ten feet from them, but they’re cracking up because it’s hilarious. It’s absolutely hysterical that either of them ever believed that they would leave the other over something so stupid as their own perception of themselves.

Ryuji sobers up first, grin so wide that it’s hurting his cheeks. “Can I apologize one last time?”

“No,” he says, voice tender. “I’ve heard enough sorrys to last a lifetime.”

“Come on! Just one more!”

“Just one more,” he relents.

He throws his arm around Akira, squeezing him tight against his side. “I’m sorry that I’m apparently the most good-looking guy you’ve ever seen that you instantly fell in love with me.”

“Dammit,” Akira tries shoving him off weakly. “I knew you were gonna use that against me.”

“Damn right.” He kisses his forehead, gentle despite the rough grip.

“Can I apologize too?”

“Copycat. You can apologize once.”

“Okay.” Hugging Ryuji’s torso, they’re close enough that neither can feel the chill of the wind. “I’m sorry this happened to us,” he says seriously.

Pulling back, Ryuji frowns. “Dude!”

“I know, I know, what a downer. But it’s true.”

“It’s true,” he agrees. “But we can work on this. Together, this time. Like a couple of smart, capable people.”

“That sounds fantastic,” Akira murmurs before leaning forward and catching his lips. He tastes like rainwater and heat. He can feel his own lips twitch into a smile, and the vibration of Akira’s chuckle against his throat. It’s familiar, memorized, but he still makes sure to relearn it every time.

They kiss so deep that the hole inside Ryuji’s chest is full enough to burst.

“Kaboom!” Futaba had said.

The booming sound of a firework rings from up top, illuminating their faces in bright colors in the night. It reflects shades of red, yellow, blue and pink all over the surface of the water like paint buckets that got toppled over in a kindergarten classroom.

Ryuji’s chin is tilted up, watching them explode and take over his entire view of the sky. It’s almost blinding, but he can’t peel his eyes away from them even when he can feel them drying up.

It’s the last day of summer—his worst nightmare.

A purple one sparkles, the sound of the explosion delayed by half a second. He leans his head against Akira’s shoulder, lip quirking up when he feels weight pressing against the crown of his skull.

It’s the last day of summer, but he can’t feel anything but the warmth at his side, fingers intertwined with his, the ringing in his ears. Everything feels more real than they had in the last few months, the haze shifting away, the fog thinning out.

His heart beats strong in his chest. A hand squeezes his tightly.

Kaboom.

The sweat on the back of Ryuji’s neck is thick as he climbs the stairs into the attic of Leblanc, the heat just as intense as it was this time last year.

Stray beams of light poured in from the open window of what has turned into a study cave for any of the thieves to use—cram books of trigonometry to art theory lined the shelves, the walls lined with study good luck charms that they had hoarded from any shrines that they had visited, and day-old tea cups and coffee mugs littered the desks.

Amidst all of that sat Akira, elbows propped up on the table, expression serious. “Happy last day of school,” he says, voice monotone, staring at the thick, impressive envelope in front of him.

“‘Happy’ my ass,” Ryuji flops down on the seat next to him, wood creaking under the sudden weight, nodding at the parchment. “Is that it?”

“If it isn’t, it’s going to be one insane train ride back home to get it.”

“I don’t know how you did it, man. I would’ve torn that thing open the minute I got it.”

Akira gives him an alarmed look. “You didn’t—”

He puts his hands up in surrender, holding a much thinner, yet somehow just as weighty sealed envelope between his fingers before throwing it down with the other. “I didn’t.”

“Good.” Akira doesn’t quite relax, but he lets out a breath. “So.”

“So,” he repeats, a little wobbly. “Moment of truth, huh? Either you got into school…”

“And you passed second-year.”

“Or we don’t.”

The silence that follows is heavy, contemplative, coating the air with something thick and hard to swallow.

Ryuji slams his hand on the table, gut twisting and knotting tightly. “Let’s fucking do this.”

They both reach forward to their corresponding envelopes, hands shaking but neither comment on it. Akira opens his first, and Ryuji very nearly bites it open just to get it over with. He’s suddenly glad that he’s sitting for this. His knees would’ve given out for sure.

Eventually, he finally gets it out of the envelope. His vision blurs as he starts scanning through the letter, eyes flitting all over the page looking for a few choice words, and his breathing stops cold.

He raises his head in time with Akira, and their eyes are wide. A wind chime clinks somewhere behind them.

“I got in,” Akira whispers.

“I passed,” Ryuji whispers back.

They stare at each other for a moment, before they explode.

Immediately, Ryuji jumps out of his chair and lifts Akira clean off his seat. “You got in!” he cries, and he’s not even embarrassed at the horrendous crack in his voice. “You bastard, I knew you could do it!”

“You passed,” Akira throws his arms around his neck and clings, so tight he can barely breathe. “I knew it, I could feel it, I knew you had it!”

Ryuji grasps the back of his hair, still spinning. “I’m so happy for you, I’m so happy for you,” he chants, his entire body feeling weak with relief and unencumbered joy but he knows he’d never drop him. “You fucking did it.”

“And you fucking did it!” He starts planting kisses on his head, his cheek, his shoulder, wherever he can reach. “You worked so hard, and you—” another kiss, this time right on his eyelid. “You did it, and I am so, so, so proud of you.”

With whatever last strength Ryuji has, he spins double-time, yelling at the top of his lungs: “Tokyo University, baby!”

“Third-year!” Akira tries, voice barely above his normal volume. “Third-year!”

He sets him down, and the grin on his face is wider than it’s ever been. Ryuji feels like he can eat the entirety of Yongen in one try. “You are—” he holds Akira’s face between both of his hands, face inches from his. “The smartest person on the entire fucking planet.”

“And you—” his eyes are bright, so bright. “Need to call your mom.”

“Shoot!” Ryuji slaps his forehead. “Totally slipped by me. Uh, I’ll—”

“Bathroom works, and Soijro locked up the cafe for us.”

“Boss is the best. I’ll be back,” he turns, headed for the stairs.

“Wait.”

Ryuji looks back only for a hand to hold his nape, pulling him forward. Akira kisses him, still smiling. When they pull away, he says, in a crystal clear voice, “I love you, I love you, and I’m proud of you.”

He could barely reply past the lump in his throat, wanting nothing more than to bury himself in that sentence. “I love you,” he manages. “Don’t go anywhere, okay? I want to keep talking to you.”

“Of course,” Akira says, and Ryuji slips out of his grasp before he can do something stupid, like cry. Again.

Cracking the door open to the tiny powder room of Leblanc, he leans against the wall and catches his expression in the mirror—grinning and flushed with pleasure. It’s a good look.

He hits the speed dial on his phone, and his mom picks up almost immediately. “Did you get the letter?” she rushes out. “Whatever happens, you’re still the best son I could ever ask for, you hear me?”

“Ma,” the reflection’s grin grows impossibly wider. “I passed.”

The screaming from the receiver is loud enough that he had to pull it away from himself, wincing but laughing at her reaction. “I knew it!” her voice sounds years younger. “I knew you could do it!”

The wall is cool behind him, and he shoves his hand in his pocket, embarrassed. “Thanks, ma.”

“Of course, Ryu! Are you happy?”

“Am I happy?” he blinks. “Well, yeah, of course.”

“That’s all I ever wanted,” a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sniffle sounds through. “You could’ve stopped going to school entirely and as long as it made you happy, I’d go along with it.”

Air catches in his throat, awe-struck. He knew how she felt, but having her tell him at face value is something else entirely.

Ryuji’s about to answer when a cascade of voices and footsteps suddenly flow into the cafe, just outside the powder room.

“Akira,” Makoto says gently, audible through thin walls. “Did…?”

He doesn’t catch a reply, but screams and cheers fill up the cafe, dust falling from the ceiling as people start jumping up and down.

“I can hear your friends celebrating from here,” his mom chuckles. “I’ll let you go. Let’s get dinner when you get home, okay?”

“That sounds great,” he says, coughing, brushing the flecks of dried wood off his shoulder. “I’ll see you when I get home.”

He hangs up, sighing happily. After mentally preparing himself, he throws the door open, doorknob slamming against the wall that he prays didn’t leave a dent.

“Is that him?” Haru’s voice flows from above.

“That’s him,” Akira confirms.

Ryuji takes the steps two at a time, welcomed by the sight of everyone clinging to Akira with overjoyed expressions, and they quiet down when they see him.

Ann takes a step forward, gently letting go of Akira’s shoulder. “So?”

He takes a deep breath, makes a big show of kicking the floor boards, before looking up.

“Yeah, I did it.”

An eruption of pure noise goes straight into his eardrums as he’s tackled by arms and bodies, knocking him to the ground. Everyone’s yelling, some are crying, and he can understand exactly zero of what they’re saying but he hugs back as best he can. Through the cracks of shoulders and hair and necks, he can see Akira watching them all in amusement.

With no small amount of struggling, Ryuji wriggles a hand free and extends it to him. Akira doesn’t hesitate to take it, but yelps as he proceeds to get tugged right into the middle of the pile, crashing into three other people and loving every second of it.

Delusion is a real funny thing in hindsight. How could he have ever thought that he had nothing to be proud of? That his list of accomplishments added up to exactly nothing?

Yusuke is reciting victory speeches from wars won long ago while Makoto is listing off scholarships he can apply for in his third-year. Futaba is repeatedly hitting his shoulder, shrieking in his ear while Haru is quietly telling him how proud she is of him. Ann’s already pulling Shiho on speakerphone, and Akira has a look in his eye, a fondness that tells Ryuji that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

The room is full, and the sun is still streaming through, warm and inviting. He wishes that Ryuji from a year ago could see this, see his friends that are still by his side, that will always be by his side, and rest easy.

#p5 #p5s #ryuji sakamoto #akira kurusu #plainly in truth #fic tag #mine #persona 5 #persona 5 strikers #akiryu #pegoryu #chapter five huh? we actually did it.#shes completed babey

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arlingtonpark · 3 years

Text

SNK 139 Review Part I: On Eren Jeager and Genocide

Why?

Why is this happening?

Folks, I’m going to be honest here: there are no words for this. The main thrust of this chapter is completely inexplicable. It’s stupid. It’s ill conceived. FML.

Just…just the term itself is laughable.

Eren redemption arc.

Sksksksksksksksksksksk

After everything he’s done, everyone he’s killed, you’re going to try redeeming Eren in the final chapter?

Eren didn’t need to be redeemed. He was a bullheaded kid who didn’t let anyone stop him from doing what he thought needed to be done. He sees the titans outside the walls as enemies to be exterminated. When he learns that his real enemies are other humans, who have a right to freedom as much as he does, he can’t accept it and decides to just exterminate them too. That mindset led him down a tragic path of genocide.

That’s not a bad character arc!

In fact, I’d say it’s very compelling. Nonconformity and obstinance are often presented as virtues; flipping that paradigm on its head and showing the vices of those virtues was legitimately smart and provocative.

Making people rethink what traits are virtues and vices is a great moral to the story, and it paired well with the other moral of cooperation and loving your fellow people.

Then this chapter came out, and they threw all that away.

Eren’s arc once made me think of Aristotle, who argued that true virtue lied between extremes: neither too submissive nor too rebellious.

Now Eren’s arc makes me think of pseudointellectual 4chan philosophy, and dumb teenagers: “He’s not a bad guy, he’s just human!!!”

Eren’s motivations are a mess now. He had no free will, but he also had a plan, but deep down he wanted to do the rumbling no matter what, but actually he really wanted to be with Mikasa.

Oh, and B T dubs, he killed his mom too.

You can tell Isayama is desperate to make Eren as sympathetic as possible to justify making him the anti-hero because he’s throwing everything he can pull out of his ass at Eren.

Really, though, all he ended up doing was smearing shit on the character.

Eren’s plan was to kill a significant part of the human population so the world wouldn’t be as overwhelming a threat as before. Simultaneously, he planned (“planned”) for the alliance to become vaunted heroes to the world when they killed him, thus paving the way to peace.

This…makes no sense?

There is no reason Eren should have believed this would work. During the battle of Trost, Pixis asked him if humanity could unite if threatened by a common enemy. Eren said no.

Eren is a pessimist about people. He sees how much the walldians fought with each other and concluded that people would always be at odds.

And the Tybur family helped defeat the Eldian Empire, but only the Tyburs were seen as heroes by the Marleyans. That good will was not imputed from the Tyburs to the other Eldians on the continent. There’s no reason to think that would happen here when it didn’t back then.

I’m assuming, anyway, that the alliance becoming heroes is supposed to lead to a world where Paradis is safe since that’s supposed to be Eren’s goal.

I’m willing to grant that maybe this part of Eren’s plan was more of a hope on his part. Peace would come only after his death, so he can’t truly “plan” for anything afterwards.

I think it’s safe to say that killing the world’s population was the main part of his plan, since that’s the part he had the most control over.

To the extent he had any control over his actions, which brings me to the next point.

So, turns out Eren had no free will.

Can you not feel Isayama’s desperation?

After all the awful things Eren’s done, Isayama’s brilliant idea to make him sympathetic is to strip him of all agency.

This is done by two routes throughout the chapter.

The first is by building him up as a victim. Eren’s mind is fucked; he can’t really control himself. Any decent person would feel pity for him, which is reinforced by the sorrow Armin visibly feels for him.

Then, like a shotgun blast to the face, we are told that Eren killed his mother in a moment that is clearly supposed to endear us to him.

This is such a transparent appeal for our sympathy. Isayama’s desperation leaps off the page and mugs us of it.

The only thing that this revelation adds to the story is that it gives Armin a reason to take up Eren’s hand, and show him support. You can see Armin’s heart breaking for Eren in that moment.

That’s mostly why this is here: to give the mass murderer a hard luck story so our hearts melt for him.

The second route is that depriving Eren of agency absolves him of blame for what he did.

Eren beat Armin bloody, but you can’t really blame him for it. He was drugged out on the Founding Titan and didn’t want to do it. He was acting on impulse, just going with the flow, so he deserves, at the very least, some leniency.

Eren both having a plan and not having much in the way of free will is contradictory. Everyone still talks about Eren as if he’s someone who is doing stuff even though we’re told he’s not really capable of rational decision making.

I’m going to be nice and assume Isayama’s intent is that when you parse this all out, you end up in a place where Eren is not truly responsible for what he did, and in any event this all ended with the titan curse broken and the world at peace, sooooo break out the champagne everyone, we achieved world peace!

…

Yeah, bub, I’m not partying right now.

Isayama’s ploy to absolve Eren of blame didn’t work. Eren is still responsible for the people he killed and his Founding Titan lobotomy counts for shit. Turns out it helps to know how free will works when you’re writing about free will.

Free will is the quality of being in control of your actions, at least to the extent necessary to be held responsible for them.

Eren was just going with the flow (wonder what Annie thought of that…), acting on impulse, and getting dragged along by fate, but that’s not actually important.

It’s been known for centuries that current events are caused by previous events and that the current events will bring about future events in a never ending chain of cause and effect. One domino causes another to fall causes another to fall and on and on. This is called determinism.

And that’s ok because we free will exists. It exists even if we can’t do anything other than what we are going to do. It exists in spite of, or even arises out of, determinism.

This premise, that free will and determinism are not mutually exclusive, is the foundation for a family of theories about free will called compatibilism.

Compatibilist free will is the most popular theory of free will. There are a couple of variations on the basic idea, but the gist is that free will exists when your actions can be linked to an aspect of yourself that you identify with.

For example, if you had no choice but to do something, but you’re ok with that because it’s what you wanted anyway, then you have free will.

Even if I didn’t know you’d stop me in the end, I think I still would have flattened this world.

-Eren Jeager

That’s all I needed to hear.

EREN, FUCK YOU!!!!

Eren had free will, at least as much as necessary to blame him for his genocide.

Isayama threw this curveball at us and all it did was ruin Eren as a character while leaving him just as repugnant as before. Incredible. It’s the worst of both worlds.

Before this chapter Eren was a guy who believed in something and followed that belief no matter who got in his way. That was great! It was tragic and sad, but great storytelling.

Where does this chapter leave us?

What we learn in this chapter is that Eren didn’t really believe in anything. He may have free will enough to be a shithead for what he did, but that doesn’t mean he has free will enough to be an interesting character.

Eren coming to grips with him not being free, in an absolute sense, would have been so much more interesting than what we got. Eren started the series comparing humanity to cattle in a pen. He ends the series being literally sheparded by fate to his death like cattle to a slaughterhouse.

And yet we get no exploration of that at all.

It’s lame. Everything about this is lame. From a storytelling perspective, Eren was just along for the ride. Who would want to reread this series now? A story about a boy who’s quest for freedom neither ends tragically nor happily, but is just forgotten about by the end. What’s the point?

There is none.

Eren’s journey ends up lost in the author’s own ignorance of the very thing this is supposed to be about.

Unfortunately, SNK isn’t interested in 80% of the world being dead. If it were, Eren wouldn’t have gotten such a warm send off.

I was honestly shocked when I read this chapter.

I thought it had been made clear. SNK had come firmly down against genocide. I never imagined Isayama would try a 180 in the final chapter.

And, well, he did, and here we are.

SNK is pro-genocide.

To wit:

Once Eren’s abominable plan is explained to everyone, he is lavished with love and comfort by his friends.

Armin did punch Eren for being callous about Mikasa, but overall all Armin had nothing but sympathy and understanding for Eren. They held hands and hugged and gave Eren a tender farewell.

All they talk about is how great a sacrifice Eren is making.

Not the sacrifice of 80% of all people, but the sacrifice that Eren personally is making of himself.

I don’t know what deranged mindset Isayama has that made him think this was sensible, but no, Eren is not sacrificing anything. He was always going to die. We’ve known this for several dozen chapters. It’s not a sacrifice to befall the fate you were always going to suffer.

He lost nothing. If anything, he gained from this ending.

Eren died knowing he was loved and appreciated by his friends. What more could a dying man ask for?

Eren is rewarded by the story for killing 80% of humanity.

His ultimate fate was no worse than was expected even before he committed the genocide, and he went out in the knowledge that his friends loved him for it.

It doesn’t even make logical sense that his friends would be so receptive to what he did.

There is no difference between Eren’s plan and what we thought Eren’s plan was before this chapter came out.

Armin thought Eren’s plan was to murder humanity to ensure his safety, and Armin was appalled. Armin was willing to sacrifice his life to ensure Eren failed. He was truly acting for the greater good of humanity.

In this chapter, Armin learns that Eren’s plan is actually to murder most of humanity to ensure his safety, and Armin loves him.

Again, hand holding, hugging, “thank you.” No mention of the unfathomable harm caused. The 80% killed are not even a footnote in this chapter.

Even after the fact, Eren’s friends showed no qualms with Eren essentially winning and procuring their safety through genocide.

When previously the mere thought of that was what motivated them to lay down their lives to stop him.

I don’t think Isayama believes this genocide is supposed to bear on how we think of Eren. I say, having just read the chapter that’s all about Eren, in which his genocide doesn’t bear on how his friends think of him. At all.

Was that too great a leap in logic? I apologize if my rationality offends you.

Eren may have died, but he won in the end.

His friends are safe and the world looks set to conclude a peace treaty with Paradis.

I don’t buy for a second that the world is a threat to Paradis anymore, and I don’t buy for a second that there won’t be a peace shortly after the end of the story.

It’s very telling, to me, that it’s the world that’s come to grovel at Paradis’ feet, begging for peace, when previously it was the other way around.

The contours of this “peace,” if you can call it that, were made pretty clear in the epilogue. The world is in ruins while Paradis is stronger than ever, so the world sues for peace for fear of Paradis attacking further.

This is the moral of the story. Frankly, it’s been staring at us in the face the whole time.

How do you end the cycle of violence?

The answer is to win. To be stronger. More determined.

The only peace is enforced peace through domination.

Peace through the barrel of a gun.

To be continued in part II (and possibly part III)

#shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #snk 139 #snk chapter 139 #eren jeager

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mrsjadecurtiss · 3 years

Note

Another ask, if you have the inclination: I've just been rereading Reek III with all that entails, and Theon thinks about 'the son is just the shadow of the father' re Roose and Ramsay. Do you believe that Roose can actually be as bad or worse than Ramsay at this point? He's got to be worse than average and his morals very lacking, but it's hard to imagine us being made to abhor him more than Ramsay in the remaining books. Is it just Theon's terrified paranoia, or do you think it can pay off somehow? 🤔 Or am I misinterpreting that line do you think?

Do you believe that Roose can actually be as bad or worse than Ramsay at this point? He's got to be worse than average and his morals very lacking [...].

This is a trap, he is playing with you, the son is just the shadow of the father. Lord Ramsay played with his hopes all the time. - Reek III, aDwD

This is no man to jape with. You had only to look at Bolton to know that he had more cruelty in his pinky toe than all the Freys combined. - Reek III, aDwD

I believe quotes like these refer to the effect of the cruelty they enact, rather than the specific crimes.

Ramsay is vile and cruel, enacting heinous violence upon people like a slasher movie villain. We do not have any evidence that Roose personally inflicts the same degree of crass violence upon people, as even in his presumably candid retelling of the miller's wife story, while a horrifying and inexcusable crime, he does not reach the extreme level of violence Ramsay inflicts upon smallfolk on the regular with his hunts and torturings.

"Roose Bolton's cold and cunning, aye, but a man can deal with Roose. We've all known worse. But this bastard son of his … they say he's mad and cruel, a monster." - Davos III, aDwD

The point, i believe, is not who produces the worst feats of violence, but rather another facette of grrms criticism of feudalism:

Would Ramsay even have a chance to do these heinous crimes if his father, who knows about everything, had an ounce of morality in him?

[Roose:] "All you have I gave you. You would do well to remember that, bastard." - Reek III, aDwD

Everything Ramsay has, his high position, the freedom to do all the crimes he wants, the protection from law that would have otherwise sent him to the wall in no time, he has because of his father's selfishness. Roose could have stopped these crimes from happening, he could have given Ramsay the appropriate punishment, instead he keeps Ramsay around because he feels like it...

Roose is at the top of his society, answering to barely anyone except his overlord and his king; so much power is at his fingertips, and yet he uses it for selfish reasons, commits crimes, allows crimes to happen in full knowledge, and everything is handled as it benefits him instead of abiding to morality or law. Every crime Ramsay does is Roose' responsibility as feudal lord and thus his crime.

"When soldiers lack discipline, the fault lies with their lord commander," his father said. - Tyrion VIII, aGoT

Roose is called the leech lord, and indeed he is a leech upon society, bleeding his people dry to his own benefit while not lifting a finger himself. While he is not a literal vampire, obviously parts of his character are a play on vampire myths, and the aristocratic bloodsucking vampire is frequently used as a metaphor for critique of the ruling class (i hear Fever Dream by grrm plays with this, though i have not read it). He might not commit a Texas Chainsaw Massacre in person, but that doesn't make him any less morally bankrupt and despicable, and he still has the same blood on his hands.

There is a tendency where Roose tries to lighten his crimes in conversation - here are three examples showing different facettes:

"The arrogance of it! They do not expect the north to believe their lies, not truly, but they think we must pretend to believe or die. Roose Bolton lies about his part in the Red Wedding, and his bastard lies about the fall of Winterfell." - Davos IV, aDwD

[Roose:] "Tell me, my lord … if the kinslayer is accursed, what is a father to do when one son slays another?" - Reek III, aDwD

[Roose:] "The maesters will tell you that King Jaehaerys abolished the lord's right to the first night to appease his shrewish queen, but where the old gods rule, old customs linger. The Umbers keep the first night too, deny it as they may. Certain of the mountain clans as well, and on Skagos … well, only heart trees ever see half of what they do on Skagos." - Reek III, aDwD

1. Denial of involvement - Roose frequently either escapes blame completely (for example for Duskendale), puts blame on someone else (like blaming Ramsay's bastard blood for Winterfell), or lies about his crimes to evade blame.

2. Selectively invoking law - using the kinslaying law, he pretends his hands are tied when it comes to Ramsay, even though he could for example also send him to the wall as punishment. He frequently breaks laws as he pleases and also took part in breaking sacred contracts such as guest right (red wedding), so him invoking law in this instance is likely a tool to absolve himself of blame during the conversation.

3. Comparing himself to others to lessen his own acts, after failing to escape blame - by bringing the Umbers etc into the conversation, he tries to make himself look less bad; "look, everyone's doing it, and the skagosi are probably even worse than me!"

As opposed to Ramsay, he is aware of how the severity of the crimes he is doing would be received by others. He likes to present himself as a rational and civilized man, and thus has an interest to downplay his criminal actions, even if he does not see anything wrong with them as he did them for his own benefit.

"No tales were ever told of me. Do you think I would be sitting here if it were otherwise?" - Reek III, aDwD

"That annoyed me, so I gave her the mill and had the brother's tongue cut out, to make certain he did not go running to Winterfell with tales that might disturb Lord Rickard." - Reek III, aDwD

As the Mormonts were bannermen to the Starks, [Jorah's] crime had dishonored the north. Ned had made the long journey west to Bear Island, only to find when he arrived that Jorah had taken ship beyond the reach of Ice and the king's justice. - Eddard II, aGoT

The foolish Ramsay tries to pride himself in his crimes; Roose however knows of the importance of optics. He is aware that he frequently breaks the law, and tries his best to keep his reputation intact as to not attract unwanted attention; especially with an overlord like Ned Stark, who would not handwave any crime and would make sure justice is served.

From what we can observe, in my opinion the difference between Roose and Ramsay is that Roose doesn't see anything wrong with comitting violence as long as the result is of a benefit for him, while Ramsay additionally also commits violence because he merely finds enjoyment in inflicting it, violence for violence's sake. This is why Roose is able to control himself and always gives Ramsay the advice to be restrained, but Ramsay is unable and unwilling to do so and his acts are much more extreme. Roose is likely starting to realize this difference by aDwD.

Is it just Theon's terrified paranoia [...]?

I do also believe Theon's statement is fueled by paranoia, if you look at the entire context:

"I mean you no harm, you know. I owe you much and more." - "You do?" Some part of him was screaming, This is a trap, he is playing with you, the son is just the shadow of the father. Lord Ramsay played with his hopes all the time. "What … what do you owe me, m'lord?" - "The north. The Starks were done and doomed the night that you took Winterfell." He waved a pale hand, dismissive. "All this is only squabbling over spoils." - Reek III, aDwD

Roose is not necessarily tricking Theon here since it appears to be a correct statement; And he does have an interest to be on friendly terms with Theon (offering him fresh clothes for example) because he wants to make use of his position as heir to the iron islands, a goal he expressed as early as a Storm of Swords.

"Flaying Theon will not bring my brothers back," Robb said. "I want his head, not his skin." - "He is Balon Greyjoy's only living son," Lord Bolton said softly, as if they had forgotten, "and now rightful King of the Iron Islands. A captive king has great value as a hostage." - Catelyn VI, aCoK

"Serve us in this, and when Stannis is defeated we will discuss how best to restore you to your father's seat," his lordship had said in that soft voice of his, a voice made for lies and whispers. Theon never believed a word of it. - The Prince of Winterfell, aDwD

Note that here Theon does not believe him either, any trust he has shattered by Ramsay as well as Roose' unlikable personality. Still it seems likely Roose was really somewhat trying to be nice with Theon, because as he tries to teach Ramsay there's value in it:

"Power tastes best when sweetened by courtesy. You had best learn that if you ever hope to rule." - Reek III, aDwD

Do you think it can pay off somehow?

This is speculation, but i believe Roose' story is likely headed in the opposite direction - A Storm of Swords featured his greatest villainous feat, the Red Wedding, a showcase of cruelty and treacherousness. I do not think it will be followed up by an act of even greater cruelty; instead i think he will finally reap what he has sown.

Roose Bolton said nothing at all. But Theon Greyjoy saw a look in his pale eyes that he had never seen before — an uneasiness, even a hint of fear.

That night the new stable collapsed beneath the weight of the snow that had buried it. - a Ghost in Winterfell, aDwD

I believe the line about the stable is meant as a metaphor for his regime collapsing, as it is put directly after the line where he realizes the situation is growing dire for him.

It all seemed so familiar, like a mummer show that he had seen before. Only the mummers had changed. Roose Bolton was playing the part that Theon had played the last time round, and the dead men were playing the parts of Aggar, Gynir Rednose, and Gelmarr the Grim. - a Ghost in Winterfell, aDwD

Roose is likely going to continue the parallel with Theon as his arc goes steadily downwards. He is a foil to Ned; where Ned died but his legacy lives on, Roose will likely live to see his legacy crumble.

There is of course a possibility that he, when cornered, starts expressing more cruelty as a last-ditch effort. We saw the stable used as a metaphor for his rule in Winterfell; but there is another interesting detail about the reconstruction of the burned Winterfell:

Serve well, Lord Bolton told them, and he would be merciful. Stone and timber were plentiful with the wolfswood so close at hand. Stout new gates had gone up first, to replace those that had been burned. Then the collapsed roof of the Great Hall had been cleared away and a new one raised hurriedly in its stead. When the work was done, Lord Bolton hanged the workers. True to his word, he showed them mercy and did not flay a one. - the Prince of Winterfell, aDwD

Aegon the Conqueror had commanded [the Red Keep] built. His son Maegor the Cruel had seen it completed. Afterward he had taken the heads of every stonemason, woodworker, and builder who had labored on it. Only the blood of the dragon would ever know the secrets of the fortress the Dragonlords had built, he vowed. - Catelyn IV, aGoT

This is a crack theory, but perhaps Roose has something up his sleeve when it comes to the newly constructed roof of the Great Hall (a location that features extremely prominently through all of Theon's aDwD Winterfell chapters). Maybe he could make it crash intentionally to bury his treacherous allies or something like that...

I doubt however that he will do Ramsay-style extreme violence, i can't really see a reason and it doesn't appear to be his style. He seems more about cunning than flashy displays.

As always these are not PoV characters, so as long as we don't have a view inside their heads we can never say anything with 100% certainty.

#asoiaf #roose bolton #ramsay bolton #asoiaf meta #a song of ice and fire #asks #mzyraj #sorry if i went a little off topic ajsjdjfjxjd #im like roose i just love going on a tangent of someone gives me an opportunity to talk #also ive seen your other question its very interesting #ill see when i can get to it

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la-tia-panchita · 3 years

Text

Letter to José

José when you receive this letter without reason, you'll know it was all over between us.

Fandom: The Three Caballeros

Relationship: José/Panchito

Notes: Hi everyone! I just wanna to tell that I have made my first Panjose fanfic! (Well it is a songifc :b) and although it's on ao3 I want to share it here too! Hope you like it!! ^^. The song with which I was based to make this songfic is called " Carta a Eufemia" and it is interpreted by Pedro Infante, I’ll leave you the song at the end!

Two years had already passed since the filming of the three caballeros and with it two years of courtship between the Brazilian parrot and the Mexican rooster, making family and friends more than happy for the couple; in Brazil because it is the couple with whom the green feathers lasted the longest (not counting the beautiful Rosinha Vaz, but that is another story because between the two there is a relationship that consists of breaking up and returning, well, rather it existed until the mexican arrived) And in Mexico they were happy because the rooster had finally decided to choose a partner, only there was some disappointment, anger and even lawsuits with his father when he found out that the happy couple was a man and not a woman, but that is also another story. The point here is that although some did not want to admit it, they were all happy for the relationship that these two birds had.

If you ask Panchito how is his luck with women, he would say that it is very good since in his town there are several women who are interested in him, but if you ask him how is his luck in love, surely he would laugh and say that love was not made for him because no one has ever stolen sighs and sleepless nights thinking of that special person, until he met José.

For Panchito, dealing with José was like a soccer match where you begin observing calmly and as the game progresses it comes the insults, fouls and yellow cards; so yes, when Panchito and José met they did not have a good relationship, but the second half arrived and with it an adrenaline, emotion and a feeling of not wanting to change the channel, until the first goal arrives, making that the team who scored the goal began to scream with euphoria and happiness while the opposing team begins to get frustrated and that's how Panchito's mind was when he first questioned what he was beginning to feel for the samba dancer. And suddenly more goals arrive making more visible who could be the winning team, until a penalty arrives a night before the premier of his film in which the entire stadium fell into deathly silence because that goal is the one that would mark the victory or the defeat, and there we see the player kick the ball and how it approaches to the goal, mocking the goalkeeper who had to jump to stop the ball but still being insufficient because the one who stopped that ball was the net, causing the entire stadium to rise up screaming with excitement and happiness as they finally saw the beaks of the two birds joined in a kiss, thus marking the end of the game and the start of a relationship.

After that night for Panchito it was like being drugged, he felt in the clouds every time he looked at his partner and when he surprisingly kissed him it was as if a gravitational force was dragging him strongly to the floor, and he loved that change of emotions that the brazilian provoked in him. What he did not love was the decision to have a long distance relationship, but he had to reluctantly accept because in Mexico his family needed him and in Brazil they needed José, so with the promise that the two would constantly send letters, they said goodbye.

And now after almost a year of living in different countries we can see a well-dressed rooster as a charro signing the end of a paper "Done!" He exclaimed appreciating the final product "Here you have" he said handing the letter to his brother Miguel "Read the letter that I am going to send to the José of my life, to see if he answers it to me" Miguel took the letter between his hands and began to read it.

José, cuando recibas esta carta sin razón.

[José, when you recieve this letter without reason]

"You are sure about this?" Miguel ask looking at Panchito disbelief.

"Of course"

Ya sabrás que entre nosotros todo terminó

[You'll know it was all over between us]

"Won't he take it wrong? I mean, this is said to the face" Panchito gave a few laughs as he shook his head.

"Miguel, Why am I going to fly to Brazil to just tell him we're done?" Panchito ask.

"I don't know, maybe for dignity? Honor? Or even so that he doesn't TAKE IT WRONG!?" Remarking the last words, Miguel insisted as if it were the most obvious thing.

Y no la des en recibida por traición.

Te devuelvo tu palabra, te la devuelvo sin usarla y que conste que en esta carta que acabamos de un jalón.

[When you receive it, don't take it as betrayal

I send back your word, I send it back without using it, and I warn you, in this letter that we finish just like that]

Panchito leaned his back on the chair while crossing his arms and replaid "Dignity? Honor? That he doesn't take it wrong? Ay no inventes, better you keep reading the letter and I assure you that you will change your mind" his brother just rolled his eyes and kept reading.

No me escribiste, y mis cartas anteriores no se si las recibiste.

Tu me olvidaste y mataron mis amores el silencio que les diste.

[You didn't write me, and my previous letters I don't know if you received them.

You forgot me, and my love was killed by the silence that you gave me.]

"Don't you think you are exaggerating?" Miguel asked again taking a sip of his drink .

"Oh que la, si no es Chana es Juana" he claimed and running his hands over his crest he let out a frustrated sigh "look, everything that is in the letter is the truth and what I truly feel. Although I continue to have unconditional affection for José, this can no longer continue like this, he is there and I am here and thanks to the distance this relationship has become non-existent, I even forgot how to love him!" he explained.

¡A ver si a esta si le das contestación José!

Pues del amor ¿pa' que te escribo? y aquí queda como amigo

Tu afectísimo y atento y muy seguro servidor

[I'll see if to this letter you gives a reply José!

About love, what could I tell you? And here remains as a friend

Your most affectionate, attentive and very secure server]

"Pancito Pistoles" he read the signature aloud and left the letter on the table "Well there as you see, if you are sure then send it to him" He sighed pulling out his wallet and putting a few bills on the table.

"Pues ya está" Panchito got up from the table next to his brother "come with me to send it" he hugged his brother by the shoulders and the two of them left the restaurant.

-------

The afternoon was setting on the beautiful coasts of Rio de Janeiro reflecting the pink and orange tones of the sky in the sea.

"Zé, you have received a letter" said his friend Nestor entering to the balcony where the parrot was admiring the peaceful landscape while smoking one of his cigars.

José, cuando recibas esta carta sin razón

Ya sabrás que entre nosotros todo término

[José, when you receive this letter without reason

You'll know it was all over between us]

"Muito obrigado" he answered taking the letter in his hands and without waiting, he opened it, he already knew who it was and was eager to read what the mexican would tell him now. Would he tell him that he finally bought Mr. Martinez a new saddle? Or maybe he would tell him how he reluctantly pulled his brother out of a fight again?

When he unfolded the paper and read the first sentences, his brow began to furrow and a void seized him.

No la des en recibida por traición.

Te devulevo tu palabra, te la devuevo sin usarla y que conste en esta carta que acabamos de un jalón.

[When you receive it, don't take it as a betrayal.

I send back you word, I send it back without using it, and I warn you in this letter that we finish just like that]

He entered to his room in dismay and he dropped into the chair at the small desk he had.

No me escribiste, y mis cartas anteriores no se si las recibiste

[You didn't write me, andmy previous letters I don't know if you received them]

His gaze immediately traveled to his desk, which was littered with crumpled sheets of paper scattered everywhere, some on the floor, others in the trash can, and many others on top of the same desk, but there was a place where it wasn't littered with trash. and that was where he kept all the letters he received from Panchito, each one of them was ordered and well arranged by date.

Tu me olvidaste, y mataron mis amores el silencio que les diste

[You forgot me, and mt love was killed by the silence that you gave me]

The anxiety was consuming the poor brazilian who did not realize he was puffing on his cigar too fast until the ashes of the cigar fell into his sack. He put the letter aside and putting out ths cigar into ths ashtray he tried to clean the ashes from his sack, when he finally thought his sack was clean he rubbed his eyes and took the letter again.

¡A ver si a esta si le das contestación José!

[I'll see if to this letter you gives a reply José!]

José squeezed his beak, he knew that there would come a time when Panchito would get tired of not having any information about him, but he never imagined that those lines would cause much impact on him, because just seeing that that sentence was with an exclamation point and that his name was included he imagined as if the rooster was giving a cry of despair and help to know about him. And it is not that José did not want to respond and escape from that relationship, on the contrary, he loves Panchito with all his being and with each letter he received his love for him increased more, only that whenever he was about to write he could not find the words correct and more when everything around him started to go from bad to worse, Zico and Zeca arrived (his nephews whom he loves very much) but unfortunately his sister left, may he rest, the bar where he worked was closed and the money began to scarce and it was in those moments that the only thing that kept him standing were the letters he received from Panchito.

Sometimes it crossed to his mind that he could ask for help from the mexican, but immediately the shame consumed him, then he thought he could start sending letters and after sending some now he could ask for help, but he thought he would look very cheeky and better he didn't sent anything, and now that his life is stable again he does not know what to say, keeping only erasers scattered all over his desk and floor.

Del amor ¿Pa' que te escribo? y aquí queda como amigo

Tu afectísimo y atento y muy seguro servidor

[About love, what could I tell you? And here remainss as a friend

Your most affectionate, attentive, and very secure server]

"Signature Panchito Pistoles" he threw the letter on the table and leaned back in his chair "it's all over" he sighed heavily, although now he wanted to and tried to write him a letter to explain everything, to tell him to wait that he still loves him, that he had not forgotten him and that he was not going to let their relationship end in this way, he did not feel up to it and above all he felt defeated and tired.

He took out a cigar and lit it, letting himself be carried away by the smoke it gave off and his pain until someone entered to his room. "Zé, another letter just arrived." His friend Nestor's voice was heard, but he did not respond and did not even I turn to see, he just sat there smoking his cigar "I'll leave it in bed for you" answered the other walking around the room and when he left the letter he left, leaving José in complete silence immersed in his thoughts.

After several minutes he got up to go get the letter and turn on the light since the darkness of the night had already flooded the room.

Seeing where the happy letter came from, he threw it angrily "o que aquele pedaço de mariachi quer ?! Não é o suficiente para ele quebrar meu coração !? Agora ele precisa tirar sarro de mim, ou talvez..." letter on the floor with hopes and something in it begged that in that letter it would come out that it was all a joke in bad taste or even a warning for not keeping his promise.

With fear he picked up the letter and stopped looking at the details of the envelope, it was strange that the letter was different from the one already known but it could be clearly seen that the sender's address said Hacienda Quintero, he opened the envelope and slowly took out the paper that was inside.

Hi José,

I hope you are well and I hope you will forgive the informality of this letter.

I know what my brother wrote in his letter and I want you to know that I do not agree with the decision he made, well first of all I hope you have already read the letter, if not, everything that comes here will not make sense.

I want you to know that my brother still loves you well, but that does not remove the fact that he is hurt because he thinks you have forgotten him and now he has taken a very proud, very arrogant attitude and God! Not even a day has passed and I can't stand it anymore. So, Mr. Carioca, I kindly ask you if you don't want to send a letter, then at least come to fix my brother and even though I haven't seen you in a long time, I know that you still love my brother.

There I leave you a few Mexican bills (sorry I did this letter suddenly and I didn't have time to look for Brazilian reals) with which you can go to Mexico or you can keep them and do whatever you want with them, consider it as a gift and an apology for the letter from my silly brother.

I am saying goodbye because Panchito is here and he does not know that I have written this letter and I do not want him to find out that he exists.

Miguel Quintero.

He opened his eyes surprisingly, he did not know what impacted him more, the fact that Panchito's brother was playing the cupid, knowing that Panchito still loved him or that José received a second chance.

He checked the envelope again and, indeed, Miguel had given him several bills with which he could pay the last debts he had left or he could go to Mexico to try to win back the love of his life.

He sat slowly on the bed thinking what he would say to Panchito when he see him. Perhaps he would claim the fact that he cut him by letter and did not have the decency to tell him in front, because this things you need to said it to the face.

End Notes:

"Oh que la, si no es Chana es Juana"-- oh what the, if it's not Chana it's Juana. (In Mexico the phrase "if it's not Chana it's Juana" is a colloquial saying that express if it's not one thing it's the other)

"Pues ya está"-- Well that's it

"Muito obrigado"-- thanks a lot.

"o que aquele pedaço de mariachi quer ?! Não é o suficiente para ele quebrar meu coração !? Agora ele precisa tirar sarro de mim, ou talvez" --what those that piece of mariachi wants?! Isn't it enough for him to break my heart!? Now he need to make fun of me, or maybe...

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#the three caballeros #panjose #josepan #josé carioca #panchito pistoles #panchito romero miguel junipero francisco quintero gonzalez #songfic #Nestor #Zico and Zeca #rosinha

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kyrievali · 4 years

Note

I've been reading your posts and in one of them you mentioned that Iroh in fact is very shady and Azula has every right to hate him, may you explain why?

Sure, I’ll go into it.

Let me start off by saying that I actually really like Iroh as a character. I think he’s great and well-written. I think the fandom tends to gloss over his flaws and label him as “perfect”, which is not true. One of his greatest failings (aside from making two teenage siblings fight each other for the throne...or really not intervening at all where Ozai is concerned) is his treatment of Azula, and him saying “No, she’s crazy and needs to go down” and essentially writing her off when, if you compare Azula’s personality with Season 1 Zuko, they’re really not all that different. Azula, people tend to forget, is a 14 year old girl who was as much a subject of abuse as her brother. Zuko and Azula were essentially pitted against one another to both gain Ozai’s affection and, more importantly, avoid punishment. The only difference is that she was rewarded and praised by Ozai for her power and cruelty, while Zuko was punished for his “shortcomings”. Zuko’s entire storyline proved how important it is to have a good, guiding parental figure in one’s life, and it’s tragic that Azula didn’t have that.

Now, let’s talk about why Azula probably hated her Uncle.

1. She thinks he’s a failure and, worse than that, weak

And I don’t mean weakness in terms of his firebending skills. Let me explain - Fire Nation citizens are ingrained with Nationalistic pride and complete loyalty to the Fire Lord from a very young age. Iroh, once upon a time, was the heir to the Fire Nation’s throne and the favored son of the notoriously cruel Azulon. He laid a 600 day siege against Ba Sing Se during which his son, Lu Ten, was killed. This tragic event caused him to withdraw his troops, despite having breached the outer wall.

Upon his return home, his father dies under mysterious circumstances and decrees that Ozai will be the heir to the throne. Instead of contesting it, Iroh leaves the Fire Nation and ostensibly spends his time traveling the world, meeting with the Dragons, and getting in tune with the Spirit World. Doing so gives him the knowledge and wisdom to see the error of his ways, at which point he returns to the Fire Nation and serves as a General in the army.

Let’s look at this from the perspective of Azula, or really any other citizen of the Fire Nation. Their country waged a nearly 2-year long siege against the Earth Kingdom - and right when they make progress by breaking through the first wall, the Crown Prince gives up because his son died. Countless Fire Nation lives and resources were spent on this 600 day campaign, and they end up with nothing to show for it. If you look at the philosophy of Sozin, Azulon, and Ozai, they likely would have used the death of Lu Ten to galvanize the troops and double their efforts, in an attempt to exact revenge against the Earth Kingdom for daring to spill royal blood - and so that their sacrifices thus far would not have been in vain.

And then, not only does Iroh withdraw from Ba Sing Se, he also abandons his duties and his country completely. Iroh had a reputation as a fearsome Firebender and cunning strategist - and he just leaves. So now not only is he a failure, but he’s also a deserter, one who abandons his nation while it’s reeling from a humiliating defeat and the loss of its Sovereign, Azulon (who, by the way, ruled for about 80 years).

In Azula’s eyes, all of this amounts to weakness, and as we all know from how she was raised by Ozai, weakness is unacceptable.

2. She is parroting her father’s feelings of resentment

Given that Azula was the favored child of Ozai, it’s likely that she idolized her father and thought he was superior to her uncle, the Crown Prince (for the first few years of her life, at least, Iroh WAS the Crown Prince) and should have been the true heir to Azulon. We don’t see a whole lot of Ozai or his backstory/characterization, but it’s not unreasonable to assume that he, being many years younger than Iroh (it’s never officially stated, but Ozai is around 45 at the time of the show and Iroh appears to be in his late 60’s/early 70’s) had an inferiority complex growing up, and probably some form of sibling rivalry. After all, Iroh is already an adult by the time Ozai is born, and the Crown Prince, who has been groomed from birth to be Azulon’s heir. Ozai is an afterthought; an insurance policy, who at the very moment of Lu Ten’s birth, is outranked by an infant.

Ozai probably resented Iroh his entire life, so it is not unlikely that Azula would probably feel the same way.

3. He’s a traitor to the Fire Nation

Azula is a Nationalist and Ozai’s most loyal enforcer. Iroh’s a traitor, and as far as she knows, a corrupting influence to her brother, Zuko. She also probably thinks that he’s committing treason because (she doesn’t know any better) Iroh wants to be the rightful Fire Lord, and she is not going to stand for that.

4. He reminds her of her mother

Azula is used to being the golden child - a prodigious Firebender, the favored daughter of her father, representative of everything the model Fire Nation child should be. And yet, her own mother does not appear to love her. Her Uncle has stated distaste for her. She thinks she’s doing everything right - because according to Sozin and Ozai’s philosophies and the emphasis of power and loyalty to the Fire Nation - she is; so why do two of her own family members prefer Zuko, the “screw-up�� of the family - to her?

It’s clear that Azula craves the love and adoration of others, but she doesn’t really understand it. I think as she grew older and saw more of the world and how people behaved toward her, she understood on some level that she was considered a “monster” and that people were afraid of her; but that’s how she was raised. Fear was power, and power was everything. And growing up, she was only ever positively reinforced for her ruthlessness and cunning by her father (of whom she is very much afraid, by the way...that is made perfectly clear in her attempts to bring Zuko home and also give him credit for allegedly killing the Avatar. Part of it is actually probably due to some level of affection she has for him, but part of it is definitely motivated by having someone else take the heat off of her in an abusive household) and she witnessed firsthand how perceived weakness was punished - so she did everything she could to achieve the ideal of perfection that Ozai, Azulon, and Sozin had proliferated. So she probably never really understood why her own mother and Iroh didn’t like her. And the fact that they both seemed to prefer Zuko, who she’s been taught to think she’s better than, would only further that resentment.

She thinks she can earn people’s affection by being a perfect Fire Nation soldier, because that’s what works with her father - and when it doesn’t work with Ursa or Iroh, two important adult family figures in her life - she doesn’t understand why and, even worse than that, it makes her feel inferior to Zuko.

5. My final point is purely speculative, but...He didn’t do anything to directly stop Ozai’s rise to power

In the years after the war, after recovering from her mental break and maybe rehabilitating to become an advisor to Zuko (let’s be totally honest, a Nation whose entire economy for the past 100 years has been built on war and imperialization is not going to have an easy transition into peace, especially when they are expected to give up their colonies and play nice with an equally corrupt government that was controlled by the Secret Police force which has no qualms about brainwashing its own citizens...also the new Fire Lord is a banished Prince who is the apprentice of the Disgraced Prince and who returned to defeat the pride of the Nation, Princess Azula, Ozai’s Chosen Heir and the Conqueror of Ba Sing Se), Azula’s going to be pretty pissed that her supposedly wise and worldly uncle did not intervene in her megalomaniacal and abusive father’s rise to power.

If my uncle, who never liked me, lost countless Fire Nation lives and resources in a battle that ended with him retreating, abandoned the Crown to go on a sightseeing tour of the world, returned and became a traitor to the nation by foiling the Admiral’s conquest of the Northern Water Tribe resulting in the loss of more Fire Nation lives, escaped from you multiple times and went on to become a tourist and small business owner in an enemy nation, turned your brother against you, did nothing to stop his own brother whom he knew was deeply abusive even after he came back after gaining all this supposed wisdom, and THEN also left you alone with your abusive father while taking your inferior brother under his wing and helping him become an extremely powerful bender who eventually defeats you with the help of a Water Tribe peasant...yeah, I’d be pretty pissed at him, too.

To be fair, she probably never would have willingly gone with them because they were basically just sent on a wild goose chase at that point...but he never even tried to help her.

Anyway, that’s why I think Azula hates Iroh and honestly, she has every right to hate him. He abandoned her Nation and wrote her off completely, so there’s no reason she wouldn’t do the same.

#a:tla #avatar #azula #iroh #a:tla analysis #anon answers #i actually do like iroh btw #i just don't think he's perfect #and don't give me that he's perfect because he's imperfect crap #he's predominantly portrayed as wise #so when he says Azula is crazy and needs to go down #all the fans think that too #and it's sad because azula doesn't get any love #not even from her mother whoops

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