#but on contemplation and examining the evidence

[barelytolerabled]

Healing Speed and Soul

daniel ricciardo x fem!physiologistReader

summary: The McLaren team sought the expertise of a skilled physiotherapist, you, to tend to the physical well-being of their drivers. Little did they know, you would soon become more than just a healer, evolving into a vital source of emotional support for the drivers, especially Daniel Ricciardo.

Warnings: body shaming, ed

WC: 2k944

——————————————————————————

On your first day at McLaren, you nervously stepped into the bustling atmosphere of the team's headquarters. Team principal Zack Brown warmly welcomed you, introducing you to the dedicated mechanics, engineers, and other essential members of the McLaren family.

As you walked through the high-tech facility, you felt a mix of excitement and anticipation. The air was filled with the hum of activity.

Zack eventually led you to the heart of the team the garage. There, you found yourself face to face with the dynamic duo of McLaren, Lando Norris and Daniel Ricciardo. Lando, with his infectious enthusiasm, greeted you with a friendly smile, while Daniel, known for his trademark grin, extended a warm handshake.

"Hey there! Welcome to the team," Lando exclaimed, his energy contagious.

Daniel, with a twinkle in his eye, added, "Great to have you on board. We've heard you work wonders, hope you're ready for the challenge!"

You, feeling the warmth of their welcome, couldn't help but reciprocate the positive energy. Little did you know that beyond the world of physiotherapy, you were about to embark on a journey that would intertwine your life with the adrenaline-fueled existence of the McLaren drivers.

A few days into your tenure at McLaren, the intense rhythm of Formula One life began to settle around you. As the physiotherapist, you observed the drivers, Lando and Daniel, pushing themselves to the limits during practice sessions and briefings.

Recognizing the importance of maintaining their peak physical condition, you decided it was time for a comprehensive medical checkup. You approached Lando and Daniel with a plan to ensure their bodies were in optimal shape for the upcoming races.

"Lando, Daniel, I'd like to conduct a thorough medical checkup to ensure you're both physically prepared for the challenges ahead. It's crucial to address any potential issues before they escalate," you explained.

Lando, always eager to improve, nodded in agreement, "Sure thing, doc. Anything to stay at the top of our game!"

Daniel, with a playful grin, added, "I trust you've got the magic touch. Let's do it."

The medical examinations unfolded in the state-of-the-art McLaren facilities, with you meticulously assessing their fitness, flexibility, and overall health. As you worked, conversations flowed, revealing not only physical aspects but also providing insights into the drivers' mindset and emotional well-being.

In those moments, you realized the delicate balance between physical prowess and emotional resilience required in their life. Little did you know that your role would extend beyond the realm of physiotherapy, becoming a crucial pillar of support for Lando and Daniel as they faced the relentless challenges of the racing season.

In the quiet confines of your small office, it became evident during Daniel's medical checkup that he was neglecting his nutritional needs. You, observing the signs of under-eating, decided to address the issue directly.

"Daniel, I've noticed you might be skimping on meals. Nutrition is a crucial part of staying at your peak, especially in this demanding sport," you gently pointed out.

Daniel, usually vibrant, seemed quieter than usual. After a moment of contemplation, he simply nodded in acknowledgment.

Sighing, you grabbed your coat. "Come on, Ricciardo. We're going to fix this. I'm taking you for a proper meal, no excuses."

Leading the way, you and Daniel left the confines of the McLaren headquarters, embarking on a journey to ensure the Australian driver's well, being extended beyond the racetrack. Little did you know that this impromptu outing would mark the beginning of a unique bond, intertwining your role as a physiotherapist with a deeper connection to the personal lives of the McLaren driver.

Navigating the streets in the fading daylight, you led Daniel to your apartment. The confusion on his face was evident as he questioned, "Your place? Why are we here?"

Turning to him with a determined look, you explained, "Daniel, it's not just about making you eat; it's about making sure you eat right. I'll be cooking for you. Trust me, it's time for some proper nourishment."

Once inside your cozy apartment, you set about preparing a wholesome meal, the aroma wafting through the air. Daniel, still a bit perplexed, watched as you skillfully moved around the kitchen.

"You're really going all out. I appreciate it," Daniel admitted, a hint of gratitude in his eyes.

As you sat down to eat, you shared a smile. "Sometimes, a good meal can make all the difference, especially when the pressures of racing start taking a toll. Consider it part of my job to keep you fueled and ready for the season ahead."

As you shared the meal in your apartment, a comfortable silence enveloped you. Suddenly, breaking the quietude, you looked at Daniel and asked, "Who?"

Daniel, with a mouthful of food, raised an eyebrow, "Who what?"

Softly, you persisted, "Who made you think you shouldn't eat? There's something deeper here, Daniel. I can see it."

Caught off guard by the unexpected question, Daniel hesitated for a moment. A mix of surprise and vulnerability flickered in his eyes before he finally spoke, "Well, it's just... the constant pressure, expectations, you know? Sometimes, it feels like I don't deserve a break, even for a decent meal."

You nodded in understanding, recognizing the weight of the expectations that came with Formula One. "It's crucial to remember that taking care of yourself isn't a sign of weakness. If anything, it's a strength. You're not alone in this, Daniel. We're a team, on and off the track."

You, sensing there was more to Daniel's struggle, looked at him with a discerning gaze. "Are you sure you're telling me everything about that? Because Norris doesn't seem to have this issue."

Daniel hesitated for a few moments, glancing away before finally admitting, "Well, some people think I should be careful with food, that my weight isn't the best for racing. But yeah, little norris isn’t a problem like me for them."

A dry chuckle escaped your lips. "What a load of nonsense. Your performance on the track speaks for itself. You don't need to conform to anyone's unrealistic standards. It's about being healthy and fit, not fitting into someone else's idea of what a racer should look like."

Clearing the plates from the table, you took a decisive stance. "From now on, I'll bring you lunch, Daniel."

Daniel, trying to be polite, protested, "No, no, you don't have to do that, really."

You turned to him with a determined look, "Daniel, my role is to take care of you. Of course, I'm doing it, and you have no choice."

Concern crept into Daniel's expression, "But Zack makes me follow a strict regime. He can't know."

A disbelieving shake of the head, you retorted, "Zack agreed to this nonsense? Well, then it'll be our secret. Meet me in my office at lunch tomorrow. We'll eat together."

As the weeks passed, you continued your routine of preparing and bringing lunches for Daniel, meeting him in your office during race weekends. The aroma of home-cooked meals became a familiar presence, and whispers of camaraderie between you and Daniel began to circulate.

People couldn't help but notice the positive changes in Daniel, he seemed healthier, more energized, and perhaps even a bit happier. The bond that had formed between you and him extended beyond professional duties, creating a ripple effect in the team dynamics.

Colleagues started to see the genuine care and support you provided, not just in terms of physical well-being but also as a source of emotional strength for Daniel.

In the bustling atmosphere of the McLaren team lunch area, Daniel found himself with no choice but to join his teammates while eating the lunch you had prepared for him. Sitting across from Lando Norris, one of the team members jokingly teased, "Didn't know you knew how to cook, Daniel."

Daniel, taking a bite, replied honestly, "I'm not the one making it."

The teasing took an unexpected turn when the team member quipped, "What, you got a wife at home or something making you these?"

Daniel chuckled dryly, playing along, "Something like that, actually, yeah."

The laughter subsided when Lando, with a curious expression, raised an eyebrow, "And you think I could ask your 'wife' for one too? I've got a appointment with her this afternoon, pain in my back you know."

Daniel's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and realization dawning on him. "How do you know who's making me those lunchboxes?"

Lando leaned in, a knowing smile on his face. "She has the exact same lunchbox, mate. But don't worry, your and your "wifey" secret is safe with me. I'm aware of how tough the team can be on you."

Arriving home late, you were taken aback to find Daniel in your apartment, busy preparing dinner. "Daniel, what are you doing?" you asked, a mix of surprise and gratitude.

He gently helped you off with your shoes and coat, replying with a smile, "You've been doing so much for me, so I wanted to return the favor. Not promising a meal as good as yours, though." He chuckled and guided you to the dining table, ensuring you were comfortably seated.

"Daniel, it's actually my job to take care of you," you reminded him.

He sighed, placing your plates on the table, and took a seat in front of you. "And as your friend, it's my job too. Let's forget work, mmh?"

You smiled at him, grateful for the unexpected gesture. "Thank you, Daniel. This means a lot."

Mid-dinner, Daniel suddenly got up, exclaiming, "I almost forgot." He returned to the table with two glasses and a bottle of wine.

"Daniel, we work tomorrow," you reminded him.

He playfully interrupted, "Ah ah ah, what did I say? We forget work tonight, okay?"

You sighed, smiling, "Anything you want, Daniel."

With that, you clicked your glasses. The shared laughter and genuine connection over dinner marked a brief escape from the intense world you navigated together.

Relaxing on the couch after dinner, you and Daniel found yourselves immersed in easy conversation about anything and everything. As the night unfolded, Daniel slyly mentioned, "You know, I may have indirectly told the guys it was my 'wife' who prepared my lunchbox."

You raised an eyebrow with a playful grin. "Oh, is that so, Daniel? Well, get ready. I'll start leaving lovey notes on those lunchboxes of yours. Always dreamt of being a good wife to my husband."

They both burst into laughter, the shared humor lightening the atmosphere. In that moment, amidst the jokes and banter, you and Daniel found solace in each other's company.

Days later, on a day when you couldn't eat with Daniel, you slipped a small note into his lunchbox. It read: "Fuel for the race, but don't forget to savor the moments off the track too. You've got this! - Your wifey."

When Daniel opened his lunchbox and discovered the note, a wide grin spread across his face. During the team's lunch break, Lando noticed Daniel's amused expression and couldn't resist asking, "What's got you all smiles, mate?"

Daniel, holding up the note, chuckled, "Looks like I've got a secret admirer, leaving lovey notes in my lunchbox."

Lando leaned in, feigning surprise. "Oh, a secret admirer, huh? Got any idea who it might be?"

Daniel playfully rolled his eyes, "Come on, Lando, you know exactly who it is. She's making sure I eat well and stay in high spirits."

Lando, joining in the light-hearted banter, teased, "Well, aren't you lucky to have your 'wife' looking out for you? I hope she leaves some notes for me too."

Daniel, with a smirk, responded to Lando's teasing, "Keep dreaming, mate. It's my 'wife' making them laugh." The banter continued, and laughter echoed through the lunch area.

However, as Daniel glanced at your note and the warmth it brought, a subtle longing lingered. A part of him wished the playful joke about a secret admirer and a lunch-making 'wife' could transcend the realm of humor. Little did he realize that within the confines of the jokes, a deeper connection was slowly taking root, sparking emotions that stretched beyond the boundaries of mere camaraderie.

The 'wifey' joke continued to weave itself into the fabric of Daniel and your dynamic. Whenever Daniel passed by your office, he'd playfully inquire, "How's wifey doing?" Lando, ever the instigator, joined in, making insinuations that left the two of them chuckling.

Before crucial races, their banter took a unique turn. Daniel, often discussing strategy with Lando, would hear remarks like, "If I win, your wife better make me that famous lunchbox for me too." The playful commentary even spilled into interviews, with Lando winking at Daniel when asked about their favorite meals.

In one interview, when the interviewer queried about the drivers' preferred dishes, Lando slyly responded, "Well, it depends on who's making it, right, mate?" He wiggled his brows at Daniel, leaving the audience in stitches.

During a casual night in with your friends at your place, you packed two lunchboxes of the same meal you had prepared. Observing your actions, one friend raised an eyebrow, teasing, "Two? Planning to feed a small army or something?"

You chuckled shyly, "It's just for one of my patients."

Another friend, noticing the little notes signed 'wifey,' couldn't resist poking fun. "And those little notes signed 'wifey' are also for your patient?"

Laughing, you playfully scolded, "Hey! Put that down!" The room erupted in laughter, the friends enjoying the playful banter. Your lunchbox antics had become a source of amusement not just within the Mclaren garage but also among your close circle of friends.

——————————————————————————

Searching for Daniel in the garage, you found him with Lando. "Wifey," they both cooed simultaneously, earning a punch in the shoulder from Daniel to Lando. "Not you," Daniel clarified, prompting laughter.

"Be gentle, Daniel," you teased, handing him his lunchbox with a little note as usual. "Need to be taking care of an engineer during lunch, sorry." You side-hugged Daniel before turning to Lando, "Pole position, right, little Norris?"

"Yes, ma'am," Lando replied with a smirk.

You chuckled and handed him a lunchbox, saying, "Well earned. Keep going like that, Lando. I'm proud of you." Lando happily hugged you, expressing his gratitude. He then turned to Daniel with a mischievous grin, "Guess I also got a wife now, loser."

"Hell no, you don't, little mosquito," you laughed, playfully shutting down Lando's claim. With a quick exchange, you got back to work, leaving the two drivers with smiles on their faces.

——————————————————————————

The usual lunch hour arrived, but Daniel didn't show up at your office. Growing worried, you decided to search for him in the garage. Passing by Zack's office, you overheard Zack's cold reprimand, focusing on Daniel's weight.

Unable to bear it, you entered the office with determination. "It's my fault," Daniel began, looking at you with concern. "No, no, it's not her fault," he continued, addressing Zack, "You're right, Zack. I haven't been careful recently, and I'll change that."

You, however, halted Daniel with a stern gaze. "No, you won't."

Turning to Zack, you asserted, "Zack, as Daniel's physiologist, I took the liberty to ensure he's properly nourished because apparently he hasn't been before my arrival here. His well-being is my responsibility, and I won't let him compromise that for any unrealistic standards."

Zack's anger flared as he confronted you, "You knew about his strict regime, and you went against my orders!"

"Yeah, I did! I did, and if I had to, I'll do it again," you asserted, standing your ground.

Zack, visibly angered, sat up. "You know what you'll do? Pack your things, you're fired."

Daniel, attempting to mediate, approached Zack, "Zack, it's not her fault. She didn't mean to—"

Stopping Daniel with a raised hand, you interjected, "Stop, Daniel. I don't want to work for someone like him anymore anyway."

With those words, you turned away and headed to your office to pack your things. The air in the room hung heavy with tension, marking the end of your tenure at McLaren.

While you were packing, your focus interrupted by the sound of the door, you instinctively responded, "My office is closed, sorry."

"It's me," Daniel's voice cut through, and you turned around to see him standing there.

"Oh," you uttered, and without a word, Daniel opened his arms. You hurriedly approached, burying your head in his chest. "I'm so sorry wifey," he whispered.

"It's not your fault, Daniel," you mumbled into his embrace, finding solace in the midst of the tumultuous situation.

“What am I supposed to do without you at the garage now?" Daniel thought out loud, his worry palpable.

You chuckled sadly, "You could always still come to mine for lunch."

He couldn't believe it. Pushing you away a bit, Daniel questioned, "You just lost your job because of me, but you continue. Who are you?"

"Honestly? Just a girl who grew too close to her patient," you admitted.

Raising an eyebrow in confusion, Daniel looked at you with wide eyes as if connecting the dots. "You're too important for me to let people treat you like shit, especially when it's putting your health in danger," you explained.

His eyes widened, and it seemed like realization struck him. "Do you mean that—"

"Yeah, I love you, Daniel," you confessed.

For a moment, silence hung in the air, and doubt crept into your mind. Yet, before you could dwell on it, Daniel stopped your doubts. "Then it's good you got fired, else I couldn't have been able to do this."

He grabbed your face and kissed you. "Would your dreams be fulfilled with me as your husband?"

#f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 #f1 x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo #daniel riccardo imagine #daniel riccardo x reader #lando norris #mclaren

[bitchimasnake-sss]

one last time ft. vinsmoke sanji!

a/n: continuation of my time travel series as asked by anon!! sanji, lost you when you were both 27. now, three years later, aged 30, the cook travels back in time and sees you again. *cue angst* not proofread, im so sorry for mistakes!

warnings: none!! just my crappy attempts of writing angst tbh

"it makes no sense" nami mumbled, peering down intensely at the old cook as if examining her personal lab rat. the alleged thirty year old had materialized in the main room of the going merry through thin air; and nami had almost knocked him out with her staff.

"nami-swan let me-" the man tried to speak but the red-head cut him off, "you ate a devil fruit and you traveled back in time?"

"you're so gorgeous even when you boss me around-""

"sanji." nami cocked an eyebrow.

sanji sighed lightly, trying to reason, "well, i mean i actually ate like just half a bite of it. i don't think this time travel thing is permanent. i'll be out of your gorgeous hair in just a minute"

"no, you being here isn't the issue." nami corrected herself, "i think im just surprised is all. the idea that there exists something like this is just-"

but someone barged into the room before she could finish.

"what the fuck?" the swordsman looked at sanji, taken aback by the sudden blondie appearance, "he looks awfully like the shit-cook."

"it's nice to see you too, moss-head"

"ah-" nami groaned at the swordsman appearance, "well, i guess i'll explain to everybody. out on deck, both of you"

"why are you so tall?" zoro gave the older cook a nasty look.

"zoro, out."

"why is he so tall-"

｡･::･ﾟ★,｡･::･ﾟ☆

"so..." the younger, blonde man asked, "you're me but 30?"

the older man shrugged, "yes, pretty much."

"i cannot believe you committed to the bangs look for over a decade, sanji" you giggled, looking from the older version to the younger one.

"if you like it, then i can keep it for the rest of eternity, my love."

you laughed again, sending the cook an amused look, "sure, i like it."

while the younger cook was swooned at your words, sending you a love-struck gaze. the older was busy contemplating whether he wanted to hug you so hard till his ribs broke down and he disintegrated within you, or if he should keep his distance, saving himself all that hurt.

your hair was choppier and the strands moved gently in the wind, the tresses cashmere kisses against your sun-kissed skin. all the signs of aging were absent from your skin, all those signs of you and him together were gone, just like that. as if you and he hadn't existed at all.

there was no scar on your lips from the time you fell down in the dark while sleepy, no cuts on your arms and legs from battles long gone. every evidence of the life you and sanji had built together was gone, leaving a twenty-three year old you behind.

well, technically that life was yet to come. it would take you and his younger version another five months, 23 days and 6 hours till you both got together. atleast, if his calculations were correct.

it would take you another 9 years, 2 months and 4 days to leave him. he knew those calculations by heart.

and so, sanji held back the urge to ask you if you liked two sugars in your coffee right now too? and did you light up when the moon was out in all it's glory? did your favourite constellation stay the same as years passed you by? did you look the same when you kissed him awake? did-

instead, he said nothing and stared at you, transfixed.

when ussop shook the older cook awake, the blonde man gave the younger crew members a pained smile. and when luffy jumped up and down, asking whether the cook still cooked, sanji found himself laughing and offering to make a meal.

atleast, this way, he could resign himself to an old kitchen, boundless memories and endless suffering, away from your ghastly presence.

the door stood ajar and you slipped inside just as silently like you always did when you wanted to surprise him in the kitchen. he looked up from the chopping board, well-versed with every one of your silent exchanges.

"want some help?" you offered, walking over leisurely and standing opposite to the man on the kitchen island.

the man looked down, focusing on not cutting his fingers up, "uh- no, thanks."

"damn, did you change?"

"hm?"

"where's the added "my love", "mon cheri" or "darling" at the end?" you cocked up an eyebrow, giving him a confused look, "don't tell me you lost those with time, that'll be a real shame."

sanji looked up, dumbstruck at you.

ofcourse he didn't. how could he? how could he when you were all that and more to him. under breathy whispers, loud declarations of love and silent hums in the dark of the night, you were every stringed syllable in every language to him.

he must have been silent for too long cause you shook your palm in front of him, paranoia sewn into your skin, "i mean it's okay if you lost it. like, it's not that big of a deal-"

and sanji laughed.

"excuse me? it's not nice to laugh at a lady."

"you looked so adorable like that." he looked down at the chopped vegetables, hands skillfully adding the veggies to the heated pan. then he looked up through his eyebrows, skillfully avoiding your gaze fully, "you're quite cute, love."

"uh-" your ears went red and you looked away, "thanks? y-you too."

"how have you been, yn?" he looked back at the food, his voice was tender. every hitch of the breath was audible against the backdrop of distant laughs from the crew.

"oh?" you replied shocked. then you smiled, "good. i'm good."

"good?" he repeated, ever so slowly as if turning the word on the tip of his tongue to remember the way you said it.

"yeah, i've been good, sanji."

"i'm glad." he pursed his lips, turning his back to you under the lie of fetching bowls from the cabinet.

"what are you cooking?" you asked, leaning over and peering at the vessel on the stove.

even without turning, he said, "you'd lose balance, careful now."

you marveled at the simmering dish, looking at his back and smiling real big, "you're cooking hand-pulled noodles with broth?! i think its my new favourite dish! i tasted it like a few days ago and i've been dying to eat it againn"

sanji smiled, still turned away from you, "is that so?"

as much as sanji prided himself at his ability to identify you from lightyears apart, at his ability to hear you in the noisiest room, he must have not been paying attention.

because you had sneaked up behind him and pressed yourself against his back, giving him a hug. you smiled gummy against his back muscles, "thankyou! thankyou! thankyouuu!!"

sanji froze under your casual touch. after a second, mindlessly, he lay his bigger hands on top of yours, relishing in the way you felt under him. he closed his eyes, trying to etch the moment in his memories. then he smiled again, promising against the thin air, "i will make you this as many times as you ask me."

"really?" you beamed again, letting go and standing beside him, "promise me?"

"i promise you." he gave you curt nod, melting under every one of your happy dance moves.

"now i would bother you for the rest of our lives." you stuck out your tongue at the blonde man.

"i would rather not be bothered by anyone but you, my love."

"aww-"

"hey geezer." the younger cook stood at the door, eyeing the negligible distance between you and the older man, "get away from yn-chan, you fucking pervert."

"rich coming from you, mr. nosebleed" the older man gave the younger a dirty look.

"HEY THATS NOT MY FAULT"

"SAAAANJI" luffy whined from outside, "ARE YOU DONEEE? WE'RE STARVINGGGG-"

vinsmoke sanji, aged thirty, yelled back "YEAH LEARN TO WAIT SOME MORE."

"YOU'RE SO MEAN SANJI! I MEAN- OLDER SANJI? I MEAN SANJI??- alee? I MEAN THE COOK OF MY SHIP?? NO, THE COOK OF MY FUTURE SHIP-"

"JUST SHUT UP LUFFY." the two blondes yelled in unison and you laughed one last time, lighting up the kitchen on fire.

oh wait, no. that is just the smoke due to the burning veggies in the pan.

well, fuck.

atleast you were laughing. and sanji would have killed entire nations to see that sight again, so, what were a few vegetables for the sacrifice?

#one piece #opla #op #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #sanji angst #one piece angst #one piece fanfic #sanji fic #x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #one piece sanji #sanji imagines

[doumadono]

Synopsis: Dabi hates his birthday dearly, but you surprise him with a small gift and heartfelt words that chip away at his guard significantly

A/N: the prompt was "Thank you for being born" This one-shot serves as the kickoff to my little Dabi's birthday event. I won't deny shedding a tear or two while writing it (there's something about making wishes that gets me emotional) Here's the link to the song I listened to while crafting this piece💜

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST DABI'S BIRTHDAY EVENT

The scent of cigarettes hung in the air as Dabi reclined on a worn-out couch, brooding in silence. The glow of the television screen flickered in the dimly lit common room as Dabi absentmindedly watched the news.

Another day, another hero thwarting villains, this time at one of Musutafu's bustling shopping malls. As the headlines praised the courageous actions of the hero, a bitter taste lingered in Dabi's mouth.

"Fucking pathetic," he growled lowly, taking a drag of his cigarette. A bitter smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he contemplated the irony. The world hailed heroes on the day he considered his own personal tragedy. The day he was born, the 18th of January.

The news anchor spoke with enthusiasm about the hero's bravery, the citizens cheering in gratitude for another villain thwarted.

Yet Dabi's thoughts, like wisps of smoke, curled around the unwelcome memories of his past. He traced the scars on his face absentmindedly, a reminder of a past he wished he could erase. The reflection in the TV showed a man haunted by his own existence, a shadow dancing on the edges of society.

Dabi couldn't shake the bitter truth that clung to him like a shadow. He hadn't chosen this life; it was thrust upon him by his father's sick ambitions. His birthday wasn't a cause for celebration; it was a stark reminder of his origin, of a life marred by pain and betrayal.

It didn't become any easier when he revealed himself as the son of the number one hero, Endeavor. The revelation didn't alter a single thing, but at least his obnoxious father was aware. Aware that his failed creation was still alive and somehow thriving on a path fueled by vengeance.

As the news continued, highlighting the hero's accomplishments, a bitterness swelled within Dabi. The contrast between his life and the celebrated hero's achievements became painfully apparent. The hero on the screen stood tall, celebrated by a society that Dabi saw as inherently flawed. He couldn't help but feel a surge of resentment, not towards the hero, but towards the world that applauded those who fit neatly into its definition of heroism.

The door to the common room creaked open, and you stepped inside, holding a neatly wrapped package adorned with shiny paper and a ribbon.

Dabi slowly raised his gaze, his turquoise eyes meeting yours. A skeptical eyebrow arched as he observed the item you held in your hands. "Don't tell me it's what I think it is," he remarked, his tone laced with a hint of sourness.

You approached, taking a seat beside him, the small package cradled in your hands. "Well, you'll never know unless you open it," you teased.

Dabi scoffed, "You and your surprises."

Undeterred, you extended the gift toward him. "Happy birthday, Touya. I hope you like it."

Dabi sighed, his skepticism evident as he began to peel away the shiny paper and loosen the ribbon. The room was filled with the soft rustle of wrapping paper, and he shot you a sidelong glance, an unspoken question in his gaze.

Inside the wrapping was a tiny box. Dabi hesitated for a moment, eyeing the box as if it held secrets he wasn't sure he wanted to uncover. Eventually, he cracked it open, revealing a silver necklace with a delicate flame charm.

"It's a flame," you explained, your voice soft. "I thought it suited you, taking your quirk."

Dabi lifted the necklace, examining the intricate details of the charm. His expression remained guarded, but there was a hint of something beneath the surface – a mixture of surprise and skepticism. "A flame, huh?" he muttered, more to himself than to you.

"Yeah," you affirmed. "A symbol of your strength and intensity."

He gave you a skeptical glance, his turquoise eyes narrowing slightly. "You put way too much thought into this. My quirk's a real fucking gem – kills me a bit every damn time I unleash it."

You bowed your head, realizing you had never viewed his quirk in that manner. To you, it wasn't just about his ability - it embodied an immense determination and unmatched dedication, even if the cause wasn't particularly flattering.

Dabi continued to study the necklace, his fingers tracing the delicate flame. There was a brief pause before he finally spoke, his voice low and gruff. "It's not bad, I guess."

You smiled, a small victory in breaking through his usual stoicism. "Glad you think so. Happy birthday, once again. And... There's actually one more thing I'd like to tell you... May I?"

Dabi regarded you with a notably impassive expression on his face, nodding.

You reached out and gently took Dabi's hand in yours.

His forehead creased into a frown, a silent question etched on his face.

"I know you've been dealing with a lot of crap," you began slowly, your voice sincere and heartfelt. "I don't fully understand, and most likely I never will. But ever since I joined the League, you were the only one who's been patient with me. Through all my failures, you saw some potential within me. You've always offered advice or just a listening ear whenever I felt like shit and wanted to cry it all out." You let out an exasperated sigh, wiping a single tear from your eyelashes. "Oh God, why am I even getting emotional? This isn't about me."

Dabi's frown deepened, his gaze steady on your flushed face as you continued, "Okay, so I basically just want to tell you that, to me, you were never a bad person, nor evil. I love you for who you are, with all of your flaws. I'm just... I just... Thank you for being born."

The words hung in the air, a mix of vulnerability and gratitude woven into your confession.

Dabi's stoic facade wavered as he absorbed your heartfelt words. His turquoise eyes, typically guarded, widened in genuine surprise, a subtle vulnerability creeping into their depths. The frown etched on his forehead softened, replaced by a mixture of astonishment and something resembling gratitude. He remained silent for a moment, processing the weight of your confession.

Finally, a raspy exhale escaped him, a rare display of vulnerability. "I... didn't expect that," he admitted, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty. His gaze lingered on your teary eyes, and for a moment, the facade of indifference cracked. A subtle shift occurred within him, a fracture in the armor he usually wore so tightly.

With a rare tenderness, he reached up, his thumb brushing against the moisture on your cheeks. "Hush," he murmured gently, a subtle warmth in his usually gruff voice. His touch was surprisingly tender as he wiped away the traces of tears, his thumb grazing over your skin.

A ghost of a smile played on his lips as he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, the touch lingering for a moment longer than expected. "Thanks, Y/N," Touya said, the word carrying a weight of sincerity. "For the words and the gift. Means more than you think."

A subtle warmth lingered in his gaze as he fastened the necklace around his neck. The flame pendant rested against his chest. "You always manage to surprise me, doll face," the white-haired man chuckled softly.

"Well, it is your birthday," you quipped, leaning in to give him a quick kiss. "There's no way I could have failed to surprise you on that particular day," you whispered, leaning your chin on his shoulder, gazing up at him with the most innocent, doe-eyed expression.

He cast a glance down at you, scoffing with a slight eye roll. "Sometimes I wonder how someone as cute and soft as you manages to be a villain, Y/N."

You flashed a mischievous grin at him. "Well, let's just say that I'm flexible."

Dabi leaned casually against the back of the couch, his arm extending to wrap around your shoulder and pull you closer. "No doubt in me, you are. You prove that every night."

Blushing, you gasped and playfully poked his chest. "Todoroki Touya! Quit it!"

His fingers absentmindedly played with your hair. "What? That's the fact. And you know what? I love you."

You smiled at him, studying his expression for a moment before nestling against his chest, allowing his warmth to envelop you. "I love you too."

Together, you both tuned into the news service and later some TV show, but your attention was elsewhere. All that mattered was that the person you loved the most was right there by your side.

#dabi #dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #bnha dabi #dabi fluff #dabi fic #mha dabi #dabi is touya #touya todoroki #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki fluff #touya todoroki x you #anime fluff #mha fluff #dabi angst #bnha fluff #dabi fanfic

[13eyond13]

As much as it's easy to hate Light for killing L and gloating about it... idk what else choice he had really except to try to get rid of him permanently (in HIS OWN MIND, MIND YOU - not saying he had no choice but to do what he does as Kira, but in his own mind he couldn't go back on his decision after he began). Like, considering how ruthlessly L was investigating him / not ever even attempting to be nice or fair about it (like yeah, L WAS correct about Light being Kira and wanted to get concrete evidence for it, but L didn't KNOW that he was for sure yet) - and L's methods of investigation like the confinement and fake execution would probably be pretty traumatic ones to experience for Light, realistically. Heck, even the implications of things like Light knowing that L had got his dad to agree to putting zillions of illegal hidden cameras around their house would be disturbing ones to contemplate - not just because of the invasion of privacy, but because it would also prove to Light that his dad was bending his own morals to work with L, and that his dad really DID have some doubt about his innocence as well. I think Light's buried guilt and shame about actually being Kira, and his fear of deeply examining his own darker emotions, plus genuinely finding L's relentless antagonism flattering and entertaining to experience, held him back from really digging into any of that stuff onscreen a whole lot. But thinking about it does keep me from hating him for killing L as much as I might otherwise - like I don't 100% know what else he could've done to wriggle out from under L's thumb, and I also think that under all the mind-games and dark jokes they were playing on each other Light wasn't wrong to fear that L was trying to destroy his life in a very serious way. Light defines L inwardly to himself as someone who "doesn't know when to stop" or something at a certain point in the story, and I feel that's true... I think he mostly LIKES that aspect of L and often thinks it's interesting and fun, but also that he didn't really see any other way that things could end between them both.

#light yagami #l lawliet #lawlight #p #meta #death note

[ageofwagner]

Road Trip

pairing: Danny Wagner x fem!reader

summary: Y/n needs a distraction during a long road trip, Danny is more than happy to help.

warnings: mentions of slight motion sickness and claustrophobia, oral m!receiving, fingering, Danny being hot as fuck, hand kink???, bad grammar.

word count: 2970

masterlist

You had always loved road trips but hated being confined to the car for hours on end, while you only shared the small space with your boyfriend, Danny, the feeling of nausea settled in the pit of your stomach as you watched the world race by through the passenger side window.

Your restless mind matched the rhythm of your leg as it bounced anxiously, "How much longer?" you asked, focusing on Danny's side profile as he drove, attempting to distract yourself from the building motion sickness. He turned to look at you noticing your discomfort, resting his left arm on top of the steering wheel so he could place his right hand on your bare thigh, rubbing soft circles to comfort you.

He shot you a sympathetic look, briefly turning to keep an eye on the road as he answered, "Still a couple more hours, just over two I think." You slumped back in your seat, you hadn't been optimistic in your destination being closer, but had held out hope regardless.

Danny looked at you again, concern evident on his face, "Do you need me to pull over so we can take a break for a bit?" you contemplated the offer for a moment, weighing your options; on one hand, you wanted to get it over with as soon as possible, but on the other hand, you wanted desperately to ground yourself and suppress the nauseous feeling. You nodded in agreement, "Yeah I think that would help"

He squeezed your thigh softly before putting his signal on and pulling onto the shoulder of the highway. You shot out of the car as soon as it was safe, making it around the car to open the trunk and pulling two waters out of the cooler you had packed that morning.

Just as you had closed the cooler, Danny wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his nose into your neck and placing gentle kisses there. You turn to face him and he straightens, wrapping his arms around you properly and resting his cheek on the top of your head as you rest it on his chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart and instantly feeling better.

"How are you doing?" he asks, gently pulling you from his embrace, a hand on either shoulder, examining your face. You smile at his genuine concern, "I'm feeling better already"

You held out a bottle to him and opened yours, taking a large sip before continuing, "It's worse when I don't have anything to distract me from the motion sickness"

Danny tucked your hair behind your ear, resting his hand on the side of your face, "anything I can do to help?" you nuzzle your face into his hand, looking up at him, "This. This is what I needed" you turn your head slightly, pressing a kiss into his palm.

He shoots you a crooked smile, "C'mere" You step further into him, his hands resting on your hips and pulling you flush against him. He smiles as he leans down and captures your lips in a kiss, your hands instinctively shooting up to cup his face, one reaching around to grab his curls as you sigh into the kiss.

Momentarily forgetting you're on the side of the road, Danny walks you backward until your back hits the side of the car. A startled moan escapes your lips, as he captures your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently. You pull away, lifting a hand to touch the spot he had bitten, looking up through hooded eyes, "okay I think I'm ready to go" you smirk, "you've given me some good motivation to get through the rest of the drive"

Danny laughs, kissing your lips before giving you a playful slap on the ass, "Happy to help" he smirks, walking you to your door and opening it for you, "always the gentleman" you tease lovingly, he winks in response, rounding the front of the car and getting in, resuming the journey.

~

You decided to close your eyes, avoiding the nauseous feeling of the racing images, when you become hyper-aware of Danny's touch on your skin; the sensation of his rough fingertips tracing shapes into the meat of your thigh.

You find your mind wandering to the man seated beside you, remembering the feeling of his big, rough hands, gripping your hips, caressing your body, using his fingers to coax pleasure from within you. The vivid memories flash behind your eyelids causing you to clench your thighs absentmindedly, lost in thought.

You only snap out of your fantasy when you feel Danny tighten his grip, squeezing your thigh. Opening your eyes you turn to look at him, a smirk plastered on his face as he pointedly looks down at your lap. You follow his eyes and see that you managed to cross your legs in an attempt to relieve some of the building tension you felt, and had effectively trapped Danny's hand within your grip. You feel your face flush in embarrassment, quickly uncrossing your legs and freeing his hand.

"If you wanted me to keep my hand between your legs all you had to do was ask" he teases through a laugh, "what were you thinking about just now?" he questions

"I was trying to find a good distraction"

"And?" he urges

You study his face for a moment, considering a bold move before responding cheekily, "I suppose I could show you?"

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, turning to look at you once again, "Do we need to pull over again? he asks, enthusiastically. A devilish smirk crosses your face as you undo your seatbelt, "that won't be necessary"

A puzzled expression takes over his features and you laugh in response, moving to your knees on your seat, you lean over the center console and reach for his lap, unbuttoning his shorts. Danny lets out a quiet groan in realization, lifting his right arm to rest on your lower back, reaching over to grab your ass as you fumble with his zipper. Danny lifts his hips slightly, allowing you to lower his shorts enough, pulling his hardening cock from its confines.

You arch your back, shifting closer as you lean your head in his lap, tilting your head to the side and licking a bold stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, swirling your tongue as you look up at him, his eyes flickering between your obscene actions and the road ahead.

Danny lets out a low moan, a string of curses falling from his lips as you take the tip of his cock in your mouth, sucking gently while using your tongue to collect his precum. You pull away with a pop, a string of saliva still connecting you to him, spitting onto his length you work your hand over him, letting out a moan as you feel his large hand grabbing your ass before coming down harshly, a loud slap ringing throughout the car.

"You just couldn't wait huh? You needed me so bad you're gonna suck me off while I drive?"

You hum in agreement, hollowing out your cheeks as feel the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. The size of him combined with the feeling of the world around you moving causing you to gag. You pull back, looking at him with a lustful gaze in your eyes as you shift away from him, maneuvering to take off your shorts, leaving you nearly bare, save for the thin silk black thong you had chosen to wear. Discarding the shorts to the floor you eagerly lean into Danny's lap stroking him a few times before taking him down your throat once again, bobbing your head enthusiastically over his length.

Danny tightened his grip on the steering wheel, desperate to keep his composure and enough clarity to keep driving safely. Moving his right hand from its firm place on your lap, to the back of your head, wrapping your tied up hair around his fist as he pushes your head down, groaning at the feeling of you gagging around him.

"You love choking on my cock, hm?" he taunted as he held your head down on him, releasing at the tap of your hand on his thigh, signaling you needed to come up for air. He looks at you, an expression of concern visible on his face, even in his dominant state, he always ensured you were okay. You answered his silent question with a smile, sticking out your tongue and letting a string of saliva drip down his cock.

He grabbed your hair once again, grunting "Fuck baby I'm gonna cum" You began pumping him faster, focusing on the tip, alternating between sucking harshly and swirling your tongue around his leaking tip. Using his grip on your hair, he used your mouth to get himself off, "gonna be a good little slut and swallow my cum?" he asked breathily. You nodded your head in response, his cock lodged down your throat as you swallowed around him, coaxing a loud moan from deep in his throat.

You felt his hips twitch upwards, grip tightening as he held your head in place, burying himself deep inside you, feeling the warmth of his release coating your throat. Danny groaned at the feeling of you swallowing around him, his grasp loosening as he slowly pulled you off of him. You held yourself up on his thighs, sticking out your tongue, showing him you swallowed, as he huffs an adoring laugh, "that's my good girl"

He tucks himself back in his pants as you settle back in your seat, shorts long forgotten by your feet, a contented smile across your face. The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a couple minutes while Danny comes down from the high of his orgasm. He returns his hand to its position on your upper thigh, turning to find you already staring at him, admiring him.

A smirk takes over his face as he turns to face the road again, he slowly inches his fingers up your thigh, grabbing a firm hold and yanking your left thigh, spreading your legs to expose your barely covered pussy to him.

"Take off your panties and drape your leg over the console" Danny demanded in a firm tone. You lift your hips and quickly tear off your panties, tossing them in the backseat as you turn towards him, draping your leg across the console as he instructed, baring yourself to him.

Trying to find a comfortable position, you shift your hips to face him, propping your right leg up on the dashboard. Eager to find some release, you swirl tight circles over your sensitive bud, letting out a breathless whine as you do. Danny’s eyes snap to look at you, briefly admiring the way your head is thrown back, chest heaving slightly as you capture your bottom lip between your teeth, a weak attempt to conceal the sweet sounds you make. He tuts under his breath, “seems you have it all taken care of, huh? don’t need my help?”

Your eyes snap open to meet his, a smug look on his face causing you to instantly still your movements, lowering your hand to rest on your hip. Danny laughs as you open and close your mouth, unable to translate your thoughts to him, instead slightly pouting with a pleading look in your eyes. He turns his attention back to the road, concealing a smile as he hears you huff.

You attempt to close your legs, but his hand catches your thigh, roughly squeezing as he spreads them for better access. Wordlessly he trails his long fingers through your wetness, "oh" you gasp in contented surprise, hooded eyes focused on the side of his face as he fights to keep his eyes on the road ahead, noting the smug smirk on his face.

The building release was ripped away all too soon as you felt Danny pull his fingers away. You bit back a groan of frustration, causing you to choke as you watched him place his fingers, coated in your wetness, in his mouth, lewdly swirling his tongue around them, savouring the taste of you he loves so desperately.

Deciding to challenge him, you swipe your fingers through your slick, swirling slow circles around your neglected clit as you watch him pull his fingers out, "patience baby, I just needed a taste" he quips as his eyes shift briefly down to your actions before moving them forward once again.

"Need some help? Want me to make that needy pussy feel good baby?" he asks casually, though his voice comes out raspy, giving away the attempt he's making to contain his arousal.

"Please," you manage to squeak, he steals a glance, quirking a brow at you, urging you to ask him properly; you huff in impatience, "Please, Danny" your voice borderline begging as you continue your ministrations.

"'Please Danny' what? Use your words. Tell me what you need" he urged

"Your fingers, please" You widened your legs for him, "please make me cum"

Danny smiled at you, "See that wasn't so hard?" noticing your glare he laughed under his breath, "anything for my girl"

You watched his every move as he returned the same two fingers into his mouth once again before lowering them to your core. Feeling his rough, calloused fingers running gently through your folds, you let out a breath of relief you hadn't noticed you'd been holding as he swiftly knocked your hand out of the way, continuing your motions, rubbing tight circles on your throbbing clit, increasing pressure as your hips jut towards him.

His voice was thick with lust as he instructed you to take over, you instantly did as you were told, watching as he ran his fingers teasingly through your folds until slowly sinking two into your heat. A breathy moan escapes you as Danny curses under his breath, loving the way you suck him in and squeeze his fingers. He sets out a slow pace, matching your movements as he eases you into the stretch of his fingers.

Stealing glances every chance he can get he increases his pace, the only thing that could be heard was your breathy moans calling out his name and the lewd sounds of him fucking you with his fingers. Danny could feel his cock swell at the combination of the two.

"Fuck," he quickened his pace, the wet sounds of your slick getting louder, "listen to that, baby. You're soaked for me"

All you could do was moan in response, the force of his thrusts had you teetering over the edge; feeling you clench around his fingers he catches your eyes, "You gonna cum for me?"

"Please I'm so cl-" your words got caught in your throat as he leaned over slightly, his arm flexing deliciously as he began fucking you harder with his fingers, your own moving in tandem over your clit as you leaned your head back, "just like that! don-don't stop" you rushed out breathlessly.

"Come on baby, soak my fingers" he encouraged, his voice almost as breathless as your own.

"Fuck, Danny" his eyes met your own as you clenched around him, "I'm gonna cum"

Danny couldn't find it in himself to look away as you fell apart on his fingers; his grip on the steering wheel almost painful as he took in your flushed cheeks, slowing his pace as you rode out your high, only allowing himself to look away, briefly, after you had come down and smiled at him.

You couldn't help the bright smile on your face as you watched him pull his fingers from you and put him in his mouth once again, winking at you as he did so. You attempted to shift your hips out of the uncomfortable position, wincing slightly at the discomfort from having your legs spread over the center console.

Completely forgoing putting on the underwear that was discarded somewhere in the backseat, you put your shorts back on, making a face at how it felt against the wetness between your legs.

"You feeling okay?" Danny questioned, noting the slight discomfort you seemed to be in.

"I feel like a mess but other than that...pretty amazing" You smiled at him to which he returned, grabbing your hand and placing a kiss on the back of it, resting them on the middle console.

~

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the music from the radio humming quietly as you sat lost in thought. You are only snapped out of your thoughts when you notice Danny preparing to take an exit. Your face scrunches in confusion as you look around, "Dan, babe, we're going the wrong way"

Danny looks at you briefly, a devilish smile on his face, as he makes the turn. Releasing his hand from your hold and sliding it up your thigh as he squeezes it teasingly, "We're gonna have to make a pit stop" he winks as he turns to face ahead. You chuckle, squeezing his hand still resting on your thigh, a smile plastered on your face as anticipation fills you for what's to come.

When you finally reach your destination, Danny pulls off to the side of a quiet street and parks, getting out of the car and coming around to open the door for you, offering his hand. You smile, taking his hand as he opens the back door and ushers you inside.

Danny wastes no time, cupping your face and bringing you in for a searing kiss, peppering kisses along your jaw up until he's just below your ear, he whispers, "Now, I believe I have a mess to clean up"

Thanks for reading <3

#danny wagner #danny wagner fic #danny gvf #danny gvf imagine #danny wagner smut #gvf fic #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet #greta van fleet smut #danny wagner fluff #greta van smut #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #jake gvf #josh gvf #sam gvf #gvf #fic recs #danny wagner x reader #danny wagner x y/n #drw #daniel wagner #gvf imagine #gvf angst #gvf fanfic #gvf fanfiction

[sungvrhs]

Not A Monster ; Park Sunghoon

Genre; fluff | Vampire!male x human!female

word count ; 3.9K

"You remind me of old time fairy tale boyfriends to be honest." You spoke as you flipped the page of the book, addressing your boyfriend, who had his fingers caressing through your locks as you laid back on his chest whilst he rested on the head rest of the couch, reading between the lines of the book you held. "Really? How so?" His hand supporting the back of his head as your statement let alone the curiosity in his mind pour out. "You seem so mythical when I capture your pictures. It just seems so unreal at times."He chuckled at your reply as it perked his curiosity even more. You thought for a while, putting down your book as you locked gaze with him. Examining his features that you had always adored, finding them oddly attractive and unique; that whitewashed pale skin, those chocolatey orbs, and especially those teeth of his shaped into fine fangs. "Everything about you. But if we are specific, your facial features resemble those of a vampire." Your statement had him shocked as his fingers stopped grazing through your locks as his smile dropped. "Especially when you did the vampire cosplay on Halloween night. I almost fell for the red contact lenses of yours." His actions caused you to look up to him, only to find him dwelled in deep thoughts. 

'What if she freaks out?' 'What if the things between us grew awkward?' The thoughts made him wander off the conversation mentally as he felt a tug on his wrist, pulling him out of his trance as he looked back at you. "Huh?" You chuckled at his expressions. "You zoned out." He let out a short chuckle as he nodded sideways, "You know me..." and just with that the conversation drowned back into the lurking silence, with only the flipping of creamy pages and the soft breaths filling up the cosy environment.

On the contrary, his heart ignited on fire as it ran long lapses of a never ending marathon. He never thought of exposing this little secret to you; what if you detested to even get a glimpse of him? Or what if panic aroused in either of you and then he never got the chance to explain it well? Numerous thoughts crept up to his mind, keeping him occupied for the rest of the afternoon as it was pretty evident to you when you noticed him making a bite of the ramen ready to be devoured but never allowed it to reach the tip of his tongue as it remained on the plate in front of him. You shifted uncomfortably on your seat, noticing the change in his behavior as you knew something was up.  After a few good moments of silence whilst all that could be heard was the clicking from your plate, you broke the ice. "Hoon?" You kept your hand on his, softly pulling him back from his drowned thoughts as he locked contact with you, acknowledging your call with a hum. "What's wrong?" You were quick enough to pick up on how he was contemplating over something; you had to know. “Oh, it's…nothing much really. Just a few calls from Heeseung hyung asking for help in his work so I was making mental notes.” He let a smooth justification roll out of his tongue, which was a little convincing as you slightly nodded at his words. He blinked his eyes a few times before letting out his breath slowly, so as to not gain your attention, which he didn’t realize he had held back. 

Sprinting back to his room, he didn’t realise that all of this had caused his inner vampire skills to emerge as he dashed through his room with the speed of light. It was only when he halted himself right before he collided with the bedpost. “What the heck is wrong with me?” He sighed in frustration, brushing his hair strands back from his forehead as he held his head in his hands, closing his eyes to take a moment to dissolve all the panic in him. After a minute or two he was able to recollect himself as he took a deep sigh. “Heeseung hyung…yes, Heeseung hyung.” He fished out his phone as he dialled up to the only person he could rely on. 

“Sunghoon if it’s any of your other requests for more time I’ll-” “Hyung I…I got a slight problem.” The elder got cut off by the younger’s words as the phone call went silent for a few seconds. “What is it? Did something happen?” The sense of worry and fear was visible in the elder’s voice as the younger sighed. “Today, in the afternoon, Y/n made mention of some fictional characteristics that quite resemble me…according to her. But when she pointed out the exact details of mine matching that of a vampire, I panicked.” The younger one seemed terrified as Heeseung questioned him, “You didn’t do anything stupid did you?” The younger disagreed, “No no, but I’m actually worried about her finding it all out.” Another silence followed the phone call as the elder sighed, “It’s good that she hasn't till now, but Sunghoon, you need to let her know this. It’s for the better good of the two of you.” Sunghoon could feel a lump forming in his throat. Letting you know about how he was a monster hidden behind a fragile facade? “B-But hyung, I can’t. What if she gets disgusted at the sight of-” “She is your second half right?” He sighed at the elder’s words, a few tears threatening to make their brush escape from his brimming orbs. “Yes.” “Then I can assure you that she will understand you.” He needed a moment to think about all of this. “It was hard for Evelyn to get the hang of all of it too, but when I showed her our matching birth signs, she decided to give it a thought before she accepted it…” Heeseung spoke, letting Sunghoon know that this was the right time to let you know. “Fine..I-I’ll try my best to do so.” he sighed knowing this was a tough nut to crack, but it was either now or never. “If anything goes wrong, I’ll just be a call away okay?” Sunghoon hummed at the elder’s support, thanking him before he hung up, making up the whole game plan to make you decipher this new piece of information with not much of…disappointment?

It was already evening before he made a step out of his workspace room before mustering up the will and courage to make way to your room. As the door creaked open, his eyes made a scan in your room, finding you peacefully working on your novel as a smile crept up on his space. If it were anything that was oddly attractive about you in the eyes of his, it was how perfectly you were able to draw or blend the lines between reality and fantasy. “You can come in, you know.” As if you felt the presence of his behind you, you spoke up, while still pushing the buttons of your keypad. He let a small flustered chuckle as he made way to your bed, letting his body sink in the soft mattress. “Sometimes I really want to swap rooms with you. Your bed seems so comfortable.” You laughed at his words. “Nah I love my precious bed.” You said playfully whilst your fingers continued to hit the keys. Sunghoon tilted his head a little as he got up, leaning from behind your right shoulder to get a view of what you were typing. “What are you writing this time?” Putting his chin on your shoulder as he has his arms wrapped around your shoulders, he reads in the words that you were typing. Hearing him question you scrolled to the top of the page to show him the title. “About that fictional reality that I told you about; the vampire-human love story.” The small smile that lingered on his lips faded as his grip loosened a bit around your shoulders. Each and every single thing for the day was just adding onto the pile of secrets that he had treasured for so long. He slightly gulped to hide his nervousness as he questioned. “Oh that…yes I remember you telling me about its rough draft.” he paused for a while, as you continued to scrap a few more details on your brainstorming page. “What is the baseline?” That very word had your eyes sparkled. You tilted your head sideways to meet his soft gaze as you held his hand excitedly as you guided him on the bed whilst you seated yourself next to him with your phone. “OK now that you asked for it; it's about the two worlds colliding when a vampire finds that a human is his second half…” His eyes slightly widen at your words… ‘How in the universe was this exactly the same as his situation?’ He thought for a while as your words continued to ring through his ears, not allowing him much time to digest each and every detail. “And so they both meet each other and once they get close to knowing each other, they realise that they are meant for each other by the signs of destiny and fate.” He broke eye contact, looking away, as he slightly nodded. “It seems great…I’m so proud of my girl bringing in the mythical ideas back to top book genres.” He slightly cleared his throat as you leaned in to look at him. “You liked the idea? Thank you Hoon! I thought you won’t like it since these sorts of things are just appreciated by a small part of the community…well…those who precisely love fantasy.” You held his hand, feeling the coldness radiating from his body; he was always like that, but the warmth from your body was always quick enough to compensate. “Why did you think that I won’t like it?” His eyebrows furrowed at your statement as he locked gaze with you, his thumb softly rubbing the back of your hand. 

His question made you wonder upon what you said. “Ah, like…I don’t usually find you intrigued in all of these kinds of books when I read them you know…” You slightly scratched your nape, pondering over what if your words made him disappointed. “But I don’t need to when I get to read it from your end…and be the protagonist in real life.” The last statement came out as a murmur which you couldn’t pick up as you spoke, “What do you mean?” you chuckled slightly as you questioned him as to which he took a deep sigh. “What if you were to experience every single thing that you wrote in this book? Would you love it?” You were taken aback and surprised at his question. “Hoon that ain’t possible.” You spoke as he nudged you a little. “No but, what if it did. Would you do the same as you wrote on your pov or would you do something else.” It was hard to answer his question; like linking something that wasn’t real to real life? It was as if trying to bring the earth and the sky together. You hesitated a bit as he had his eyes fixed on yours, curious to find an answer. You couldn’t comprehend what perked this curiosity in him, but you were willing to answer. “Well, if it were for this current book, I would have done what I wrote, because that is how I exactly imagined it.” Sunghoon felt a sense of relief at your answer, with his nervousness dripping to a lower level as he spoke up. “So what did the female lead in the story do that you would follow?” His questions were making you even more dazed. “Hoon why are you-” “Please Y/n. I’m just really curious about it. It’s the first time something sparked my interest.” He cuts you off as his pleading orbs make contact with your hazel ones. You sigh as you continue. “In my story, the female lead was shocked to know that her date was a vampire. He had kept it hidden from her. But upon getting this new piece of information, she panics a little, but takes time to recollect herself before she accepts it.” Upon hearing your end of story, Sunghoon feels as if everything was falling into place. And it was time when he finally mustered up the courage to let you know. He takes hold of your hands as he looks down, with your gaze following his actions. A moment of silence follows as you gave him time to speak, after which he spoke, “What if this all was real? Would you believe me?” his voice sounds shaky as you look up to his face, noticing how he wasn’t making eye contact with you. You could sense the sadness in his voice. “Hoon, what’s wrong?” Panic arose in you as you could feel the sadness in his heart…it was always like that…the reflection of emotions that either of you shared was felt by the other. You wasted no time as you softly cupped his cheeks, making him face you. “H-Hoon please tell me what is wrong, I am there to help you right?” He locked gaze with you as your breaths became short and paced. He kept his hands on yours as he spoke. “The book that you are writing is exactly what we are.” The panic in your eyes turn into shock as you spoke, “What do you mean by ‘what we are?’” You had confusion lingering on your face but you heard him speak. “That I’m a vampire bonded to you, a human, as soulmates.” You loosened your grip around his face as you turned your head to the other side, nodding sideways as you couldn't bring yourself to believe it. 

“You must be kidding Hoon. It’s not possible.” You turned to look back at him, only to find his eyes glowing amber as his little fangs were visible from his pursed lips. Your eyes widened as your body jolted back a little. Sunghoon was unfazed as he expected this reaction from you but he maintained his composure as he looked down at your intertwined hands. “I’m sorry that I kept you in the dark but it was hard for me to let you know this…” He felt slightly disappointed when you slipped your hand away from his grip but he didn’t let the situation get the best of him. All of this just seemed unreal to you. You couldn’t bring yourself to believe all of this and were hoping to wake up from this dream but hearing his voice made you realize that it was just a piece of fantasy engraved in this realm of reality. “Sunghoon, all of this-” “I wanted to let you know that even if I’m a monster to you, we still are soulmates and I apologize that you have to go through all of this because of me.” While he was drawing deep into the depths of guilt, fear and agony, you were beyond amused upon finding him being a vampire. “Hoon-” he cuts you off again as he says, “I promise you Y/n I would never try to hurt you in any way. I never did before and I never would.” You were taken aback by how we were cutting you off. “Hoon, listen.” You held his hands again as he flinched at the warmth coming in contact with his icy skin as he locked gaze with you. “You don’t have to be sorry for something that wasn’t in your hands.” You paused for a while as you spoke, “Yes, I can’t bring myself to believe all this but…” Sunghoon looks at you, his eyes turning back as you take a pause. “Like you said that we are meant to be together, then you won’t find me distancing myself from you.” You broke into a small smile as his eyes widened a bit at your words. “W-What? You’re serious. I-If there is something on your mind, you can let me know-” You cut him off with a small peck on his lips, catching him off guard. “I don’t need to, Hoon.” His eyes are widened at your composure as his mouth hangs. “You are-” you cut him off as you speak “No hoon, I am not even slightly disgusted by this. How can you even think of that? For the fact that if I ever started to feel that way, I would never forgive myself for doing so.” You slightly chuckle as he looks away, not able to comprehend upon what just happened. “I can feel what you feel which is why I can never bring myself to despise anything about you.” You address him, intertwining your fingers with his as you let a small smile linger on your lips. He didn’t say anything as he continued to stare at you, as if he was expecting something bad to happen but it didn’t. “Hoon.” you tugged on his arm as he looked at you. “I swear I don’t feel anything like that.” You felt his hand snaking around your waist softly as he pulled you in his embrace. “Thank you…thank you for accepting it.” You ran your fingers through his locks as you spoke. After a few moments of adoration, you suddenly called his name, “Hoon.” to which he responded “Yes love?” His eyes filled with admiration as he waited for you to speak. “How did you know I was your soulmate?” your question made him break into a smile as he spoke, “I saw the half start birthmark on your right shoulder when you wore an off shoulder at my birthday party. I realized that it matches exactly with mine on my left shoulder.” He spoke as he showed his other half star birthmark on his shoulder.

“How come I have not noticed it?” You spoke, sulking a bit as he laughed at your reaction. “Well, I never showed it to you…” he paused as he had a slight smirk on his face. “Unless you want me to.” He leaned in a bit closer as to which you smacked his arm playfully. “You can never stop being cheesy can you?” Your cheeks turned rosy as you got flustered at the closeness. He laughed at your reaction. “You are easy to tease, you know.” You rolled your eyes at his actions, getting up to take your laptop as his eyes followed you. “Where are you heading?” You heard him speak as you took your laptop to your bed while sitting next to him. “You should have told me earlier Hoon, it would have saved my time from all the research I had to do for my book.” You made a light hearted statement as he let out a warm chuckle. “I did not expect a very smooth reaction from your end, to be honest.” His eyes sparkled as his dimples appeared, making you break into a smile. You were scrolling through the chapters as his eyes landed on one specific one; ‘Bite me.’ “He furrowed his eyes as he pointed towards the screen, catching your attention. “What’s that about?” You look to where he points, as you speak “Well, for that you will have to read the first 15 chapters before you get this. Cause you always ask me the synopsis of the story and never read it.” You huff at his reactions as he chuckles at your reaction. “I promise to read this one. Since we can relate here.” He kept his head on your shoulder, causing you to look at him as he spoke. “I always find your work more amusing than any other writers, so I might as well just read every single one of your work and that might spark my interest in every genre…” He had a mischievous grin on his face as he leaned in closer, with only a few inches of distance between you both; “even the explicit ones, darling.” Your face flustered at his words as you playfully hit him. “You pervert. I take help from my co-writers.” He lets out a loud chuckle as he nods sideways. “I don’t believe you. Whatever is written in those books just seems like it’s all written by you, so I won’t buy your excuses.” You rolled your eyes at him, using your pillow to smack him as he laughed at your reaction. 

“You have no other choice than to accept it Mr.Vampire.” You folded your arms on your chest as he continued to laugh at your reaction. “Whatever you say my love, I would definitely love to recreate each and every single one of those scenes with you.” His words caused you to get flustered as he leaned in closer to whisper. “Especially the ones in your current book.” Your cheeks turned deep crimson as you kept your hands on your cheeks “HOON! DON’T!” He pulled you in his embrace as he chuckled, sending vibrations down your whole body. “Don’t worry, I won’t do anything without your consent.” With that you broke into a smile yet again…letting his words linger in your mind as you thought for a moment. You found him nuzzling into your neck as he inhaled your scent, letting your brain wonder of his words. “How come you have never felt the urge to…” you paused for a while as you heard him speak, “Felt what?” You hesitated a bit as if it weren’t appropriate to say it right now. Not hearing you speak he broke from the embrace as his black orbs traced down to meet yours as you spoke, “to bite me?” Your words had him stunned as he shook his head sideways. “I had control over myself, I didn’t want to hurt or harm you in any way and, like I said earlier, I would never do anything with your consent-” “You have my consent Hoon.” He looked at you, as if searching for something. “What? No, I mean, are you okay with it?” His eyes searched for yours again…finding himself in a dilemma as to allow the time to rush things as they are or to give them a break. “I’m positive.” He gulped a little as he saw how you were ready. But it was difficult for him to do so, fearing that he might lose control. “I don’t know if I would be able to control myself Y/n, I don’t want you to get hurt-” You held his arm softly as you said, “I have faith that you won’t. I trust you.” That was more than enough to reassure him as he shifted on the bed behind you, softly removing your locks. “Do you need a safe word? Just say it and I'll stop.” You thought for a while as you spoke “Star?”  He nodded as his hand held your waist while the other gently held your nape, rubbing circles with his thumb as he pressed a gentle kiss on your temple. “Just loosen yourself a little love, I sense you all tensed up.” You took a deep sigh as you closed your eyes, nodding to give him a signal as you felt his breath fanning on your skin, and before you could count, you felt his sharp fangs digging into your skin. 

note; yes! my first work on this interface! I thought to start with a fluff one, cause why not! If there are any grammatical errors, please ignore because English is not my first language. Feel free to leave comments and re-blog <3

#sunghoon #sunghoon imagines #enhypen #enhypenimagines #vampire #heeseung #sim jaeyun #jungwon #jay #park sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen fanfiction

[cheesemonky]

Chapter 2: Just Listen To Me!

pairing: fairy!felix x fairy!reader

Series Masterlist

Word count: 2k

summary: A fairy gets their wings once they're 13. A normal one at least. You're 23, and still without any. This leaves you without a mate, because who would love a wingless fairy? So when you decide to leave, it's quite the surprise to find a fairy with a wing missing…

warnings: swearing, a shitton of dialogue NOT PROOF READ lmk if i missed anything :3

You hesitated for a moment, taking in the sight of the injured fairy before you. His breathing was laboured, and his body lay still as if he were dead. Almost his entire back was bloodied, as well as the ground around him. How long had he been here like this? After some contemplation, you approached his body slowly. Crouching down, you managed to get a closer look at his wound. Someone or something had completely ripped out his left wing. There was no sign that any animals were recently in the area, nor any humans. Dread settled in the pit of your stomach as you examined the gruesome scene before you. The absence of any immediate threats allowed you to focus on him. Gulping down your unease, you carefully inspected the wound. It was a clean tear, as if someone deliberately removed the wing. The unnatural precision made shivers run down your spine.

“Who could have done this..?” You muttered to yourself. Broken wings weren’t a rare sight, but to have an entire one torn out was… more than unusual. Your fingers traced the edges of the wound, and the blood felt far from fresh. Suddenly, you heard the caws of birds overhead. You had to get him out of the open. Hooking your arms under his, you dragged him out towards a large tree. Propping him up against the trunk, you set down your backpack, rummaging through it to find a shirt. You ripped a long piece of cloth out of it and wrapped it around the wound and across his chest. He didn’t sustain any other injuries, as far as you could tell. Maybe… you could stay with him a while. Just to make sure he was okay when he woke up. So for hours you waited, waited for him to come to his senses.

Just as you began to doze off next to him, you heard his breath hitch. It was a few seconds until his eyes finally fluttered open, and god, were they the most perfect things you’ve ever seen. He looked over at you for a moment, confusion and pain evident in his gaze, before he shuffled away from you. His eyes widened as he took in his surroundings and the makeshift bandage on his back.

"Where... am I?" he rasped, his voice barely audible.

“Australia.”

“Yeah, well, I know that…”

“Then I don’t know what to tell you.”

“What state..?”

“Sydney. What, you not from around here?” He sighed deeply at your words, rubbing his temples partly in weariness and also in annoyance.

“I am but… this isn’t my home.”

“Where is it then?”

“Well, you see, I’m a fairy so I live in a village with other fa-”

“I know, idiot, but that’s not what I was asking.” He looked at you in confusion and a hint of hurt. You were coming off a lot harsher than you wanted to. Maybe so long without any interaction was the cause.

“Sorry- let’s try again. What’s your name?”

“Felix. You?”

“Y/N. You’re a fairy, right?”

“Yeah. What about you?” You fiddle with your hands a little, attempting to keep your voice steady. To be fair, it wasn’t his fault. You don’t have any wings, so how could he tell?

“A fairy…” You mumbled, hoping he would sense how uncomfortable you were and drop the question.

“Hm? What did you say?”

“A fairy.” You said, slightly louder and firmer this time. And once again, the now familiar face of confusion he seems to like bearing appears.

“Where are… what happened to your wings?”

“Does it really matter?”

“I’m just asking… did they take yours as well?” You felt a little bad for him, honestly. You were being so unpleasant to someone you had just met and saved the life of. 

“I never had any.”

“What?”

“Wings. I never had any wings. I never got mine.”

“I feel like you’re lying to me.” This time, instead of snapping at him, you turned your body to face him. You hadn’t noticed, but he was listening quite closely to everything you had been saying. Hands in his lap, head tilted to the side and his face was clearly focused on what was being said.

“I’m not. I just… never got wings.”

“How do I know you aren’t just a tiny human?”

“Have you ever seen a human this small?”

“... no.”

“Exactly.” For a while, he looked away and at the tree in contemplation, fiddling with some of the peeling bark. You weren’t sure if he believed you or not, especially with how unreal your story sounds to others. With the silence dragging on, you decided to raise a question that should’ve been asked at the start.

“So what happened to your wing?” His eyes widened as he realised that he in fact did have a problem with his wing. He turned his head to get a good look at the shiny piece of him that was laying a few metres from where he was before, still with ling

“I… don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

“I literally told you I was a fairy without wings.”

“Well-... okay, fine. In my village, I was part of this group called Stray Kids.” Strange name, but okay. Who were you to judge? Plus, the name sounded somewhat familiar.

“We’re… not really superheroes, but we did help in defeating the Sound Monster.”

“Wait, that was you? The news of you guys taking it down was going around everywhere! I heard it even reached parts of Korea, which is like, really far away. Maybe not superheroes, but definitely celebrities. Is that how you lost it?” Though you chose to believe it, you still had a few doubts. Was it really this sweet and adorable young man who helped kill it?

“Nah, it was too long ago for my back to be bleeding out now. You see, after we took it down I went back to just see if we missed anything. And we did. There were these strange pieces of… something that had formed after the battle. I picked one up and I felt more magic in that moment than I have in my whole life.” The story started to sound a little more unbelievable now, yet you continued to trust him on it.

“I hid it well for a while. I didn’t even tell my friends. Until I had to defend myself and some other against a human. I used a bit too much magic and someone from our council was there to see it. I had an entire court trial and everything! I didn’t realise having too much magic was a crime.”

“It isn’t. Not where I’m from.”

“Well, it was more “illegal possession of unidentified magic” and “dangerous use of magic”. But how was I supposed to know?”

“Okay, those sound more like things you could be arrested for. But the wing..?”

“Right. So, it turns out fairies are idiots and the only way that they know how to get rid of someone’s magic is to take away a wing or two.”

“So they just… ripped it out?”

“Basically.” You couldn’t help but feel bad for him. To have a part of you just taken away like that would mean immense pain, physically and mentally. And it makes sense now as to why the cut was so clean. 

“Did it work though?”

“A little too well. I lost that extra magic plus some of my own. I haven’t got much left anymore.”

“So what now? I mean, I could teach you a thing or two about living out here but I'm not letting you follow me around." Actually, you probably would. Even though you're glad that all those who hurt you are in the past, you still get lonely. Plus, he's kind of like you in a way, no? With a missing wing and all.

"Huh? What, no way! I need to get my magic back!" He said with a bit more cheeriness than necessary. It was your turn to be confused now.

"And how do you plan on doing that exactly?"

"Okay, now you won't believe me." Has this guy really not learnt anything? If an anomaly such as yourself can exist, you're sure that others could as well.

"Just tell me. It's not like my opinion will stop you anyways." Glancing at you once more, he took a deep breath and continued his story.

“Well, since I was young, my mother always told me this story about-”

“Wait, wait, you’re going off of a children’s story?”

“I-I mean, it’s pretty believable… Plus it's not a children’s story! There’s been a lot of people who’ve actually managed to do it…” You were starting to get a little suspicious with his story. You didn't want him to get into any unwanted trouble or danger.

"If you want me to be convinced, you should try a bit harder to make the story believable."

"Didn't you say it didn't matter what you thought?" You opened your mouth to respond, but you closed it straight after you realised you had no response. There wasn't anything you could say about that. You sighed, nodding once for him to continue.

“It’s been rumoured that somewhere deep in our Bush, the Heart of Eris is still there.”

“Eris… Eris as in the Goddess of Fairies?”

“Yes, that Eris. It’s the thing that sourced all fairy magic and the reason we still have it.”

“... please don’t say what I think you’re gonna say…”

“Look, just listen to me, yeah? I’m gonna try to find it!” You fucking knew it. He really did live up to the ‘dumb blonde’ name. What was he thinking, following the story of a children’s tale? And he didn’t even have a proper amount of magic!

“You are literally gonna die out there.”

“Then come with me.”

“...huh?” You stared at him a while, trying to see if he was being serious or not. You felt like you were the only one using any of their brain cells at that moment. He wants you, a fairy without wings or any magic, to go with him, an injured fairy who has barely any more magic than yourself, to find something that probably doesn’t even exist?

“No.”

“What- why?! Come on, maybe we could even get you a pair of wings!” For a moment, you were tempted. Even after learning to live without any, you’ve always known that you would be happier if you did have them. But wasting all of your hard work out here to go look for something that could get you killed? Not worth it.

“I said no. That’s it.”

“I-... fine then. It’s not like we’re friends anyways. I’ll go myself.” As he began to stand up, you grabbed his arm gently. You were a little surprised he didn’t put up more of a fight.

“At least rest for a while. You’re still injured.” He stood still for a moment, not facing you, before settling down back where he was before. You had to stop yourself from smiling at the small pout on his face as you grabbed some things from your bag. Pulling out a small blanket you had brought from your old home, you passed it to him while you grabbed a sweater for yourself. He mumbled a small thank you before turning to lay on the ground. You stayed up for a while, just until he fell asleep before falling into your own slumber. But your dreams were unexpected. They were those same nightmares. The ones you hadn’t had for ages now. They were back and they hurt so much more than last time. Though, there was someone in the background. You heard Felix’s voice, talking so sweetly about something or other. And then there were wings, and the Heart of Eris and everything he had talked about. Was this dream telling you something?

The next morning, you woke up early to find some berries or small nuts and seeds to eat. By the time you got back, Felix had woken up too and had folded your blanket for you. Holding out a seed for him to take, you packed your blanket back in.

“I’ll be going now. Thanks for the help though.” His smile was far too bright for you not to change your mind. Plus, that dream wasn’t any help.

“Let me help you more.”

“What?”

“I’m coming with you.”

taglist: @mumusreblogs @kai-lee08 @2minstan @painstakingly-juno @jinnie-ret @juskz @nvmkyuu @asp3ntr33 @cinnabunnyongbok send an ask to be on the taglist!!

leisel's note: helloo!!!! this is kinda of rushed and there is a lot more dialogue than i wanted but i cant help ittt im sorryyyy but yeah thanks for reading and reblogs are always appreciated :3

#skz #skz fics #stray kids #lee felix #felix angst #felix fluff #skz fluff #stray kids x reader #fairy felix!! #<3 #felix x reader #skz Felix #lee yongbok #skz angst #skz series

[vampireimiko]

For MK1 Mileena ( and if it's okay to add in Baraka? ) after everything that have happened, what if one of the earthrealmer fighters ( gn!reader ) decided to stay in outworld as they are very skilled medical doctor and military medical officer who research about virus and disease

And let's say after many months doing ethical decisions and experiments the found a cure for the tarkat that stabilize not also the animalistic of the agresstion but also keep the individual actual stable mentally and not have intense hunger, like they are back to normal in some ways, but they can't fix the physical aspect due to them theories that it have some magic involved

Cures

warnings, none ^_^

note, i don't know if the request was insinuating mileena x reader or not, so if it was my apologies 😭‼️

"How are you feeling Mileena?" You asked carefully as she was just waking up from being sedated.

Mileena's eyes slowly fluttered open, adjusting to the light. She blinked a few times before focusing on you. The remnants of the sedation still lingered, giving her a dazed expression.

You repeated your question, concern evident in your voice. "How are you feeling, Mileena?"

She groggily attempted to sit up, wincing slightly. "I feel like I got hit by a carriage.. but other than that I'm fine," she muttered, her voice raspy.

You nodded, noting her discomfort. "That's expected after the procedure. You'll need some time to recover. We managed to stabilize the aggression and hunger aspects of your condition. How's your mental state?"

Mileena frowned, contemplating. "Clearer, less chaotic. It's strange, but not bad."

You smiled at her, happy that signs of your treatment working showed in her. "That is wonderful Mileena. If you have anymore concerns, you can always contact me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I had to check on Baraka."

Mileena nodded, acknowledging your words. "Thank you," she replied, her tone a mix of gratitude and curiosity. The transformation she experienced, was a journey that held promise and uncertainty.

"Also, before I go, I do believe Tanya is still outside." You said with a subtle smirk on your face.

Mileena's eyes widened with a mix of surprise and realization. A mischievous grin spread across her face as she caught your subtle hint. "Is she? Well, I should go greet her properly. Maybe flaunt my newfound stability," she said, chuckling lightly.

As you walk towards the room Baraka is currently occupating, you start to feel a bit guilty. Baraka had always talked about the struggles of Tarkat and how it basically ruined his life. You knew you hadn't fully cured Tarkat but hopefully the suppresser you made would soon lead into a full blown cure for those inflicted with Tarkat.

Entering Baraka's room, you found him in a state of post-procedure recovery. His characteristic blades were momentarily retracted, and the aggressive stance had softened. Baraka glanced at you, a hint of gratitude in his gaze.

"How are you feeling, Baraka?" you inquired, your tone carrying genuine concern.

The Tarkatan warrior grunted, a gesture that could be interpreted as a positive response.

"I feel normal again. The hunger I once felt is no longer there."

You took a moment to examine his vital signs and overall condition, ensuring that the stabilization process was proceeding as intended.

"That's encouraging, Baraka. The suppression of the aggressive tendencies and hunger is a significant step forward," you explained, your voice reflecting a cautious optimism. "However, it's essential to monitor your condition closely as we work towards a more comprehensive solution."

Baraka nodded, a rare expression of gratitude crossing his usually fierce features. "I appreciate what you've done. It's a change I never thought possible."

As you continued your examination, the weight of responsibility for finding a permanent cure for the Tarkatan condition weighed on you. The progress made with Mileena and Baraka was promising, but the complexity of their physiology posed unique challenges.

"We're not done yet, Baraka. I'm committed to finding a complete cure. In the meantime, rest and let the stabilization take its course. If you experience any changes or discomfort, don't hesitate to inform me," you assured him.

𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞; 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐚 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐒𝐎 𝐛𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 ☹️ 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐦 (𝐢𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥) 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 !!

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

#spirits works 🤍 #mileena #mk mileena #mileena x reader #mileena x tanya #baraka x reader #baraka mk #mk baraka #mortal kombat x black reader #mortal kombat x reader #mk x reader #x black reader #black!reader #black reader

[shu-box-puns]

I never would have given you to them; not for anything (Tsu'tey x Reader)

Last Chapter <- Part 5

If you prefer to read on Ao3, the fic can be found here!

Summary: You can choose to stay.

Word Count: 7532

Reader uses they/them pronouns.

Perched upon Eywa’s throne after yet another near death experience, you were officially contemplating if Eywa wasn’t just some neurological connection between the tree of Pandora, and was actually some dormant deity. Because for some reason, She really wanted you alive.

In the last twenty-four hours, you had been released from Bridgehead, captured and interrogated, only to somehow escape the first encounter, only to end up shot and then resurrected over the course of an hour, all so you could be nearly stabbed to death before the day was out. And somehow, you were still fucking alive, despite almost dying more times in one day, than you had in your entire previous life.

You would’ve found it hilarious if you had had the energy to laugh. But instead, you just felt drained. Whatever will to live that had been keeping you going until now, was running on fumes. You were hopelessly hungry and achy from the bullet wounds smarting across your side, and to add insult to injury, you had no idea what was happening. 

Tsu’tey seemed to have decided you were returning to camp with everyone, despite how little he clearly trusted you. And for some reason, neither Jake nor Neytiri had objected.

It wasn’t as if you had much of a choice regardless. With Quaritch and the rest of your squad dead and General Ardmore no doubt informed of your betrayal, marching back into Bridgehead would be about as effective as eating a bullet. Not to mention, with your injury, wandering off into the forest would result in a similar situation. 

Perhaps if you hadn’t exerted every inch of energy you had left getting Spider out from under Quaritch’s knife, you could’ve managed option two. But that didn’t matter now.

The body of your late comrades remained sprawled across the grass, their blood soaked into the earth beneath them. You felt no remorse for bringing about their end. Spider hadn’t deserved to die so you would have an opening to get away. He was Tsu’tey’s son, and that was enough to make him worth protecting.

At least they would finally be able to rest.

Your gaze flickered away from the bodies towards your own grave. Of course, it hadn’t moved since you found it earlier, where it had silently observed everything that had happened here. Unmoving and indifferent. It offered no answers beyond what had become of your past self. 

The skeleton it cradled would not sit up and push the dirt off like a cosy blanket. The corpse would not reanimate and take a seat beside you upon the roots of the Throne. It would not laugh and sigh as it retold its life, filling in all the blanks the Tree hadn’t. Hell, its body wouldn’t even hold the evidence of what had killed it. By now there would be no fingerprints nor injuries to examine. 

In your peripheral, Tsu’tey slipped into view, his hands visible and his expression solemn. Without turning your head, you moved your eyes towards him in acknowledgement. The mourning paint from his nose to his forehead had been mostly scraped away, his flying helmet set low above his brows. 

“We’re ready to go.” He told you simply, “Jake has room on his ikran for you.”

You hummed, eyes rolling back to the grave. To the source of so many questions and anxieties.

Tsu’tey shifted restlessly on his feet. “Look.” He stepped closer, but at your instinctive shift to keep some distance between you, he quickly stilled himself. His ears lowered in understanding, his hands raised to show his empty fingers again. “I just wanted to thank you for protecting Spider and the others.” Tsu’tey said simply, his tone earnest. “I know I didn’t say so before.” You looked him up and down, finding no ulterior motive in his gratitude. 

“It’s what they would have done.” You said simply, knowing that you both understood who you were referring to. 

“Yes.” Tsu’tey agreed.

Another beat of silence.

“What happened?” Tsu’tey shifted on his feet, swallowing loudly. “What?” “What happened to them?” You repeated, eyes boring into the carved name of your headstone. In your peripheral, you watched Tsu’tey study you, before he shifted back a step and glanced at the graves. His body was wound tight, as if it pained him to acknowledge them. As if he viewed them as some sort of failure. 

“We should head back-” “What happened, Tsu’tey?” You pressed firmly, tearing your eyes from the graves to meet his. “The Tree showed me so much, but it didn’t give me answers. I need you to be honest with me, or I can’t trust you.”

He swallowed. “Okay.”

“What happened to them? What killed them?”

>_<

“What killed them?”

Tsu’tey hated this. He despised the haunted look in their eye. He loathed the pain echoed in their eyes, both mental and physical. All he wanted was to go home. He wanted the safety of the clan surrounding his family. He wanted a warm meal, his comfortable hammock, and the knowledge that this nightmare was over.

“Did She not show you?” Tsu’tey asked instead of responding plainly. 

The recom shook their head. “Not all of it. Someone gave me a tea.” 

“Yes. It was infused with mucus from the Txumtsa’wll.” Tsu’tey confirmed with a grimace. He hadn’t realised at first, and had found the soiled mug in the compound some hours afterwards, the smell having drawn his attention. “Shit.” The recom breathed, “then why did they stab me?” “The tea alone would have taken too long to kill you.” Tsu’tey replied honestly, “and it is treatable if the patient is given the antidote quickly enough.” He paused to gather himself, stomach squirming as the uncomfortable memories began to resurface easily now that he was talking about it. “Arvok, my brother knew what he was doing. And he knew he would be noticed if he was gone too long. He struck on the night of a meeting between our clan and one of the horse clans. He stole one of their knives and framed their Olo’eyktan for your death. You died in my arms when I tried to get you to Mo’at.”

The recom was uncomfortably silent.

“How did you catch him?” They had finally stopped looking at their grave as if it would offer answers and were instead looking at him. Properly looking at him. Not his ear or the space above his eye, like they had when they feared him before, now they were looking at him like an equal.

Somehow, it didn’t make this any easier to say. “He went after Spider.” Tsu’tey spat, “and it was his last mistake.”

He could still feel the rage of that betrayal simmering beneath his skin, even fifteen years later. Could still feel the chokehold of grief that had blinded him. Forcing him to be reliant on Mo’at and the rest of the clan, to help him care for Spider when the sadness of losing his mate got the best of him. 

He could still taste the FURY that had burned the back of his throat when he turned up to  Arvok’s hut to pick Spider up, only to find his son suffocating. Arvok had laid the infant out on his back and removed his exo-mask, his face horrifyingly devoid of emotion as Tsu’tey’s son choked to death.

<”WHAT ARE YOU DOING!”> Tsu’tey had snarled, his body moving how he wanted for the first time in weeks. His vision had narrowed down to his son, panic and betrayal making his hands shake as he shoved Arvok aside and dove for Spider. With unsteady but determined hands, he had secured Spider’s mask back to his face. 

<”It is for your own good Tsu’tey.”> His little brother had informed him, whilst Tsu’tey had kept his back to him, his attention solely on Spider. With careful fingers, he had combed Spider’s hair back from his face, relief blooming in his chest as colour returned to Spider’s face and his eyes cleared. He was still breathing hard, catching his breath, but humans usually recovered without difficulty at this stage.

At his back, Arvok was still monologuing, basically admitting to the murder he had allowed the visiting Olo’eyktan to take the fall for.

With Spider recovering, Tsu’tey had finally turned his attention to the threat. <”It was you? You did this?!”> Tsu’tey hissed, fury replacing the fear as he turned slowly. 

<”Yes.”> Arvok admitted freely. And he was smiling. 

<”It was your fault?”> Tsu’tey bellowed, <”I had to bury my mate, because of you? Spider’s other parent is rotting in a grave, because of you? You did this?”>

Arvok nodded again.

<”This nightmare never ends, and it’s your fault!”> He wasn’t entirely sure when he had reached for his knife, but it was in his hand regardless. <”YOU DID THIS!”>

Arvok seemed to have caught on that Tsu’tey didn’t agree with his motive. The coward had startled at his raised voice, his hands rising in surrender as he began to back up.

<”Tsu’tey!”> His mate’s murderer pleaded, <”think about what you’re doing-”> <”NO!”> Tsu’tey snarled, his tail thrashing with rage. His hands ached to kill, his entire body ached actually. From heartache and loneliness and remaining in his hammock for too long. But he was moving. Finally his mind and body were in sync again, listening to him. Willing to help him carry out vengeance. To protect his son from this threat and avenge his fallen loved one. <”I will not think! I will not wait! This ends NOW! I will NOT allow you to hurt ANYONE ELSE!”>

Arvok fumbled to draw his blade, but it was too late, Tsu’tey had already tackled him to the ground. His brother had shrieked and wiggled, pleading for mercy, but Tsu’tey had given up listening. His knife punctured vulnerable flesh with a wet slice, and the body beneath him began to tire. 

He recalled the numbness that had followed. How his limbs had refused to cooperate again as he had crawled off the body, tears sliding down his face as grief tore open his chest anew. He had gathered up his unconscious son and crawled towards the hut’s entrance. He had only been able to make it as far as the walkway outside before he was forced to rest, his limbs screaming in exertion as a panic attack threatened to crawl up the back of his throat. 

All he could think about was his son choking in his arms. About the promise he had made to his dead mate to look after him. How he had almost failed not even two weeks after they’d died.

He was a terrible father. 

He’d curled up outside the hut for what felt like hours, tears slipping silently down his cheeks as he protectively curled around Spiders’s little body. Listening to his heartbeat even out and feeling his breaths with every puff of the exo mask. 

Mo’at had been the one to find him. She had always been like a mother to him. Even more so in those moments, when she had peered into Arvok’s hut, and seen his body, but had not flinched away from Tsu’tey. Her voice had been soothing and calm as she had helped him up, coaxing him into keeping a firm hold on Spider as she led him away from the scene.

Within minutes, she’d had him sat in her hut with a cup of tea in hand, whilst she sent hunters to deal with Arvok. By the time Spider had spluttered awake, Mo’at already had food waiting for him and Tsu’tey had stopped shaking. 

With a hard blink, Tsu’tey was back to the present. Stood beneath the shade of Eywa’s Throne with his family readying their ikran at his back, as he looked upon the reincarnated form of his mate and finally felt as if a weight was being lifted from his shoulders. 

“I dealt with him personally. He will not be a threat to you, should you choose to remain with us once you are healed.” Tsu’tey continued.

“I’m just sorry I wasn’t there.” The recom breathed, “that can’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t.” Tsu’tey replied simply, because it was true. It hadn’t. And several times, he was sure he wasn’t going to pull through. “But you are now. I asked Eywa for a miracle. For you to stop being dead. And you did.” He smiled, small and private, whilst the recom nodded. “And you came home.” 

“I wanted to.” The recom admitted. “Getting back to you was my first thought upon waking up. I wasn’t even sure if the clan had survived the Battle for The Tree of Souls, but I had to know anyway.”

“Thank you.” Tsu’tey said again, and they looked up. He did not elaborate, and they did not ask him to. 

And this time, when he offered a hand to help them stand, they took it. 

>_<

“Hold tight.” Jake called over his shoulder, prompting you to tighten your arms around his waist as he coaxed Bob into a fluid glide under the belly of a colossal mountain. The wind tore at your hair and bullied your ears into lowering tight against your skull. You didn’t have a visor, so you’d been forced to duck tight against Jake’s back so his bulk would block most of it. Your eyes watered as you peeled them open a crack against the sting, to watch the mountain pass. 

Far below, the forest sprawled, and you couldn’t help but feel safe. Even if it was Jake doing the driving. As if to prove your point, your pilot unexpectedly rose higher on his stirrups, yanking you up with him thanks to your death grip around his stomach. Crouched awkwardly behind Jake, you winced as he yipped loudly over his shoulder, prompting the other ikran to fall into formation behind Bob. 

With another turn and a great swerve, the flock neatly soaring up into the hidden mouth of High Camp’s entrance. 

The camp stretched out below you from wall to wall. A living, breathing community of homes and cooking fires, interwoven with the compounds the scientists used to live alongside it all.

Bob circled once above it all before landing on the lip of the rocks as he had before. The rest of the flock followed suit. 

Your hands were ice cold from the wind, but somehow, you managed to peel your frozen limbs out of their death grip around Jake. Sitting back heavily in the saddle, you breathed out a sigh of relief now that there was no longer any danger of plummeting to your death.

Jake turned in the saddle, looking back at you over his shoulder with amusement plain on his face. “I’m surprised you didn’t scream the whole way up here.” “You forget I also used to accompany Trudy on her missions.” You replied sharply. “A little rough flying and a maniac of a pilot hasn’t killed me yet.”

Jake raised a brow at the irony, but didn’t push. “Need a hand down?” He asked instead. 

“I got it.”

He shot you a look that clearly said he didn’t believe you, but he dismounted alone regardless. Remaining in Bob’s saddle, you watched Jake stride towards Neytiri’s ikran and raise his hands in preparation to help Tuk down. 

Then you remembered that there were things to do and a clan to inform, all whilst you were relaxing on someone else’s ikran. Glancing down, you realised that you couldn’t actually judge how high the drop from the saddle to the ground was going to be. Even the flight up had drained you, and you could feel yourself on the cusp of crashing now that your adrenaline rush had well and truly died. Readjusting your grasp on the saddle straps, you yelped when Bob seemed to sense your struggle and smoothly lowered himself to the ground. Stretching your legs down, you scrambled for purchase whilst clinging tightly to the saddle. 

Bob was surprisingly patient and remained still until your feet touched cool stone and you slid off him entirely. He cooed softly as you leant against him, the world briefly spinning now that you had moved too much.

At your back, Mo’at’s booming voice echoed throughout the chamber.  <”Welcome home!”> Glancing over your shoulder, you found the Tsahik and a good chunk of the clan crowded around the landing area. 

Despite how gently you had moved, the movement pulled your torso wound wrong and you hissed in pain, ripping a hand away from the saddle to apply pressure. Which was bloody ridiculous because you’d just endured an entire flight without it complaining more than a dull throb. 

Your knees buckled without you focusing hard on keeping them straight, but luckily, Bob was a nice tempered ikran and simply followed you down instead of watching you topple over like Jake probably would have if you had instead allowed him to help.

Bob cooed encouragingly, his big head swinging round to lightly push at your shoulder. His scales were cool against your heated skin; soothing. 

Distantly, you could hear Mo’at waxing poetry to the clan, declaring some bullshit about Eywa repaying everyone’s hard work and devotion by offering one of the fallen a second chance. The People ate it up with hums of agreement, blindly trusting their Tsahik as they should. She might have mentioned the other recoms, or dragged Jake’s situation into the mix, but you couldn’t really hear.

White noise had swept in and drowned out her loud, regal voice. Your vision swam, but you could feel the stone you were sitting on and the saddle strap still clutched tightly in your hand. You could hear Bob chirping and feel the vibrations of feet approaching. 

Shadows flitted across your unseeing vision as a hand soothed down your back, whilst more checked your forehead for a fever. An even smaller set cupped your cheek, encouraging you to look at a small, pale face locked away behind an exo mask. You blinked slowly, feeling horrendously nauseous. 

Someone else dropped to their knees by your side, causing the other hands to retreat. The hands that touched you now were uncertain but supportive, encouraging your crumbled form to lean into them. You felt hands on your kuru, lifting and moving the braid, but it didn’t hurt, so you didn’t bother to fight it. 

There was softer, comforting talking happening right in front of your face, but your ears couldn’t figure out the words. Not whether they spoke in Na’vi or English, let alone what was being said, but the sound was comforting all the same as you felt yourself beginning to drift. 

There was zing up your kuru that flooded warmth into the base of your skull where your braid connected to the top of your spine. The pain seemed to ebb in its wake, leaving behind a sensation that could only be described as soothing.

I’ve got you. Tsu’tey’s voice promised, although it spoke in your mind rather than out loud. Clearer than anything that was happening in High Camp. He sounded kind, like he had in the memories, instead of angry at your very existence.

Hurts. You thought back, letting out a pained shout as you were abruptly lifted by whoever you were leaning into. Their grasp was firm on you, more grounding than painful now that you were being held steady.

I know. We’re gonna make you better.

Spider? He is here.

More vibrations thrummed through your cheek, which was pressed against a cool collarbone, as the person holding you spoke out loud. Almost instantly, a small hand reached up to grab your limp arm, which hung down. Five fingers squeezed down, sending a bolt of relief through you.

You found yourself suddenly grateful that this inevitable crash hadn’t happened in the forest. If they had decided to leave you behind, you would’ve been vulnerable to predators or detected by the RDA. But here you were instead, hidden within the heart of the clan, concealed within the floating mountains. That is right. Tsu’tey soothed in your mind. You are safe here. We will not allow harm to come to you.

And you believed him. 

The rest was a blur after Tsu’tey ducked into Mo’at’s hut. Your strength had almost completely departed now, as you hung limply in Tsu’tey’s grasp. Strangely, the Olo’eyktan continued to be unsettlingly gentle as he sat himself down beside the fire, with you cradled between his knees and your head resting back across his shoulder. His touch burned your over sensitive skin, but it was as soothing as it was unsettling. 

You saw the hut through Tsu’tey’s eyes, your own suddenly too tired to stay open. You were in the same hut as before, Mo’at’s herbs hanging from the ceiling whilst a pot of something strong bubbled over the flames. Spider had already moved towards where Mo’at kept her instruments, his back tense as he began pulling out various things. You could feel Tsu’tey searching for something to say to soothe his worries, but Mo’at swept in before he could voice anything.

<”Good.”> The Tsahik breathed as the curtains swished shut behind her. There was an unspoken lightness to her tone as she moved further into the room, ruffling Spider’s dreads as she went. <”I will not have to bully you into creating the bond. That shall allow this to go much more easily.”> She paused to take note of what Spider had already begun to pull from her supply, a proud grin tugging across her lips at what she found. <”You’re learning.”> She praised, to which both you and Tsu’tey noticed some of the tension leaving Spider.

Mo’at squeezed his shoulder, before returning her attention to you and frowning. <”Now, let us see the damage.”> She approached on steady feet, sinking to her hunches at Tsu’tey’s side as she began asking questions about your injuries. 

Between the three of them, they began patching you up. Tsu’tey kept you steady and the pain at bay, whilst Mo’at cut away your shirt and the old leaf bandages to get at the wounds beneath. Spider handed over disinfectants and cooling salves that she took great care in firmly rubbing into the fresh wounds. The pressure was even and predictable, allowing you to suck in shaky breaths whenever she withdrew her hand for another dose. 

As Mo’at carefully bandaged you up, you felt Tsu’tey beginning to relax on the other end of the bond. Until now, he’d been careful to keep his own emotions in check, so much so that you had barely realised he was tense. But now you could feel it. His anxiety came in waves, ebbing and flowing with no rhythm. As soon as he was calming the first, a second would unexpectedly sweep in to drench him, causing his heartbeat to pound against your back. Stubbornly, his face remained unreadable.

With what little strength you had left, you reached up to cover his hand that was gently curled over your stomach. 

I’m fine now. You told him mentally with a tight squeeze to the back of his hand. Good as new.

There was no fresh wave of guilt to challenge your claim, and something visibly loosened in him. Through the bond, you got the vague sense that he wanted to bury his face into your shoulder and cling tightly, but it was gone as quickly as it came. 

<”Tsu’tey sit them up higher.”> Mo’at suddenly said from closer than you were anticipating. Dutifully, Tsu’tey obeyed, whilst you cracked open an eyelid to find Mo’at holding a bowl of something steaming and a spoon. <”There you are.”> She said softly, <”try and eat something before you go back to sleep. Today has taken a lot from you. You will need your strength.”> As she spoke, she filled the spoon with warm broth and raised it to your mouth. You opened and hummed in thanks as the warmth flooded from your tongue into your body. It was the most delicious thing you’d had since waking up. Hearty and soothing, sweet but not too much so. Worlds better than RDA rations. It warmed you from the inside out, allowing sleep to make your eyelids heavy.

<”Spider, could you clear some space for a spare hammock, of course we’ll need to monitor them-”>

<”Dad and I could look after them!”> Spider rushed out before abruptly cutting himself off. He cleared his throat. <”I mean, we have room. In our hut?”>

You grumbled softly, content to let them figure it out between them. With the broth heavy in your belly, you could feel sleep finally digging its claws in and refusing to relent. This time, you couldn’t have stayed awake if you wanted to. 

>_<

For what felt like weeks but could have only been days, you flowed in and out of consciousness like river water around submerged stones. When the current pulled you higher, you managed to peel your eyes open to find a woven hut roof and a warm bowl of something light to eat waiting for you. 

And when it pulled you deep down within yourself, you relied on the comforting presence of Tsu’tey to keep you grounded. During those times you shared Tsaheylu, the pain was relieved better than any painkiller, as if Tsu’tey swept it away through sheer force of will. With the connection also came stories, fond memories that Tsu’tey offered to pass the time. Some you recalled from before everything went to shit, and some that were new.

If you were especially lucky, you would drift up enough to hear Tsu’tey asking Spider for memory ideas. To which the boy would happily and animatedly narrate some fond memory he had, whilst Tsu’tey recalled it from his own perspective and fed it down the bond to you. 

It was a simple, repetitive existence. So much so that it was jarring to float upwards again and find yourself staying there. 

Your eyes were crusty as you peeled them open, your back smarting from lying still for so long. But you could already tell you didn’t hurt as much. There were still bandages wrapped securely around your torso, slightly restricting your breathing, but you didn’t feel wet under them. Your injuries were definitely on the mend. 

The hammock you were tucked in swayed gently as the rest of the hut came into view. It was not one you had been in before. 

In the pit, the cooking fire had fizzled out into nothing, whereas the repetitive, slow breathing of someone nearby alerted you to the fact you were not alone. Everything hurt as you eased yourself up into a sitting position, surprised to find yourself stripped of your ratty, RDA issued uniform and instead dressed in the traditional na’vi loincloth. Your hair felt clean for the first time in days, the build up of sweat and grime washed away whilst you were unconscious. 

The world swayed as you struggled to haul yourself out of the hammock, dark spots floating across your vision as you grasped one of the supports for dear life. The tent your hammock was strung up in was tidy, but clinical, with hooks lining the ceiling supports in uniformed rows and baskets of healing supplies carefully tucked away against the far wall. A long rug covered most of the uneven stone floor, whereas the entrance to your right was pulled to, but not obstructed.

“Zaza?” A small voice groaned from behind you, heavy with sleep. Your ears pricked as you turned, finding Spider half out of a hammock three times too large for him. “Where are you going?” There was thinly veiled panic hidden in his tone, accented with the way he was holding himself dangerously still. Uncertain whether to approach.

“Where am I?” You asked instead of answering, tail ramrod straight as the boy fully slipped out of the hammock. His stripes were dull now, somehow, you could tell even in the low light. 

“In the infirmary,” Spider offered easily, hands plainly in sight as he slowly approached. “I wanted to take you home but Dad said you might not be comfortable with it.”

“I see.” You replied neutrally.

“Are you hungry?” Spider offered when you didn’t follow the sentence up with anything else. You found yourself nodding hesitantly, to which Spider smiled tightly. The cuts Quaritch’s knife had left across his throat had scabbed over.

“Can we go to mine and Dad’s tent? We have ingredients there for breakfast?”

“Only if that is okay with your Dad.” It felt weird to refer to Tsu’tey like that. “He won’t mind.” Spider replied too quickly, flashing you a winning smile. Smiling back, you followed him out of the tent and into the main chamber of High Camp.

The camp was quiet considering the early hour, with only the odd hunter milling around and the ikran perched near the cave mouth. 

Spider walked noticeably slow ahead of you, glancing back periodically as if you would slip away between the tents if he didn’t keep an eye on you. 

The boy’s tent was surprisingly empty of Tsu’tey when he held the curtain open for you. As you rounded the dormant fire pit to take a seat, you noted the two hammocks strung near the back wall, alongside the knick knacks and keepsakes scattered beneath the one on the left - clearly Spiders. Whereas Tsu’tey’s was neatly tidied with his bow stand empty and his arrows gone. The tent felt homely, and well lived in.

Spider was clearly comfortable navigating it. With confidence, he woke a fire and began pulling all manner of fruits out of the various baskets near the entrance. Pausing to tie back his dreadlocks, he neatly pulled out a spear knife from a box and got comfortable on the opposite side of the fire. WIth a steady grip, he ducked his head and began dutifully cutting the closest thing to him - a yovo fruit.  

Between you, the fire popped merrily, and you very quickly realised you had nothing to say to him. Besides sharing a near death experience and a common drive to keep each other alive, you realised you had nothing in common. You didn’t really know him.

“How’s your throat?” “Healing.” Spider replied after a heartbeat of silence. “H-how’s your side?” “Better.” You assured him, with a subconscious touch to the healing injury in question. “I’m assuming I have you and your Dad to thank for that?” Spider ducked his head. “Dad did most of the work, I just helped.” “And yet you were standing guard when I came to.” 

Spider flushed this time as if he was embarrassed you had noticed. “I fell asleep.” He admitted with a mumble. 

The corner of your mouth tugged up at the quiet admission. “Don’t beat yourself up over it, I’m the exact same when I sit still for too long. You’ve had a difficult-” you trailed off, “how long have I been out?” “Two days.” Spider supplied helpfully. 

“Thank you, it’s been a difficult few days.”

“It hasn’t been bad.” Spider admitted absently, using his knife to half and scrape some freshly sliced  yovo fruit into two nearby bowls. He was quiet for a moment as he picked up the slightly larger portion and held it out to you. Ducking your head in thanks, you reached forward to take it from him, but Spider didn’t let go.

Meeting his gaze, you found him already watching you with a long look. “Thank you for not dying again.” He said sincerely, “I’d really appreciate getting to know you this time around.”

You smiled bitterly at the sentiment, a look that Spider mirrored easily. 

“And I, you.” You replied easily, finding that you meant it as he let you take the bowl. “I’ve heard great things about you Spider, it’ll be nice to get to know you better.” He averted his gaze then, scooping up a bit of fruit and stuffing it into his mouth instead of responding straight away. Taking a page out of his book, you lowered your gaze and did the same. The fruit was delicious. It was sweet and full to bursting. With every bite you had to wipe the sides of your mouth because of the sheer amount of juice in every piece.

“Will you stay?” Spider asked when his bowl was half empty. You paused mid-bite to find him looking at the fire instead of you.

Swallowing your mouthful, you wiped your chin and asked seriously, “do you want me to?”

“Yes.” Spider said without missing a beat. His expression was painfully vulnerable, full of hope and what could only be described as longing. “Dad does too. And Mo’at. Jake and Neytiri too, but they won’t admit it because they don’t want to pressure you.” He paused, “you’ll be safe with us here.”

“I would be.” You agreed, “but I have to see if it’s the right decision first. If I don’t fit here, then I can’t force it. Do you understand?” Spider pouted but didn’t contradict you. “I understand.” He said maturely, and you knew he was being honest. 

>_<

Recovery was slow, but you’d never been the kind to remain in bed for long. Even with Mo’at barring you from contributing on hunts, you ensured you rose with the sun and helped out around the camp in whatever way your injuries allowed. Sometimes, that was cleaning or servicing stolen RDA weapons alongside other hunters, or you were washing and prepping Mo’at’s herbs. 

In those first few days, the clan gave you a wide berth, which you appreciated. In return, you remained unarmed and calmed yourself by sitting with your back to a wall or against someone’s hut whilst you completed your tasks. You kept your head down, and gradually, their unease faded. 

Usually, Spider or one of the Sully kids joined you for an hour or two, talking about anything or everything whilst their parents hunted or contributed with patrols. But today, Tsu’tey sat himself down opposite you, a basket of fruit balanced on his hip. He kept his gaze fixed on his work as he crouched a comfortable distance away, and immediately occupied himself with peeling the fruits. 

You said nothing, and as you had the last few days, refused to start up a conversation. As long as neither of you opened your mouths, you tended to be able to exist in the same space without dissolving into insults or painful memories. You knew he was trying. 

You knew Tsu’tey was attempting to rebuild some of that trust in the only way he knew how, but it was unsettling. You’d never known him to be this quiet. This comfortable in existing in someone else’s space without having to voice his internal monologue. It was just another reminder of how much he had changed whilst you’d been frozen in time. 

And what’s more, some of the things he was doing for you, couldn’t be explained away as an Olo’eyktan looking out for one of his own. Even after you’d woken up and spent that first morning having breakfast with Spider, you had been a long way from recovered. 

Moving around without long naps in between chores left you exhausted and oftentimes passed out in the weirdest places, such as Tsu’tey’s tent floor when you had been waiting for Spider to finish making lunch. That time - and every time after - you’d woken up in a hammock instead of on the floor. 

When a fever had come for vengeance and your wound had gotten a minor infection, he’d been nothing short of doting. Feeding you light meals to settle your stomach. Braiding your sweaty hair back so it was off your forehead and didn’t cling to your neck. Changing your bandages like clockwork. Adding and taking away blankets where needed. 

In a lot of ways, it reminded you of how your parents had doted on one another. Performing thankless acts of service without the other ever having to ask for it. 

And through it all, he scowled the entire time. Like constantly. And you definitely shouldn’t have found that as achingly familiar and reassuring as you had. You definitely shouldn’t have started looking into it, searching for the fiery, annoying man you’d fallen head over heels in love with all that time ago. 

You were submerged so deeply in your thoughts, that you’d completely forgotten where you were and what you were doing, until you managed to sink your knife into your thumb. With a hiss and a jerk, you dropped the fruit you’d been peeling and jammed your bleeding thumb into your mouth and sat back on your hunches.

Across from you, Tsu’tey clicked his teeth. “Idiot.” He sighed, but not with his usual bite, hell, it practically sounded fond, as if you’d done something endearing instead of pathetic. “Here,” he continued, reaching into the pouch secured across his chest strap and pulling out a river leaf. “Let me.” Slowly, he reached across the distance between you, his expression open and sickeningly kind. You let him take your hand without a fuss. Carefully, Tsu’tey mopped up the blood, a soft tut leaving his lips as he assessed the depth of the injury. 

“Do I need to go back to Mo’at?” You joked half-heartedly.

“Luckily not. She’s getting sick of only seeing you.” 

“Not for long hopefully.” You interjected, “I’m on the mend for real this time.” Tsu’tey hummed noncommittally. “Have you given any thought into what you will do once you’re healed?” He asked point blank, with no warning or prompt to get him to say it. 

You blinked. “What brought that on?” Tsu’tey ducked his head, a gesture you’d noticed Spider doing when he was embarrassed. “I overheard Spider asking about it the other week, and I can’t stop thinking about it.” He admitted sheepishly. 

Just to fuck with him, you gasped dramatically. “You were eavesdropping?” “I was not!” Tsu’tey corrected defensively with a scowl. He bit his lip and averted his gaze again. “I was worried when neither of you were in the infirmary when I went to check. Naturally, I checked home before looking anywhere else for him.”

“I see.”

“So?”

“What?” With a firm crack of his tail, he caught your gaze and held it. “I answered your question, so answer mine.”

He was still holding onto your hand with both of his, you realised absently. He was sat close enough now, that the combination of all three hands had fallen into his lap, the river leaf forgotten and your finger beginning to scab. It was such an intimate position, that you almost forgot what his question was.

“If I were to stay,” you started carefully, intending to see how far he would go, “I would need somewhere to live. Mo’at’s going to chase me out of the infirmary one of these days if I stay there much longer.” “We have spare tents.” Tsu’tey said neutrally, ears swivelling to face you, showing just how eager for your answer he really was. “And if you were comfortable, you could even move in with Spider and I if none of them were to your liking.” He paused, before quickly tacking on a panicked, “but only if you wanted to. There is no pressure of course.” “Of course.” You agreed readily, feeling more at ease than you had yet. With a small smirk, you decided to keep fucking with him. “And I would need my weapons back.” “That can be arranged.” Tsu’tey agreed, before glancing up and stalling at your expression. You tilted your head.

“And I would need to negotiate a relationship with my son if his father was open to it.” Tsu’tey went very still causing panic to slam into your sternum. Abruptly, the tables had turned and it was you scrambling to justify yourself. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to step on your toes. I don’t even have to see him that often if you’re not comfortable with it. I can take him out for a day, or we don’t even have to do that. I could be like that distant cousin, or the weird clone twin of his dead- fuck this isn’t coming out how I wanted it to-”

“I think,” Tsu’tey cut in sharply, looking more amused than offended. “That Spider would love to build a connection with you.” Tsu’tey’s hands had gone completely slack around your own. The sluggishly bleeding cut completely forgotten now that the air between you was thick with untold tension. 

“And what about his father,” you pushed, studying his expression, “would he be happy with that arrangement?” 

Tsu’tey’s gaze dragged across your face and circled at least twice down to your lips. “He could be persuaded.” He said darkly, making your stomach squirm from his tone. 

His eyes had fallen to half mast during the little back and forth, his pupils swollen as they looked at you. You could feel your tail wagging at your back, and you hated to think how eager you probably looked. 

With a hard blink, you dragged yourself off of that train of thought before it could derail off into dangerous territory. Kissing him would be a stupid idea right now, you reminded yourself. In fact, it would be more stupid than marching into Ardmore’s office and openly admitting to treason. Not only would it jeopardise your position within the clan, but it wouldn’t actually fix anything between you and Tsu’tey and might even end with him pulling away.

No, as gorgeous as he looked right now, and how much you could see he wanted you, you needed to wait. There was no room for this, when you were only just beginning to trust each other once again. Maybe soon, but not now. Not today.

Clinging tightly to that reasoning, you sat back and pulled your hand out of Tsu’tey’s grip.

He blinked and seemed to come back to himself. With a sheepish clearing of his throat, he also shuffled back and out of reach. Ears lowered, he took up his knife again and continued his previous task of peeling the fruit, dutifully pretending like nothing had happened.

You hated it. But you hated that blank expression on his face more.

Scrambling for something to say - anything - to keep the conversation flowing, you blurted out the first thing that randomly came to mind to fill the silence. 

“How did we end up adopting, Spider?”

Startled, Tsu’tey’s head snapped up. His brows furrowed as he struggled to process the question, as if bewildered you were still willing to talk to him after pulling away.  

“What?” “I mean, if I’m going to be co-parenting with you, then I should know these things.” Something like relief flooded his expression. “I see.” He said easily. “So,” you prodded, with a pointed wiggle of your ears, “how did we end up adopting a human child together?” 

Tsu’tey smiled fondly to himself. “It was after the battle. We went to Hell’s Gate to raid for medical supplies. I insisted on coming along because you were so small, and you fought me every step of the way because I had suffered a shoulder injury.”

Instinctively, you knew which shoulder to glance down at. The bullet wounds were old and faded with time. You could only imagine how long it had taken him to heal them, and how long it had taken to rebuild the strength in that arm.

“The corridors were stupidly small and impractical, but echoey. I heard a baby crying and you followed me when I went to investigate. We found Spider in someone’s bunk room, and you told me he was hungry. From there, it was just a matter of no one else having the time to take care of him, and you stepping up. And as your mate, I did too.”

“Huh.” 

“Anything else you want to know?” Tsu’tey prodded good naturedly. You thought for a moment. “What was his first word?” Tsu’tey stopped his polishing to laugh. A proper laugh. The kind that started deep in your belly and burst its way out of your mouth and demanded you to tilt your head back from the sheer force of it. A truly gorgeous expression on him.

“What?” You defended yourself with a chuckle, “I need to know the important information.”

“Of course.” Tsu’tey chuckled, the mood light. “His first English word was uh-oh, because he knocked my bow off your desk. And his first Na’vi word was Sempu.”

“Oh, I see how it is!” You mocked, pretending to be offended whilst Tsu’tey shot you a wicked grin as if he’d won. “So his first word was practically ‘dad’, big deal.” Tsu’tey hummed.

“Alright, what’s his favourite food?”

And it went like that for several hours. You and Tsu’tey basking in each other’s company, learning and reliving fond moments from a time long gone. It was easy and familiar, and it finally felt like home.

~FIN~

Last Chapter <- Part 5

#tsu'tey x reader #spider socorro #dad!tsu'tey #spider #father-son duo #recom reader #gender neutral reader #part 5 of 5 #final part #may the hopeful ending bring you peace #gonna miss these sillies #taking responsibility for that child you don't remember adopting #found family #avatar #avatar twow #canon divergent #Tsu'tey lives

[piggyinthesea]

To All The Boys I’ve Hurt | 002

part two of this fic

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴄᴀʀʟᴏs sᴀɪɴᴢ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: “ᴡʜᴏ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs ᴡɪᴛʜ ɪs ɴᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇʀɴ. ᴡʜᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ᴏʀ ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴇʀ ɪs ɪʀʀᴇʟᴀᴠᴇɴᴛ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ sʜᴇ’s ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀs. ʀᴇsᴘᴇᴄᴛғᴜʟʟʏ, ᴍᴀᴛᴇ.”

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2k+

Finally, you replied, breaking the anticipation. Swiftly, he reciprocated, and our text chat turned into an extended conversation. Every day leading up to the Japan Grand Prix felt like a chapter in a thrilling saga. Meanwhile, your cousin covertly envied you in the background. On race day, your cousin was buzzing with excitement, and you was just happy to spend the day with her. The irony of wearing Red Bull gear in the Ferrari Paddock wasn’t something that worried you. In a white shirt with a bright-red bow in your hair, you unintentionally created a fashion paradox, blending in to the fans of Ferrari.

“I’m going to get stares from Ferrari fans. Who cares, though? Still repping Red Bull,” your cousin declared, putting the finishing touches on her makeup. Amidst your confusion, she groaned, “Dude, pulling Formula One guys without knowing the first thing about Formula One? Carlos is Ferrari’s second driver. Remember the picture I showed you yesterday?”

“Oh! That picture. Damn. I thought he was a mechanic or something. So, that’s why you were worried about them finding out about each other.” The pieces of the puzzle clicked into place, revealing a mosaic of logos on his shirt that should’ve been a dead giveaway. Maybe you weren’t the sharpest tool, but you sure dazzled.

She laughs at your cluelessness. “You ready?”

“Yeah. Let me just text Carl- Carlos, I mean.” You swore that was unintentional.

Carlos

heyy!! good luck today :)

thanks, you ;). hopefully I can see you after the race. i miss you already.

Carlos’s stomach did a delightful somersault as he smiled at your text. With his phone locked away, he transformed into his racing alter ego. He lifted his shirt, the marks from your recent escapade played peek-a-boo, hinting at the nocturnal secrets you shared.

Charles entered, strolling into the locker room with a teasing whistle. “Someone had a fun night!” Charles whistles as he dominants his space. Carlos’s skin flushes, he shamelessly smiles and looks away. It had been a while since the two of you slept together, but because the marks you left on him were dark and large, it took a while for them to fade. It had only been about a week, but the marks were still visible. Just slightly faded. Carlos blushed, skillfully deflecting the banter. With his back turned, Charles couldn’t help but notice the cryptic scratches on Carlos’s neck – an inadvertent trail of evidence.

“Cállate.” Carlos playfully deflects the subject. With Carlos’s back facing Charles, Charles begins to overly examine the familiar scratches by his neck.

Charles squints, his stomach nearly dropping at the sight. They looked too familiar.

“Fuck, Charles. Oh god.” Those scratches painted a vivid picture, and Charles unwittingly stumbled upon a clandestine affair.

Face buried in the crook of your neck, Carlos whispered, “I will forever love you, ma belle.” A whispered promise that added a thrilling layer to your entanglement.

You pull his face and lock eyes with him, “You shouldn’t, my love.”

Charles grapples with a sense of betrayal, but deep down, he understands he shouldn’t. Rationalizing that there’s no conceivable way Carlos could have known about his history with her, he questions whether Carlos would have pursued a romantic connection if he had known. The uncertainty lingers – would Carlos have slept with her if he was aware of their shared past? The internal conflict churns within Charles as he navigates the intricate web of emotions.

Carlos turns around, fully dressed, and catches the peculiar expression on Charles’s face. “What?” he inquires lightly, prompting Charles to articulate the unspoken tension hanging between them.

Charles remains silent, contemplating his words. Finally, he breaks the silence, asking, “If I tell you, will you care enough about our friendship to stop?” The gravity of his question hangs in the air, a plea for understanding and preservation of their bond.

Carlos’s stomach takes a sudden plunge as he discerns that Charles is aware of the truth. Despite this, he maintains his composure, standing firm. “What are you talking about?” Carlos asks, a mix of reluctance and fear evident in his voice. He initiated the question, yet a part of him dreads the revelation, afraid of what it might entail for their relationship.

“Devil-spawn girl, you met her. Right? Look, man, stop while you can. I’m not just speaking from jealousy; I’m speaking to you as a friend. She’s not good for you,” Charles adds, a tinge of envy coloring his cautionary words. The undertone of jealousy reveals the emotional struggle within Charles, accentuating the complexity of their friendship in the face of intertwined romantic entanglements.

“Who I have relations with is none of your concern. Whether or not you know her is irrelevant because she’s not yours. Respectfully, mate,” Carlos retorts, the tension in his voice echoing the strain on their friendship. His words hang heavily in the air, emphasizing the palpable rift that has formed between them due to the complexities of their intertwined relationships.

Charles stands frozen, his emotions a volatile mix of pity, envy, and bitterness towards his friend. The air thickens with tension as Charles grapples with the stark contrast between his evening plans and Carlos’s company with you. Unbeknownst of the unconscious glares he shoots at Carlos, the unspoken tension heightens, setting the stage for a complex unraveling of their intertwined relationships.

The prevailing tension hangs like a heavy cloud, noticeable to all, and the fleeting glimpses caught by a select few cameras reveal the glares Charles casts towards Carlos, laden with an unmistakable sorrow. The mere mention of you induces a poignant melancholy in Charles, inviting him to delve into the depths of retrospection. As he ruminates on the past, a profound sadness settles in his eyes. Charles, once confident in his efforts, now carries the weight of unfulfilled expectations and the somber realization that, despite his attentive listening and genuine regard, something essential slipped away. The undertones of sadness paint a poignant portrait of Charles wrestling with the echoes of a relationship that eluded his grasp.

Seated in the Ferrari paddock, you and your cousin become aware of the conspicuous glances from Ferrari fans due to her Red Bull attire. Undeterred, she dismisses the judgmental looks and immerses herself in the exclusive privileges offered within the paddock during the races, reveling in the unique experience despite the disapproving gazes.

Immersed in the race, you find joy in the shared experience with your cousin. Her occasional muttering of random facts about specific teams and cars adds an endearing layer to the moment, and you can’t help but appreciate her cute enthusiasm for the intricacies of the Formula One world. The blend of excitement and shared knowledge enhances the overall enjoyment of the race day.

The proximity to the racing cars unveils a revelation – the sheer speed is beyond comprehension until you witness it up close. They fly by in a blur, leaving an ephemeral imprint. The experience is awe-inspiring, highlighting the marvels achievable through engineering and mechanics. As two red cars streak by in rapid succession, the spectacle becomes a testament to the thrilling capabilities of modern racing technology.

“You fucked one of those drivers and are about to fuck the other, you know?” Your cousin delivers the statement with unabashed candor, injecting a provocative and cheeky vibe into the conversation. The bold remark intensifies the atmosphere, creating a moment of shared amusement amidst the high-speed drama of the racing event.

A sharp nudge to her waist accompanies your response, “You’re annoying, you know.” The physical gesture punctuates your playful reproach, capturing the mix of irritation and camaraderie that defines your dynamic with your cousin during this candid exchange.

The mischievous thought crosses your mind: “Should I blow her mind?” You contemplate, “I hooked up with Carlos. Yesterday. While you were away…” The revelation hangs in the air, adding an unexpected twist to the conversation and leaving room for your cousin’s stunned reaction.

Her wide-eyed stare lingers for a moment before she exclaims, "You can't keep getting away with this! You can't keep getting away with this. You have to share your Formula One connections with me, get me a date with Max Verstappen, please!" The volume of her voice fluctuates, creating a crescendo of excitement that culminates in a more subdued plea for a connection with the renowned driver. The mix of astonishment and her final, almost whispered, request adds a layer of humor to the exchange.

Amused by her request, you laugh and respond, “I don’t know who that is. I’m assuming a race car driver. How would I even bring that up with Carlos?” Your lighthearted tone underscores the irony of the situation, emphasizing your lack of familiarity with the Formula One world despite the amusing connection you’ve formed.

Her plea tugs at your empathy as she begs, “Please. I really admire him. At least try, for me?” The earnestness in her request adds a touch of sincerity, prompting you to consider fulfilling her wish despite your limited knowledge of the racing world.

Charmed by her puppy-dog eyes, you find yourself relenting, and with a smile, you say, "OK." The exchange captures a moment of playful acquiescence, highlighting the good-natured rapport between you and your cousin in the midst of the Formula One excitement.

As the race concludes, Max Verstappen secures pole position, triggering an exuberant outburst from your cousin that resonates across the paddock, much to the dismay of nearby Ferrari drivers. Charles Leclerc claims second place, and you stand in awkward silence. However, when Carlos Sainz secures third place, your natural inclination takes over, and you can’t help but cheer for him, adding a touch of personal investment to the racing outcome.

A sudden realization strikes you – back when you first met Carlos, you mentioned having a connection with "one" of the Ferrari drivers. It becomes evident that Carlos understood it was Charles. This revelation carries a subtle sense of a lie, as the shared history between you and Charles unveils itself, introducing a nuanced layer to your interactions.

Carlos was aware all along. Initially uncertain if you knew he was the other Ferrari driver, he strategically used this ambiguity to his advantage. Concealing this knowledge, he anticipated the moment you would eventually find out, a revelation he calculated to unfold today. The intricate dance of secrets and revelations adds a complex dimension to the dynamics between you and Carlos.

Contemplating the situation, you question whether you should be mad. Despite realizing Carlos wasn’t overtly hiding anything, you find yourself not feeling angry. It’s clear that he’s aware you know, and you decide it’s better to take the initiative and text first, acknowledging the unspoken understanding between you two. The choice reflects a measured and composed approach to the unfolding revelation.

Carlos

hey, great race. we need to talk.

sent 5:44

In the wake of your text, Carlos doesn’t respond immediately. However, considering the circumstances, it wouldn’t be unusual, given that you witnessed him getting interviewed right after stepping off the platform. The anticipation builds as you await his response amidst the post-race interview.

As Carlos grappled with nerves, he remained oblivious to the fact that you had texted him, plunging further into the depths of overthinking and the looming uncertainty. The weight of nervousness settled on Carlos as he pondered: Were you contemplating ending things with him? Would this mark the conclusive end of what you both shared?

Carlos’s worries were momentarily eclipsed by the barrage of questions from reporters. As they interviewed the top three drivers, Carlos paid little attention, offering pre-scripted responses to the usual inquiries about the race. The mundane discussions about cars after a race failed to captivate him. All he craved was rest. Despite his job involving a significant amount of sitting, the act of driving, fueled by a constant surge of adrenaline, drained most of his energy.

The seemingly endless interview finally concluded, and Carlos, yearning for relief, made his way back to the locker room. Once there, the first order of business was checking his phone. The anticipation lingered as he sought a moment of reprieve from the relentless scrutiny of post-race interviews.

her

hey, great race. we need to talk.

I’m sorry. Does this change anything?

sent 6:04

A surge of anxiety fills Carlos’s stomach as he gazes at his phone, the weight of your response pressing down on him.

Charles, breaking the post-race silence, and speculates, “She knows, doesn’t she? I remember she wasn’t much of a Formula One fan – if it wasn’t for her cousin, she probably wouldn’t know about it at all.” As he speaks, he nonchalantly unzips his suit and steps out, introducing an air of uncertainty into the atmosphere.

Carlos bristled with heat at Charles's mention of you, irritated by the presumptuous familiarity. The unfolding drama in the room intensified as Charles spoke, assuming a connection that didn't truly exist. The clash between perception and reality heightened the tension, setting the stage for an unspoken confrontation. Despite the escalating drama, Carlos chose to maintain civility, concealing the internal turmoil beneath the surface.

“I guess. Mate, can I just please ask you to be happy for me, though?” Carlos’s voice carried a vulnerability, adding a poignant layer to the conversation. The plea for understanding and support injected a subtle emotional complexity into their interaction.

“I don’t know if I pity or envy you, Carlos. I respect you enough to let you make your own decisions, just don’t wear your heart on your sleeve.” Charles’s words, tinged with a mix of conflicting emotions, reflect the intricate dynamics of their relationship. The subtle blend of pity, envy, and respect adds a layer of complexity, emphasizing the challenge Carlos faces in navigating his personal life within the scrutiny of their shared world.

The remainder of the time in the locker room unfolded in silence. Carlos pondered Charles’s words, dissecting them for any hidden meanings. Before he knew it, solitude enveloped him, leaving him alone with his thoughts as Charles had long departed. The hushed aftermath resonated with the weight of unspoken tensions and internal reflections.

her

I like you Carlos. But, if you knew this entire time I had an old fling with Charles, why’d you continue talking to me?

I like you. A lot. That’s why I didn’t stop. I know it was selfish. I’m sorry.

It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize, not to me at least. This won’t change anything between us <3.

🩷🩷

Carlos swiftly transitions from his racing attire to regular clothes, and with a lingering tension in the air, he texts his sister, seeking a favor. Her inevitable questions follow, but Carlos remains tight-lipped, adding an air of mystery to the unfolding narrative. The unspoken urgency and secrecy intensify the atmosphere surrounding Carlos’s actions.

Shortly after the race concluded, you made a quick exit. Your cousin, eager for a Starbucks fix, pleaded for a post-race treat, and you gladly accepted. Amidst sips of your usual refresher and bites of a croissant, family topics took center stage. Engaged in a light-hearted banter, you and your cousin delved into gossip about each other’s aunts, playfully arguing over whose aunt held the title of the worst. It was evident that your mom, despite her protective nature, wasn’t the contender for the unfavorable title. Laughter filled the air as you shared embarrassing memories, creating a moment of connection and amusement in the aftermath of the race.

An hour post-race, you and your cousin returned to the hotel after the Starbucks run. Walking side by side through the hotel corridors, you reached your door and were greeted by an elegant black circular box. A shared look of confusion passed between you and your cousin as you brought the mysterious box inside and closed the door. In a moment of playful speculation, you humorously considered the potential plot twist of a Russian spy story, teasing the idea of the box possibly ending in an explosive surprise.

Relief washed over you as the box revealed its true nature – not a secret bomb, but a thoughtful gift. Opening it, you were greeted by the sight of delicate light pink roses gracefully arranged within, accompanied by a simple white note. The contrast between the initial intrigue and the subsequent tender gesture added a touch of sweetness to the unfolding narrative.

“Huh? Roses… poor guy couldn’t do better,” your cousin muttered, eyeing the box with a hint of playful teasing. Her comment added a lighthearted touch, injecting humor into the moment as you both assessed the unexpected floral gift.

You read the note out loud, “For my Devil-Spawn girl. -C.S.” The term “Devil-Spawn girl” echoed in the room, leaving a hint of uncertainty and perhaps an unappreciated tone in the air. The unexpected endearment carried an unconventional touch that stirred a mix of emotions.

“How cute. Carlos sent this. Why’d he call you devil-spawn girl? Is there some sort of secret meaning between the two of you?” Your cousin inquired, her gaze fixed on the brand as she meticulously counted each individual rose. Immersed in her curiosity, she simultaneously typed into her phone, adding a layer of intrigue to the unfolding mystery.

“Huh… not that I know of.” Your curiosity piqued, you leaned in, dipping your nose into the box. The lovingly strong scent of fresh roses enveloped you, carrying with it a unique aroma akin to rainwater – something that might not conventionally be considered pleasant but held a distinct charm that you vouched for. The sensory experience added an intimate and personal touch to the unfolding scene.

Your cousin, visibly astonished and perhaps a tad envious, expressed her disbelief as she learned about the actual price, which hovered around fifteen hundred dollars. “Woah! The price for these flowers. I completely retract my statement from before; this guy definitely went all out.” Her mix of emotions added a dynamic layer to the unfolding narrative, blending surprise, envy, and a revised perspective on Carlos’s gesture.

You scoot over to her, curiosity getting the better of you, and peer at her phone, eager to catch a glimpse of what she’s discovering or typing.

The Million Roses. 

The brand on the box matched what appeared on her phone, and the resemblance was strikingly identical. While acknowledging the undeniable beauty of the roses, you couldn't help but find them excessively expensive. A tinge of practicality crept in, contemplating that regular flowers from a vendor would have sufficed just as nicely. Carlos, however, chose the most extravagant bouquet. The realization sparked a mix of admiration and practical consideration – the amount spent on these roses could have bought him double the flowers at a street vendor, simultaneously making a positive impact on their lives.

You sent Carlos a quick thank-you text, and after a brief delay, he responded, apologizing for the wait. The conversation shifted as he inquired about your day. While you shared that it was good for the most part, you couldn’t help but admit that by the end of the day, your social battery had completely drained from being around so many people.

[phone]

Hi.

The anonymous message perked your curiosity and though the alarms in your head rang stranger danger, you couldn’t help but reply.

who’s this?

Sorry, I was unaware you had deleted my number, I guess it’s been a while. It’s Charles.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x you #formula 1 #formula one #jealousy #main page

[lazyyogi]

Hii, I wanted to ask how to actually have the patience to meditate because I don't have any. One benefit of meditation IS patience, but it is also a skill that requires patience. Whenever I meditate I can only think of how boring it is and how I just want to finish it. Eventually I just give up. I can't even meditate for 2 minutes. It's way too hard for me. How can I improve? Thank you in advance 🤍

This is like asking how do you have the strength to lift weights. Yes, it does take some measure of strength to lift anything at all. But it is by lifting weights, enduring the discomfort, and continuing to do so over time that you develop more strength.

That said, developing the motivation to practice meditation can be helpful.

If we approach meditation casually, it can be difficult to focus. We may feel like we can just do this later when we have more time and feel less bored. Or maybe we think meditation just doesn't work for us.

There are certain thoughts that are helpful to examine regarding meditation practice:

Precious Opportunity. Although it may seem like a simple activity, I would argue that meditation represents the pinnacle of biologic evolution at this time. Meditation is an activity that can really only be undertaken when all of your biologic needs are met: you are physically safe, you have had enough rest to be wakeful, you are not too hungry nor too full. Furthermore, you are not subjecting yourself to the endless array of activity that involves seeking pleasure and avoiding displeasure. And lastly, you are turning consciousness upon itself to reveal the reality of self-existence, or awareness. These are an unusual combination of causes and circumstances to allow us the simple action of meditation. Meditation truly is a unique practice of immense biologic privilege, and it is backed by an ever-growing body of evidence.

The impermanence of life. We may feel as if we have time to meditate later, or meditate another day. But the truth is that we are mortal, we will die, and we do not know when we will die. This is very important for two reasons. The first reason is that by contemplating and accepting the fact of our inevitable death (not just in our heads but in our hearts and guts), we will quickly find things clarified. We will lose interest in that which is meaningless, and we will search for that which is meaningful. The intensity of that search is related to the intensity with which we feel our mortality. The second reason is that by appreciating the uncertainty regarding our time of death, we will not delay our practice for another day. Today is what matters most; we cannot presume to rely upon tomorrow.

Meditation works! Even just a casual googling of the various evidence-based studies regarding meditation's effect on the brain and body will yield a fascinating plethora of findings. Meditation alters the structure of your brain in just 8 weeks of daily practice. Meditation alters the expression of your DNA starting from the very first day of your sitting; it downregulates NF-KB, which is an important player in the cascade of inflammation in the body. Meditation changes our perception of pain such that it causes us less distress. Meditation increases our capacity for compassion. The list goes on.

Don't just read all of this and absorb it in the form of intellectual knowledge. See the lines of contemplation I am pointing toward and contemplate them for yourself. Until these thoughts become your own lived understandings, they are all lies.

When it comes to meditation, there are a few important things to keep in mind:

It must be a daily practice. Choose an activity you may pair it with, such as meditation before you brush your teeth every time. Don't ask yourself if you feel like meditating, just do it.

Set a timer and do not get up until the timer has gone off. Even if you are bored out of your mind, no matter how chaotic your feelings may be, just sit through it. This is like the burn of exercising. Eventually, however, it does change and go away. And that alone will change your life.

Scale your practice as needed. While its good to work your way up to longer sittings such as 30 minutes or 60 minutes, it is better to sit for 5 minutes every day than to sit for 30 minutes now and then.

Lastly, reading spiritual books are also helpful in giving us the motivation to practice. There are so many out there, you just need to find one that speaks to you.

Much love, I hope this helps.

LY

[snowmist-hashira]

Hihihiii!! I'm here to ask for a request! But before I do i just want to complement your writing, cause honestly, it's so detailed and beautifull!! You are definitely one of my favourite writers on this app:D

Hihi for my req, i dont know if this is really good but i want to read a story where muichiro unknowingly confesses to reader and they have to explain to muichiro why they're so flustered >< i dont knoww HAHA I haven't seen a story like that before soo- feel free to ignore my req! It's totally finee hehe thank you for you timee<3

[Chapter title: Love in Plain Sight]

[Requested] Muichiro Tokitou x Reader

Wattpad:(One shots) Tokito Twins x Reader Archive:Kimetsu No Yaiba: Tokitou Twins x Reader Details: ♠ Information ♠ Master list: ♠ Muichirou Tokitou ♠ Word count: 1,001

Artist: rainyforesty

Link; Pixiv & Twitter

Aww~ I'm honored to be one of your favorite writers! Thank you for your kind words and support. I found this adorable to write honestly, although I'm not entirely sure if I grasped your request accurately. Nonetheless, here it is! Let me know your thoughts! (Scheduled)

Y/n and Muichiro were taking a short break, right before their next set of classes. Y/n swiped through her phone, her eyes darting across various posts, she suddenly came across a captivating image that caught her attention which caused her to pause and admire the image.

Meanwhile, Muichiro was fully immersed in his book, completely absorbed in the assignment he was striving to complete. His pen raced across the paper, his gaze fixed on the task at hand, as he simultaneously contemplated the correct answer and recorded it on the page.

After a few minutes, a soft "wow" escaped from Y/n's lips, briefly interrupting Muichiro's focus. He glanced over at her, noticing the look of astonishment on her face as she stared at the screen of her phone.

"Look, doesn't she look gorgeous?" Y/n inquired, displaying a photo of an exceptionally beautiful woman. Muichiro turned his attention towards Y/n, curiosity evident in his gaze as he looked at the photo she held up. As his eyes fell upon the image of the woman, he observed her features and tried to understand Y/n's perspective.

“She looks fine.” He blinked and his brows furrowed slightly, unable to share the same level of agreement with her statement.

"Eh? Just fine?" Y/n repeated, examining the photo once more. "Mui, your standards must be quite high, huh?" Y/n playfully remarked, finding the woman to be incredibly beautiful. However, here he was, considering it merely as "fine."

Muichiro contemplated her remark, tilting his head slightly as if deep in thought. "Is that so? Perhaps I do have high standards," he responded, genuinely curious as he spoke.

His response made Y/n think that he might be taking her comment seriously. She quickly realized that her joke may have unintentionally made him doubt his own preferences, causing her to sweat drop in mild embarrassment. “No, no. I was just joking…”

Y/n's curiosity sparked a question in her mind, "Well, what exactly are your standards?" she asked.

Muichiro's gaze returned to the paper he had been reading, his mind momentarily lost in thought. Y/n's question caught him off guard, and he took a few seconds to gather his thoughts before responding.

Following a brief pause, he replied, "Someone who is kind, empathetic, treats everyone with respect, and looks beyond surface appearances. Someone with a gentle spirit."

"Oh..." Y/n's mouth slightly hung open, taken aback by his response. "That person sounds like a wonderful-"

Muichiro then shifted his gaze back to meet hers and continued. "Like you."

As Muichiro's words sank in, Y/n's surprise turned into a mix of astonishment and warmth. Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she blinked, momentarily taken aback by his unexpected statement.

“M-Me?” She stammered; her voice laced with a hint of disbelief.

Muichiro nodded and said, "regarding your earlier question, I find you more beautiful than the girl in the photo." He spoke honestly, his gaze returning to his paper.

This caused Y/n’s cheeks to turn into a deeper shade of red, and her heart skipped a beat at his unabashed compliment.

Internally, Y/n felt like she was exploding, her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to find the right words to respond. How could Muichiro say such straightforward statements without even a hint of hesitation or embarrassment?!

Externally, her face displayed a rosy blush that revealed her internal turmoil. Her eyes widened with surprise, and her lips slightly parted as she searched for a response. She was momentarily rendered speechless, caught off guard by the intensity of her emotions.

A sudden realization crossed over her that caused her heart to flutter even more and her cheeks blush even more intensely.

Did Muichiro truly mean what he said? His statement seemed to imply that Y/n met all of his standards and embodied everything he was looking for. In other words… SHE was his standards. He had unknowing confessed his feelings.

The notion seemed almost surreal, yet his straightforwardness and sincerity made it difficult to doubt his words.

Muichiro glanced at her, noticing her fingers fidgeting nervously and the visible blush on her cheeks. Unaware of the impact of his words, he remarked, "Y/n, are you okay?”

Caught off guard by Muichiro's observation, Y/n's blush deepened, and she found herself becoming even more self-conscious.

"I-I'm just flustered," Y/n replied.

"Why?" Muichiro asked curiously, intrigued by her reaction.

Was Muichiro truly that oblivious, requiring Y/n to spell it out for him? This realization caused her blush to deepen even further.

"Wh-What do you mean 'why'?" Y/n exclaimed in a state of full panic and fluster.

“Did I say something wrong?”

"N-No, but..." Y/n stuttered, her voice trembling. "Don't you usually feel... shy when someone compliments you or something?"

Y/n's voice grew even softer, almost inaudible. "E-Especially when someone confesses..."

“No?” Muichiro responded, his voice tinged with uncertainty, unsure of what Y/n was implying.

“…” Y/n couldn't help but find Muichiro's uncertainty and obliviousness endearing, even if it also frustrated her slightly.

"Like..." Y/n struggled to put her feelings into words, finding it challenging to express the growing fluster in her heart and on her face.

"W-What if I told you, 'I like you'? Wouldn't you feel..." Y/n's sentence was interrupted once again by Muichiro.

"I like you too," Muichiro abruptly declared. His interruption took Y/n by surprise, causing her words to trail off as she processed his response. Her eyes widened, and her heart skipped a beat at his straightforward declaration.

Y/n's face flushed an even deeper shade of red as she placed her hands on her face, trying to hide her overwhelming embarrassment. Muichiro's straightforward and honest confession had completely caught her off guard once again, causing her heart to race and her emotions to swirl.

Her muffled voice emerged from behind her hands, a mixture of embarrassment and delight. "Muichiro, you're... you're really something else," she managed to say, her words laced with a mix of affection and amusement.

‘This is hopeless,’ Y/n thought to herself.

‘I'm hopelessly in love with this oblivious jerk.’

#muichiro x y/n #demon slayer kimetsu no yaiba #fanfiction #muichiro x reader #muichiro tokito #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #one shot #female reader #x reader #requested #fluff #heartwarming #kny x reader #kny x you #anime x reader #demon slayer x reader #anime x y/n #demon slayer x y/n #demon slayer x you #kny muichiro #muichiro x you #kimetsu muichiro #kny x y/n #mist hashira #kimetsu no yaiba hashira #kny hashira #request

[five-rivers]

Moving On

AO3

For @ave-aria

.

“Have you ever thought about… moving on?”

.

Skulker scoffed.  “Moving on?  That’s a myth.”  He turned back to the weapon he was sharpening.  “A fairytale the Dead tell themselves.  The only thing that’s after life is this, and only if they’re lucky.”  He held the blade up to the light, examining its edge.  “They pretend there’s something after death.  Well.  Is there something after that, too?  The whole thing is ridiculous.  At least on Earth there’s evidence of ghosts.  There’s nothing to support this nonsense.”

.

Spectra smiled, her too-red lips curving perfectly.  Too perfectly, as always.  Her false skin betrayed her.  “Why do you ask?  Contemplating your own post-mortality?”  A white sliver appeared between her lips.  Her real teeth.  “I don’t think you need to worry about that, sweetheart.  After all, to move on, you need to have your affairs put in order.  You need peace.  Satisfaction!  And you, well…  Look at you.  You’re a mess.  No, I can’t see you ever getting satisfaction.  You can’t even get a good night’s sleep.  Can you?  Be honest.”

.

“Moving on?” repeated Poindexter, fidgeting nervously.  “That’s a bit grim, don’t you think?  I’d never–”  He looked away.  “I used to think I wanted that.  To go somewhere else.  And then I did.  And then I wanted to go somewhere else again, and I…  Someone told me, once, that wherever you go, you bring yourself.”  He adjusted his glasses.  “I don’t know what they were trying to say.  For a long time, I thought that meant I was the problem.  But.  That wasn’t true, not really.”  He squared his shoulders.  “I stopped looking into that kind of stuff.  You should, too.”

.

“Why would we leave the Far Frozen?” asked Frostbite.  “We’ve always been here.  It’s our ancestral– Ah.  I see.  Moving on, not from here, but from the Ghost Zone as a whole?  From, for lack of a better word, this plane of existence?  Well, there’s never been a documented case of something like that spontaneously happening, but I suppose ghosts that have Ended have moved on, in a sense, although that’s rarely peaceful in any sense of the word.  Why do you ask?”

.

“That would be somewhere under number one thirty-two,” said Ghost Writer, not looking up from his computer.  “Possibly one eleven or one twenty-nine.”  He continued typing, only looking up after a minute.  “The Dewey Decimal system.  You have heard of it?”  He looked away again.  “That should tell you all you need to know on the subject.  Now, go away.  I’m writing.”

.

Johnny started laughing.  “Oh, that’s a good one.  Moving on.  Yeesh.”  He wiped a tear from his eye.  “Oh, wait.  You’re serious.  Yikes.  Okay, so.  I dunno.  Like, I’ve got everything I want here.  My girl, my best bud,” Shadow shrieked encouragingly at this, “my bike, nothin’ but open roads in front of me.  This’s paradise.  What’s moving on got on that?  Nothin’, that’s what.”

.

“I’ve already moved on!  I’ve got the move on, I’ve got the groove on!  I’m whatcha wanna put the tube on!  And!  My latest invention!  Will let me, Technus, master of technology and everything that uses LEDs!  Harsh the vibes of anyone who tries to stop me!  From! Taking over the world! Ahahahahaha ha!  Also, you’re way too young to think about that kind of thing.”  Technus’s current body rearranged itself into a massive gun.  “Now, perish!”

.

“Moving on,” said Kitty, thoughtfully.  “Johnny said you’d asked him about it.”  She leaned against the brick wall, seemingly not caring about the grunge her bright red jacket would pick up.  “I’ve thought about it.  Every time Johnny and I break up, which I guess makes it all the time.  But not, like, seriously.  Death, afterlife, whatever… it might not be everything I wanted, right?  But it’s got Johnny, and that’s all I really need.”

.

“MOVING ON?  IS THAT A MOVING COMPANY?  THE BOX GHOST GREATLY ENJOYS MOVING COMPANIES!  THEIR VEHICLES ARE ALWAYS STOCKED WITH WONDERFUL RECTANGULAR BOXES!  Oh, uh.  I MEAN, FEAR ME!  I AM THE BOX GHOST!”

.

“Eh?  Whazzat?”

“Kid wants ta know ‘bout movin’ on, Ernie.”

“Ha!” the third vulture said.  “Movin’ on.  Movin’ on.  That’s more of a fool’s game than this.”  He threw down his cards.  “Fold.”

“Four?”

“Fold.”

“Ya don’t havta shout.  Movin’ on, huh.  No one’s asked us that inna while, eh?”

“Yeah, yeah.  Two thousand and ten years old, at this point we’ve seen it all.  Loadsa movin’ on.”

“Mostly ‘cause we pecked ’em ta death, mind.”

“But, yeah, people move on.  Sometimes they even move to Florida, am I right?”  The vulture waved one of his wings and cards slipped out from between his feathers.  

“You cheating b–”

.

“It’s something I’ve considered,” said Desiree, raising her head from where it had been resting on her coiled tail.  “It’s even something I’ve helped others consider.  Why, are you here to make a wish?  No?  More’s the pity.”  She sighed heavily, resting her chin on her manicured and hennaed fingers.  “Of course, my curse keeps me here, or I would have already left.”  She sighed, heavily.  “It’s lovely, the other world.  Exactly as the old mullahs said.  Do let me know if you change your mind, won’t you?”

.

“I have not,” said Pandora, in her path to adjust one of the hedges of her maze.  “The subject does not hold much interest for me, I’m afraid.  Oh, certainly, I have seen those who claim to know the secrets of moving on, who have certain predictions about what comes next.  But I always wonder… If they are so wise, if they have so much knowledge, why do they not go themselves?”  She shook her head.  “The next world as unknowable to us as this one was when we yet lived.  If it exists at all.”

.

“There are better alternatives if you tire of this world.”  Nocturne’s robes flowed behind them, a hole in the universe leading to the void.  “More reliable alternatives.  After all, who knows what lies beyond?  Why risk that when you can have everything you dream about?”  He smiled sharply, leaning close.  “Why waste time on that fantasy when you can have… mine?”

.

“What are you talking about?” demanded Plasmius.  “Moving on?  From what?  I don’t have anything to move on from.  There’s nothing I have to move on from.  I’m not holding on to anything.  I’m not obsessed.  I swear, if this is another cat thing, I’m not responsible for what I’m about to do to you.”

.

“Well, I’ve heard some ghosts talk about it,” said Dani, swinging her legs back and forth where she was perched on the tree branch.  “But it’s a bit different for me, isn’t it?  There wasn’t anything before for me.  There’s just… me.  Now.  I guess I have some baggage.  Everyone does, and, you know, I’m a clone, so there’s some extra baggage right there.  But what am I supposed to do?  Drop it all and go into the light?  Come on.  I’ve got stuff to do.  Places to see.  Things to eat.”  She leaned back and looked up at the sky.  “Maybe once I’ve done all the stuff I haven’t got the chance to, I’ll look into it more, but for now?  Nah.  Not for me.”

.

“Well, sure,” said Danny.  “Some day, probably.  I’m not…”  He looked away, pressing his lips together.  “I don’t do well when I’m on my own.  So… If that ever happens, I think I’d look into ways to do that… safely.  If it doesn’t happen naturally.  You don’t have to worry about me doing that, though.  I mean.  It’d be after, um.”  He crossed his arms.  “Nothing lasts forever.  I get that.  I wouldn’t–  It wouldn’t be like before.  Why are we talking about this, anyway?  Anything like moving on is ages off for all of us.  Right?  There’s not something you’re not telling me, is there?”

.

The regular ticking of the clocks provided a stark counterpoint to the irregular flicker of the candle flames Clockwork floated in front of.  Wax dripped heavily to the floor.  He turned slightly, his profile in sharp contrast with the light behind it.  “Nothing lasts forever, as I know you’ve been told.  Even in the undying realm of ghosts, everything, and everyone, has its time.”

.Jazz chewed the end of her pencil, but put it to the paper to write: Ultimately, this line of inquiry led to more questions than answers…

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2023

[transparentgentlemenmarker]

75 years ago, the NATO "Defensive" alliance was created to counter a perceived fear of communist expansion into Europe. Regardless of the fact that there was no plausible evidence that the Soviets ever planned to invade "Europe," When the Soviet Union ceased to exist, so did NATO's marginal rationale for existence. However, the "defensive" alliance kept expanding against the advice of many western voices and those of the Russians. These protests and warnings were, of course, ignored as the Alliance continued to peddle a North American world view to Europe and its expanding Eastern European membership. NATO today has proved itself to be a fractious weapons sales scam and political platform, not a military alliance. It has energetically participated in numerous illegal and brutal unilateral military actions serving the political rationale of the Washington, London, and Brussels elite. From Belgrade to Tripoli, NATO has delivered its brand of "freedom" by bombing civilians, their homes, and societies. The coming collapse of the Ukrainian misadventure represents such an existential threat to the viability of this paper tiger that it will contemplate almost any avenue other than acceptance of failure. Rather than defending Europe from War, NATO looks destined to become part of a self designed self-fulfilling prophecy of War and destruction. Rember, nothing of the Machine ever works against the machine, and NATO is, despite what we are told, a giant profit Mill and ponzi scheme, peddling fear to sell weapons while the citizens of Europe face poverty and societal discontent. Russia and the Russians have no designs or desire for a War with NATO, no serious academic or political analysts outside of the echo chamber of Atlantasist fantasy believes that. Remember, if there's a people on earth that understand the devastation of war, it's the Russians. If you actually want to examine the engine of the Ukraine war (and all other post WW2 conflicts) and any conflict thay flows from it, lift the bonnet on the Washington and London elites and their greasy association with the corporations profiting from the War. Neither they nor their bureaucratic appointees will see their children, brothers, or fathers doe in a War with Russia or indeed wIth China. That is an honour they will bestow on the ordinary taxpayers of the EU and US, and while they're at it, they'll also convince you to pay for it all too.

Il y a 75 ans l’OTAN était créée pour contrer la peur perçue d’une expansion communiste en Europe. Indépendamment du fait qu’il n’existait aucune preuve plausible que les Soviétiques envisageaient d’envahir « l’Europe », lorsque l’Union soviétique a cessé d’exister, la justification marginale de l’existence de l’OTAN a également disparu. Cependant, l’alliance « défensive » a continué à s’étendre contre l’avis de nombreuses voix occidentales et contre l’avis des Russes. Ces protestations et avertissements ont bien sûr été ignorés alors que l’Alliance a continué à colporter une vision nord-américaine du monde à l’Europe et à son adhésion croissante à l’Europe de l’Est. Aujourd’hui, l’OTAN s’est révélée être une escroquerie de vente d’armes et une plate-forme politique, et non une alliance militaire. Il a participé énergiquement à de nombreuses actions militaires unilatérales illégales et brutales servant la logique politique des élites de Washington, de Londres et de Bruxelles. De Belgrade à Tripoli, l’OTAN a défendu sa « liberté » en bombardant les civils, leurs maisons et leurs sociétés. L’effondrement prochain de la mésaventure ukrainienne représente une telle menace existentielle pour la viabilité de ce tigre de papier qu’il envisagera presque toutes les voies autres que l’acceptation de l’échec. Plutôt que de défendre l’Europe contre la guerre, l’OTAN semble destinée à faire partie d’une prophétie auto-réalisatrice de guerre et de destruction. N’oubliez pas que rien de la Machine ne fonctionne jamais contre la machine, et que l’OTAN est, malgré ce qu’on nous dit, une gigantesque usine à profit et une chaîne de Ponzi, colportant la peur pour vendre des armes alors que les citoyens européens sont confrontés à la pauvreté et au mécontentement sociétal. La Russie et les Russes n’ont ni l’intention ni le désir d’une guerre avec l’OTAN, aucun analyste universitaire ou politique sérieux en dehors de la chambre d’écho du fantasme atlantasiste ne le croit. N’oubliez pas que s’il y a un peuple sur terre qui comprend les ravages de la guerre, c’est bien les Russes. Si vous voulez réellement examiner le moteur de la guerre en Ukraine (et tous les autres conflits de l’après-Seconde Guerre mondiale) et tout conflit qui en découle, levez le chapeau sur les élites de Washington et de Londres et leur association graisseuse avec les entreprises qui profitent de la guerre. Ni eux ni leurs représentants bureaucratiques ne verront leurs enfants, leurs frères ou leurs pères participer à une guerre avec la Russie ou même avec la Chine. C’est un honneur qu’ils accorderont aux contribuables ordinaires de l’UE et des États-Unis, et pendant qu’ils y seront, ils vous convaincront également de payer pour tout cela également.

Otan = Organisation du traité de l'Atlantique nord

Nato = National Association of Theatre Owners

#nato #otan #National Association of Theatre Owners

[gepardling]

night-time rendezvous IV w/ gepard .

desc. : i spent my last 2 days on plant hormones, it's time i invest into my own hormones. be honest tho would u still stay housemates w/ a vampire if he attempts to bite u? wrong answers only. serval wants u outta there for ur own safety, she alrdy knows tht geppie's clock is ticking :/ ( wc : 1.7k )

tags / cw : sfw, but mentions of blood, injury and vampirism, gn!reader, (they/them used), vampire!AU for the Landaus, reader is a human, they uh KISS (it's not too spicy, vaguely spicy), he tries to bite :(, proofread but lore may change

index : prologue, part 1, part 2, part 3

— DAY 3

The following night, you are greeted by a different face. Serval’s sharp features are striking as you open your eyes for the first time. She pulls the curtains open, briefly bathing in the moonlight that spills from them. "I trust you're doing well, my dear?" She asks, the unfamiliar softness laced in her tone. You can't help but notice the tension that lingers in the air as you nod in response. Serval's presence alone was enough to keep you on edge. You murmur your gratitude for her hospitality, albeit with a slight wariness.

She studies you for a moment before offering a faint, enigmatic smile. "I know this isn't what you expected when you stumbled upon our villa," she begins, her tone holding a hint of sympathy. "But we have rules here, and my brother has broken a significant one." The mention of rules and Gepard's apparent transgression leaves you puzzled. You're not sure what she's referring to, but her cryptic words certainly pique your curiosity.

"What do you mean by that?" You asked cautiously, fully aware of Serval’s capacity to switch-up mid-conversation. Her gaze remains fixated on you, her eyes betraying an inner conflict. She appears torn between revealing more and keeping the details shrouded in secrecy. Her voice takes on a softer tone as she finally responds, "My family has a code of conduct that we must adhere to, and Gepard has disregarded a significant aspect of it by bringing you here. You see, we have kept our existence hidden from the human world for centuries, for our own safety."

The weight of her revelation hangs in the air, leaving you to contemplate the implications of her words. You gulp lightly, a slight shake evident in your tone. "I promise I'll leave as soon as I can. Then you won't have to see me again..."

Serval offers you a faint, sad smile. "I appreciate your understanding, dear. It's not just about seeing you, it's about the safety of both our worlds. I hope you heal swiftly, but I fear the ties that bind our two worlds may not be so easily severed." Her words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of a complicated truth.

Serval sighs before clapping her hands together. "If you need anything, let me know," She sings, suddenly awfully cheerful. "I've left some clothing for you to wear since yours seemed... A little tattered." She quipped before leaving the room. And she was right, a neatly folded pile of clothing was laid on the chair opposite your bed.

With Serval's exit, you take a moment to inspect the clothing. It's a simple but well-made ensemble, and some comfortable shoes. You decide to go for a stroll before another family member inevitably comes across your path. As you walk through the villa's ornate halls, you take a moment to examine some of the centuries-old paintings adorning the walls. The dimly lit corridors cast an eerie, yet intriguing ambiance. One painting, in particular, captures your attention. It's a portrait of a young Gepard, standing next to a woman who appears to be Serval, although her countenance is less stern in the painting. The depiction of a family, seemingly harmonious, contrasts with the hints of tension you've witnessed.

Continuing your exploration, you find a room filled with an eclectic collection of trinkets and antiques. Each object tells a story of a time long past, and aesthetically they seem exceptionally out of place in the grand villa. Your journey takes you deeper, and before long you realize you've become lost. A foreboding presence seems to lurk behind the door at the end of the hall, and strangely it pulls you towards it. The door's handle feels cold to the touch as you slowly turn it, and the creaking of the hinges only amplifies the feeling that maybe you shouldn't be there.

As the door inches open, you find yourself in a room that is shrouded in shadows. The only source of light is a solitary window, its curtains drawn shut. The room is filled with a musty, age-old scent, and you can barely make out various objects scattered about. On the dresser, an old-leather bound book rests on the dusty surface. The first page of the book reads "Cocolia", seemingly the name of the owner. In the corner, a large, ornate mirror captures your attention. Its surface is slightly tarnished, but you can still see your reflection. As you gaze into the mirror, an unsettling feeling creeps over you. It's as though you're not alone, as though there's something or someone lurking just beyond your sight. Before you could go any further, a hand grasps your shoulder, and you almost jump out of your skin with fright. But it was only Gepard. 

His sudden appearance both startles and comforts you. His voice is calm, and he speaks in a low, soothing tone, "I'm sorry if I frightened you. This part of the villa is rarely used, and it can be quite unnerving, especially at night. Are you exploring?" His hand remains on your shoulder, offering support and reassurance, and you feel a sense of security in his presence. You notice your reflection in the mirror, and that the empty presence next to you doesn't reflect what's really there. Your frayed nerves are quickly soothed when you remind yourself it's just Gepard. 

"I was looking around, but I got a little lost," you sheepishly admit.

Gepard nods understandingly. "It's easy to get turned around in this place, especially if you're not familiar with it. This villa has been in my family for generations." He offers a warm, reassuring smile, but his eyes betray a hint of secrecy. "I can guide you back. There's nothing of interest here, I assure you."

With Gepard by your side, the tension begins to dissipate, and you find yourself feeling more at ease in the grand but somewhat sinister surroundings. As you walk back, your attention is grasped by a portrait of Serval and an unfamiliar woman, and you turn to Gepard with a questioning look. "Is this a portrait of Serval? Who's the woman next to her?" 

Gepard nods, his expression solemn. "Yes, that's Serval. It was painted centuries ago. She and that woman, they… Have a long history." He doesn't offer much more in the way of explanation, and the conversation falls into a contemplative silence. You sense that there's something he's keeping to himself. As the silence between you and Gepard lingers, curiosity finally gets the better of you, and you decide to address the unspoken weight in the air. 

Your voice is soft, tentative, as you break the quiet with your question. "Gepard," you begin, choosing your words carefully, "there's something you're not telling me, isn't there?"

You watch as Gepard's expression shifts, a mixture of surprise and concern in his eyes. He stops walking, turning to face you fully, and you can see the discontent in his gaze. Gepard takes a deep breath, his gaze shifting to some point in the distance as if he's searching for the right words. "You're right, there are things I haven't told you," he admits, his voice tinged with a sense of internal conflict. "This villa is a place of many memories, some beautiful, some... not so much." He pauses, and you can see he's consciously choosing what to say. "My family, they value their traditions and, well, they don't exactly see eye to eye with the world outside these walls. It's a complicated story." His eyes momentarily lock with yours, their usual glimmer replaced with a dull gaze, before he turns away.

Respecting his discomfort, you don't push for more information. You can't help but steal a few glances at him, noticing a certain pallor to his skin, an ashy hue that hints at something deeper. His once vibrant and charismatic eyes seem tinged with exhaustion, carrying the weight of secrets he's reluctant to share. Although you're not aware of it, Gepard's abstention from drinking blood has left its mark. His distant stare reflects the strain of his restraint, and his typically sharp features seem softer, as if the lack of sustenance has dulled his natural intensity. 

Despite his weariness, Gepard sensed your desire to explore the villa further, and decided to show you the library. The villa's expansive collection of ancient texts and manuscripts held secrets from centuries past, and he wanted to share this secluded part of his world with you. As you wandered through the rows of old books, you were met with centuries worth of knowledge, secluded corners of the world you had yet to see. It was as if you'd found a safe space, away from the otherwise creepy aura of the Landau estate. It felt as though hours had passed since your arrival at the small library, but you were starting to get a little tired of the cryptic hemomancy manuscripts, instead looking for something a bit more… human. 

Gepard's presence was magnetic, and his fingers brushed yours as you struggled to reach higher on the shelf. Your heart raced as your eyes locked in a knowing gaze, the library's silence amplifying your desire. The book you were initially looking for was long forgotten as Gepard's lips met yours in a deep kiss. He pressed you against the bookshelf, hands finding their way to your hips. His lips released yours, and began to gently trail down your jaw, littering the faintest kisses against your skin. But the subtle scrape of something sharp was in stark contrast to his soft lips. Gepard's fangs, usually concealed behind a charming smile, hovered dangerously close to your neck. Your eyes widened in realization, and a sudden panic bubbled up inside of you.

"Wait, Gepard," you gasped, your heart pounding with a mixture of desire and fear. You pushed against his chest, trying to create some space between you, hissing in pain when the pressure stung your injured arm. For an instant, it felt like he might not listen, his gaze dark and unrelenting.

But then, Gepard's eyes flickered with recognition, and he pulled back, his breathing heavy. He looked at you, his expression torn between desire and guilt, his own fear mirrored in his eyes. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I didn't want to take advantage of you like that." Without another word, Gepard left, and his strides were too fast for you to keep up. You didn't see him again for the rest of the night. 

there's so much unnecessary hidden lore in this tbh i shld hav jus written vampire smut nd not gotten this invested into it but it's 2 late now. the mirror represents the forgotten hall and cocolia is the person who betrayed the landau family (more specifically serval).

#honkai star rail #gepard landau #gepard hsr #gepard x reader #gepard x you #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #gepard fluff #♥︎ | milky writes

[pochapal]

Umineko Liveblog: Thoughts/Theories [Episode 1 Chapter 11 Edition]

Umineko chapter 11 served, primarily, as a space to breathe after the high-intensity horror of chapter 10. Nobody died. Nothing drastic went down. It was a quiet chapter, built to encourage you to contemplate on everything that has happened and everything that is still to come.

That does not mean that nothing happened within chapter 11. Despite its toned-down vibe and pacing, plenty unfolded within this chapter to think on. New character developments, new mysteries, and new clues pointing towards the shape of the bigger overall picture.

So, today’s writeup will explore the following topics: Beatrice’s witch narrative as a conscious performance with a conscious audience, Genji’s suspicious proximity to everything that has happened thus far, Kinzo’s vanishing act, how horror and mystery relate to the Detective/Romantic dichotomy, the Ushiromiya hierarchy being the biggest obstacle to the truth, the magic circle and the elephant in the room, the salient conundrum brought up by the existence of a gun, and the relationship between common sense and magic.

Let’s go and rotate Rokkenjima in our minds for a little while and see what we can’t figure out.

1-11 is a bigger chapter with more components than you’d expect going in. The first thing I want to talk about, and the major element that overshadows most of this chapter (as is to be expected), is the witch narrative. For what is likely a whole bunch of reasons, someone is invested in inserting the shed murders, and every unpleasant thing that has gone down on Rokkenjima thus far, into the myth of Beatrice the Golden Witch.

For the purposes of this discussion, whether or not an actual Golden Witch is truly present during this sequence of events is irrelevant. What matters is that the suspicious parties on the island are fixedly returning everyone’s line of thought back to the occult as often as they can, generating a supernatural air through language and gestures rather than hard evidence. In other words, the Golden Witch is, at this stage at least, a complete and total performance.

Hideyoshi, our suspicious man of the hour, continues to very insistently call everything unsettling he sees “demonic”. He does not think about the clues, nor does he permit anybody else to think about the clues. The blood in the dining room is foul and scary and unexplainable, therefore everybody should leave before the demonic foulness follows them. This is, of course, despite the fact that up until the deaths started happening he firmly did not believe in the story of Beatrice one iota.

Not only this, but whenever there is information that cannot be easily verified, Hideyoshi affirms it as truth. Nobody except for Genji and Kanon have checked the phonelines and the radio. Hideyoshi states unquestioningly that they are all therefore stranded with no way of contacting the outside world until the typhoon passes. You could merely argue that Hideyoshi is foolishly trusting even where it’s unwise to do so, but there is an inherent and immediate contradiction in his behaviour: he is fully in on Eva’s schemes and subterfuge, and has worked with her to try and get one up on Krauss.

Why am I bringing Hideyoshi up specifically? One of his major character traits we’re introduced to right at the start of the story is that when he is engaging with the business world, Hideyoshi affects a Kansai accent. In other words, Hideyoshi constructs a performance to conjure the illusion of a man that “exists” in order to get what he wants through what he says and how he says it.

How much difference is there, really, between Hideyoshi’s pretend accent in business meetings, and Hideyoshi’s frantic panicking about witches and demons during crime scene investigations? It’s all performative. It’s all scripted. As always, Beatrice “exists”.

This can be seen further when you examine Maria’s actions during this chapter. She spends the bulk of it pointedly ignoring everyone in favour of watching cartoons on television. The performative fictional story on her screen interests her more than the legitimate tragedy unfolding around her. This is likely not some newly-seen quirk of Maria’s; she is actually normally rather astute and present in situations that are disturbing and upsetting. She engaged with Kumasawa’s tale of omens on the boat. She is aware of the dread that comes with her rose vanishing. She is present for her mother’s beating of her. These are all very real things with very real impacts on Maria. And yet, she doesn’t bat an eye at the very real and very grim tragedy until she gets to infodump about magic circles.

I do not necessarily think this is all conscious on Maria’s part, and is more a thematic point being expressed through Maria’s character than anything else. I think the salient connection between Hideyoshi’s business affect and his sudden insistence on the witch narrative and Maria treating the tragedy with the same level of interest as she would a cartoon all point towards the same thing: the occult witch side of things is an augmented fiction brought to life, a method-acting stageplay that must be acted out for a variety of reasons both known and unknown. Maria, the child who only likes what she likes, is bored by the theatrics right up until she gets to play her role. The rest is just set dressing. Noise to make you believe.

Of course, it’s worth pointing out that the people we see inviting the witch narrative into “existence” are actors in this fiction, rather than the director. Hideyoshi is acting on direction. Maria is not acting on direction, but she is responding to carefully selected stimuli. If we only stick with them, we will likely not get any closer to figuring out what’s actually going on with all this. What we need is to find out who is the author of the witch narrative. Who is the one writing Beatrice into “existence”?

There are possibilities, but nothing concrete yet. However, merely by positing the existence of a conscious author of this fiction, this also forces you to consider the other half of this equation: a fiction needs an audience. Somebody needs to be witnessing this piece of theatre. There is somebody that this writer wants to tell their story to. The author is obscured. The why is obscured. But perhaps the audience is not.

Of all the people on Rokkenjima, there is one who sticks out the most obviously: Battler. He has been removed from this family for over half a decade. He is only barely starting to reconnect with his relatives, most of whom he has a distant and inaccurate impression of based on a resentful memory. To an outsider who is not privy to the way Battler thinks, it would be the most natural thing in the world to assume he still harbours resentment or indifference towards the rest of the Ushiromiya family. In other words, of all the people on Rokkenjima, he is the least likely to be seriously affected by the murders going by this logic.

If you were crafting a supernatural murder mystery tinged with so much tragedy, wouldn’t someone like Battler be an ideal candidate on paper? If you’re making a detective story, you need a Detective to go along with it, or it’s all for nothing.

However, the above statement relies on assumptions that aren’t water-tight. We do not know if the orchestrator of the witch narrative is consciously crafting a mystery, or if it’s just a by-product of the supernatural horror. We also do not know what the narrator wants from their audience, exactly. How much of what Battler is doing is what the culprit intends for Battler to do? How on-track is the witch narrative?

To answer this, we need to consider perspective and genre, and the all-important Detective/Romantic dichotomy.

Luckily for us, there is a scene in this chapter that directly talks about this stuff. When Battler is on the brink of starting to buy into the witch narrative, he has a kind of psychic heart-to-heart with brain ghosts of Rudolf and Kyrie that motivate him to continue to deny the existence of a witch. Rudolf discusses the horror genre, landing on the conclusion that horror exists to fabricate sensations for humans to experience in order to liven up their dull lives. Kyrie discusses chessboard thinking again, highlighting that the deeper you go into a game, the easier it gets to read the opponent as the number of potential moves shrinks to its absolute minimum.

In combination, these two epiphanies bring Battler into a Detective’s mindset where he is more willing than ever to both solve the mystery and deny that the witch exists. Given that Battler has this moment of introspection as a result of the stimuli provided by the witch narrative, it makes it easy to argue in favour of the witch narrative constructing a Detective story.

If that were the case, then everything is being laid out in-universe like a solvable mystery, just as it is to an external reader of Umineko. Somebody on Rokkenjima is expected to examine this mystery with a clear head and solve it. Battler, if Battler is the intended audience, is expected to be the Detective, to cut through the illusions by design.

Where this theory falls apart, though, is that it contradicts the nature of every person capable of perpetuating the Beatrice myth and the witch narrative. Would Kanon, in his determined desperation, want to get caught out and have his chances at escaping his circumstances ruined? Would Kumasawa spend so much time setting the stage at the start, reinforcing the existence of Beatrice in Maria’s mind, for the explicit purpose of having Battler tear it to shreds? Would the letter and graffiti be produced in such excruciating detail just to be denied? Would Eva and Hideyoshi ever consent to acting in a way that makes their crimes not only noticeable, but completely discoverable?

The witch narrative as a Detective story theory fails to marry up with the human element. The horror is not a conscious construction designed for humans to revel in its falsehood to feel better about themselves, because the stakes are too high for anybody to produce a performance that contradictory.

So instead, let’s consider the counter-fact: the witch narrative as a Romantic story. Returning to Rudolf’s horror metaphor, he misses out the crucial aspect of the genre, which is the way that the existence, or “existence”, of the monsters happens when the human audience is exposed to enough narrative material that they themselves conjure their own version of the monster in their minds. The true horror of the genre comes when something sticks with you even after you finish the story, something you cannot rationally deny no matter how much logic you throw at it.

To fit the witch narrative through this Romantic-horror lens, the express purpose of creating the illusion is to get the audience to fully believe in the existence of the witch. No matter what logic, no matter what reasoning, even if you don’t like it, you still can’t doubt your way out of acknowledging it. Through an overloading assault of occult tropes, at least something is bound to stick.

And indeed, Battler wavers for just a moment. It is only after his moment that he flips the script, and would from now on be acting against the way that the originator of the witch narrative likely intended him to. If you’re making a Romantic story, you need your reader to approach it from a Romantic’s perspective. If your reader is set on hard-denying you Detective style, then that’s an irreparable wrench in your plans. Perhaps this is the case. Perhaps the author misjudged Battler’s character, and their scheme is going to come crashing down around them.

That said, what if that’s not entirely the case? What if Battler, no matter how much he leans into his mystery-solving logic, is still acting from the place of the Romantic? After all, he is not coldly and methodically approaching this mystery. Everything he does comes from a deeply emotive place, from an untold sympathy and compassion for his murdered family members. He is not approaching this entirely clear-headed and objective. He is furious that his loved ones have been taken from him. Love is the ruling emotion of the day, not curiosity.

Further than that, the nature of Battler’s epiphany contradicts its own conclusions. He reaches his new perspective by going into his mind and conjuring versions of Rudolf and Kyrie that impart on him the emotional truths he needs to feel validated in continuing to doubt. He does not rely on his own reasoning, on facts and logic, but the memories of his loved ones that are real enough to change his outlook. What is the difference between brain ghost Kyrie telling Battler to remember that the act of cornering is a mutual one so the truth is easier than ever to grasp, and “Beatrice” announcing her impeding and impossible revival through letters and graffiti and the terrified behaviour of deeply compromised individuals?

The emotional truths hinge around words issued by people that “exist”. Everybody involved is invested in having their story uncritically believed. The culprit needs the illusion of the witch to get away with their crimes unscathed. The story of Beatrice is a powerful obfuscation of the material truth, something so overpowering and scary that you can’t fully deny it no matter what you do. Through and through, the witch narrative is Romantic.

So, if Battler is a Romantic masquerading as a Detective, what will happen when he runs against something he can’t deny completely and unequivocally? One major crux of the witch narrative is that it allows a convenient excuse for you to put all the suspicion and doubt on somebody who isn’t a member of the Ushiromiya family. Believing in Beatrice is to uphold the innocence of every human being on Rokkenjima. For Battler, who deeply cares about his family despite having every means to not do so, at what point would the allure of the abdication of blame become too strong to resist?

In his own words, Rokkenjima entered a “different world” the minute the letter was read out. How much would you really want to leave that world when the deeper you go into it, the more painful it will be to leave? Six people are dead. If a witch didn’t do it, somebody Battler knows and cares about killed other people he knows and cares about.

If you follow this through, Battler’s “role” in the narrative is to question right up until it becomes too painful to do so. What value is a truth that can only harm you? If Battler was a Detective, he may be inclined to seek it out anyway. But Battler isn’t really a Detective, so would he really seek to tear down the illusion even knowing what it would cost? Either way, if someone assuming the role of Detective gives up, that solidifies the illusion and removes room for doubt stronger than anything any singular occult symbol could ever do.

Both the Detective and Romantic reads of the witch narrative are plausible and have basis in reality. Both have their gaping flaw, all of which hinge around understanding of the people involved in this story. If you take the Detective’s read, you must have therefore misunderstood the motive of every person linked to the crime. If you take the Romantic’s, you must have therefore misunderstood Battler.

Either way, the common theme is that there is somebody not being understood in this whole performance. The two easiest to reach interpretations condemn the actors and the audience, respectively. Neither scenario, however, touches on the role of the writer, the orchestrator in the shadows.

Who is this person, deciding to produce the witch narrative? What do they want? Why do they want it?

If you could, even a little, fill in the obfuscating negative space surrounding the person behind Beatrice, that might be the thing to set you on the path to uncovering the real truth. Neither Detective nor Romantic, but a secret third thing.

Of course, this line of thinking asks you to consider something outside of the common sense frameworks being built up by Umineko all around you. That the story’s internal logic can only get you so far, and that there’s something additional you need to perceive, or at least perceive the outline of, in order to make more headway.

I am talking about the deeper mysteries of the text of course, but I am also talking about magic.

There’ve been several explanations of the way magic functions within Umineko thus far: it’s a convenient lie to pave over an uncomfortable truth (if a witch made the gold appear with magic, then Kinzo did not acquire it in any kind of evil way), an expression of dreams and desire (to Maria, magic is the one thing that brings her joy), an obfuscating wedge that influences reality against everyone’s wishes (the letter inspires murder even though nobody actively believes in “Beatrice”, so is that not in itself an act of magic?). Above all else, magic is a creative force that can shape the material world from an immaterial stance.

In other words, magic by nature denies and defies common sense and the common sense systems inhabited by most people. Battler struggles with this frequently in this chapter; the witch narrative is neatly set up for him to buy into, but he keeps hesitating because every single part of it goes against common sense. In the physical world, witches cannot exist to instigate a violent summoning ritual. People can’t be killed in impossible and occult ways. Everything must have a mundane explanation. You can think your way out of any problem.

And yet. Battler said it himself. The minute that letter was read out, Rokkenjima entered into another world. Nothing has changed, yet everything has changed. Maria’s rose was there, and yet it was not. Beatrice “exists”.

In every case, the same thing happens. The imaginative rule of thought overrides critical logic. Magic happens when you cannot doubt. Like a good fiction, the illusion only works if you can suspend your disbelief enough to let it manifest. If you read a story with a pedantic frame of mind, picking apart at the very structural seams of the thing until meaning itself unravels, you destroy the magic root and stem.

For instance, I can destroy the illusion of Umineko myself right now. I am merely spending time looking at a collection of png images overlaid atop each other, accompanied by text and audio files. There is not a temporal continuity in this story; each “scene” is a disconnected fragment of information with no actual connective tissue between it and the next. The onus is on me to “believe” that the space between chapter 1 and chapter 2 proves the world of Rokkenjima to be “real”, even though in reality I am shown two disjointed moments – one where Battler (Battler himself being a collection of symbols I am choosing to buy into until it resembles a person in my consciousness) is screaming inside a plane (a loud voice recording plays alongside a drawing of a plane’s interior), and then another where Battler is in the airport on the other side.

The plane journey never existed in narrative, and yet it “exists” in my perception of the story. It becomes more real when the other characters discuss how Battler behaved on this flight. It becomes impossible to deny the plane journey illusion.

If I wanted to, I could still hold fast to the objective truth that the flight never took place, but I ultimately choose to buy into it anyway, because I want to believe in the structural integrity of Umineko. I want to read and engage with Umineko, so Umineko becomes real and engaging enough for me to do that. If you call this nebulous imaginative process “magic”, then magic therefore unequivocally exists, because without imagination/magic, there is no meaning-construction to be done.

Like fiction, like magic, the contradiction lies in the fact that in order to engage with a world, you must therefore suspend your common sense in order to grant it the fullest “existence” that you can. This is a very pedantic ontological point, I’m aware, but is not magic itself also a pedantic ontological point?

The important takeaway remains that too much “common sense”, too much reliance on logic, too much Detective, kills the magic dead. And unless you consciously choose to conjure it up again (such is the case when the reader of a story deconstructs it to language then reconstructs it to narrative) it will stay dead no matter how much the author/witch tries otherwise. Therefore, it’s in the best interest of the author/witch to keep their audience from denying their narrative. It would be bad for business if everyone became a skeptic.

Which is why it is very curious but also completely unsurprising that the narrative of Umineko itself is insistent on maintaining the illusion. Whenever Battler is not telling the story, we are constantly treated to passages and phrases that are all permutations of “it was impossible to figure out, so everybody stopped thinking”. Given that the reader’s instinct is to distrust a first-person narrator as unreliable, and Battler is the element of the story dedicated to denying the witch narrative, it is surely a little suspicious that the more “reliable” third-person narration likes to make a point of passively encouraging acceptance of the witch narrative in this way.

The most compelling evidence for the witch narrative only comes through the third person narration when Battler isn’t there to question or deny it. Battler doesn’t get to see the magic circle on the storehouse door. Battler doesn’t get to see the butterfly that haunted Shannon in her final moments. The only thing Battler gets to see is the letter being read out by Maria, the significance of which is impossible to deny even for him, even if he claims a witch had nothing to do with it. Everything that most strongly affirms the illusion of Beatrice is shown outside of Battler.

A cynical read would be to claim that this is proof the magic is bogus, because under Battler’s scrutiny it would all fall apart as the sham it really is. But as outlined earlier, magic is inexorably tied to the human capacity for imaginatively sequencing reality. If magic didn’t exist, then a whole bunch of other crucial things would also by definition not exist.

So the takeaway is that we are supposed to treat the signs of the witch narrative with gravitas and seriousness. The opening summary for episode one states that our goal here is to not think too hard about what happens and accept all that we see. This directive is not given to Battler or anybody else on Rokkenjima. This directive is given to us before we even start reading the story.

It is important that, at least for now, we accept the witch narrative as something to genuinely engage with, and not as an inconsistency to be torn apart. Destroying the illusion without gaining any understanding would defeat the purpose of whatever the narration is really trying to do – like I’ve discussed before, it is highly likely that the narrator of Umineko has a specific purpose and agenda in presenting this story the way it is presented. There is some kind of truth that needs to be reached, but that can only be reached by entertaining the witch narrative as being real.

Whatever the truth of Umineko is, it cannot be reached through common sense. It cannot be reached by outright denying magic. Even if the truth itself is not magic, a rejection of magic will keep you from it. We would be failing as readers if we were to, like Battler, automatically assume the magic is meaningless without a second thought. Just as within the story “Beatrice” needs the Ushiromiya family not to deny the witch narrative, so too does the narrator need the external audience outside of the story not to deny the witch narrative. We all need to remain at least partially convinced, because doubt is the death of a story, and too much doubt would not only tear apart the witch, but also Umineko itself. The illusion is important for everything to function as it should.

So let’s now turn our attention to one of the cornerstones of this generated narrative illusion: the magic circle. This piece of graffiti becomes a talking point as Hideyoshi and Nanjo bring it up to the rest of the family, in tandem with Battler puzzling over the purpose of using it to advertise the location of the bodies.

Once brought up, Hideyoshi and Nanjo describe the appearance of the magic circle to Maria, who confirms it as a legitimate occult symbol. Based only off their uncertain descriptions, Maria still manages to draw a perfect replica of what they saw, and then goes on to define its meaning: a sacrificial symbol to grant freedom from inescapable bonds.

Through this exchange, some facts about this magic circle can be established. Regardless of whatever was physically painted on the shutter door, the conceptual idea of the symbol is authentic and verifiable. Somebody has deliberately introduced the notion of this sacrificial circle, and made sure that legitimate information would be conveyed to Maria, who would then in turn grant it a sense of truth that nobody else could. It is a simple and powerful way of strengthening the witch narrative: after all, who would go to the lengths to produce such a perfect symbol if it didn’t have meaning?

What is worth pointing out, however, is that the message and purpose of this magic circle in no way fit with the other actions and motives of the “Beatrice” narrative. The letter and the actual killings indicate that the intended pattern is for everything to line up with the ritual established in the epitaph – these are the six chosen by the key to set the ball rolling on the Golden Witch’s resurrection. The magic circle should be irrelevant; by all measures, the six bodies themselves are where the power comes from. The first twilight makes no mention of a sigil, or that anything has to be done beyond the sacrifice of the six.

The magic circle is theatre, then. Its purpose is not truly occult, but instead to heighten a sense of belief in the occult. To somebody unfamiliar with the epitaph and its implications (which is almost certainly pretty much everybody there), the appearance of six mutilated bodies on their own would not induce any kind of supernatural paranoia. It would be a grisly and terrifying scene, but without the over-the-top iconography, the witch narrative would not manifest.

Like Battler surmises, the culprit wanted the circle to be seen. He lands on it being a flashy way to advertise the location of the corpses, which is true enough, but is likely only one part of the reason why. The purpose of the circle is to catch the attention of the oblivious, so that they are forced to acknowledge what is going on. This includes both the murders, and the narrative of the witch. Both these things need to happen in order for events to progress, for whatever reason. Battler considers that the circle may be a message intended for Kinzo’s eyes, but the opposite is most likely true. This circle was drawn for the benefit of everybody except for Kinzo.

And of course, if the circle is to be treated as a narrative entity, then it’s important to examine the storytellers. The ones who fill everybody in on the details of the circle are Nanjo and Hideyoshi. Hideyoshi at this point is pretty evidently entrenched in upholding the witch narrative, but it is also curious that Nanjo is one of the originators of information about the magic circle as well.

Throughout the story so far, I’ve kept flip-flopping on whether or not Nanjo is to be suspected, or if he is unfortunate enough to be incompetent at the worst possible time. What’s worth considering about Nanjo is that while he has performed suspect activities (confirming the details of the magic circle, encouraging everybody to stop looking at the crime scenes), he is not outright perpetuating the witch narrative in the way Hideyoshi has been. Nanjo never describes anything as demonic, as inexplicable. He just describes it in a matter of fact, albeit disturbed, manner.

Hideyoshi being in on the witch narrative makes sense. He is almost certainly embroiled in whatever went down when the six were actually killed. Nanjo occupies a weirder space. He very conveniently presents things in a way that would benefit the witch narrative without ever being an outright suspect himself. He has no connection to the inheritance dispute. He is not trapped in the desperate cycles of torment that the other servants are. He has not been seen to interact with any suspicious element in the story. He is just there. And yet. And yet.

That said, there is one suspicious thing Nanjo does do in this chapter, even if it is suspicious in a way that isn’t directly related to either the murders or the witch narrative. When the possible meanings of the magic circle are brought up, everybody’s attention turns to the iron cross situated front and centre. Nanjo is the one that brings up that the symbol is best known for its usage by an ancient religious order, which leads the others to latch onto that theory until Maria outlines the actual occult meaning of it.

What’s interesting here is that the other meaning associated with the iron cross goes unremarked upon. I don’t believe this is because that meaning is irrelevant in Umineko – in the previous chapter, the iron cross was distinctly described as looking “European” – so it is worth considering why this meaning is never brought up. Nanjo knows enough about the history of the iron cross to discuss its ancient religious meaning, but he doesn’t talk about its usage as a fascist icon?

Assuming Nanjo is aware of that meaning, and is not saying it, this would not be the first time that he has spoken over what should otherwise be an elephant in the room. Right at the start of the story, when discussing a will with Kinzo, Nanjo very overtly hinted towards Kinzo using a will as a means of confessing some kind of sin, being as explicit as he could be without directly stating whatever said sin is. Kinzo denied that he had any such skeletons in his closet, before pivoting to talking about his one regret being that he never saw Beatrice’s smile again. Nanjo, however, still firmly made it clear that he believed in the existence of some great sin in Kinzo’s past that needs absolution, something that Nanjo never directly says out loud.

How likely is it, then, that Kinzo’s sin and the deliberately unspoken-on western fascist iconography are linked? Nanjo has known Kinzo for years, enough that he is one of the very few people that the man actually trusts. Could it be that, whatever this sin of Kinzo’s is, that Nanjo is in some way complicit? That he can’t talk about it, because talking about it himself is to admit an involvement he would rather not have anyone know about? Nanjo is very good at being an unremarkable, inoffensive presence. Perhaps it is a practised front, a means of self-preservation in the face of whatever murky thing lies in the past.

As the magic circle hints at, everybody on Rokkenjima is confined by an inescapable obligation. What obligation holds Nanjo there? Unlike the family members and the servants, Nanjo is simply a physician. Nothing about him is personally bound to the Ushiromiya family. And yet he’s here, stuck same as the rest of them. What does Nanjo know? There has to be something, because of all the possible magic circles drawn, the one with this specific image was chosen. Somebody used this symbol to evoke that grim secret. Try as he likes to bury his head in the sand, I feel like sooner or later, this thing will come to light, either via confession or via the culprit forcing it out into the open.

I’ve already spoken on who I think is the best candidate to have produced this magic circle, and so far nothing has contradicted that theory. It still needs to be a person who has access to the occult knowledge who isn’t Kinzo, who had the means and opportunity to produce the circle. That still leaves the same two culprits as last time. Kanon by now is an established suspect, and there’s not much more I can say on him that I haven’t already said.

Instead, let’s turn our attention to the next most suspicious servant, who has a knack for being at the centre of a lot of bizarre and convenience coincidences. Let’s think about just how sus Genji really is.

I’ve already outlined in an earlier writeup how Genji makes the most sense to be an accomplice to Kanon if Kanon is the culprit. This time I’d like to examine how Genji’s actions in this chapter paint him as even more suspect.

The obvious thing to mention here is how easily Genji could get away with lying. In this chapter, Genji confirms to everybody that the phones and radio are down, leaving them with no way to contact the outside world. This claim is bolstered by Hideyoshi immediately reacting with utmost belief. Nobody else has any room or reason to doubt what Genji is saying. Genji says something, a person parroting the witch narrative reinforces it, and it becomes hard fact.

Meanwhile, not once have the phones and radio been inspected by anyone other than Genji. In this way, his claims are even flimsier than narrative evidence located in non-Battler POV segments. Whereas with those, we the reader get to see something, even if that something is not true, here we get nothing except for Genji’s word. Genji, who is the closest ally of Kinzo, and would know him and his quirks enough to justifiably have a passing understanding of occult concepts. Genji, who knows Beatrice. Genji, who is strong and competent despite his advanced age.

Genji, who is at the centre of a lot of convenient coincidences. The phones and radio are broken? Who is in the best position to sabotage these things. Krauss’s personal boat is out for repairs and thus unavailable on the exact date of the conference? Who is best positioned to arrange such a set of circumstances. The bodies are found in a location only a servant with a key could access? Well, I sure do wonder who fits best there. In chapter 10, it was said that searching for fingerprints on the storehouse door would be useless because Kanon and Genji’s prints would already be on there from opening it up. Genji is present for both the magic circle in the garden and the bloodstains outside Natsuhi’s room. Genji is the one that greets Eva and Hideyoshi at midnight after they return to the guesthouse. It is always Genji, always present.

When you give it even a moment of scrutiny, Genji is right at the heart of the witch narrative, moreso than even Kanon. It would be impossible to deny Genji’s involvement at this point no matter which way you slice it. There are too many instances of this happening to dismiss it as coincidence.

The only issue with trying to pin anything on Genji is that the question of why remains totally opaque. Genji has the means and opportunity to be a likely culprit, but why would he do that? All my other major suspects have a clear motive. Eva and Hideyoshi are either trying to save their own skin (if you want to be charitable) or gunning for the gold and the headship (if you want to be uncharitable). Kanon deeply loathes the Ushiromiya family and the way they’ve treated both him and Shannon and is acting from a place of desperation. Genji, however? Genji is in good standing with Kinzo. Genji has given no indication that he is either resentful of his position as a servant or interested in the gold. So what reason would Genji have for involving himself?

I’ve sketched it out before, but the only thing I can even vaguely think of is based on the way that Genji will say “I faithfully serve the master of the household”. This phrasing is interesting, because it can be taken to mean that Genji’s utmost loyalty is to whoever the head of the Ushiromiya household is, and not Kinzo specifically. Would this mean, then, that in a situation where Kinzo were to no longer act as the Ushiromiya head, Genji would switch allegiance to whoever took his place? If, say, Kanon were to find the discarded ring in the courtyard and use it to seal some letters, would that be enough for Kanon to become the new “master”?

If so, why would Genji act like this? He is one of three servants on Rokkenjima to refer to themselves as furniture, but unlike Shannon and Kanon, we are not ever shown any specific facet of abuse inflicted on Genji beyond the standard abuse inherent to being part of the servant class. Genji is the senior servant. He is Kinzo’s good friend. Natsuhi and Krauss distrust him, but they aren’t outright hostile to him. Nobody berates him. Nobody disrespects him. So why would this kind of blind servitude be a core part of his character?

The only thing I can think of to explain this in a way beyond “Genji is just like that”, is that Kinzo has indicated that the murders and the revival of the witch are only one half of his desired outcomes on the demon’s roulette. Kinzo’s understanding of magic is founded on the idea of getting a result with astronomically low odds in the face of infinitely more likely occurrences. With the epitaph, there are two outcomes: either thirteen people die and the witch is resurrected, or somebody solves the epitaph, finds the gold, and succeeds the headship. Both of these outcomes would be acceptable in Kinzo’s eyes.

Kinzo’s insurance for the murder part of the epitaph is well-outlined; he holes himself up in his study and waits for everyone else in his family to die so that he can meet Beatrice again at the end of it. What is less clear is his insurance for the succession part. It’s abundantly clear that he does not want his own relatives to solve the epitaph and claim the rewards (and there may be some contract word trickery where the fortune is safe if not in the hands of someone who is part of the Ushiromiya lineage) and has not so subtly pushed Kanon to think about solving the epitaph for himself.

I think my earlier theory that Kinzo is grooming the two young furniture servants to play specific roles in the epitaph ritual holds strongest here. Kanon solves the epitaph and becomes the new Ushiromiya head, thereby preserving Kinzo’s fortune in a way that keeps it out of the hands of his loathed offspring. Shannon, meanwhile, becomes a vessel for the Golden Witch’s spirit once the murders have finished. In Kinzo’s dream scenario, having Shannon and Kanon survive to the end would allow him to have his cake and eat it. Beatrice revives, and the fortune is preserved. Kanon and Shannon become the new Ushiromiya head and the new Golden Witch. The cycle repeats.

Of course, giving the headship to Kanon would be a risky bet. If even a single member of the Ushiromiya family survives, there is absolutely no way that Kanon would get a shred of anything. So the only way for this plan to work would be for either every single Ushiromiya to die, or for there to be some means of protecting Kanon’s status.

Genji deeply and fondly cares about Kinzo, enough that he can bring out a softer side to the man. If Kinzo were to frame this as a final request to an old friend, would Genji be likely to follow through with it? He cares about Kinzo, and he has a soft spot for Shannon and Kanon. I think it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine he’d be willing to protect these kids on his master’s say. Genji has nothing to gain, but also nothing to lose. He is prime suspect material without even trying.

And better than that, Genji’s suspicious position continues to fulfil his duty of upholding the Ushiromiya hierarchy. Both Battler and Eva say it themselves; the easiest conclusion for anybody to reach is that the murders are the work of a servant with a grudge against the family. When the typhoon ends and the survivors leave, this is almost assuredly the story that will reach the police’s ears, because it’s easier than having to examine the rotten foundation present in the Ushiromiya family members themselves.

The unspoken element of this whole murder mystery setup is the class dynamic at play. The two groups of people on the island consist of the extremely wealthy family members, and the put-upon and abused servants. Almost immediately the most suspicious members of the family leverage this class discrepancy to plant seeds of paranoia towards the servants, relying on the fact that it’ll be easier to condemn them than their own relatives.

When Eva discusses with Battler that the most likely culprit is a servant (even if the evidence does indicate that) she is setting in motion that dilemma. Who can Battler distrust more easily? His beloved aunt, or a servant? Who would he rather send to prison by pointing the finger come the morning?

Of course, Battler tries to shoot Eva down through chessboard logic, claiming that pinning it on a servant is too easy and too obvious, that it’s the expected move to make when taking on a family of paranoid rich people. The truth would naturally be more complex than that, so Battler tries to puzzle out what that more complex truth might be. However, the evidence still paints the picture that only a servant could have given Maria the letter, that only a servant could have set up the storehouse scenario. When those facts become impossible to deny, what happens then?

The petty “servants seeking revenge” narrative is just as much a brute-force obfuscation as the witch narrative. In the face of such atrocities, it is easier to hand all responsibility over to a witch, or to the lesser servants, than it is to consider that your own relatives are complicit. Without the witch narrative in place, the servant narrative would easily win out. The Ushiromiya family would close ranks. They would convince themselves only a servant could have done it, and they would all as one state that a servant did do it. No thinking needed. All you’d need is the reliance on your place in the class hierarchy. Any suspect family members are protected by everybody taking the easy road.

By all accounts, this series of murders should do nothing to disrupt the cycles of abuse and violence in the Ushiromiya family. The wealth and class violence should ensure that no matter what, they will get away consequence-free. So what could actually manage to put an end to this rotten cycle, then?

This is where the witch narrative would shine. You cannot believe in both the witch narrative and the servant narrative. Believing in the witch also means ceasing to suspect the servants by virtue of its very construction. And more than that, if you consider that the witch narrative is using the murders to force everyone to consider a deeper truth than tricks and culprits, a successful witch narrative may very well destroy the Ushiromiya structure once and for all.

If the magic circle’s alternative symbolism has weight, if the implicit meaning is true, then the witch narrative will drag to light the Ushiromiya family’s dirty secrets. Here, it does not matter if the individuals in the family believe or not. What matters is that the witch narrative is painting a picture of the fascist core at the heart of Rokkenjima. In that case, what happens when, after the murders, word gets out that the Ushiromiya family is brimming with rotten politics? What does it mean for the world to know that this successful family is sitting atop a pile of illegal, possibly fascist, gold? It would be a PR disaster for every company associated with the family, worse even than money troubles. The very structures upholding this family would be used against them and they would be powerless to stop it.

Given how intrinsically woven the witch narrative is into the fabric of the murders, there is no way they could even attempt to cover it up without it also looking like they’re trying to cover up the murders of their family members. If they tried to bury the second truth to the killings, it would only serve to paint them as the culprits. In a roundabout way, this is a more material manifestation of the believe the witch/deny the witch dilemma. If Eva denies the witch narrative, she is suspected as a culprit. If she attempts to cover up the occult presentation of the crimes, she becomes suspected as a culprit. It’s the same thing on two different levels. A top-down conundrum that forces the Ushiromiya family to play along with the story for their own good.

And here, at the intersection of Ushiromiya hierarchy and unsolvable mysteries, we get the latest problem to solve: Kinzo’s disappearance.

After returning from the storehouse terrified and traumatised, Eva and Natsuhi take it on themselves to make sure that Kinzo, the only person still unaccounted for, is alive and well. Natsuhi out of a sense of fear and duty, Eva out of a sense of wanting to be proven right. Some time later, they return to the parlour with the grim news that the Ushiromiya family head has disappeared.

This is immediately an intriguing problem. The last time we saw Kinzo was in the morning, shortly before the discovery of the bodies. He was in his study, present enough to have his bizarre heart-to-heart with Natsuhi. Beyond this change in character (that is not without precedent), there was nothing up with Kinzo in this scene that would even imply something like this would happen.

Natsuhi met with Kinzo in the study at around 08:00. Chapter 11 starts at 08:45. Assuming some wriggle room, this gives a window of maybe one hour tops within which Kinzo can vanish. Drilling further, you can assume the time that Kinzo disappeared was most likely when everybody was finding the bodies, leaving the mansion empty save for Maria and maybe Kumasawa. That window would likely be shorter, perhaps no longer than thirty minutes.

So. Somehow, Kinzo manages to disappear without a trace, unassisted, in a span of half an hour. A timespan that also just so happens to coincide with the discovery of the six corpses. It’s a very weird and very convoluted setup.

The first questions to ask are: where did Kinzo go? And is he still alive?

In terms of location, this can be narrowed down considerably. Kinzo obviously was not in the garden or storehouse because this is where everybody was during the timeframe of his disappearance. Natsuhi and the servants later performed a sweep of the entire mansion, confirming that he was not there either. His study remains empty, so he is not there, either. That is pretty much every known place on Rokkenjima ruled out.

Except for one: the Golden Land. Or the vault. Or wherever it is the ten tons of gold ingots are hidden. If Kinzo is anywhere, it is likely he is here. It’s an impossible place that nobody will think to look for until it’s too late, requiring an engagement with the witch narrative to even stand a chance of locating him. Why would he go here, when it’s been established that his study is the safest place to be during a series of murders?

If he left of his own volition, which seems likely given that nobody could have feasibly helped or forced him, we need to consider his last actions before disappearing: his conversation with Natsuhi. Could something about that interaction have prompted him to move? Perhaps the fact that Natsuhi, a marked sacrifice, survived the night shook his confidence. If something that small can go awry, perhaps the demon’s roulette isn’t as guaranteed as he’d like it to be. So by heading to the “Golden Land” ahead of time, it means that he cannot be “sent” there as part of the ritual. Also, unlike his study which can be opened from the outside by a key, the only way to even find the hiding place of the gold, let alone access it, is to solve a nigh-impossible riddle that nobody has any interest in.

Except if you think about it, even that is rife with contradiction. In order to reach the gold, you likely need to complete all the steps of the epitaph riddle. Doing so would likely render the riddle unsolvable for anybody else thinking of trying their hand at it, defeating the purpose of the demon’s roulette. For Kinzo’s magic to manifest, he needs two equally viable extreme outcomes to pit themselves against each other. Why would he eliminate the resisting force that would guarantee his miracle? Something doesn’t add up.

And more than that. When discussing his disappearance, it is made abundantly clear to the reader that this is an extremely weird thing for Kinzo to do no matter what. His updated character status all but states outright that him ever leaving his study is completely and wildly out of character for him. Natsuhi and the servants make it very clear that, for some reason, it should be “impossible” for Kinzo to leave his study. And yet he is gone regardless.

Why would it be impossible for Kinzo to leave? He is not physically sealed inside the study; there is a locking mechanism from the inside that he can use to come and go if he so wanted to. All his needs are in theory met inside the study, so it’s not likely he would want to go out and interact with his family, but impossible? That’s a strong word. How and why would Kinzo be trapped in his study, in a way that makes it apparent to those who know him best that he would never leave?

It gets weirder, though. In the flow of this same conversation, after highlighting how impossible it would be for Kinzo to leave the study, Natsuhi offers an alternative explanation: Kinzo, on a fickle whim, likely decided to go out for a walk. Ignoring how ridiculous that is as an excuse, there is the more pressing issue here. How can it be impossible for Kinzo to leave his study, and yet also equally likely that he would simply wander around oblivious to the ongoing crisis?

How can Kinzo be both trapped in his study, and also capable of roaming around the mansion? Why would Natsuhi say such a thing?

Really, when everybody is acting like this, it’s no surprise that Eva is this confident in her conspiracy theory. Speaking of which, let’s address the second question related to Kinzo: is he still alive as of his disappearance?

I am not sure. I think that, either way, we won’t see Kinzo again until we discover his corpse, but as to when that will happen is a mystery. Logic dictates that he can’t be dead yet, because nothing about him fits the criteria for the next twilight. One old man dying on his own does not constitute “the two who are close” in any possible way.

He could fit the criteria for any twilight after the second, but if he’s an intended sacrifice, why take him ahead of time? If you kill somebody for, say, the fourth twilight before the second has even happened, doesn’t that invalidate the sequence of the ritual and prevent Beatrice’s resurrection?

This might make sense if Kinzo was abducted by somebody with a vested interest in stopping the ritual (but again, nobody was around to take him), except that raises another contradiction. If the culprit didn’t want the ritual, why ensure the killings match the first twilight, and why go to all these lengths to fabricate the witch narrative? If something sticks out like this, the whole thing will unravel, and as we’ve already established, the culprit needs the witch narrative to succeed for any of this to work.

So if all that is the case, why did Kinzo disappear? What for?

If he was taken to be killed, who took him? Where is he? If you assume my earlier theory of Kinzo being in the room with the gold, the culprit keeping him there to kill him once again contradicts the witch narrative: if the epitaph gets solved, the murders stop. If a body is found in a place where you need to solve the epitaph to access, it completely shreds every drop of legitimacy that a witch could be present.

How, then, can you reconcile Kinzo’s disappearance with the witch narrative? There is one thing I can think of, but a lot of it relies on baseless conjecture inspired by one singular detail.

After searching the mansion for Kinzo, Natsuhi returns carrying a gun. She claims to have taken it from Kinzo’s personal collection as a precautionary measure. The existence of this rifle immediately solves one mystery, and creates one more.

The bodies in the storehouse had their faces mutilated in a way that wasn’t clear. There was no tool found that could have done that to them. A rifle like the one Kinzo has would very conveniently blast a hole in someone’s face, tearing it up in a way that matches what Battler saw. This strongly indicates that the culprit, or the person who set up the first twilight anyhow, has access to a gun.

If you assume this as truth, another problem immediately arises. The gun was kept in Kinzo’s personal collection. The location of this collection is not specified, but based on everything we know, this gun was almost assuredly kept inside Kinzo’s study. This means that, in order to create the first twilight, the culprit had to take the gun from Kinzo’s study and use it.

(As an aside, even if you figure that there is more than one gun at play, all guns are likely stored in the same place, so the issue is not with the number of guns, but the location of Kinzo’s collection).

The list of people who could have taken the gun from the study that night is incredibly small – only Genji has a key to the study, and only he and Kanon would stand a chance of being granted entry. Luckily, it is very likely that Genji and Kanon are involved in the crime, so this fact holds water.

What doesn’t hold water is what this implies. There is no way for anybody to enter Kinzo’s study without Kinzo knowing. If Genji and/or Kanon took the gun to mutilate the bodies, Kinzo would also therefore be aware about the first twilight at around midnight. How likely is it that Kinzo would let them take the gun without at least asking questions? A spiteful old man like him would almost certainly want to know who died, if only to make sure it adheres to the pattern of the epitaph if nothing else.

So in this scenario, the servants take the gun, mutilate the bodies, and then either return it to the study or keep it for themselves depending on if there’s more than one gun. Either way, this means Kinzo has full knowledge of what has gone down. One could even argue that this makes him an accomplice to some extent.

Under this scenario, it might make sense for Kinzo to disappear from the study. Since Kanon and Genji were preoccupied with the bodies, the only way for Kinzo to vanish is to leave the study himself. Except the most likely culprits chosen by the demon’s roulette are all people who wouldn’t dare harm Kinzo (Genji is honour-bound, Eva killing Kinzo would contradict her ambitions to be recognised by him), so it is not like he would need to flee the study for somewhere safer. Nobody suspicious would actively target Kinzo, with maybe the exception of Kanon. But Kanon almost certainly cannot act on his own, so that’s a moot point.

And more than that, would a Kinzo who is fully aware of what has gone down act the way he acted towards Natsuhi in their conversation? He adamantly refuses to leave his study, telling Natsuhi that he does not want to hear even a single word of the other siblings discussing the inheritance. Would he act like this if he knew every single sibling except for Eva was dead? The night before, Kinzo had given himself fully to Beatrice and the demon’s roulette, ceasing to care about trivialities like the inheritance and the conference. Why would he suddenly care about this again? Odds are that even if he doesn’t know who’s dead, he should know that even one murder would stop the inheritance talk dead in its tracks. So why would he say this?

If Kinzo knows anything, his conversation with Natsuhi makes no sense. He would not say that. Not if he knew people were dead. Not if his gun had been taken. Even if he didn’t clue Natsuhi in on any of this, he would have received evidence that the ritual is happening, so he should have been even more off the “ohhhh Beatriceeee” deep end than normal. Instead he acts as if none of this Beatrice murder stuff is happening at all.

The two scenarios are not compatible. Either Kinzo does not know about the murders, or there’s something up with his talk with Natsuhi.

If Kinzo knows nothing, how was his gun used in the first twilight? If he knows something, why did he act like he did towards Natsuhi? Both cannot be true. And yet they seemingly are.

We have to assume the gun was used to mutilate the bodies, because there is nothing else shown to us that makes sense. For the gun to be used, that means somebody was in Kinzo’s study past midnight in order to obtain said gun. We also have to assume that fact to be true.

This places the contradiction squarely within his conversation with Natsuhi, then. Luckily, there’s already a basis for something weird going on in this scene even without the tangled psychic knot of his disappearance to contend with. Halfway through the conversation, for no reason, Kinzo’s entire personality pulls a complete 180, going from bitter and hateful to reassuring and praising Natsuhi as a worthy member of the family.

Kinzo’s actions in the latter half of the conversation are discussed by the narrative as if he’d become a “different person”. More specifically, it’s as if Kinzo transformed into the exact person Natsuhi needed him to be at that exact time. He says exactly what Natsuhi needs to hear in order to have the strength to face the rest of the family. This runs counter to the established loathing and abuse of Natsuhi we have been told about by Kumasawa. One explanation would be that he now respects Natsuhi for surviving the first twilight, but this is incompatible with the notion that Kinzo knows nothing about what went down outside of his study. This again goes back into the incompatibility between the gun being used and Natsuhi being reassured.

How can you explain this away?

I have one way, but it’s an insane reach that I’m not confident in, and relies on a very specific reading of Umineko to work.

Previously, I’ve discussed the way that scenes Battler isn’t present for are more interested in conveying the Romantic’s emotional truth than the Detective’s logical truth. My prior example was how the occult symbols aren’t seen by Battler, so their importance lies more in the way that the people who do see them react. I also argued that this makes the physical details of those things hard to concretely pin down, to the point where whether or not they physically exist does not matter. I also argued something similar in chapter 9, with regards to the very weird and disconnected framing of Shannon’s scenes, that some truth was either being hidden from us or being fabricated in the presentation of that chapter.

I never wanted to outright say it, because I think it’s a leap, but for this to work I’m going to argue that non-Battler scenes are fully capable of outright lying to us about everything seen within them. This would mean that we can trust nothing that happens outside of Battler’s vision except for the feelings and emotions inspired by what supposedly happens.

Let’s re-examine Natsuhi’s conversation only focusing on the emotional trajectory. Natsuhi is stressed and dejected, overcome with insecurity. Throughout the scene she goes from this, to nervous, to despairing, to reassured, to confident. Natsuhi’s emotional journey is valid, because this lines up with the version of Natsuhi that takes charge that Battler gets to see. What I am instead arguing is that the means of Natsuhi reaching this emotional state are a total fabrication.

In plainer terms, this means her conversation with Kinzo did not actually happen. Perhaps she still conjured a version of Kinzo in her mind to reassure her, but this would be no different from Battler relying on the memories of Rudolf and Kyrie to reassure him. If you assume that the scene was Natsuhi performing some kind of self-soothing via brain ghost Kinzo, this opens up another opportunity: Kinzo has not been in his study since midnight.

Natsuhi is the only person to claim to have seen Kinzo since the previous night. Her claims cannot be verified. If you distrust Natsuhi, then you can expand the timeframe for Kinzo’s disappearance from half an hour to eight. The last time we saw Kinzo was in his study at the strike of midnight. The time before that was around 20:00 the previous night, when Shannon and Kanon tell Kinzo about Maria reading the letter. If you take that as the last “confirmed” sighting of Kinzo, then that extends the window even further to twelve hours. In that case, Kinzo could have been gone long before anybody came to take the gun the first time.

The problem with this, other than the fact it’s completely insane, is that by this logic, a good fifty percent of the story needs to be treated as a potential outright fabrication. If Kinzo wasn’t in the study when we were shown that he was there with Natsuhi, then that means that we can’t rely on the argument between the siblings as being what we think it is, on George and Shannon’s proposal not having happened totally differently from what was shown. Nothing that Battler didn’t see can be trusted if you accept even this one thing as possible.

So, if so much of the story can be explained away as a fabrication: why? Why have half the scenes outright lie to the reader? What does this tell us about the narrator? If the emotional truth is the only valid thing in a sea of lies, and we are expected to take these lies as genuine in order to parse the emotional truth, is that itself not a form of magic?

In the study in chapter 10, Ushiromiya Kinzo “exists”. George and Shannon’s romance “exists”. Natsuhi’s crisis of confidence “exists”. Beatrice “exists”. It’s all there, and all valid if we choose to believe it, but only if we choose to believe it. Tear at the seams of the illusion, and it all comes down. Doubt is the only thing that can kill a witch. Doubt is the only thing that can kill a story.

Umineko is a work of fiction, deliberately constructed and narrated by somebody for a specific purpose. Whatever it is, the narrator needs the reader to have utmost faith in the illusion of the fiction. So what if half the scenes are made up? Can’t the same be said about every part of Umineko? It’s all made up. It’s all a story. Why draw an arbitrary line at what kinds of fantasy-conjuring are acceptable? Battler’s POV is language and images same as the other narration. What gives his viewpoint more authenticity?

Like the earlier plane scene example, meaning is constructed by the reader. The audience of a story receives symbols, and uses those symbols to create a being that “exists” convincingly enough that they can step into another world. To put it another way, the goal of the witch narrative is to get a human to perform magic, and if you are performing magic this way, are you too not also a witch?

What is the point of fiction without meaning? Of emotion without belief? Even if he’s not physically present, does the brain ghost Kinzo not have as much of a valid impact on the world of the story as the absent flesh-and-blood man? Kinzo has not been present for the family conference at all, and yet his figure has been a guiding force dominating the psychology of everybody there. What is the difference between the argument in the parlour and Natsuhi’s moment in the study, save for the fact that one scene has a visualisation of Kinzo and the other doesn’t?

This is a story about magic and witches. The nature of magic is to create something that feels real enough to change the material world. Money, witches, fictions, ghosts. These are all things that everybody has bought into and produced in this story. Following this through, it means that everybody on Rokkenjima has the capacity to perform magic. Past the mystery, perhaps this is the purpose of the story, a Romantic’s truth that exposes how everybody has the capacity to change reality through changing its meaning. This does not answer the question of “how did Kinzo disappear”, but how much does that matter compared to his impact on the minds of the other characters? We already know he’ll turn up dead one way or another. What matters are the secrets he carries, the way he intersects with the narrative and his role in letting us access the deeper truths of this story. In comparison to that, the Detective logistics of a disappearance are mundane and boring.

Either that, or Kinzo actually has been dead all along, and everybody on the island is complicit in the coverup, and Eva was right about everything the whole time.

Or the gun was never in the study at all and this is all a deranged moot point. Such are the joys of rotating Umineko in your mind at such breakneck velocities. You never know which theory is more likely. Take your pick.

Let’s head to chapter 12 and see how the story progresses.

#umineko #umineko liveblog #long post #11.25k words long. you have been warned #umineko writeup