#like i had now forced her to be a bad person through my negligence to give her this information in a timely manner......like Come On

[reiding-writing]

Hi i am absolutely in love with your writing. If you want to, could you write Reid having one of his migraines and reader just comforts him, yk massaging his scalp and forehead and whatnot while he lay in her lap. Idk man i just wanna see my boy get some relief from his headaches because in the show he just suffers through them ☹️

migraine massages [ s.r ]

Summary:

Migraines are the worst. They hurt and they stop you from doing absolutely everything. Spencer was silently pleading for relief from his own body, and you plan to fulfil those needs.

WARNINGS: details of migraines, vomit mentions, mentions of spencer’s addiction, mentions of relapse

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

genre: ANGST, hurt/comfort

wc: 2.7k

masterlist!!

a/n: can’t have hurt/comfort without the hurt. from a personal perspective, migraines suck bro. they suck so bad.

i’m also mildly disappointed that they didn’t expand the migraine thing after they dropped the original tumour reason, like they could’ve done so much with it-

thanks for the request! <33

Spencer felt like his skull was being hammered from the inside out. Like his brain was silently vying to escape it’s confines and break out of the bone. He felt like every nerve of his body was working against him to make sure he had the most miserable day humanly possible.

He felt like if he moved an inch from his position that the coffee and croissant that he had for breakfast this morning in an attempt to make himself feel better was going to force it’s way up out of his stomach and paint his desk in a sea of vomit.

The tinnitus ringing in his ears didn’t help, nor did the agitatingly bright while florescent lights of the office that he’d never seemed to take much notice of before.

His shoulders ached as he rested his head in his hands, his thumbs negligibly working against his temples to attempt to relieve some of the aching pressure that sent waves through his head and made him want to curl up into ball under his bed covers and never wake up.

“Spence? Are you okay?” Your voice is deliberately quiet as you approach his desk on your return from the kitchenette, steaming mug of coffee cupped in your hands and concern written all over your face.

You can almost hear the sigh of relief as he realises it’s just you and not Hotch asking him for the fourth time today for the file he’d been trying to finish for the last almost three hours.

He doesn’t look up at you yet, merely replying a weak “hi…yeah…just a headache”

You can see him try to suppress a grimace as his own voice overloads his eardrums and sends another wave of pain through his head.

You knew what a headache looked like. And what he was experiencing looked nothing like ‘just a headache’.

“A headache? You look like you’re in a lot of pain, have you-” You begin to question his pain relief, but catch yourself before asking about painkillers. As much as they definitely shouldn’t be, opioids are the most common form of pain relief prescribed for migranes, and you knew that if he had gone to the doctors for the pain, he would’ve turned them down.

At least you hope so anyway.

“Have you… had it for long?”

There’s a pause, before an almost imperceptible nod comes from him. “Three hours… three hours and eighteen minutes…. I thought it was gonna pass but… it’s getting worse….” he swallows before forcing out the next part “…I feel sick….”

You give him a small nod and a pursed expression, becoming increasingly concerned as he continues his explanation, and you can just barely catch how pale his face has gone underneath his hands.

“You should go home Spence…”

He looks up from his desk at that suggestion. As he’s trying to answer he gets cut off by a blinding pain that explodes behind his eyes. He gasps and clutches his head, dropping back into his chair before closing his eyes. “Agh….”

“Spencer…” You can’t help but wince slightly at Spencer’s clear display of pain. “Let me drive you home, you’re not fit to work right now,”

He wants to argue but his mouth is dry. The pain is just too much for him to focus on anything else, including having an opinion, so instead he simply nods.

“Give me two seconds okay? I’m going to go and tell Hotch and then we can go,”

That seems to be a satisfactory answer for now, because he just nods again. He’s not quite ready for the onslaught of light and sounds that will be the outside world just yet. He simply leans his head back and closes his eyes, trying to relax and focus on his breathing.

It takes you a little under two minutes to return, and the first thing you do is take both of your messenger bags onto your shoulder and dispose of your coffee mug on your desk.

You hold out a hand tentatively to him to help him up from his chair. “Here, let’s get you home,”

He takes your hand, slowly getting on his feet as his change in positioning sends another wave of pain shooting through the front of his head. He’s leaning on you for balance as you lead him out of the BAU office. His vision is still blurry, but at least having someone to lean on stops him from having to risk tripping over.

You have to help him into your car once your reach the parking lot, reclining the passenger’s seat as far back as it’ll go so that he’s not forced to sit upright for the whole ten minute drive.

You make an effort to keep the vehicle smooth as you pull out of the office, checking periodically over at your side to make sure that Spencer is alright. Or as alright as he can be anyway.

Once you reach Spencer’s apartment complex, you shut off the car and collect both of your belongings, getting out yourself and then walking around to assist Spencer in getting up.

It’s clear from his expression that he wouldn’t’ve managed the task on his own. He leans on you in a combination of gratitude, comfort and convenience, and he continues to use you as a crutch through the front entrance to the elevator and all the way up to his apartment door, where he struggles to insert his key in the lock through his shaking hands.

“You got it?”

He gives a weak “mhm” as he fumbles with the keys in the lock for a few seconds more, but eventually manages to unlock the door and step inside with you.

“Take a seat Spence,” You lead him carefully over to his couch and sit him down before walking across the room to pull his curtains shut and dump your bags on his reading chair.

As you pull the curtains shut and turn around again, you notice the room being a little messier than usual. Books and papers have been scattered over the room, and there were several mugs and glasses dotted around.

Clearly this wasn’t his first migrane.

Spencer is increasingly grateful the room isn’t too bright as the shade covers the room, allowing him to relax into the cushions of the sofa as you kneel to help him remove his shoes before removing your own.

He doesn’t resist your assistance. The pain still hasn’t subsided enough for him to be in the mood to resist anything. He keeps his eyes closed the whole time you unlace his shoes, just grateful for any relief he can get.

“l’m going to get you some water okay?” Spencer nods at this suggestion. At this point he’s too tired and nauseous to try and fight you, so as you leave the room, he lays his head over the back of the couch and just waits for you to come back with the water.

You return with both a glass of water and a small holding a few ice cubes, handing Spencer the glass and leaving the towel on the coffee table to chill under the presence of the ice. “Drink,”

He takes the glass from you, before slowly leaning forward and sipping the water. Your presence seems to bring him a lot of comfort, much more than he probably realises.

He continues drinking until the glass is empty, seemingly more dehydrated than he realised.

You take a seat next to Spencer has he finishes the glass, and you take it from him gently and place it down on his coffee table.

He takes a deep breath in, and out, leaning back into the couch once more.

He’s trying so hard to focus on something other than his pain, but it’s difficult. So instead he focuses on one of the only other things he can feel, which is the warmth you radiate as you sit next to him. “Here, lie down Spence,”

You put a hand on his shoulder to help try and ease him down slowly so he doesn’t put himself in any more pain. “But there’s no space..”

“You can put your head in my lap it’s okay,” You lean over to grab the now cold towel, leaving the ice in the empty glass before patting your thighs as an indication for him to lie down. “Let me see if I can relive some of that lingering tension,”

If he were of his right mind right now he would’ve been somewhat embarrassed in such a scenario, but right now he’s just too tired and in pain to do anything else but submit to the situation.

He lays his head into your lap slowly, his face relaxing as he looks up at you with grateful eyes.

You chuckle softly as he blinks up at you, leaning down over him slightly to brush some hair off of his forehead. “Close your eyes Spence,”

You can see a slight pinkness in his cheeks as he closes his eyes. His expression is the perfect combination of relaxed and sleepy, although you can still see the traces of the pain he’s feeling through the knit in his eyebrows and the tension in his shoulders.

Just hearing the sound of your voice fills his head with warmth and relaxation; Even if his head is still pounding he feels a lot better just being able to listen to you.

As his eyelids flutter closed, you place the damp cold towel over them, raking your fingers gently through his hair to ensure that nothing gets caught underneath the fabric ans slowly detangling it in the process.

For a moment your touch sends him into heaven, and he can actually feel the tension and pain receding from his body.

As he relaxes, his body slowly begins to respond to the touch with warm and fuzzy feelings. He wants to savour every second of this, to commit the sensation to memory, to never forget the feeling of your warm and gentle touch.

“How long have you been having migraines for Spencer?” You make an effort to keep your tone as soft as possible, moving your attention from running your hands through his hair to kneading your fingers against his temples.

“they’re a fairly recent thing… been having them on and off for a few weeks now….” As your hands work on his temples the pain once again starts to recede significantly. It’s still there, it probably will be for a long time, but it’s no longer all pervading. “…they can be a little debilitating some days….”

“Have you…” you trail off your question, unsure if your right to ask him it. “Never mind-“

He pulls the fabric of the towel from his eyes and blinks them up at you. The dark circles under his eyes are still clearly evident, but it’s not really surprising considering all that’s been happening to him. “…you were gonna ask if i’ve been using again weren’t you?”

“…i’m just worried about you…”

You continue to gently massage at his temples as he sees right through your apprehension.

He can’t help but sigh softly as you indirectly admit to him being right in his assumption of your question. Your concern is appreciated, albeit unnecessary. “…I’m not using anymore… I quit… I’m serious…”

He plasters a small smile on his face as a form of reassurance, though it’s pretty weak considering the fatigue his headache was providing him. “Just having a bad bout of migraines this week… that’s all….”

“Can I just- see your arms? Please?” Your fingers halt their movements as you ask the question, fully focused on receiving an answer. “I just want to make sure…”

His body tenses up a little bit as the request is made, but he complies nonetheless. He slowly raises his arms and hikes up his shirt sleeves, exposing the flesh of his forearms to your view.

There’s no marks on them, no dark scars and no signs of track marks.

He’s clean, and you can tell from his body language alone that he’s telling the truth.

You can feel your shoulders physically relax as your eyes examine his skin, and your expression softens as you look down at him. “thank you…”

“I told you, I’m serious about staying clean….” He lowers his arms, closing his eyes again. He’s back where he was a few minutes ago, a man almost fully at peace despite the fact that he’s still in pain.

“I know Spence..” You scratch gently at his scalp, feeling a little guilty about unofficially accusing him of a potential relapse. But you had to know. You had to know that he was alright.

“I just care about you… I want you to be okay..”

As your fingers brush the base of his scalp he shivers slightly. The feeling is incredibly relaxing, more so than even the previous massage. He smiles softly at the fact that the pain has at least become bearable for now. “Thanks for looking after me…”

“Always,” The pad of your thumb brushes lightly against his cheekbone as you move to tuck a stand of hair behind his ear, knocked loose by him pulling on the hand towel that now laid crumpled on the floor.

Spencer’s eyes flicker slightly. The movement of your fingers across his cheeks is soothing, but also makes him feel something else entirely. It’s hard to describe.

He can’t deny the sensation that rises up from his stomach at these small gestures of affection. A part of him is enjoying it more than is probably okay, given the situation and how tired he is. All it amounts to are butterflies, but that’s enough to make his cheeks flush slightly. “you should take a nap Spencer,”

“mhm…” He nods in agreement. “but can I ask you a small favour first…?”

You mirror his nod with one of your own, your fingers returning to scratching gentle lines against his scalp. “Of course you can,”

There’s a small moment of silence before he speaks again, his eyes flickering between you and the ceiling.

“can you stay with me?”

His question is more of a request, and you swear that you melt from the innocent pleading in his tone.

With you around it’s almost like he doesn’t notice the pain at all. When he closes his eyes it feels like the world is completely at peace, like there’s no need to worry about anything else at this moment in time.

“…please…?” the last word is almost a whisper.

You don’t hesitate in your answer, giving him a soft smile. “of course i will..”

You let out a small breath of air alongside your words, your eyes entranced with the relaxed expression on Spencer’s face, mixed with relief at your willingness to spend a few more hours with him.

Spencer feels a small smile form on his lips as you respond. His hands raise slightly and clutch at your thighs, gently gripping at them almost compulsively.

Now that he knows you’ll be sticking around for a while, all he wants to do is fall asleep in your company.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #mgg #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #spencer reid angst #asks 🫶

[thebibliosphere]

Feel very free to ignore this but yea . I'm starting to think I may have been underestimating how generally ill I am and that I may have something medically significant going on and it would be an understatement to say that its freaking me out a little bit. I grew up with my mom being chronically ill so I got it drilled into me that I basically had to grin and bear shit bc at least it wasnt as bad as hers. Any tips on dealing with this mindfuck lmao

Solidarity, friend. I grew up with a visibly disabled sibling, and it's still a mental slog sometimes to get past the whole "but at least you're not as bad as X" I get from some people just because I'm not as visibly affected.

It took me years to stop internalizing that too. I still struggle with it, sometimes.

Therapy helps a lot. I go to grief counseling. It helps with both acceptance and also managing rapid cycling emotions. This is often something we experience when we first realize Something Is Wrong and we could have been having help this whole time and entirely normal. I also find mindfulness (yes, really) and radical acceptance to be helpful.

Going to put this under a cut because it's long :)

Some people mistake radical acceptance to mean "guess I'll just give up then" when what it actually means is to stop fighting things you cannot change, accept them as reality and focus your energy elsewhere.

For me, that meant giving up on the idea that I'd ever be a healthy, able-bodied person. For the longest time, I was sure if I got the right diagnosis and treatment, I'd eventually be healthy and my suffering would stop. It was my motivation to keep pushing through the medical abuse and gaslighting and, honestly, all that kept me alive sometimes. I needed to name the beast so I could kill it and claim my life back. And then I got diagnosed with two genetic disorders that can't be cured, lol.

Not gonna lie, struggled for a bit with that: both with the idea that I'd been allowed to suffer for decades through medical negligence, and also that now, even knowing the name of what was wrong, I was stuck with it forever. It could be managed, but it couldn't be cured. And that's where radical acceptance can help. Which for me looks like:

"I have (at least) two genetic disorders that cause lifelong problems that cannot be cured. There is literally nothing I can do to change this. This is a fact I cannot fight. But, with treatment and self-care, they can be managed and my quality of life can be improved, which is incredibly important! So that is where I will focus my energy. On improving my quality of life for the person I am, not the person I could have been."

It sounds simple, but internalizing it is another matter.

As for mindfulness, whenever I catch myself in a negative thought spiral of "I should do more because I am not X enough", I force myself to pause and ask: If this were happening to a friend, would I urge them to rest, or would I tell them to keep going even though it's harming them? No? Okay, so why am I not offering myself the same care and compassion?

This can apply to many aspects of life, but mostly I use it to herd myself into being kinder to myself because, goodness knows, someone needs to be kind to this body and it might as well be me.

This is like... not even remotely enough to help with everything you will be experiencing. But I hope it's a helpful start in pointing you in the right direction. Good luck and take care!

#chronic health tag #long post #mindfulness #radical acceptance #disability tag

[leo-interactive-fiction]

Something else I haven't seen before. What would the MC's parent from each background think of the ROs? Who would they approve of and who wouldn't they? I guess in the case of orphan MC, what would E's parents think? Since they kinda maybe vaguely adopted orphan MC?

Hmm, interesting! Since I did the opposite, I should have seen this one coming haha

-----------------------

Storm's comments:

E: "Rose has had that expectation for some time. This is preferable to the alternative. I know you will be in good hands. Rose raised them well."

R: Your father doesn't mince his words, a clear disdain evident, "Valleford. See that you don't take after your father, or there will be less than pleasantries next time we meet."

L: "Scio. I assume your father...?" Storm's lips pull in a small frown as L gives a small nod of confirmation, "I understand if you cannot forgive me. Your father is a significant asset to the Hospian war effort. If I find him, I will kill him."

V: "You've seen enough at your age," Storm says quietly, looking into the hollow glint in V's eyes, "I'm sorry. Those were battles that should have ended with my generation, not yours."

P: Storm's brow furrows as he makes a cordial greeting, "I assume your father is well? He does not speak of his second child often, but you seem more spirited than the other. That will make the greater difference when it matters."

M: Storm's brow furrows as he makes a cordial greeting, though there's little sentimentality in his voice, "I assume your father is well? He expresses confidence in your upbringing, but I can't say I share the sentiment. You lack something fundamental. Something to drive you to achieve more than what's expected of you."

Ra: Storm's eyes lock onto Raven with a harsh intensity, "Your eyes are filled with blood and you conceal weapons. Tell me your intentions or I will kill you right now."

S: "I admit I am unfamiliar with Orden. The conflict never reached that country, but I understand there are many hardships there already," Storm says, looking the brightly grinning student up and down before his lips pull back in small contentment, "You come out better than most. You have impressive strength."

F: Storm holds a frown as he takes in the vivid green hair, "Many allowed Frenza to claim their distance due to their significant contribution to Triaina's independence, but it doesn't absolve you of everything," he says in warning, "Don't step over the boundaries you've been afforded, or the military will have no choice but to respond."

------------------------------

Scurra's dialogue:

E: Scurra makes a grimace as he recognizes E, "Damnit, you've gone and done it now," he grumbles as he pulls out his wallet and hands a fold of bills to E, "Give that to your mom, will you? She's worse than a debt collector with bets..."

R: "Valleford! There's a name I haven't heard in a while. I knew they had a black sheep in the family, but I guess they couldn't take away the infamous good looks," Scurra chuckles, his eyes lightening reminiscently, "They've put me in a good bit of trouble on more than one occasion. I guess I should consider it a family curse now that MC is involved with you."

L: "Oh, I know those eyes," Scurra says wistfully, "Coming to find the world is a bigger place than you imagined, aren't you? It's even more expansive than that, too. I had that same look when I traveled overseas. I hope MC is being a good guide for you," he looks to you, and gives a knowing wink.

V: Scurra gives a meandering hum as he looks at V, "I've been all around, but I've only seen natural hair color like that a handful of times. They all had your same stare, too." He closes his eyes thoughtfully, "None as young as you though. I hope you're the last I have to see with those eyes. They're a bad omen."

P: "A fiery one, aren't you! Has no one ever told you not to say bad words in public?" Scurra laughs, "You should stop while you can. You're so transparent with your feelings that I almost mistook you for a window, so there's no point to pulling a tough act."

M: A small, genuine smile rises on Scurra's lips as he inspects M, "How interesting. You're so similar to your twin, but you're definitely the better actor. As I think about it, you remind me of MC's mother in many ways..."

Ra: "What are you doing here?" Scurra frowns, staring harshly at Raven. A silence passes and eventually he looks away, messaging his jaw, "Oops, guess I was mistaken. You looked a little like someone I know."

S: "You've got Orden written all over you, don't you?" Scurra says cheerily, "It's been a while since I've visited, but I have to say it gave me the most enjoyment. You all certainly know how to keep it lively."

F: "Your family has always been so hauty!" Scurra covers his mouth to suppress a chuckle, "But I think it would be a mistake to talk down to everyone you meet. I happen to be on great terms with your mother. If I took the opportunity, you two would have been siblings!"

------------------------

Xero's insight:

E: He smiles warmly to E, "It's good to see you again. I'm afraid there was little I could do for you: your mother has already found out about your relationship. I expect she'll make it as embarrassing for you as possible, if I know her well. I hope you're mentally prepared."

R: Xero studies R with a faint curiosity, "I'm afraid your father and I are on less than speaking terms due to some...past difficulties, but I understand you are more than simply your father's child. You may be villianized for your differing viewpoint, but aren't we all? I don't find it is so bad," Xero gives R a knowing small."

L: Xero's eyes widen upon seeing L, then falls into a soft smile, "To think history would repeat so aptly. To see you two now reminds me of my own school days," Xero closes his eyes and releases a light sigh, the smile still present, "I pray you'll also find the same happiness I did, and that it lasts longer."

V: Xero's grip tightens on an file in his hands as he sees V, his voice meticulous, "You are...Wolfe, correct? I'll admit the what I've heard and read of you is...less than appealing, but," he casts his gaze between you and the ex-Jagd member, a faint smile growing on his lips as V steps cautiously between you. "You seem to have a strong sense of duty. I hope you will be a good pillar for MC."

P: He looks disaprovingly, "In my field, words are paired with intention. To speak is to lay bare your thoughts. Why would you neglect your intent by forcing a negative connotation where it doesn't belong?"

M: He seems slightly more on edge than with P, "I don't believe I should offer my approval to someone unwilling to determine a focus. It's a testament to your negligence."

Ra: Xero crosses their arms, his face skeptical,"Marriage? Your lack of detailed forethought and hyperfixation gives me the impression of an unhealthy mind. As it stands now, I will refuse to give you my blessing."

S: "I'm afraid I'm ignorant to everything Orden related," Xero says sheepishly, "I am happy to learn all that I can, though. Perhaps you would like to bring your family at some point? I would be happy to host them here." Xero smiles warmly, clearly unknowing of the chaotic rabblerousing he's invited into his home.

F: "Ah, the royal line," Xero says in recognition of F, "Your own mother was a classmate of mine as well. To think one of her children would grow so closely with mine. Please give her my regards, would you? She has always kept herself closer than others, so I was happy when she took an interest in my friend. He's a lucky man."

---------------------

Mr. Razor's thoughts (if he was alive)

E: He bows his head gratefully, "Thank you for taking care of MC all this time. Your selflessness has saved me a lot of worry, and I doubt I'll have any more leaving them in your hands."

R: Razor's eyes bore a hole through R, "To defy your father was a considerable risk. And not knowing what the academy had planned for you, you still allowed yourself to be incarcerated for an indeterminate amount of time," Razor taps his fingers to his chin, a smile spreading over his lips, "I enjoy those that stick to their principles, but what say we work on your jailbreaking?"

L: "Your father's quite an important man. He's lucky I was never contracted to kill him," Razor says matter-of-factly. A chilling air of silence deafens the room until Razor holds up his palms, "Just kidding. I've never killed anyone. They all died mysteriously."

V: "How's Jagd doing?" Razor narrows his eyes keenly on V, "I'm surprised they were able to bounce back after what I did to them. I guess they filled the empty spaces with whoever was able...or moldable."

P: Razor smiles sadly, "It must be difficult to be given another person's expectations and do well with them. You're like a fish trying to climb a tree. But I enjoy how far up you've climbed despite that. Would you like a reward? I know, how about...your father's weakness?"

M: Razor seems disinterested, "You're not worth the words, Crater. You're nothing more than what your father made you to be: a simple shadow to live vicariously through."

Ra: Razor's eyes have an approving glint, "The one that slipped through the cracks. How very odd. MC's mother was quite odd too. It's an endearing quality, isn't it? Yes, I think you'll make a perfect companion for MC. You've already been looking over them all this time, haven't you?"

S: "Earnestness is one of the first qualities people tend to throw away when faced with hardship. It is impressive to see how you've progressed through your poverty and discrimination so aptly. Perhaps you have a hope that things will get better?" Razor's mouth spreads in a wicked smile, "I do enjoy seeing how people struggle for such a small glimmer of light. I think I'll offer my aid."

F: "Ah, it's always cute to see people play at royalty," Razor smiles at F's exasperated face, "Why do you seem so angry? Do you actually believe your position has meaning? I'll assure you it doesn't," Razor casts a darkening stare towards the royal, "To me, you're no harder to kill than a beggar on the street. The power you attempt to flaunt means nothing, because in the end it does nothing to elevate you beyond a simple street urchin."

----------------------

End

Thank ya for the ask!

#romance options #triaina academy #parents #mc background

[willowcrowned]

I wish you would write a fic where for some reason Luke & Leia are dropped in the past, specifically in the Mellida/Daan conflict after tiny baby Obi Wan has decided to stay there and Qui Gon has left him, which is followed by them winning that war and adopting/kidnapping Obi Wan and then meeting Qui Gon who kinda wants to 1- induct them into the order and 2- his Padawan back

Keeping in mind that I haven’t actually read any of the books, and all my knowledge has been gained through dubious fandom osmosis, let’s do this:

Luke and Leia are both twenty seven. The New Republic is established, the new Order has lots more Jedi Masters, and both of them are, well, not obsolete, because they both take an active role in their respective jobs, but they’re not necessary. Leia and Han are married, Luke has had a string of hookups, and they’re both... restless. You don’t live a war for four years and come out of it knowing how to live peacefully. Leia doesn’t know how to stop being in command; Luke doesn’t know how to stop feeling like he needs to be saving people all the time.

And then, all of a sudden, they’re in the middle of a war zone. Shots are flying, there’s yelling, and, worst of all, there are children everywhere. Luke ignites his saber, Leia grabs her blaster, and they get out of there, pulling as many children with them as they can. 

The kids take them to their high command, which is filled with children— and only children. Luke and Leia share a look, and they can feel the other’s face harden in tandem with their own. This cannot— will not— go on.

And then, leading them, is a tiny jedi padawan and a girl with a shock of red hair, and Luke, against all odds, knows who the child is.

The war ends quickly after that— not bloodlessly, not without sacrifice, not without pain that the children never should have had to endure, but at least it ends quickly. Obi-Wan and his friend, Cerasi, both survive through the war, and through the rebuilding.

And then Luke and Leia are at a loss. 

They’ve done this before— staying after peace has been established, seeing the resurgence not only of life, but of culture, of music and literature and science, and they love it, they love seeing the beginnings of a new kind of civilization but... there’s nothing for them to do. 

Okay, they think, looking at each other. There must be other planets like this. We can bring them peace.

They tell the Young, the Melida, the Daan— they tell Cerasi and Obi-Wan— and everyone is happy but one. Luke can sense it— he’s always been attuned to Obi-Wan— and he asks him what’s wrong. 

The whole story of Qui-Gon tumbles out of him— Tahl, leaving him, and Bandomeer before that— and Luke is a kind person, but this? This is awful.

“Alright,” he says to Obi-Wan, “If you want, I could train you.” And every bit of anxiety that Luke might feel about his own negligible mastery is washed away by the pure brightness of Obi-Wan’s face.

They leave Melida/Daan to its rebirth, and find another system to help. Obi-Wan grows, both in stature and in skill, and most importantly, in security. Every day that Luke and Leia don’t leave him, every day they hug him and come back for him and ask him what he’s feeling and what he wants like it matters, like he matters, he heals a little more.

And then, when Obi-Wan is fifteen, Qui-Gon tracks them down.

They’ve been on Mandalore a month when he shows up (Obi-Wan clearly has a crush on Satine, and Leia is coaching him through the politics of it while Luke just says vaguely encouraging things about love and connections with other people). Luke and Leia are... not pleased, to put it politely. They tell him, very sweet and very cold the whole way through, that he’s not welcome anywhere near Obi-Wan.

And then everything goes down.

The five of them end up on the run together, stuck in small ship after small ship, and Qui-Gon wants to dislike them, he really does, but they’re competent fighters and leaders, subtle when they need to be and loud when they don’t, and they’re excellent teachers for Obi-Wan, who’s excelling in a way Qui-Gon has never seen of a padawan before.

But they don’t let him near Obi-Wan. (The deal, as they explained it on the first night, was that until Obi-Wan asked to talk to Qui-Gon, Qui-Gon would not be talking to him. It’s a hard rule to enforce, and they do occasionally have to work together whenever they get into a tight spot, but for the most part, it sticks. Qui-Gon hasn’t been able to say any more to Obi-Wan than “On your left,” “Get down,” and “Now!”)

(Obi-Wan and Satine, all this while are engaging in the sort of courting that would only occur to two fairly repressed teenagers who tend to get shot at a lot, which is to say that there are many, many, occasions upon which they stitch each others wounds.)

And then it all comes to head.

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon get trapped on a planet, Luke and Leia blasting off into the atmosphere with Satine, because they’ll all die if they don’t, and Obi-Wan is left alone with the man that might have been his master. 

Qui-Gon, to his credit, doesn’t push— they’re both exhausted, and Obi-Wan is wounded, and Qui-Gon may be practical but he’s not cruel, so after they’ve found shelter and stitched themselves up, he doesn’t push. After all, no one dies if Obi-Wan continues on the path he’s set for himself, even if the Order loses what might have been a brilliant Jedi. And besides, Qui-Gon has too much respect for Luke and Leia now to say that what they’re teaching Obi-Wan is bad.

So it’s Obi-Wan who speaks first.

“They’re coming back, you know.”

Qui-Gon doesn’t scoff but— it’s a near thing. “The mission is more important. They know that.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t react defensively— not the way a normal child might— he just shakes his head, and says with complete peace and certainty, “They’re coming back. They always do.”

Qui-Gon inclines his head, not conceding the point, but conceding that he won’t argue it further. 

There’s a silence, then, a stillness that stretches beyond not moving— something in the Force, a waiting, the static before a thunderstorm.

“I came back,” Qui-Gon says, in the end, tired and older than his years, “to Melida/Daan. I came back for you.”

Obi-Wan swallows, looking very, very, small all of a sudden, even wrapped in Luke’s cloak. “You left me,” he says, barely above a whisper. “You left a thirteen year old in the middle of a war he didn’t know how to handle, and then you took my home from me.”

“I know,” Qui-Gon says, and he knows what he has to say— what he’s known since he found Melida/Daan at peace, and Obi-Wan gone, spirited away by some specters of a war ended, and realized that he had lost him for good— but that doesn’t make the words come any easier. “I was wrong,” he chokes out, syllable by agonizing syllable, “it was cruel, and I was wrong.”

A strange change comes over Obi-Wan, as if, after all these years, Qui-Gon’s words still mean something to him— as if whatever explanation he can give is enough for Obi-Wan’s absolution.

“Yes,” he agrees, and if he sounds older than he is, it’s not because he’s tired, but because he’s balanced, “it was.”

“I’m sorry,” Qui-Gon says, because it’s true, because he is, because he knows know what he didn’t know then— that Obi-Wan was right, was better than him in that moment, that Obi-Wan saw injustice, saw pain, and gave up everything he had, everything he’d ever wanted, to stop it. Qui-Gon hasn’t ever been able to do that, and he wants to blame it on Dooku, on the Order, on the censure he always receives for acting outside the exact guidelines, but he knows the truth of it; he keeps himself from caring so he doesn’t ever have to face those choices. Dooku may have taught him, the Order may have shaped him, but it’s him who makes that decision, day after day, and it took losing another padawan to finally face it. If Qui-Gon is what a Jedi is, then Obi-Wan is what a Jedi should be.

Obi-Wan looks at him, and he’s hurt, yes, and still grieving, but above all else he’s kind, like he can see what Qui-Gon has gone through, like he’s witnessed the worst he has to offer, and still thinks there’s good in him— the genuine, shining, good embodied by Obi-Wan.

“I know,” Obi-Wan says, “and I forgive you.”

#i'm not going to turn this into a fic i'm not going to turn this into a fic i'm not going to turn #sorry there's not a lot of the skywalkers but as always I have been derailed by Qui and Obi dynamics #asks #anon #fic wish game #star wars #star wars au #willow's aus #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #i need a tag for these two #children of war au

[cloudy-minded-idiot]

mentor

pairing: platonic Natasha Romanoff x reader

warnings: none

word count: ~ 1,900

a/n: a big thank you to the lovely @witchyredfoxes who requested this! I hope you like it!

summary: you’re new to the avengers and Natasha takes you under her wing. 

You had never felt this tired before in your entire life. Out of breath and disgustingly sweaty, you forced yourself to throw another punch at the dummy, ignoring the way your aching muscles protested against every move you made. You needed to do this. The dummy rocked back with the force of your punch and snapped back surprisingly fast. Too fast. Your exhausted senses registered the threat far too late and the plastic head of the dummy hit your face with full force. Caught off guard, you stumbled and fell down on the mat.  

Groaning, you rubbed at your nose, glad that your hand came back without any blood. It still hurt like hell though. Closing your eyes against the pain, you hit your fist against the ground in frustration and used your other arm to hide your face in the crook of your elbow. Maybe you could just lay down here for a while. Just wallow in your shame where no one else would find you. The blue mats were surprisingly comfortable. But that might just be your tiredness speaking.  

“You know you have a perfectly good room upstairs, right?”  

Spooked, you scrambled to your feet as fast as you could, heart beating wildly in your chest and eyes wide as saucers as you stared dumbly at the newcomer in the gym. You knew who she was. Of course, you did. She was basically a legend among the SHIELD agents and a renowned superhero. The Black Widow smirked at your reaction; her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the wall. She was glad in her famous black mission outfit, red hair pulled back in a messy bun and face dirty. You had heard that she was gone on a special operation when you had been first introduced to the other superheroes a few days ago, so her attire came as no surprise. She must be fresh off of her mission.  

After few seconds of openly gaping at her, you realized you should probably say something too.

“I do know. I just thought I should get some more training in.”  

She raised an eyebrow, eyes darting to the clock on the wall.  

“A bit late for that, don’t you think? Not even Steve trains at these hours anymore.”  

For a moment you marvelled at the way she so casually referred to Captain fricking America as 'Steve'. Honestly, the friendly way they all treated each other and how close they were was the thing that has surprised you most since you first met the team of heroes. When your instructor told you about the Avengers Initiative, you had imagined a team that only worked together on a professional basis, always keeping a distance, following strict orders. But it was much more casual and less hierarchical than you thought. They joked together, watched movies, had drinks. It seemed nice. You really hoped you could be a part of this someday.  

You cleared your throat, shrugging at the agent's previous statement.  

“He’s actually the reason why I'm here. Mr. Rogers gave me some pointers on what I should improve during training earlier. I thought it was best to get a head start.”  

The Black Widow smiled in amusement, shaking her head at you. Forwning, you went over your words again to find out what she could possibly find amusing about them. But before you could overthink it any more, the redhead pushed herself away from the wall and approached you. Her steps were sure, her gaze never left you.  

It felt like she was appraising you, so you did your best to stand up straighter, hid your tiredness and kept a neutral look on your face. She stopped a couple of feet away.  

“You know, your superiors warned us about you, Y/L/N.”  

Her statement made you nervous, but you forced yourself to not let it show. Her light-hearted tone suggested that she didn’t mean to cause you anxiety.  

“He said you were hard-working, insufferably so even. Dedicated and driven to the point of negligence when it came to your own needs. I’m inclined to agree from what little I know of you.”  

You opened your mouth to defend yourself somehow, but she cut you off with one simple motion of her hand. She flashed you a reassuring smile, making sure to let you know that she did not mean to offend. You relaxed a little, keeping your mouth shut.  

“Your superior also said you were a damn fine agent. The best that he has,” she took another step closer, laying one hand on your shoulder in comfort, “And I promise that despite your obvious worries, you will make an even better Avenger. There’s no need to double-guess and overwork yourself.”  

Her word made it clear to you that she had seen right through you and recognized the motives for your late-night training sessions. You really had thought you were concealing your emotions pretty well. But then again, she was a master spy. Your shoulders sagged as you let out a defeated sigh, suddenly feeling even more exhausted than before.  

“It's just...I really want this to work out and I feel like there’s so much I need to improve before I could even begin to be a valuable part of the team. All of you guys are legends, gods, geniuses, and masters of your crafts. It’s intimidating.”  

Your admission was met with understanding as the redhead slung an arm around you and slowly steered you away from the training equipment.  

“You’re being too hard on yourself. I read your file, even came to watch you train a couple of times at SHIELD.”  

Your eyes widen at her revelation, having been previously unaware of that fact. You were sure you would have noticed her in the training room.

She continued.  

“So, I know what I'm talking about when I tell you to stop selling yourself short. You’re already a valuable addition to the team. We wouldn’t have chosen you if you weren’t.”  

Her words, surprisingly, did much to calm your anxious mind. The knot that had formed in the pit of your stomach since your arrival at the compound loosened little by little. You flash her a hesitant smile.  

“That’s- Thank you. That really helped, Ms. Romanoff.”  

She scrunched up her nose at your words, the two of you stopping at the entrance of the gym.

“Please just call me Natasha. Ms. Romanoff makes me feel old. And I'm glad I could be of help,” she nods to the door with a grin, “Now go catch some sleep, you’re barely standing upright.”  

You shake your head in agreement, an equally embarrassed and grateful smile on your face. You were almost out the door, when she called your name again, a mischievous glint in her eyes.  

“If you really want to improve, I'd suggest training with actual people rather than getting beat up by a plastic dummy.”  

You groan, closing your eyes in embarrassment. Could the floor please just open up and swallow you now?  

“You saw that?”  

She let out a small laugh at your apparent discomfort.  

“Don’t feel bad. You picked the most ferocious dummy of all. But I do expect you to put up more of a fight when we train together tomorrow, understood?”  

You blinked in surprise.  

“You want to train with me?”  

“Of course,” she shrugged like the answer was obvious, “You said you had some things you needed to improve. I'm happy to help you. Fair warning though, I’m very competitive and will not go easy on you. So, bring your A-game and go catch some sleep now. You’ll need it.”  

You couldn’t keep the giddy smile off of your face if you tried.  

“Thank you, Ms- Natasha,” you amended. She acknowledged your thanks with a nod and finally shooed you out of the gym.

 The redhead was of great help outside the training rooms as well. Natasha did her best to help you settle in, making sure to include you in conversations, invite you to hangouts, and to scold the boys when they tried to pick on you. She was by far your closest friend and confidant, and with her help, you really got to know your fellow teammates.  

Finally, after weeks of rigorous training, it was time for your first mission as an Avenger. You had to admit that you were a bit nervous when the call came in, but you went into working mode pretty fast after the briefing. After all, this wasn’t your first mission ever. As a SHIELD agent, you had been a part of several high-risk operations. Still, this was a very special day for you.  

Natasha really hadn't been kidding when she told you she was hard to train with. Every day she pushed you to your limits and you left the gym hurting in places that you never knew could hurt. But she also helped you hone your skills to perfection. With the Black Widow as your mentor, you really could see some great improvements.  

Tony was already in the quinjet when you arrived, working on making the plane ready for take-off. Being able to put on his armor in a matter of seconds, it didn’t take long for him to suit up.  

“That was fast,” he commented as you came closer, shooting you one of trademark Stark smirks, “But I wouldn’t have expected anything else from you. Nervous about your first mission, rookie? Tell you what, you make it out without needing a visit to the ER afterward and I'll buy you a celebratory drink. Deal?”  

You ignore his proffered hand, cocking your head to the side.  

“You really think it’s going to go that bad?”  

“It’s nothing personal,” he assured you, “Things happen, you're new, it's your first time...You know what? How about instead of a drink, I'll let you take one of my suits for a ride?”  

You opened your mouth to reply but were stopped by a familiar voice behind you.  

She returned your smile, before turning a glare on the billionaire.  

“Don’t listen to him, you’re gonna do fine."

You turned around to smile at Nat as she entered the jet, followed closely by Steve and Wanda.  

“And you, stop trying to scare her and get your ass to the pilot seat.”  

Tony raised his hands in mock-surrender and walked to the cockpit, muttering something about a mother hen under his breath. Nat squeezed your shoulder, pulling you towards the seats.  

“You got everything, right? Your weapons? Comms?”  

You rolled your eyes at her worried tone.  

“This isn’t my first mission, you know? I'm fine.”

She nodded with a good-natured smile.  

“Alright. We’ll still go over the mission details again together. Just to be sure.”  

With a sigh, you surrendered to your fate. The flight went by faster than you thought as you rehashed the plan together. Natasha was not satisfied until you were able to recite every step by heart. Which you did, easily. A good thing about her worry was that it took your mind off of your own nervousness. So, once you and the team left the quinjet, you were completely in the zone.  

You were joined in the field by Sam and Rhodes, who had flown in on their own and as you got into formation Steve uttered the two words you had been dreaming of hearing addressed to you for a while now.  

“Avengers assemble!”  

(Tony did end up having to buy you a post-mission drink.)  

___________________________________________

taglist: @fireflyglass @madamevirgo @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

#natasha romanoff x reader #requests #reader insert #platonic

[peppermintbee]

OMORI has poor writing (Part 1)

OMORI stans, just block the #omori hate tag now because I’m going to use it to vent my frustrations with this game. If you love this game, I am not going to try to convince you otherwise. I am glad you enjoyed it so much. I am glad it means a lot to you. I’m not here to take that away from you. I honestly wish I felt the same way!

However, if you are like me and finished the game feeling disappointed, underwhelmed, and maybe a little frustrated, then I am here to say you are not alone. OMORI--while having the right set pieces for an interesting game--is a narrative mess.

I’m splitting this into two posts. This first post is about problems with the plot. The second is about problems with the message/moral. 

(Note: I use “OMORI” in all-caps for the game title, and “Omori” in title case for the character name.)

Spoilers and criticism below.

Part 1: Plot Writing Lies

There’s a book by Brian McDonald called Invisible Ink which is about how to write a compelling story (you can read this great book online for free here). There’s an explanation of the writing “lie” that I find myself frequently thinking of. A “lie” in this context does not mean something is literally untrue, it means something FEELS untrue, unrealistic, improbable, or unlikely. For example, if a character gets shot in the leg but manages to do parkour, this is a “lie” since it seems unrealistic for that to happen. If a character witnesses their beloved parent’s death and shrugs it off, it’s a “lie” because that reaction seems highly unlikely.

In OMORI, the plot is held together by multiple little lies that--try as I might--I just couldn’t bring myself to believe.

1. Sunny’s friends care about him, and vice versa

A major theme of the game is how friendship can overcome any obstacle. Friendship gets Sunny over his fear of heights, spiders, and water. Friendship is what Sunny remembers before the final boss fight, and allows him to face his guilt and defeat it (and prevent him from committing suicide). With the photobook and dialogue you are reminded over and over and over and over and over again that Sunny’s friends love him unconditionally.

However, I just couldn’t bring myself to believe it. The childhood memories are cute but shallow, boiling down to simply hanging out and eating treats. Plus, Kel and Aubrey fight constantly, with Aubrey even physically hitting Kel when he steps out of line. Hero and Mari behave more like babysitters than true friends to the younger kids. 

But at least the other kids interact with each other. Sunny, on the other hand, showed nearly no affection or consideration towards his friends. He floats through the memories like a ghost--he could have been completely absent from all the photos and it would have made little difference. I was ready to accept this as Sunny being an unreliable narrator and not thinking he was a good enough for his friends, but this never contradicted. Instead we are given even more memories where Sunny just silently exists there being “cute.”

[Sunny enriching the lives of his friends by LARPING as a cat.]

Because of the lack of meaningful interactions between them, there was nothing in the game that made me think that these 12-15 year olds would have a strong enough bond that would survive 3-4 years of no contact after finding their friend hanged. In fact, that discovery only drove them farther apart. The only person who I could believe actually had a close bond was Basil, who almost literally filled that trope of being the friend who would help you bury a body (or in this case, help Sunny cover up the accidental manslaughter).

The writing fix for this would be simple: instead of showing us the same boring birthday and beach scenes over again, give the kids memories of overcoming some age-appropriate adversity together: heartbreak over an unrequited crush, anxiety over homework, sports injury, lost dogs, divorced parents, running away from home, bullying, etc. Set a precedent of the friends supporting each other through good times AND bad times. Without such backstory, Sunny’s friendships allegedly giving him the courage to overcome his guilt feels like a lie.

2. Sunny abandoning Basil in the bathroom scene

One of the most confusing moments in the game was Sunny’s negligence when Basil has his first breakdown in his bathroom. This part of the game is player-controlled, which is a strange writing decision because all you can do is click on Basil and various bathroom amenities over and over which completely saps the urgency out of the scene. When you try to leave, Basil begs Sunny to stay, but (due to a lack of player options) Sunny walks out without a word. With no option to talk to him OR get help for him, it makes Sunny seem exceptionally cruel to Basil. In fact, I was starting to wonder if the game was setting up for some sort of twist that Sunny DIDN’T care about his friends, which would fix some of the confusion in point #1. However, as we know, that is not the case. Therefore, Sunny’s negligence/apathy towards Basil’s pain feels like a lie.

The writing fix would be to make it MORE clear that Sunny is intentionally running away from Basil. Make it a cutscene, or, give a false choice such as “Leave Basil? Yes / Yes”. After Sunny leaves, Kel should make some remark about Sunny looking odd, “You look sort of shaken up, is there something you want to tell me?” then hit it home with Sunny shaking his head. This would make it more clear that Sunny is intentionally hiding Basil’s state, as opposed to just being a bad friend. As it stands, it just felt like a writing mistake.

3. Basil and Sunny working together to stage Mari’s death as a suicide

This is the plot hole that I see the most complaints over, but it’s so big I have to address it. Accidentally pushing Mari down the stairs I understand, but the rest is too absurd. Below are some of the “lies” that the writing tries to get away with:

That Sunny and Basil wouldn’t just claim she slipped and fell.

That either boy would even come up with this sick plan.

That they wouldn’t back out of this idea during the multi-step process (carrying her downstairs, outside, getting the jump rope, tying a noose, putting it around her neck, stringing her up, hiding the evidence... This is a series of multiple decisions, not one quick accident like the initial push.)

That it’s not the image of Mari’s death that traumatized Sunny, but the image of what they chose to do to her body that traumatized them. I understand the image of Mari hanging is more dramatic, but they literally did it themselves so why is that more haunting than Sunny killing her?

That Mari’s true cause of death wouldn’t be immediately obvious to the parents, the police, the friends, EVERYONE. (I’ve seen fans try to get rid of this plot hole by hypothesizing that the parents knew and covered it up, but the evidence of this is circumstantial at best. The father saying, “You’re not my son,” is unreliable since it happens in Sunny’s headspace. Divorce is common after the death of a child, and, at the very least, Sunny’s mom doesn’t show any evidence of knowing what happened. The way it is written, only Sunny and Basil know the truth.)

The ridiculousness of this twist is so extreme that it completely broke any immersion I had left. Frankly, the reveal that the happy, loveable Mari committed suicide is a far heavier and more realistic twist than a crazy murder-cover-up story is.

Additionally, it seems like Basil was only written into this scene in order to make Sunny the true victim of what happened. After all, Sunny may have pushed her, but it was Basil who came up with the demented cover up. (This is apparent from just the photos but the datamined Truth Album confirms it.) By having Basil come up with the plan, the game splits the guilt between the two of them to make the kids easier to sympathize with. It’s problematic because if Basil was not in the scene, there would be no way to justify what Sunny did to Mari. So why is what they did easier to accept when they worked together?

Fixing the writing lie: Sunny lies and says that Mari slipped. Remove Basil from the scene, and instead have Sunny confide in Basil which forces Basil to become a co-conspirator and burdens him with the terrible truth.

4. Sunny’s friends forgiving him and Basil for what they did to Mari

Last but not least, the story heavily implies that Hero, Kel, and Aubrey will forgive Basil and Sunny for what they did to Mari. I found this to be almost as unbelievable as the staged-suicide stunt.

It feels like a lie since the group’s friendship is never established as anything beyond shallow hang outs from 3+ years ago (see point #1).

It feels like a lie because this is hot off the heels of Aubrey being so distraught over Mari and the following fall out that in the last three days she 1.) attacked Sunny and Kel with a nail bat TWICE, 2.) Stole Basil’s photobook, and 3.) Shoved Basil in the lake. This trauma is still very fresh for her.

It feels like a lie because the complexity of the staged-suicide is so extreme, one would be hard pressed to forgive ANYONE for doing that, be it friend, foe, parent, sibling, lover, etc.

I’ve seen fans argue that the ending is not about forgiveness, it’s about telling the truth, and I want to believe that. Really. If the ending was about Sunny starting his redemption arc by telling the truth no matter what the consequences are, that would be a meaningful lesson. But the writing does not support that. The ending headspace segments are focused on assuring Sunny that his friends will support/forgive him no matter what. To do this, the game shows us the shallow photobook memories (again) to show how much they allegedly care about each other. Then, when fighting Omori, Sunny remembers these quotes from his friends, which directly correlate to their unconditional support:

KEL: Friends... Friends are supposed to be there for each other.

AUBREY: I hope you can find some peace... or you know... some happiness.

HERO: We made the mistake of leaving each other when we needed each other the most. This time... we’ll stay together.

BASIL: Maybe one day... things can go back to the way they were before.

The really direct evidence that this ending is about getting forgiveness is this quote from Basil in Sunny’s headspace:

[BASIL: “AUBREY, KEL and HERO are good friends. You have to trust that they’ll forgive us.”]

This is one of the last scenes before Sunny tells his friends the truth, proving that obtaining forgiveness from his FRIENDS is in fact the leading motivation for Sunny’s actions.

Fixing this writing lie is easy. Instead, adjust the writing to be about telling the truth, not about how much the friends will still love Sunny. Have headspace Basil say, “Even if they don’t forgive us, Aubrey, Kel, and Hero deserve to know the truth. It’s the only way to make things right... or close to it.”

Conclusion

OMORI is undeniably a cute game with a strong visual identity, and has a premise that could make for a very compelling experience. However, the sloppy plot and weak character writing cause the potential of this game to be squandered. There are other issues as well that I chose not to cover for the sake of time, such as the poor pacing of the dragged out dungeons and the bizarre, unrealistic behavior of characters in the “real” world. 

However, there are a few more glaring problems with OMORI that I have to address: In part 2 of my critique, I break down what may be the biggest problem with OMORI’s writing: the message.

[ Link to Part 2: OMORI’s Message is Mishandled and Distasteful ]

#omori #omori hate #omori spoilers #review #words #fun fact i named sunny 'moony' so I had to consciously change all the moons to suns in this essay #suicide cw

[thenovelartist]

A Blanc Slate, Chapter 1

Marichat May 2021 has arrived and I am once again writing a story by the seat of my pants. XD I will post one chapter a day (hopefully daily?), and each chapter will have 3 prompts. Enjoy ;)

Next >

1. Rain

The clouds were thick and black, shrouding the city in darkness. This was normally when Chat Noir had the best time blending in.

But as he stood before her now, up in the high beams of the Eiffel Tower, his brilliant white suit stuck out like a sore thumb.

She remembered the first time he’d been akumatized and turned into Chat Blanc. His blue eyes had flipped between empty and full of pain. He’d been fighting the akuma the whole time, and it had physically pained her to see him like that.

However, that was the difference between then and now. His normal green eyes glowed behind that white mask. No; that was a lie. They held the same green color, but instead of the vibrant life they normally held, they were empty. Hollow. As if his soul had died.

“Chat Noir?”

Her voice sounded weak to her own ears, and had his kitty ears not twitched, she would have questioned whether he’d even heard her.

With inaudible footfalls, he slowly stepped towards her. Once he was close but still out of touch range, he extended his closed fist towards her.

Normally, that would be a ‘pound it’, but it hurt Ladybug more than she would have thought to know Chat was just wanting to give her something.

She extended her own hand out, and he dropped two things into her hand. Clink clank.

Even in the darkness that hung over Paris, she knew what those were right away. And her gut positively dropped to the bottom of the Eiffel Tower.

“Chat,” she started, words somehow failing her.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he stated, his voice firm but tired. She only could tell that because she’d known him so long.

Her hand around the two miraculouses, falling to her side as she took him in. “If… if I have the moth miraculous, then… how are you…?”

Her words died out, and Chat didn’t add to them, instead turning his head away while his ears flattened back on his head.

Biting her lip, Ladybug fought for anything to say. “Are you okay?”

She already knew the answer. But he still said it.

“No.”

“What can I do?”

“Not much,” he said, taking a step back. “And frankly… there’s nothing I want you to do, either.”

She felt cold begin to hit her face, but the oncoming rain was the least of her worries. Even the fact she held the two missing miraculouses was negligible compared to the weight of her heart breaking at the pain her partner was experiencing.

“Chat—”

“Please, Ladybug,” he growled, ears pinning flat as he shot her a snarl. But it didn’t seem to mesh with the tears that were already forming in his eyes. “I need you to stay out of this.”

“But I don’t want to just sit here and do nothing when you’re—”

“This isn’t your battle to fight!” he shouted, shocking her silent. “Hawkmoth was your battle to fight. Mayura was your battle to fight. But the miraculouses are back in your hands, meaning your fight is over.”

“It’s not over until they’re brought to justice, Chat,” she countered. “And I’m not going to let you just—”

“He was my father!”

Lightening ripped across the sky, followed by thunder rolling through Paris and shaking Ladybug’s entire world.

“It’s personal,” he spoke, his voice steady once again. “And not anything you will muddy your hands with. I won’t let you. You will tell the public that you retrieved the miraculouses and Paris is safe. I will handle the rest.”

“Do you honestly think I’m going to just let you handle it alone?”

“You think I’m not capable?”

“I never said that!”

“It’s better this way, Ladybug,” he said. “That way you won’t be lying to the press when you say you didn’t know Hawkmoth’s real name and therefore cannot release it to the public.”

She grit her teeth. She did hate lying, but in this instance, for Chat’s sake, she’d do it in a heartbeat.

And he should have known that.

“Then what about you?” she challenged.

“What about me?”

“You think I’m going to do this without you by my side?”

“Yes.”

The finality of those words struck her harder than an akuma blow.

His eyes flooded with an intensity rarely seen from him, and Ladybug found herself taking a step back to steady herself.

“Let me finish this,” Chat stated. “And once I do, I’m giving you my ring back.”

“NO!” The panic that suddenly bubbled up felt suffocating. “No. What makes you think you need to surrender it?”

The rain was coming down harder, but Ladybug hardly felt it. She barely acknowledged the fact they were both drenched by now. All that registered in her mind was Chat’s sad and broken expression.

“Sorry,” he whispered, barely above the rain. “But I can’t be your Chat anymore.”

He took a step backwards and away, putting more distance between them before giving her a pained smile. “And… I guess the other thing is I need time away from you.”

“Why?” she begged. She was sure tears were streaming down her face by this point, but her cheeks were so wet that she didn’t know what was her tears and what was rain. “What are you even talking about? I don’t—”

“I know you don’t,” he interrupted.

“Then tell me!” she screamed. “Aren’t we partners?”

He sighed, pained grin still on his face. “We were,” he said. “Until Hawkmoth was gone, right? I’m going to go clean up the mess. Think of it as… as my last gesture to you.”

Ladybug just stood confused. “What—”

“Good bye, Ladybug,” he said, taking out his staff. “We’ll meet again, at least once. I promise. After all—” He waved his hand, the one with his ring, in her direction. “I will be giving this back to you.”

And with a roar of thunder, he was gone.

2. Ghibli

As Ladybug made her way home in the rain, she so happened to catch sight of a figure sitting in the park across the street from her house. Part of her was tempted to stop and rush over to him, but the other half knew better. Considering what had just happened at the Eiffel Tower, she knew he would run from Ladybug.

But maybe…

Would he run from Marinette?

With the idea in her mind, she ran back home, detransformed the second she entered her room, quickly put away the two miraculouses he’d given her, and then snagged a raincoat and an umbrella before running back out of the house.

Checking both ways before crossing the street, Marinette splashed through any and all puddles without care as she ran towards Chat Noir… er, she supposed he was Chat Blanc now.

It didn’t matter to her. That was still her partner no matter what color his suit was. And at the moment, her partner was in pain, slumped over as he sat on the edge of the park’s fountain, his head hung low and ears drooping as rain poured over him.

When Marinette got closer, she noticed his ears twitch before he glanced up and looked towards her. His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing out, princess?”

Princess. That was her nickname. That was also a very good sign. It gave her hope he wouldn’t turn her away.

She flipped up the hood on her raincoat before extending the umbrella out so that it was covering him. “What are you doing out, Chat?”

“Nothing,” he curtly said. “Go home, Marinette. It’s cold out.”

“Exactly,” she countered. “So why are you out here getting soaked?”

He just shrugged. “I have my reasons.”

“Reasons you don’t want to tell me?”

“No.”

“Okay,” she said, wracking her brain for ideas on just how she could convince him to get him out of the rain. “Do your reasons allow you to come inside the bakery, then? Or are you out here punishing yourself for being a bad kitty?”

She tried to make it a joke, hoping it would put a smile back on his face if only for a second. But she instantly regretted her words the moment his ears fell again.

“Chat—”

“Please, just leave me alone.”

Her heart broke all over again. Something in the way his head was bowed just made her want to touch him, want to comfort him. Part of her knew it was risky to push her luck, but the other part, the part that cared deeply for her partner, just wanted to comfort him any way she could.

She patted his head, causing him to startle in a way that shocked her. His eyes were full of panic at her touch and his body was tense, as though he was ready to run.

“Sorry,” she said, tugging her hand away and taking a step back. Please don’t run. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He didn’t relax fully, but the tension in his body did ease a bit, and then he shifted away, out from under her umbrella. “It’s fine. Just leave me alone.” Then he looked up, his eyes locking on something behind her. “You should go back home.”

“Only if you come with me.”

“Marinette.”

“I’m not going to just leave you out here in the rain like some kicked cat!”

Lighting flashed in the sky, shortly followed by thunder, but Marinette hardly noticed. Her attention was fully focused on Chat, who was looking back up at her with some surprise.

Eventually, he sighed, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion. “I’ll escort you; that’s all. Understood.”

Better than nothing, and it still gave her a chance to convince him inside out of the rain. “Understood.”

He stood, but he ended up stumbling sideways two steps as though he was going to fall over.

“Chat?”

“I’m fine,” he said, spreading his feet wide to give him more balance. “It’s…” He forced a smile at her. “Just been a long day.”

Liar, she thought. It’s not just that.

He got close enough to put a hand on her shoulder with the intent of guiding her back towards her house, but Marinette just knew something was off. She dropped her umbrella in favor of holding Chat’s head with one hand while the other landed on his forehead.

In spite of the chilling rain, he was warm.

He stepped away, clearly agitated at the touch—that was the other thing; Chat loved touch, so why was he shying away from it now?—and shot her a glare. “Marinette,” he growled in warning.

“You’re running a fever, aren’t you?” she asked, watching as he swayed unsteadily on his feet.

“I’m fine!”

“You are not!”

“I am!” he shouted, voice firm and strong and threatening. She found herself taking a step back out of shock.

He seemed to notice that because half the fight in his eyes extinguished immediately. “I’m fine. I don’t need anyone. I never asked for help. I don’t want anyone else to end up in this mess. So, leave me the hell alone!”

But he didn’t move. And neither could she.

And when he took a step back, as to be the first one to retreat, he stumbled, landing on his knee.

She rushed to his side. “Sorry, Chat,” she said, grabbing his arm, both to keep a hold of him so he wouldn’t run as well as support him. “But I’m not leaving you alone like this.”

“You should.”

“I won’t.”

“I don’t need you.”

“But you want someone, right?”

“Not in my own mess.”

“But do you really want to fight it alone?”

The only sound that filled the space was the rain that continued to pour down.

And after what felt like an eternity, he eventually spoke. “No…” he admitted, voice quiet and weak. “No, I don’t, but it would hurt worse if someone was hurt because of me.”

She didn’t know how to counter that. All she knew was she needed to get him out of the rain as soon as she could. “Come on, Chat.” she coaxed. “At the very least, let me get you out of the rain.”

He still hadn’t moved from the ground, leaving it up to Marinette to pull him up. He had to lean on her substantially, and she hadn’t even realized he’d been this unsteady on his feet.

Had he been like this just an hour ago when he met her as Ladybug?

She dragged him back to her home, then slowly up the stairs before deciding the best place to dump him was in the bathroom so he could both get clean and warm himself up. She could only hope she didn’t leave her bathroom a disaster as she led him inside. Thankfully, it wasn’t too much a wreck. She sat him down on the edge of the tub, then patted his head. “I’ll go grab you a towel, okay? You just take your time to clean yourself up.”

“Marinette…” he weakly tried to argue.

“Don’t even try with me, kitty,” she warned. “Warm up. Use whatever you need to. I think I have clothes that will fit you that you can change into. I’ll go grab those. Don’t worry about it and don’t even try to argue with me.”

He looked up at her, and she swore she could see the internal debate happening behind those green eyes of his.

Eventually, he sighed. “You’re as stubborn as my lady.”

Marinette smiled, a genuine one. No matter what front he had tried to put up, he still considered her his lady. That gave her hope. “Thanks for the compliment.”

And with that, she walked out of the bathroom and shut the door. Once she did, she heard the water start up.

“Hey!” Chat called out. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah, what do you need?”

There was a pause. “Is… is there any conceivable way I could bother you for some cheese?”

Ah, for his kwami. What did Chat always complain about? Smelling like camembert? She would have to go see if she had any, but she knew any cheese would do. “Sure thing.”

“Thank you.”

Anything for you, kitty. “No problem.”

With that, she started off to collect the needed items only to realize that walking up 2 flights of stair soaking wet was bound to leave dirty, wet footprints on the floor.

Well… guess she knew how Sophie felt now having to deal with Howl.

3. Dirt

Once all the dirt on the floor and stairs was cleaned up, she started collecting the things Chat needed. She did manage to find some camembert in the fridge, though it wasn’t much. Surely it would be enough to restore his kwami, though.

After that she grabbed a towel and change of clothes for him. Who knew what shape his clothes were in, and she wasn’t going to let him get back into dirty clothes after a nice bath if she could help it. Luckily, he and Adrien looked to be about similar sizes, and she had made an outfit for Adrien since his birthday was right around the corner. She knew he was the son of a fashion designer, but he’d also totally egged her on last month when she casually suggested making him an outfit one day. And so, she did.

Now that outfit would be worn by Chat Noir for the time being, but Adrien didn’t have to know that.

Once her arms were full of the aforementioned items, she knocked on the door to the bathroom. “Chat, I have the cheese you asked for, and a towel and change of clothes for you, too. I’m going to close my eyes and slide them in, okay. I won’t look, I swear.”

“Thank you, Marinette,” he said, voice sounding very tired.

With her eyes closed, she cracked the door open and felt around for the counter before sliding the items on top of it. Once she was sure they weren’t going to fall on the floor, she quickly backed out and shut the door again. “There you go. Feel free to ask for anything else, okay?”

“Hey, Marinette?”

“Yeah?”

He was silent for a moment, and she opened her mouth again to repeat herself when he spoke. “I… really appreciate this,” he said. “Sorry for… pushing you away, and I’m sorry if I hurt you. I’m… I’m really grateful… that you did this for me.”

Anything for you, you stupid cat. “You’re welcome, Chat Noir. It’s always an honor to help out the heroes of Paris when they need anything.”

He was silent yet again, but Marinette didn’t quite want to leave. “Feel free to take your time in there,” she said. “And when you come out, I’ll check your temperature again and give you something for your fever if I suspect you have one. Oh! And I know you’ll be careful anyway, but those clothes were actually made for a friend. I really don’t mind you borrowing them for the time being, but once you’re able to return them, I would like them back, please.”

“I’ll bring them back as soon as I can, princess, in the same condition you gave them to me in. I promise.”

“Thanks, Chat. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“You’ve done more than I deserve, Marinette,” he spoke, voice now solemn. “Thank you.”

You’re hurting, kitty, and I won’t feel like I’ve done enough until I know how to help you through it. “You’re very welcome, Chat.”

#miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #marichat #marichatmay2021 #Chat Blanc #hurt/comfort #angst #yeah we're beginning with pain #Will eventually get better ;)

[heliads]

Radio Silence Chapter One: On the Other End

Poe Dameron has been assigned to work as an intel receiver to Acer, a Resistance recon agent. They’ve only ever talked through the comms, so when she’s captured by First Order troops he assumes she’s lost forever. When Poe accidentally rescues the absolutely infuriating Resistance spy Y/N L/N from a First Order Star Destroyer, he knows she’s got nothing do with with Acer. Right?

series masterlist / next

Poe Dameron slides into a seat in front of a gleaming array of navicomputers and tech displays. He considers the many buttons and levers in front of him, then methodically enters a series of commands into a console. He waits one second, two, then it beeps at him. Correct password- well, he’d hope so. He’s done this so many times that he could enter in the digits in his sleep.

After that, it only takes a couple of seconds to call up the secure communications channel. There have only ever been two people with access to this channel: one sender and one receiver. Poe is the receiver, as always, recovering data sent to him by the Resistance recon agent they’ve got stationed out somewhere in the Outer Rim or the Unknown Regions. He doesn’t know anything about her, that’s stated in the Resistance regulations- no sharing information that could get your spies killed. That’s a must.

At exactly twenty standard hours, it is time for Poe to flip on the radio channel and receive the latest intel from his sender. He waits for a minute or two in silence, brow furrowing as he spends more time in solitude, and then his ears are greeted by the reassuringly familiar crackle of static across the console speakers. Poe grins. “Acer, that you?” He can practically hear her smile across the radio channel. “Who else would it be?”

Poe leans back in his chair, finally able to relax. “You were three minutes late, you know. That’s against protocol.” Acer sighs dramatically. “Oh come on, Bravo. You going to report me to the General for overwhelming tardiness in the line of duty?” Poe rolls his eyes. “I might, now that you mention it.” Acer laughs. “I’m sure you will. Honestly, I just think this means you care about me. Were you worried for me?” 

Poe taps a few buttons on his console, adjusting the sound for perfect quality. “I’m not going to answer that. You got anything good for me?” He can hear the sound of Acer’s navicomputer as she loads in the data filed for transmission. “I don’t know, Bravo. I’m not sure it’s anything major.” A sudden whir from the console catches Poe’s attention, and he waits as the data files finish sending. There’s a final ding of completion and Poe grabs the readouts from a dataport.

He whistles as he takes in the preview on his console. “You got troop lists? How’d you manage that?” Poe can’t see her face, but he’s fairly sure Acer’s smirking. “I figured that if I was going to peek through the transparisteel to see the bucketheads shine their shoes, I might as well tally them down as well.” Poe shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s amazing. I don’t know how you manage it.”

Acer speaks through a slight flash of static. “Well, I’m not going to act like it was easy. My hands are still shaking.” Poe clicks his tongue. “Hey, that’s personal information. I’m not supposed to know about that.” Acer’s worried tone breaks up into laughter. “What, that I have hands? Did you think I was a droid?” Poe grins, pleased with himself for making her smile. “I wasn’t about to assume anything. You could be a very human-sounding droid.” Acer groans. “If you thought I was a droid throughout all of this, then I think I understand why the General doesn’t have you as a spy.”

Poe’s mouth drops open. “Are you insulting me, Acer? After all we’ve been through?” Her laugh sounds musical, even through the crackles of a radio line. “I don’t know. It might not be in my programming.” They chat for a while longer before Acer’s voice drops off. “It’s time already. The minutes fly by, don’t they? Well, that’s all the data I’ve got for today.” Poe smiles ruefully. “Well, there ain’t nobody like you. Bravo, over and out.” Acer calls out the same goodbye code before her end of the line goes dark. Poe waits a few minutes, as according to radio procedure, then shuts off the encrypted line.

It’s strange to think that at the end of the day, Poe doesn’t know anything more about Acer than he would a First Order lieutenant. Can you consider someone a friend if you’ve never seen them before? Whenever Poe’s sent on a mission to some planet under First Order command, he can’t help scanning the crowds of people as if he thinks he’ll see her somewhere. It makes no sense- he has no idea what Acer looks like, and she only knows him as Bravo, the voice across the air. Yet he still looks around as if hoping she’ll show up, like he’ll see someone and just intuitively know that they are the spy he’s been speaking to for so long.

Poe can still remember when he was first given the assignment. At first, he had chafed at the idea of being confined to a desk when he could be out in his X-Wing, taking down TIE fighters and rescuing Resistance officers like always. He’d plunked himself down at his assigned station, an empty room in a distant corner of the base. Poe had turned on the encrypted channel, readying himself for a boring half hour of talking to some dry business-as-usual intel agent. Yet instead of being forced to share comms with a watery old recon officer, he’d been greeted by Acer. Wild, laughing, ruthlessly clever Acer. He’d want no one else.

They’d become friends soon after that, it was practically inevitable. Poe doesn’t know much about the other spies the Resistance sent out, but he does know that Acer is one of the best there is. Poe feels some extension of pride whenever he gets to deliver the newly recovered data files to the General, like he had just as much of a role in their transmission as Acer. To be fair, he has talked her through a couple of bad scenarios, like when a First Order intercomms agent demanded to see her radio or when a shady Knights of Ren sympathizer nearly found her out. No matter how bad it got, they’d always found some way to make it through. They were a team, weren’t they? Acer and Bravo, the two ends of the comms.

Poe finds that he’s actually come to rely on his daily check-ins with Acer like he would a chat with a friend. He has no idea how it feels to be in her position, stuck in the middle of First Order space with nothing but a fragile lie to protect you. Sometimes, he can hear it in her voice- the fear, the knowledge that at any moment she could be found out and shipped off to a distant cell where she would rot for the rest of her days. Spies are risky operators, and oftentimes the Resistance can’t afford to bring them back, not if it would compromise the rest of their intel rings.

Poe remembers the instance when he was captured by the First Order and tortured on board their ship. He had known even then that the likelihood of him being brought back to the Resistance was low, almost negligible, yet he’d been fortunate enough to have been rescued by Finn. Renegade stormtroopers with hearts of gold, however, were hard to come by, and so Acer wouldn’t even be able to rely on that. It twists Poe’s stomach to think of her on her bad days, when she’s surrounded by the fear that she would disappear on those backwater city planets and never be found again. He’d look for her, he promises himself, but even Poe knows that one radio operator wouldn’t be enough to find Acer if she went missing. All he can do is hope that it won’t come to that.

A couple of weeks later, Poe is on the line with Acer again when he first hears something in the background. It’s a quiet noise, barely there, yet something about it feels strange. He speaks up. “Hey, Ace, you got a roommate there? I thought I heard something behind you.” There’s quiet for a moment, and then when Acer speaks again her voice is strained with panic. “I live alone. There should be nobody here with me.” Both of them stay silent for a moment as they realize the implications of this. If Acer should be alone, but somebody is there, then that means-

The explosions go off about half a second later. Distantly, Poe can hear the draw of a blaster from a holster and repeated fire. Acer bends close to the radio, speaking quietly so the attackers won’t hear. “There are First Order troops in my quarters. I repeat, there are First Order troops here. This is Acer, I am requesting sendoff. Bravo, do you copy?” Poe’s blood feels like ice in his veins. The sendoff code is one that he had hoped to never hear. It means that Acer is outnumbered, that she’s about to be captured. It means that the Resistance has to make a choice whether to save her or to damn her to end the rest of her life in First Order cells.

This is Poe’s greatest fear. When he speaks again, he has to force his voice to stay calm and never waver. If he sounds nervous, then it will only enhance her own fear. “This is Bravo, affirmative. I verify your sendoff.” He can hear a quiet sound, like a half-sob almost hidden in the din of the blaster fire. Poe feels sick to his stomach. He can’t do this, can’t abandon Acer like this. He knows in this moment that if he doesn’t do something he will never forgive himself, but what is there to do? It’s not like he can help fight the stormtroopers. He feels their separation like a knife. She is cut off from him in all ways but the radio, but what good can a comms channel do in a firefight?

Desperate, Poe clicks on his mic once more. “Acer, can you read me? Can you send your location?” This is his last hope- if she can send even a couple of coordinates they might be able to track her down, might be able to save her from the cells. Acer’s voice comes back over the air, and Poe feels his heart drop at her words. “That’s a negative, Bravo. I can’t risk any more transmissions.” Her voice breaks off, but it doesn’t sound like a tech difficulty. When she speaks once more, her voice is leaden, and it chills Poe to the bone.

“I’m not making it out, Bravo. It’s been good to know you. See you in the fall.” Poe’s jaw tightens when he hears the last phrase. ‘See you in the fall’ is a joke they have between them, that someday there will be a day when he and Acer will be able to leave their stations and find each other at the end of all of this- at the fall of the First Order, of the war and resistance effort itself, when everything is finally over. If she’s saying this, then she knows- Acer isn’t making it back.

Poe’s voice is seconds away from breaking. “I’ll see you in the fall, Acer. I promise.” He can hear her slight smile over the line, and it nearly kills him. Even now, she’s forcing herself to stay strong. “You have to end the channel, Bravo. Otherwise they’ll find you.” Poe shakes his head before forgetting that she can’t see him. “Don’t make me leave. I know I’m not here, but I can’t-” Poe forces himself to remain calm. He has to do this, it is his last job. He owes her this, at least. He owes it to her that the mission not fail completely.

Poe takes a moment to steady himself before continuing. “Affirmative, Acer. This is Bravo, over and out.” Poe drags his hand over to the buttons lining his console and robotically types in the command to permanently end the channel before the First Order can find them through it. Just before he severs the line, he hears her voice one last time. “I read you, Bravo. Acer, over and out.” Then there’s one last flurry of static, and everything goes quiet.

Poe sits for a second in the silence. His ears are ringing with the last remnants of the blasterfire. He stares at his hands, still hovering over the controls. Just like that, his friend is gone. Acer has been captured, and she knows that there’s no hope of her return. Poe has been fighting in the Resistance for a long time now, and he’s seen many friends and allies fall. This loss, however, is the hardest he has felt in a long time.

Poe’s footsteps echo through the halls until he comes to a stop in front of General Organa. She turns to him, expecting a proffered data file, but her smile fades when she sees the haunted look on his face. Poe’s voice registers dully in the room. “Recon Operator Acer has been cleared for sendoff.” And just like that, Poe has lost one of the best things in the fight.

#poe dameron #poe dameron imagines #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron series #star wars #star wars imagines #star wars x reader #star wars series #poe #poe imagines #poe x reader #poe series #star wars poe #star wars poe imagines #star wars poe x reader #star wars poe series

[dennou-translations]

Violet Evergarden: Booklet 9

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A certain man picked up a wild beast.

It was beautiful to an uncanny extent. Catastrophically foolish. Laughably ignorant and violent.

However, it was also an extremely rare kind of beast, which had attachment for people and obeyed them.

Its fur was golden. Its eyes were a limpid blue.

The beast did not know how to let out a cry, but if trained, it could probably sell for a high price.

Such was the beast that the man had picked.

The man and the beast’s encounter was a result of misfortune, as a great number of people had fallen victim to the beast’s fangs.

The beast followed the man’s back around all the time.

It was a terrifying beast, which devoured humans. He had to hurry and dispose of it somewhere.

Still, the man thought, it would probably be useful in a battlefield.

The man’s occupation was national defense. His status was of naval captain.

A ferocious beast was suitable as a guard dog, and no one would be troubled if the lonely beast lost its life somewhere.

For the man, the beast was not a desired companion, but whatever could be used should be used.

Had he not thrown it away when he was supposed to, the future would have changed drastically.

   Violet Evergarden If

   “Shirt – not that; the shirt.”

The soft light of dawn shone over Leiden, the capital of Leidenschaftlich. It was a fine season, in which petals of bougainvillea flowers danced about. A beautiful morning. The appearance of the city was divine as sunshine flowed down from the rifts between the clouds, like ladders for the angels. A daylight that caused people to embrace a little bit of hope toward the day called today and the long period called life – that caused such thoughts to appear – was illuminating the city.

On this wonderful day, inside the dormitory of a facility built in the vicinities of Leidenschaftlich’s Ministry of the Navy, a man had fallen into an overcast mood, in contrast with the scenery outside. Although he had woken up a mere few minutes ago, he was irritated. He was not looking at the sunlight coming from the window. Neither did he have any interest in the dancing of the gentle shadows created by the fluttering curtains.

The only thing he had his eyes on was his beast.

“It’s the shirt. You’re not doing that on purpose, are you?”

The man belonged to a privileged class. One could tell that his furnished, private room had been renovated so that its user could live in maximum comfort. Something of the sort was not permitted unless the person was from a social position fitting of it.

He hated the idea of having his own house. He also avoided returning to his home and to a smaller component of his nation, his family.

“‘Shirt’.”

“The shirt. Shirt.”

“‘Shirt’.”

“No, that’s a cufflink. Listen up; I’m gonna say it one more time.”

As he spoke, his voice was low, charming and sullen. His hair, like ink in the color of nightly darkness with a thread of blue mixed in, was long and resembled silk. His deeply carved and delicate facial features would surely be showered with attention from women if he went on a walk in the city. One could tell the fineness of his upbringing with a single glance from his noble beauty.

The man who bore such looks, Dietfried Bougainvillea, was fed up with the girl in front of him, who could not do as much as bring him a shirt. From her appearance, said girl, unshapely clad in the female officer uniform of Leidenschaftlich’s navy, was so young that she had not yet reached her mid-teens. He could be considered much too immature for making an angry face at such a child.

Dietfried grasped her tiny hand, of a size so different from his own, and made her hold onto a white shirt. “Shirt,” he said while glaring at her, as if to give her a lesson. His lips also moved slowly, so that she would understand the pronunciation.

The girl being glared at alternated between looking at the shirt she was made to grab and at her master, who was naked from the waist up. Her big eyes opened even wider as she was attempting to learn something.

Dietfried wanted to start yelling at her immediately, but somehow managed to remain in his current state, accepting her silence and that she took her time.

Eventually, the girl nodded. “‘Shirt’...”

Dietfried exhaled. He let out a breath mixed with both relief and disappointment.

“That’s right; it’s a shirt that I want.”

“This is a shirt.”

“What will you do with that shirt?”

“Captain, it is a shirt.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Just hand it over after you say that. You’re really one handful of a mongrel.”

“A shirt.”

“Enough.”

“Captain, a shirt.”

“Enough already!”

What he was doing was teaching. The girl, who could not even properly say that word, had never had any education. She was an orphan that Dietfried had taken in due to certain circumstances and did not know how to speak very well. Most likely, she was being used by someone else before Dietfried had picked her.

She was definitely a wild beast rather than a person. All she could do was murder people as per her master’s order. She was a bestial girl who was unable to do anything but that. Dietfried had the girl live in one of Leidenschaftlich’s warships, immediately putting her into action for combat should there be any battles at sea, using her as a soldier.

The reason why he was scoring exceptionally good military achievements was that he kept her by his side. As she had the appearance of an infant, she easily incited negligence. She had already displayed her power a number of times by approaching enemy warships on a boat, causing a disturbance by the moment that she was mistaken for a victim and allowed onboard, then taking advantage of it to start a naval attack. It was an inhumane work for a little girl to do.

Dietfried was aware of that. Yet he had made her do it. She had done it countless times.

He had thought she would soon die, but whenever he went to check on the bodies, she was usually the lone survivor. No matter how much he attempted to kill her, to have her killed, she did not die. Instead, she would crush the enemy ships.

“Leidenschaftlich’s Undine” was what the navy soldiers called her now.

If he could not kill her, he had no choice but make her useful. Dietfried despised this girl, who had slaughtered his underlings when they first met, but that time had now passed and was opening up anew. Making use of this girl’s life until she collapsed was also a way to mourn for those who were gone. That was how he thought it over. For that reason, in order to work her hard also as a servant, he was teaching her how to speak.

He had started doing it because of the fact that they had trouble communicating, but Dietfried did not have much talent as an educator. He had been able to climb up to the position of naval captain due to his personal achievements. He was skilled at leading and instructing people, but for lecturing a child like this one-on-one, he was terribly unfit.

“Next, the shoes. Put my shoes on for me.”

“Sho...”

“Here, look at the way my mouth moves.”

“I—am.”

“Shoes. C’mon, try saying it.”

“‘Sho-es’.”

“Say it five times. Shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes.”

“‘Shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes’.”

“All right. Now, put my shoes on me.”

“Captain, you mean ‘shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes’.”

Clearly unfit.

“Captain.”

“You trash.”

“‘Tra-sh’.”

“Hey, don’t say ‘trash’ to me.”

“What does ‘tra-sh’ mean?”

Dietfried felt like crawling onto the bed he was sitting on and lying down to sulk just like that. In fact, he did hang his head and roll onto it.

Anyone who knew him well would evaluate that, for someone like him, he was teaching her very patiently. As he was the kind of man who could do anything flawlessly by nature, his attitude towards those who could not was cold. Such a man was attempting to educate an orphan child who did not know how to talk. He was in a state where one could say that he was making an effort.

“Captain, it is morning.”

“I know... I ain’t sleeping. I’m lying face-down ‘cause I’m disappointed in you.”

“Do you have any orders for ‘You’?”

“Y’know, I do call you ‘You’, but that ain’t your name.”

“If not, ‘You’ will be on stand-by.”

Albeit good at catching on words such as “stand-by” or “order”, she was slow to absorb terms that were used in daily life. The discrepancy between the things she did and did not have interest in was evident in the results of her learning.

This wild beast of a girl actually did not need words.

Even so, Dietfried had decided to grant them to her. Going back on a decision was shameful to him. He believed that he should never do such a thing.

——I gotta at least make her evolve from wild animal to watchdog. Or else, both she and I will be in trouble.

Dietfried was striving. He was exerting himself extraordinarily.

“Enough; I’m gonna comb my hair now. Gimme the comb.”

It seemed she had properly memorized the word “comb”, as she immediately took it from the dresser that the room was already provided with and presented it to Dietfried. She observed him with her big, gemstone-like eyes as he sat up as if it were a pain and slowly began combing his lengthy hair. He smooth and deftly braided it with his long fingers, then tied it with a ribbon and it was over.

Dietfried hit the bed with a slap, directing the girl to sit next to him. “Do as I do. As long as you’re wearing that uniform, you’re my subordinate. You having a bad appearance is a problem for me.”

Accepting the comb, the girl began combing her hair as well. She was improving lately, but her hair was damaged for a while due to malnutrition, so the ends tended to entangle. When she tried to force the comb through, Dietfried apprehended her with a hand.

“This again... Stop; don’t treat your hair like that... Why do I gotta brush it every day? Today’s the day that you’re gonna get it cut,” Dietfried said while carefully unraveling the entangled hair tips in her stead.

The girl was stock-still. Dietfried did not realize that the facial expression on her profile was a little bit different from her usual deadpan.

“Captain.”

“What?”

“Should ‘you’ comb your hair as well?”

“Nah, ‘s fine. I get a bad feeling when you’re behind me.”

Whether she had understood or not, the girl closed her eyes as if holding back on something. “All right...”

   In order to both replenish and repair the warship, Dietfried went on land. The stay at the port was scheduled to last up to five days. During that period, the crew would be on vacation. Most of his subordinates were roaming the city of Leiden, but those who lived close to it took full advantage of their days off to go see their families in their hometowns.

Dietfried also finally had free time today. He had to take several days to submit all sorts of greetings and reports. He made a long memo in his head with a list of the things that he had to purchase. One way or another, he was able to make time at least to go shopping in peace.

“Hey, let’s go.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Dietfried generally took action while keeping her by his side. She would be all right standing in waiting somewhere, but thoughtlessly leaving a woman alone amongst men was a primary factor for incidents to occur.

It was not as if he were worried about the girl. The ones he worried about were the people who would find the tables turning against them for attempting to lay their hands on her. In times of war, Dietfried’s decision was to avoid losing human resources as much as possible. He had to supervise this girl in order to prevent her from reducing his number of underlings.

However, there was also a good side to it. The girl’s fighting power and crisis-sensing abilities were outstandingly excellent, which qualified her for escort missions. He used to always walk around with bodyguards and associates as his ranks went up, but now, just this girl was enough.

——It’s nice that I can let more people, even if just one more, rest up by sacrificing her.

Under the light of the sun, Dietfried thought this as he watched the girl eagerly move her legs to chase after his back with tapping footsteps.

“We’re done buying these kinds of luxury items... Now for the clothes... Hey, this way. Follow me.”

“Captain, you are well-acquainted with the city.”

“That’s right. I’m ‘well-acquainted with the city’,” Dietfried gave a reply on the same level to the girl, who sometimes used words in a strange manner.

Just as he told her, Leiden was his hometown. In normal circumstances, it would be all right for him to return home as well.

“Though I don’t know if I like this city or hate it.”

But as he did not do so, one could guess about his family situation.

“You know what the good of this city is, do you?”

“I do not—know the city—very well.”

“The beauty of the architecture and the spirit of the people change depending on the city. If you leave out your emotions, Leiden’s a stunning city.”

“I do not have emotions. That means it is a stunning city to me.”

“You’ve got it wrong.”

“This is difficult.”

“You can’t understand human reasoning ‘cause you’re not human.”

“I see.”

After saying something that would hurt a little girl, he checked on her facial expression, yet it was blank as ever.

“You.”

However, he did not miss that her voice had become slightly gloomier.

“Don’t you wanna run away from me?” he whispered oppressively, stopping in his tracks and looking down at her from above.

Framing her huge eyes, the girl’s golden lashes fluttered like butterflies. She seemed surprised.

“We aren’t at sea right now. Or inside the warship. If you run off somewhere, I won’t be able to catch up. For starters, I’d have no intention to go looking for you. So if you wanna do that, you can.”

If a third party happened to hear the question, it would sound almost as if he were testing the girl. In fact, he might have been. People did such things out of foolishness every once in a while.

Dietfried absolutely did not admit it, but as he took this beast into his personal care and raised her, he began to feel that he wanted something. In return for that, he did not give her a name. If it were someone else, they would surely put it into words and display their desire with ease, but Dietfried was different. This man was awfully complicated – deeply compassionate yet cruel.

“Captain Dietfried, what am I supposed to do—by running away—from you?”

Just like that girl, he was broken somewhere.

The question made no sense to her.

“I have no meaning. If you do not use me, that is.”

This girl had no feelings.

“There is no meaning to me unless I am being used. I am a tool. I exist to be used.”

She did not know love.

“I am a wild beast. Beasts nestle up to where their owners go.”

All she wanted was validation of her own existence. Money, honor, status or anything of the sort.

“I am sure that—I was made this way—ever since I was born.”

She needed none of it. They made no sense to her.

“And you—have been registered—as my master inside me.”

The girl before his eyes looked at him as if to say, “don’t forget that I’m a beast”.

“You bring me along and use me.”

It might be that their positions were inverted from the very beginning.

“Please do stand next to me, Captain.”

Perhaps Dietfried was the one being kept around as a proof of existence.

——It’d be great if I could kill her right now.

She was merely a lonely beast, who just yearned for a master. It did not have to be Dietfried. That was what he felt she had told him.

“I’m going back.”

Dietfried started walking. Towards a direction completely opposed to the set route. In large steps, his leather boots clicking, he strode as if to leave the girl behind.

“But you still—have not bought most of the items.”

“It’s fine; I’m going back.”

“All right.”

As expected, the girl was expressionless even as her master suddenly grew displeased and yelled at her. She was accustomed to being swayed around. Not just by the man in front of her, but by her own fate as well. She had flowed, letting herself go with the current, and was now here.

It was Dietfried alone who never became accustomed to the girl.

“Walk fast.”

There was no appropriate name for the relationship of the two.

“Yes, I shall not leave your side.”

——You scum.

Why did he have to be the only one manifesting his emotions? It would be great if he could make the girl’s face distort even if just a little. This feeling surfaced and disappeared within him. It was almost the way of thinking of a child whose mother would not give him any attention, but trapped as he was in his own emotions, Dietfried did not realize this.

“Captain.”

Disturbed by rage and confusion, Dietfried angrily yelled, “What?!” in response to the girl’s call.

“There is a suspicious person running toward us from behind us. Shall I suppress them?”

“Haah?”

As he turned around, just as the girl had said, there was indeed a strange individual running their way. He had a purse under his arm. They could hear the scream of a woman at the back. If one were to take a conclusion just from looking at the situation, he was most certainly a thief.

“Don’t kill; capture him.”

To the order whispered at her in a low tone, the girl replied with a clear voice, “Understood.”

Immediately, she dashed off.

“Outta the way!”

As the man harshly shouted such aggressive words while coming at the people around him, they would open way for him in fear. The only one who pushed through the opened path was the girl.

“Brat! Move! I’m gonna kill you!”

Seeing a girl clad in a military uniform heading towards him, the man took out a pocketknife as he ran. Running while swinging it around was dangerous to no bounds. No matter how much brute strength one had, they would still waver at such a head-on challenge.

“My name is not ‘Brat’.”

However, the girl did not falter. Right before the collision, the girl lowered her posture with a jerk and evaded the pocketknife’s assault first-thing. She then grabbed one of the man’s legs and hurled herself at him. As the strength that the man had applied to the direction of his move was forcefully stopped, he violently plunged face-first into the ground.

“It is ‘You’.”

The girl’s attack did not end there. She seized the back of the agonized man, and after lifting his body as if picking a cat by its collar, she punched his throat. On top of that, she twisted his arm, completely suppressing his movements.

“P-Ple—ase—let—”

“I cannot understand the contents of your speech.”

“L-Let—g-go—pl—ea—se—”

“I cannot understand the contents of your speech.”

There was a spine-freezing kind of fearsomeness to the girl, who heartlessly repeated the same response to the man that was most likely saying, “Let go”. There was as much beauty to her appearance as there was a spur of coldness in her.

“The lecture I gave you last time about human body vitals came in handy, huh.”

“Yes.”

Dietfried came walking in a relaxed manner, looking like his moody aspect from earlier had decreased by just a little bit.

“As you told me, Captain. Strikes to the throat are effective.”

“True. Remember the name of the spots that hurt when you hit it?”

“‘Vital parts’.”

“That’s right... In men’s case in particular, there’s Adam’s apple. Look at this.” Dietfried grabbed the hair of the pitiful robber and made him raise his face. He then pointed at the other’s Adam’s apple. “Listen up. This bulgy thing is Adam’s apple.”

“‘Adam’s maple’.”

“It’s ‘Adam’s apple’.”

The robber could do nothing but watch the exchange between the two oddballs in confusion. There was no way to describe them other than “bizarre”. It could also be said that they were crazy. After all, the duo was holding a lecture about vital parts using the body of a complete stranger.

“‘Adam’s apple’. Is it... Is it a vital?”

“Yeah. It gets difficult to talk when you strike here, so hit it when you want someone to keep quiet.”

“Understood, Captain. If I want someone to keep quiet, I shall hit them there.”

“Also, you were probably going for his feet ‘cause he has a knife, but when the guy’s used to fighting, you should drop the idea. You’d get kicked like that. You might be strong but you’re light.”

“Should I dodge to the side?”

“With your jumping abilities, you could’ve also fly-kicked him. He had his hands full with the pocketknife and the bag anyway. Most people wouldn’t think you’d fly-kick them, so it can work. Either that or start attacking after throwing the stuff you’re holding at him.”

The girl nodded as if to say, “I see”. “But Captain, I am not allowed to throw your belongings.”

“That’s right. If you’d done that, I would’ve given you a beating.”

Despite making a face that denoted she had not comprehended it, the girl nodded. Those who were used to obeying tended to gulp down the double standards of others.

“Anyhow, should we return the bag to the victim? Or should we report to the military police...”

Although Dietfried was dealing with the fuss in a brisk and business-like manner, his eyes took notice of someone squeezing through the crowd that had gathered around him.

“Please let me pass,” the voice of a man echoed straight throughout the area.

“Sorry; it’s dangerous here, so let us pass,” so did the sweet voice of another man.

“Excuse me; we heard that you have caught a fugitive criminal, and we have as well. Let’s bring them to the military police togeth...”

The men who had showed up lost their voices for a second. As did Dietfried.

“Gil...”

Hair the color of night and emerald eyes. There were parts of their physical appearance that were similar to one another, yet the air about them was overwhelmingly different. However, if the two stood next to each other, one could quickly tell what they were.

“Brother...”

The one standing there was Dietfried’s little brother, Gilbert Bougainvillea.

“Uwah, it’s the Captain.”

Together with a large red-haired man, he had a thief in his hold and they were dragging him away.

——Claudia Hodgins too... Sure ran into a noisy fellow.

The joy of meeting his younger sibling surfaced, yet once he pondered about how to explain the situation and how they would respond to it, his feelings soon leaned to the side of deeming it as a bother.

Gilbert displayed agitation for an instant at the sight of his older brother, but immediately switched his gaze over to understanding the state of the surroundings. When he saw that a girl was the one pinning down the assumed robber all by herself, the look in his eyes changed.

“Hodgins.”

“Aah, it’s okay. I can hold him on my own. You take care of that girl...”

Gilbert handed the man that they had under restraint over to the one named Hodgins, heading to the girl’s side and kneeling down with one knee. He then said, locking his gaze with hers, “Let’s switch; are you hurt?” Before earning her consent, Gilbert took the man’s restraining upon himself. “Any injuries?” he asked again as the girl did not answer.

The girl looked at Dietfried. “Captain is unharmed,” she reported her master’s condition, not thinking that she was being questioned about her own.

“No, I’m asking about you.”

The girl looked at Dietfried, then at Gilbert. She moved her neck left and right countless times, at loss. “Whether I am injured or not is not an issue. That question is inappropriate.”

As Dietfried heard this sentence, the area around his chest suddenly became heavy.

“What are you saying...? This is about your body. Your family would be sad if you were wounded, wouldn’t they?”

After all, he had not never asked her the question “Are you hurt?”.

“I do not have a ‘family’.”

Not even once until now.

Gilbert looked at Dietfried. Dietfried also looked at Gilbert. For a moment, the two brothers rejected what the other wanted to say with their eyes. An air that could be deemed as hazardous started drifting there.

Although Gilbert had been speaking to the girl in a soft tone until just a while ago, the warmth of his voice took a brusque nosedive, “Brother, we should contact the military police first of all.”

“Then, I will call them.”

“That’s fine; you stay here. Brother, you’re the most empty-handed of us. We can count on you, right?”

“I’m holding shopping bags.”

“Brother... I’ll get angry for real...”

Ultimately, Dietfried yielded, out of fear towards his little brother’s wrath. The two thieves were swiftly taken to the military police, and so the three men and one girl who had seized them left the scene as if fleeing from a turmoil.

   The course of events after that was, simply put, a spectacular sibling fight.

Gilbert was enraged at his older brother for making a little girl into a combatant and using her as a slave, while Dietfried desperately tried to refute him through the fact that she was not a “girl” to begin with. Stuck between them and unable to endure staying there any longer, Hodgins had attempted to take the girl away from the spot of their argument, yet she would not leave Dietfried’s side. In the end, they did not manage to keep the discussion together, parting ways with the decision to set up a proper place to talk on a later date.

While returning to the dormitory and even after arriving, Dietfried stayed quiet, not uttering a single word. It was already late into the night.

“Captain.”

Silence.

“What will you have for today’s dinner? I can take a seat in the cafeteria for you.”

“Don’t need it.”

“Understood.”

Dietfried’s irritation amplified even further with the fact that the girl, who was the point at issue, was conducting herself by operating in the same manner as usual.

“I don’t wanna look at your face. Go back to your room.”

“Understood.”

Once she left his bedroom, Dietfried had an abrupt realization. The girl would not go to the cafeteria unless he ordered. Since he had forgotten to tell her to do so, there was a possibility that she would not eat.

——I have to tell her.

However, a feeling surged within him, asking why he had to look after her to that extent. Whenever that girl was around, no matter what, he would end up restricting himself.

Rage welled up within Dietfried yet again as he recalled everything that Gilbert had told him.

“Brother, you’re a horrible person.”

——No, it’s not just me. She is, too.

“Don’t you feel sorry for that child?”

——You’re wrong; that’s not it. It’s not like that. You don’t get it.

“She’s still so little.”

——She’s a little murderer. An assassin who killed my comrades and kills my enemies.

Just which of them was the one in captivity?

——Who made a mess out of my life.

Wishing to become free, he had thrown everything away. Even if he were to receive criticism, he had run away from it all, not paying it any mind. That was Dietfried Bougainvillea.

——Even though I was free.

He had thrown away his home.

——Even though I was free.

He had thrown away his family.

——Even though I was free.

He had thrown away his brother.

——Even though I was free.

And then, he threw away even kindness, becoming a blade drawn out of its stealth and surviving in severity. He had been doing his best. Had been suffering.

Still, because of just one girl, everything was unstable now.

Dietfried moved his body with a sudden motion. He stood up from his bed and put on a coat. Opening the door of the room next to his, he made the girl dress up in as many layers as possible and took her outside.

Where were they going in the dead of night? The girl asked what their destination was, yet he did not answer. They walked, walked and walked, then hopped onto a carriage.

The carriage moved with clicks and clacks. The Moon could be seen chasing them all the while from the window.

Once they eventually reached a place much too far from the dormitory facilities, she could see a mansion that one would not call an ordinary home. One could assume that the surrounding plots of plentiful nature were also part of the estate, which was Dietfried’s former residence as well.

The mansion was property of the Bougainvillea family. This was a portion of it. The main house was located somewhere else.

The sky was already beginning to pale, about to welcome the break of dawn. Again, a beautiful morning was going to start in Leidenschaftlich.

They had been traveling for a whole night and his body was aching. His condition was at its worst due to lack of sleep. However, Dietfried let out a relieved breath as they reached the mansion at last. Currently enlisted in the army, Gilbert had told him that he was in Leiden for a temporary stop. If so, in order to avoid an earful from their mother, he should be staying in their villa.

Right now, Gilbert was in there. His little brother, who – unlike Dietfried – had the shape of everything that their parents deemed a person must have, was there.

“Listen up: go inside that house. And then call Gilbert.”

His respectable younger sibling, whose emotions were not overly warped, was there.

“Tell him I kicked you out. If you do that, he’ll treat you right. You gotta show him how tired you are. No matter what, be sure to ask him to make you into an army officer.”

That was a sparkle in Dietfried’s life of complete darkness.

“There’s no way that someone like you could manage living a normal life at this point. Serve the military, and then die.”

The fact that he existed and was a relative with whom Dietfried shared the same blood was, to the latter, hope.

“He’ll protect you for sure.”

He was hope. He was light.

“I...”

No matter how broken he was, Dietfried could believe that he had one normal something. This had always granted him courage.

“You...”

He was aware that he was doing wrong as a person.

“You and I can’t be together.”

He knew he was the kind of human being who could not change, regardless of being in the wrong. That was why he loved his virtuous younger brother as if it were a necessity. He loved him even now.

Gilbert would never betray Dietfried. After all, he also loved his older brother.

The girl’s usual expressionlessness slowly crumbled. She repeatedly opened and closed her mouth, attempting to say something. However, probably unable to find the right words, she looked at the Bougainvillea mansion and shook her head like a child throwing a tantrum in refusal.

“Go; just go.”

“I—do not—want to.”

“Don’t talk back. I don’t need you. Go be used by a different owner.”

“I—do not—want to... I do not want to...”

“I’m telling you I don’t need you! Hurry and go!”

The girl tried to grasp Dietfried’s arm. Yet Dietfried began walking away before she could do so. He just uncaringly headed to the carriage that was parked a little far from the residence’s front gate.

“Captain.”

The girl was coming after him. Her voice was loaded with feelings of desperation.

——What’s up with you?

“Captain, Captain—”

——Even though you usually have no emotions.

“Captain, I do not—want this! Captain! Please give me—an order!”

——Even though you only think of me as a tool to receive orders.

“Captain! Captain! I will—properly learn—how to read!”

——Could’ve been anyone, right? Even if it weren’t me, anyone should do for you.

“Plea—se! Captain—I do not—want this, Captain!”

——Even if it weren’t me, you would...

“Captain... Captain... I will—do anything, Captain... Captain...”

——Even if it weren’t me, you would’ve been okay with it. Isn’t that it?

Dietfried turned around to check if her voice had died down. The same old girl was not there. Her wild beast figure from their first encounter had disappeared as well.

“Please, do not leave me—on my own...”

The one standing there was the infant that Dietfried had taught how to speak.

Dietfried looked at the child in front of him as if he had grown senile. She was crying. That beast of a girl, who did not cry no matter how many wounds she earned, was weeping. And also appealing to him with the things that she could do.

“I can fight; I can also—carry your belongings; and—put your—shirt on—for you.”

She was desperately bringing up what she could do to prove her existence.

“My wounds—heal quickly as well; I can—kill your enemies too; I will do anything.”

How could she assert her being?

“Please let me... Captain...”

What could she do to stay by Dietfried Bougainvillea’s side? She was attempting to certify her existence. In reality, Dietfried had misjudged her.

The girl had properly ascertained who her lord was.

If it could have been anyone else, there were several people other than him. Yet he was the one she had chased after. The wild beast had instinctively sensed and pursued him.

She had followed him while embracing the wish that, if it was a human like him, an adult like him, then surely...

“I can—be used; I can become—an optimal tool.”

...he would not leave her.

Had he not bestowed her with words and used her as a mere tool, she would never have said such a thing. Dietfried had failed.

Combing her hair and patiently teaching her about daily lifestyle had done no good. Neither had the fact that he taught her what to do and how to fight whenever she encountered difficulties while by herself. None of it had done any good.

Even without Dietfried Bougainvillea himself realizing it...

“Please, let me be—by your side.”

...the wild beast was turning into a person.

The complete darkness of the night was gradually fading. From the direction of the Bougainvillea mansion, a servant and Gilbert – the master of the house – appeared, having come upon overhearing the angry yelling. They stared at the duo with surprise.

Dietfried slowly changed his course. He turned to the crying child. One step after another, he moved toward the girl.

“Do you need me?”

He then reached out his hands, holding her small body in his arms.

“Yes.”

With an awkwardness similar to holding an animal for the first time, he supported her from the back.

“Even if I say I don’t need you, do you need me?”

In doing that, the two looked like one.

“Yes; please, do not leave me alone.”

They looked like a single living being, formed through a combination of distorted shapes.

“I see.”

Dietfried felt that the dark things squirming inside his chest until now were clearing up. His feelings for her, which were close to hatred, dimmed away as well. Same for the anger towards himself and his inferiority complex regarding the rest of the world. Illuminated by the gentle sunlight, they all faded and disappeared, just like the deep dark colors of the night.

——I see; so I wanted something like this, Dietfried thought vacantly while embracing the child that clung to him.

He felt like he understood why he was always so irritated at this girl. Just as she wanted to prove herself, he also wanted others to accept him.

Socially, he was acknowledged. He also had subordinates who idolized him. However, Dietfried...

——I wanted this.

...wanted that wild beast to acknowledge. To acknowledge him.

The times when he truly thought that he wanted to kill her had passed. So had the times when he wanted to push her onto someone else. And the times in which he tried to use her solely as a tool until she collapsed, just like a slave, were passing as well. They were now morphing into wondering about what he could do to make her last, to have her live.

They were properly changing towards the direction of the light.

“Then, be by my side.”

That was why he wanted to acknowledge as well. No matter how distorted a shape they had.

The child and man then welcomed the first morning in which they acknowledged each other.

   Afterwards, a mansion was erected in the outskirts of Leidenschaftlich.

Built once the Continental War ended, after the cessation of hostilities was finally called on, said mansion was home to a somewhat eccentric family. A man and a girl. Far apart in age, the two of them did not seem to get along well, yet did not show any signs that they would separate from each other.

“Captain, it is morning.”

As threads of golden hair cascaded smoothly in front of him like canopy curtains, Dietfried rubbed his sticky eyelids and opened them. At first, what he could see were exquisite blue eyes and cherry-colored lips. This individual, already clad in a naval uniform, bore features that anyone would call beautiful.

Dietfried regretted unintentionally thinking that she was beautiful first-thing in the morning.

“Captain, it is morning,” her voice echoed softly in his ears.

“Shut up... I know.” He sat up, yawning.

The girl began forcefully undressing Dietfried, whose gestures looked a little childish no matter what he did, without the slightest sign of embarrassment. “You have a dinner meeting today after work. I will not take part in it, but I have arranged a carriage for your return, so please give your name when you go to the assembly hall of the dinner meeting.”

“Got it.”

Letting her do as she pleased, Dietfried was having his clothes changed from sleeping garments to his uniform.

“You stayed up late yesterday night, right? There are dark circles under your eyes.”

“You’re real noisy lately... Most of it is Gil’s influence, ain’t it... You can’t go today ‘cause you got some business with him?” Seeing her movements halt completely when she was buttoning him up, Dietfried snorted. “So easy to read. You into him?”

“No.”

The duo’s conversation was a daily life scene that had happened countless times already. It was by no means anything special.

“Even if you aren’t, I don’t know about him.”

“No, it is nothing of the...”

“You two gonna see each other alone?”

“Mr. Hodgins is also coming.”

“Even if you hook up with him, I ain’t letting go of you. Work for me on commute.”

“Of course.”

“Hn, now comb my hair.”

“Yes.”

“The ribbon will be... navy blue.”

“Yes.”

Dietfried looked at the girl. She had grown up considerably. Back when they had first met, her height was about enough to reach his waist or so.

——But nowadays, she seems to be kinda intimate with Gilbert.

Although she was working flawlessly as his secretary every day, the feeling that she was being conquered lately was undeniable. That was certainly fulfilling for her, but to Dietfried, it was a tad unamusing.

“You say ‘yes’ but you’re gonna throw me away one day, aren’t you?”

A line that did not feel like him accidentally came out, and once it did so, he could not take it back. As Dietfried stayed quiet, the girl tilted her head.

“It is you who are in the position of throwing me away.”

“As if I can do that at this point; you’re mine.”

Silence.

“Aah, I don’t wanna go to work anymore... I feel awful; everything is so annoying...”

“Lord Dietfried.”

“What? You’re so noisy.”

Disgruntled, Dietfried collapsed onto his bed. After staring at him for a moment, the girl eventually imitated it, collapsing onto the bed and coming close to him.

“You gonna sleep too?”

“I am your asset, after all. I live, die, lie down and sleep together with you.”

“So you’ve come to say that.”

She completely had him on the palm of her hand.

Although he had several complaints about it, he also felt comfort from the nature of this relationship already.

Even now, he had never clearly put into words and explicitly stated his feelings towards her.

“One day... you will...”

“I shall serve you forever.”

“You say that, but one day...”

“I shall serve you. For as long as you do abandon me.”

“I said I ain’t gonna throw you away, didn’t I?”

“You tried once.”

“Y’know, that was a one-time flight response from when I was having a hard time rearing a kid. Raising you was a hassle.”

“I am grateful for it. I shall serve you for life.”

Dietfried was no longer his past self. He had become just a man that could not let go of this girl, who was the proof of his existence.

That was why Dietfried reached out his hand. As if to rule over her; as if to make her not forget about him, her lord.

He called her name, which he himself had chosen, “■■■■”

Having her cheek caressed and her name called, the girl crinkled her eyes a little. “Yes, I am by your side.”

   That was a story in which the future would have changed drastically, had he not thrown her away when he was supposed to.

#violet evergarden #veedit #fyeahvioletevergarden #kyoto animation #kyoani #dietfried bougainvillea #gilbert bougainvillea #claudia hogdins #violet evergarden booklets #violet evergarden if #novel #akatsuki kana #takase akiko #my translation

[your--isgayrights]

not sure if this is what you had in mind but i was thinking maybe kdj and hsy meeting briefly earlier in life (at 20/22 years old or sth)? maybe having a misunderstanding or an argument over something trivial (like interpretation of a book or who should take the last lemon flavored popsicle in the store) and somehow still managing to reach some recognition or understanding of each other. years later they would forget about each other but still remember that bizarre situation sometimes. i have no idea if that makes any sense but i believe in your writing and massive brain and powerful swag. xoxo

Aaaaah, Exe I'm sorry if this isn't exactly what you asked for... I was just like... what if that time Han Sooyoung and Kim Dokja almost met in the epilogue went a little differently and like... haha...

The first part is basically copied and pasted from that chapter before the twist, so go read that first if you haven't!

Han Su-Yeong staggered and walked closer to Kim Dok-Ja. Several passersby brushing past her looked back in suspicion.

Kim Dok-Ja was now walking down the subway’s steps.

Kim Dok-Ja, with earphones stuck in his ears and reading something on his phone while walking downstairs.

She knew what he was currently reading.

“—!!”

She barely managed to shout, but her voice still didn’t come out. So, she desperately chased after him.

Because of the story you wrote, author-nim, I was able to survive until now. Han Su-Yeong was also able to survive while reading the sole reader’s words.

She managed to write the next part of Yu Jung-Hyeok’s life through them.

She was able to endure her boring and stuffy teen years, the days she never wanted to go back to, thanks to those words.

This train is bound for… She spotted Kim Dok-Ja standing on the platform, waiting for the next train to arrive. A person hiding within the small world crafted out of letters to protect himself was standing right there.

Kim Dok-Ja, who didn’t know anything about the apocalypse about to happen.

Kim Dok-Ja, who’d get to live on the expansive world of the ‘Ways of Survival’.

Kim Dok-Ja, who’d get to meet the protagonist he so longed to become.

Kim Dok-Ja, who’d become the ‘Demon King of Salvation’.

Kim Dok-Ja, who’d sacrifice himself multiple times for the sake of his companions, and as a result, came to the 1863rd turn and met her.

Kim Dok-Ja, who was destined to become the ‘Most Ancient Dream’, the price he paid for loving a certain story too much.

[Your mental state is crumbling!]

[The main body’s ego is regaining its control.]

[Your Fable is being extinguished.]

Her legs grew heavy, and her arms didn’t want to move anymore. Her body was gradually becoming not hers.

Even then, Han Su-Yeong wanted to tell him.

⸢To tell him that he was definitely not at fault for this story being born. And to tell him that the things he was about to experience were not his sins.⸥

Because, her past 13 years existed solely to say those words to him.

⸢To say that, though you have grown up while reading this story, there’s no need for you to become it.⸥

She barely managed to muster up her strength, her arm coiling in on itself and preparing for her one last willful action.

[Your ego will convert into the ‘subconsciousness’.]

As she set her weak, pre-scenario body into that final decisive movement...

The twenty six year old Han Su-yeong who knew nothing of the soon to come apocalypse, woke up thrusting her fist forward into the face of some guy on the subway.

She would've thought she was still dreaming, if it hadn't been for the feeling of his soft cheek slamming against the hard bone of his teeth under the force of her balled up hand.

'What the hell? Why am I doing this?'

Han Su-yeong most likely would have asked herself these things if she had any more time to think before her punch had landed.

She got her answer, though. Despite never asking her question, that reason she was looking for became clear as the man staggered off his balance.

He made a futile attempt to right himself before being knocked to the ground. The phone that he had been holding so close to his face clattering screen-side up onto the concrete of the subway floor.

That was when she saw it.

She only had to read a snippet of the words on that phone screen to come up with an explanation for her own actions at that very moment.

[There are three ways to survive in a ruined world. Now, I have forgotten a few, but one thing is certain. The fact that you who are reading this now will survive.

-Three ways to survive in a ruined world

Author’s words: Thank you so much for reading ‘Ways of Survival’ up to here. I will come back to you with an epilogue!]

'Ways of Survival.' 'Three ways to survive in a ruined world.'

...

Yes, there was no doubt that this guy sat on the subway floor rubbing at his cheek deserved it.

Some latent evil of the world must be working to Han Su-yeong's advantage, because none of the commuter passing by spared her a second glance as she sorted out her own motives. They simply dodged around her and the man she had assaulted moments ago.

If Han Su-yeong had to write some train of thought into their actions, she might imagine these negligent bystanders saw something like an overly dramatic lover's spat. Something personal that they ought not get involved in.

Were it not for the pervasiveness of such a cliche recurrent in physical altercations between men and women, maybe they would see it for what it was. A question of honor between authors.

Because Han Su-yeong was certain that was who this man was. An author who was so shitty that he had created an alt to try and hype up his terrible novel.

That was right... It was years ago now, but Han Su-yeong remembered that unsubstantiated accusation of plagiarism on her first published webnovel, SSSSS-grade Infinite Regressor.

This shitty guy had made an alt account that was so obvious... it was something 'Dok-ja,' like he wasn't even trying to pretend he didn't make it just to pretend to 'read' his own webnovel...

If that didn't prove it, then it was also clear from the comments that he had left on every single chapter. When she was reading them, Han Su-yeong had known that if she were such a bad author that she would have to have just one reader, the words that he wrote represented that perfect amount of reader to author engagement that she would have desired.

But that sort of relationship... it was unrealistic. Han Su-yeong had been an author for something like 13 years now, and she had never had such a relationship in her entire career.

So it was obvious that a reader like that could only be written by an author with those same desires that she held.

And then he even had the nerve to wander out of his self contained fantasy, accusing her superior work of plagiarizing his shitty one just to draw in more views and commenters.

So of course he had a lot of nerve to be rereading his own damn author's note right where she could see hi-

"Can I help you?"

Han Su-yeong felt all of the hot air she had been blowing herself up with to justify her current situation deflate upon hearing that voice of his.

The man she'd injured looked up at her with hollow black eyes. Eyes that perhaps had only seemed bright while being illuminated by a screen.

His voice was mild, too. As if getting punched in the face were something that was merely tiresome to him, instead of something to stir anger or indignity. The reactions that Han Su-yeong had been mentally preparing herself to butt heads with.

Nothing about his reaction seemed to ask Han Su-yeong for her motives. There was no race to find an explanation behind those hollow eyes. No bit lip, straining to come up with a turn of phrase to become an appropriately biting retort.

This guy wasn't an author.

...

Hey...

Why had she punched this guy again?

"Sorry." Han Su-yeong found herself saying, as her body deflated, extended arm going back to her side. "From the behind, you looked like my shitty ex."

She let herself fall into the cliche.

"Ah. I see."

Han Su-yeong hated the guy's expression, just then.

It was one that said, 'Well isn't that just my luck?'

But she couldn't help but watch, as this unlucky guy stood up and picked up his phone, brushing it off instead of himself, as if it were more precious to him than his own body.

And when that Dok-ja turned around, Han Su-yeong only saw his back for a second, before the sight of him was once more swallowed up by the uncaring world of the subway station crowd.

#exe i know you're kind of lowkey evil and didn't read the epilogue all the way through and its ok i love you but im coercing you now ok <3 #Parts that are from the original are in italics they're from 535 #orv spoilers #also i know i usually do the names from the Rainbow Turtle translation but I decided to style match for this one #not beta'd #writing #ficlet #han sooyoung #han suyeong #kim dokja #hsy #kdj #orv #omniscient reader #also xoxoxo exe

[acraftedmistake]

A Person Who Has Never Played MCSM Writes A Story About MCSM Chp. 17

“I cannot BELIEVE you!”

“Stella, I’m really sorry that all this happened. I didn’t think--” Aiden couldn’t even finish his excuse as Stella raised her voice again.

“Didn’t think WHAT?! That our former friend--that messed up freak who used to live with us--wouldn’t try to get in and get answers?!”

“Why did Jesse even think Stella had the hat in the first place?” Maya asked, closing the front door.

She and Aiden just came back from chasing Jesse. Well, trying to chase. By the time they reached the streets, Jesse was long gone.

Jess and Olivia were in the kitchen. Only place with no windows to see them.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Stella sneered, “What do you think, Aiden?”

Everyone in the living room immediately turned to him. The color drained from his face.

“Look.” Aiden threw his hands up, “It was rather I lie or I give away Jess and Olivia are here. I did not want to take any chances.”

“But why’d ya have to use Stella?! She could’ve gotten killed!” Gill exclaimed, joining Stella’s side.

“You could’ve lied about anything--you didn’t even need to answer him!” Jess exclaimed. Everyone else looked back at Olivia and Jess, who had to sit in the kitchen now. There weren’t any windows there. It was the safest option.

“And THESE two!” Stella pointed to them, “Just where did you take them!? Why did you leave the house!? Now, thanks to you, we’re going to need check all the locks and barricade--”

“Don’t blame Aiden for that!” Olivia shouted, she shrunk when people looked back at her again. “It was my fault. I’m the one who wanted to go out. I’m sorry.”

“Aiden didn’t have to take you though, and if he really wanted to, he could’ve told one of us.” Maya folded her arms.

Aiden grit his teeth, “Oh, so suddenly I’m the bad guy for wanting to do something NICE!”

That led to an eruption of arguments. Gill, Aiden, and Maya were all yelling over each other. Stella, whose frustration had boiled over, began to cry angry tears which only fanned the flames. All Jess and Olivia could do was sit and watch from the bar table, listening and watching Aiden get torn apart.

Through all the yelling, Stella cut in, “You know, I’m not even mad you used me for that terrible lie, I’m MAD that you didn’t tell me! Gill and I could’ve been prepared, we could’ve come up with a plan to capture him, or--or slow him down, ANYTHING!”

“You were gonna get mad no matter what I did!” Aiden shot back.

“Aiden, c’mon, ya threw her under the minecart--!” Gill tried to reach out but winced when pain shot through his injured arm.

Aiden snapped, “I’m trying to make everything work out for everyone so things don’t get worse--”

“Aiden, I could’ve DIED!” Stella shouted.

“That doesn’t MATTER anymore! You’re alive. FINE. What matters is getting these two home and bringing Jesse back! That’s ALL.”

Everyone stopped.

Aiden’s face dropped as Stella stared back at him, hand on her chest, breathing heavily as more tears spilled from her eyes.

“Stella…” Aiden mumbled, stepping closer, “Stella, I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

Stella turned away, hiding her tearful face with her hair. Gill gently placed his hand on her shoulder.

“We’re all stressed over Jesse breaking in, but there was no reason to say that, Aiden.” Maya growled, joining Stella’s side. “Sure, she’s alive, but this whole thing could’ve been avoided.”

Aiden could only stare at his friends before bringing his head down, not saying another word.

Stella brushed her hair aside, trying to steady her breaths, but she suddenly gasped.

“Oh Hero.” Stella’s eyes widened. She held onto Gill’s shoulder, keeping him still to get a better look at his injury, “You’ve been stabbed!”

Gill jumped and quickly put his hand over the injured shoulder, as if trying to hide it. The arrow was still sticking out, his sleeve torn and stained blood.

“It’s just one arrow! I can take it out m’self! Really! I jus’ didn’t wanna stress ya out some more.”

“Absolutely not!” Stella grabbed his hand and started marching towards the stairs, “You’re our friend. If you really think our argument is more important than your wellbeing, you’re wrong.”  

As the two went up the steps, Stella looked back down.

“Maya, could you lend a hand?”

Aiden could feel Maya’s glare.

“Yeah. You got it.” She followed her friends up.

Aiden could only stand and listen as his friends grew further and further away, their voices reduced to muffles.

It was silent for a few moments. Jess and Olivia had no idea what to say, they didn’t know if there was anything they could do. Aiden hadn’t even moved from his spot yet.

Jess bit the bottom of his lip. He sat up, ready to call Aiden’s name--when Aiden finally took a step forward.

“Great.” Aiden muttered, “Juuuust great.” Aiden dragged his feet to the wooden column and punched it as hard as he could, shaking the room. He leaned against the column, “You two are stuck here, Jesse broke in, and now everyone hates me.” He sighed, “Wonder what else I’m gonna screw up.”

“Aiden, they don’t hate you.” Olivia said, “They’re your friend, but can you really blame them for being upset?”

“I know, I just--I didn’t want to put you two in danger.” Aiden hadn’t even glanced at the two yet. His eyes were still on the ground.

“Right, I get that, and as much as we appreciate it, you put your own friends in danger.” Jess got out of his seat and approached Aiden.

“Stella and Gill got seriously hurt. You need to apologize.” Jess’ brow furrowed.

Aiden hesitantly folded his arms and faced a nearby window.

“You’re right.” He mumbled. “I’m gonna do it tomorrow. I wanna give them space.” He was pretty sure the last thing his friends needed was to see his sorry face after today’s events.

“You should apologize now.” Jess put his hands on his hips.

Aiden’s nose scrunched.

“It’ll feel forced.” Aiden answered, “I’d rather take a while to give them something genuine than forced.”

Jess and Olivia exchanged concerned looks with each other. A late apology is better than no apology, right?

“How bout this.” Jess joined Olivia,  “You turn in for the day, think about how you’re gonna make it up to your friends, while Olivia and I go barricade the windows.”

“That’s a great idea!” Olivia perked up.

Aiden faced them, “You sure?”

“I mean, we’re gonna be up all day, might as well do something. You okay with us moving furniture around?” asked Jess. He was already scanning around the house, making mental notes of where the windows were and what objects were nearby.

“It’d be nice to help around, and, uh…” Olivia played with a lock of her hair, “I feel terrible that we’ve been dead weight for you guys.”

“No, you’re not. Don’t say. You guys have been great.” Aiden took off his jacket, “We don’t mind the noise. Just don’t get yourselves killed.”

“Ah, we’ll be okay.” Jess waved.

“You promise us you’re going to apologize to your friends soon?” Olivia asked, now pulling on her hair.

Aiden looked into Olivia’s eyes and tugged at his collar, “Yeah. First thing tomorrow. I promise.”

“Alright, sleep well.” Jess said, watching Aiden go upstairs.

Aiden nodded, “Have a good day.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Of course.

Of course out of all the days Jesse decides to leave the shrine, it’s the day he’s supposed to help Cecil with today’s work. Why, it’s not like he infuriated Brenner by leaving earlier this week, or getting Mahlon to nearly tear his hair out during the last Gathering because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Cecil’s still certain Mahlon’s planning on ripping Jesse apart after what he’s pulled. He’s never let it slide before, it won’t slide now. What a wonderful member Jesse is. Truly.

Now Cecil has to clean around the nave, prepare the materials for the next Gathering, help write the next script, and check on the progress with the other members all by himself.

Cecil grumbled about Jesse as he spread his red blanket over his bed and started tucking the corners into the mattress. He grabbed his pillows, nails digging into it, tempted to rip it in half, but he took a deep breath, ran his fingers through his light blond hair, and placed the pillow where it belonged.

No, he will not let that… That animal destroy his composure. He is a Sense, a leader, a shining beacon of leadership, balance, and loyalty. He is far better than Jesse will ever be. Jesse can only dream to be as dedicated as he is.

Jesse’s room is horrendous, Jesse never cares for himself, Jesse will leave the shrine without permission. Negligence and disloyalty. Characteristics the Awakening rightfully shuns.

Cecil? He’s wonderful. An inspiration for all members, one could say. His room is in top shape, his appearance is glorious, and he only leaves the shrine when instructed to.

Speaking of appearance…

Cecil did a quick rundown of his attire. His black shoes were polished, his wine pants and dusty yellow shirt wrinkle-free, his red cloak was smoothed out as well, and the golden button of his yellow collar was centered. Cecil had a lock of hair in his face he tried to push aside, but it fell back. Regardless of the lock, everything was perfect--

Cecil suddenly stopped and hurriedly searched inside his pants pockets. Relief came over him when he felt the torn piece of cloth inside. Good. Good. Wouldn’t want to lose that.

Cecil went over to his dark oak dresser and grabbed the notes on top. It was a small list of reminders for himself. Most of the tasks were related to the upcoming Gathering, which Cecil wouldn’t need to help with until another hour, so that gives him time to clean around the room. Dust his desk, fold his clothes, organize his sewing supplies, arrange everything neatly, small things to make it nicer.

As Cecil skimmed the list, he remembered the absolute headache he’d be getting once Jesse returns. That man will do nothing but talk back and make his work harder until the Visions put him in place.

Cecil was all too familiar with Jesse rushing out of the shrine to cause problems, but usually Jesse tries to be on his best behavior after Brenner punishes him. He’ll try to do extra work, or at the very least apologize to make the Visions content.

But to Cecil’s dismay, Jesse left. Again. Cecil wondered what motivated Jesse to leave without warning. It was certainly a bold move. Absolutely irrational, but bold.

Cecil can’t stand that man. There isn’t a single redeeming thing about him. He knows the Visions need Jesse, that they need inside information about the enemies, but he can’t wait until his use has finally worn out. Oh, how he’d love to--

“Cecil!” Brenner called. Cecil jumped.

“Yes sir?”

Brenner opened his door and walked in, a look of displeasure on his face.

“Have you seen Jesse?” Brenner asked, his deep voice carried an all too familiar tone to it. A tone that’d turn bitter if Cecil were to give the wrong answer.

“No sir! I believe he went to the nearby town.” Cecil stiffened when Brenner’s frown turned to a scowl. That wasn’t what Brenner wanted to hear, but it was all Cecil could give.

“You mean to tell me, despite given direct orders, he has gone against my word? And you did nothing to stop him?” Brenner spoke through gritted teeth.

Panic started to rise in Cecil.

“No, I--I wasn’t aware he left until--”

Brenner raised his hand, “I do not want to hear your excuses. You are meant to watch over the members in this shrine, yet you’ve failed to keep track of just one.”

“I apologize, sir.” Cecil bowed, “I am ashamed of myself. I will strive to do better next time.”

Cecil could feel Brenner’s glare pierce through him. He tried to steady his breaths. This wasn’t the first time he’s lost sight of Jesse, and given how unpredictable he can be, it won’t be the last. He can’t control when Jesse leaves, he should’ve kept a better eye on him, but he can only do so much--but he needs to do better! He didn’t mean for this to happen, but it did, and he’s at fault.

Cecil awaited for the criticism he deserved, but when he brought his head up, Brenner was already leaving his room. Cecil scrambled and followed behind.

Brenner didn’t say a word as they walked down the cold hall, the redstone torches providing specks of warmth and filling the silence with their crackling. Cecil was still waiting. Waiting for Brenner to voice his disappointment, his frustration, but he didn’t. Which made his heart beat even faster. Cecil thought of all the ways he could make it up to Brenner. He could get him some books from the library room, or polish his weapons, or he could care for Mahlon’s garden! He never minds doing extra work for the Visions! Both they and The Awakening are worth every second.

Cecil was about to ask Brenner if he needed any help, but Brenner spoke.

“Have you heard from the people who volunteered to reactivate the portals?”

“I have heard that Axel has been at the library researching different flint and steels for the portals.” Cecil replied.

Brenner didn’t react.

“One member did manage to reach the portal near the ancient mineshaft’s entrance.”

“And has there been any activity?” Brenner asked.

“None yet, sir.”

The corner of Brenner’s mouth twitched, “So there has been no progress.”

“I’m afraid not.”

The two entered the nave. The redstone torches along the walls and by the stage were unlit. Cecil could see a few belongings scattered under the benches that members had forgotten, and below the podium was the basket of money they had gathered. Cecil will need to take care of these chores soon.

Cecil glanced at Brenner, who seemed far from satisfied with the reports. He didn’t want to bring only bad news to Brenner.

“I’ve yet to hear from the member who went to the Shrine of Eyes, so there’s a chance the portal there could’ve been activated!”

“Or it is simply another failure.” Brenner didn’t even entertain the thought.

Brenner placed his hand on a nearby wall and dragged it along. He stopped once he felt the railings of the stage’s stairs, held onto it, then made his way onto the stage, “We’ll need to branch out further, it seems. As much as I hate the idea of putting our members through such long travels, we won’t get anywhere feeling sorry about ourselves.”

Cecil did recall the many shrines he had seen years ago before he became a Sense. It was when he and an old friend had to chase their enemies through numerous sights to try and stop them from ruining the Awakening’s magnificent magma beast. Forests, caves, towns, abandoned villages… Most of the shrines they found were underground, few were on the surface, and there were probably hundreds more buried beneath rubble. It took Cecil and his friend days--weeks, even--to travel across the land. If they send their members out there, they’d need to be well prepared and go with a partner.

Cecil fixed his cloak, “Where should we start--”

The doors suddenly slammed open. They hit the walls and echoed throughout the nave.

And there stood Jesse.

He leaned against a column with a large smile on his face and laughter coming out with each breath. He was panting, his sleeve was soaked with blood, but despite all that, he was smiling.

“Jesse…?” Cecil whispered. Brenner brought his head up.

“Now just where have you been?!” Cecil stomped over to him, “Did you really think you could leave without permission from the Visions and be--”

“The portal…” Jesse said through heavy breaths. Cecil stopped. Brenner drew near.

“It works.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jesse laid in his bed. Cecil sat beside him, holding his arm and plucking the glass out of his skin with a tweezer. His arm was starting to feel numb from Cecil holding it up for so long.

“How did this even happen?” Jesse heard Cecil complain as he carefully took out a piece of glass.  

“Broke a window.”

Cecil grumbled as he placed the piece on a small, blood stained towel where the rest of the pieces sat,  “If I recall, the Visions wanted you to make less of a scene, not more.”

Jesse rolled his eyes. Cecil wiped off the tweezers with a cleaner towel and brought it to Jesse’s arm again.

“Why they even give you so many chances is beyond me.” Cecil muttered, grabbing a rather large piece of glass.

“Hey, usually I come back with information or something good the Visions can use. It’s not like I mess up all the time. Could you imagine if I kept coming back empty handed? Or constantly beaten up? The Visions would never want someone as incompetent as that--OW!” Jesse yelped when Cecil tore the large chunk out of his arm. A horrible glare paired with a frustrated smile on his face.

“You’re just lucky you came in with good news, or Brenner would’ve thrown you back into that dark room where you belong.” Cecil hissed. He wiped the tweezers and placed them on Jesse’s nightstand before carefully wrapping the glass shards with the towel.

Cecil then grabbed the bandages from the stand and began unraveling it.

“Jeez, I thought you’d be a little happy I found out one of those portals worked.” Jesse turned his head away. He really wanted to move around and get into a more comfortable position, but he didn’t want to put up with Cecil’s whining while his arm was still in his hand.

“I am happy, but I’m certain I would be much happier if I was celebrating and helping the Visions with the next steps instead of wrapping up your injuries like a child!”

Jesse groaned and stared at the wall while Cecil worked on his arm. He can’t wait for blondie to leave so he can actually feel happy about his friend and the portal. Cecil just has to tear away any ounce of joy, doesn’t he?

“I spoke to Radar last time I went out.” Jesse said, looking at the symbols carved into the wall.

He waited for a reply. Nothing.

“He still doesn’t miss you.”

Cecil’s nails dug into his skin.

Jesse was hoping for more of a reaction, but it was better than nothing.

Finally, after several minutes of agonizing silence, Cecil finished.

“There. See how much faster things go when you don’t make a fuss?” Cecil said as he picked up the equipment from the nightstand. Jesse only huffed in response.

Cecil got off the bed, “Now that you’ve discovered the working portal, I’m hoping you’ll actually stay in the shrine and help.”

Jesse kept his mouth shut. He really didn’t want to listen to Cecil’s whiny voice for another minute. Jesse knew he helped plenty in and out of the shrine, the Visions had told him so before. He didn’t need Cecil’s approval to confirm that.

Jesse smiled when Cecil stepped out of his room.

“Bye Cecil! Don’t let Mahlon hit you on the way out!” He gave a little wave. Cecil shot him a vile glare before slamming the door.

Jesse chuckled and slowly laid back down, being careful not to hurt his arm.

He’d usually be much angrier at Cecil’s attitude, and he’d be much more bothered with his injured arm--especially since it’s his good arm--but he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. How could he feel so bad at a time like this? Cecil’s bickering, the pain, the fight back in Obsidian Town, all of it washed away as he thought about Olivia. That’s all that mattered to him, really. Seeing that glimpse of her filled him with joy, it brought color back to this world, it was everything he needed to see.

He shifted around on the old mattress, hugging himself as he thought of ways he’d reunite with Olivia. He needs to think of ways to help her out of Aiden’s house. They’re filling her mind with awful lies, no doubt. They’ll try to make her hate him as well.

Jesse stared at the stone ceiling, the red light from the torches flickering off the walls, and thought of how to rescue Olivia.

‘Write your thoughts down.’ A voice in Jesse’s head said. That’d be a great way to help him brainstorm, plus he didn’t have a chance to write yesterday.

Jesse rolled over to the edge of his bed and stuck his hand into the side, where he made a large hole months ago. He dug around the cushions, eyes lighting up when he felt the cover of his journal.

He pulled it out and flipped to the newest page. He turned to his nightstand to grab his pen, but it wasn’t there. It was there earlier, did Cecil steal it? It doesn’t matter, he had plenty of other pens on his desk.

Jesse got up and walked across his bedroom, stepping over torn notes, book pages, used bandages, dirty clothes, and his iron sword--which he was careful not to step on the blade.

This is the cleanest his room’s been in quite some time, honestly. Usually he was too busy helping the Visions or too exhausted to ever clean it. He never found the time--nor motivation--to ever pick it up. The most he ever did to ‘organize’ was put his clothes in a wooden basket, since he didn’t have a dresser. He didn’t really mind the basket, he never had a big wardrobe in the first place. The rest of his items were usually shoved under the bed, thrown on the floor, or piled onto his desk and chair.

Maybe he could clean around here after he wrote. He could stack his stuff against the walls to hide the marks and scratches, he could put the books on the small shelves of his desk, throw away the trash, place his valued possessions somewhere safer… He has plenty of time to clean since Brenner allowed him to take the rest of the day off. He actually wants to put in the effort for once. He remembers how much Olivia never liked a mess, despite her room always being ‘organized chaos’ as she called it.

Maybe if he cleans it well enough, there’ll be enough space for Olivia to share! It’ll be just like old times. The Visions should be okay with it.

Jesse got to his desk and started moving whatever items he had off the wooden top. It was quite a sturdy desk, considering it was holding up so many of his belongings; books, old ink bottles, shards of broken weapons. The desk was made of spruce with a drawer below the top. Behind the desk and pushed against the wall was a bookcase the same color. The shelves were disorganized, just like everything else in his room.

Anytime Jesse found a feathered pen, he’d quickly scribble on a piece of paper, then grumble when he got nothing before tossing it aside and looking for another pen.

‘There’s probably some more hiding under the books.’

Jesse started grabbing whatever books he could and placed them on the ground, making sure to be quiet. The Visions hated it when he got noisy.  

Jesse would skim the titles of the books he moved. Most of them were gifted to him by the Visions, the others he’d stolen from the library. The books centered around the Hero, The Impossible Man, a few were about old crafts and creations like portals and mining mechanisms, and one book about redstone. He only ever used redstone to make torches, he didn’t know how to make any of those fancy contraptions, nor was he allowed to use much dust, but it was the only thing he had that reminded him of Olivia. Lukas’ missing poster was tucked between the pages.

He was sure to be gentle with that book.

Jesse went to grab another, but stopped when he saw the book of Awakening Weapons that Brenner had given him. This was one of his favorite books. The art on each page, the history behind each piece, and what each weapon symbolized always drew him back. He’s read this hundreds of times, and he’ll read it a hundred more.

Jesse started flipping through the pages, halting whenever he found a weapon he recognized. Most of the weapons he had seen before were found throughout his and his former-friends’ adventures. Cassie and Petra had found a couple in the Nether, and Hadrian and Mevia mounted the weapons they had on their walls or threw them into their umbrella rack.

Jesse has seen spears, hammers, tridents, even a fan, and those were only a small handful out of who knows how many undiscovered weapons.  

Jesse soon found the page that had Brenner’s weapon. A sword. A brilliant sword.  

He’s seen Brenner use it in the training room before. It was about the size of Jesse’s leg. It’s broad, silver blade still had an extraordinarily sharp tip. Despite its length and how heavy it seemed, Brenner swung it around with ease.

In the book, the author had mentioned that the grip and guard of the sword was a dark teal color. While Brenner’s certainly had the teal, it also had blotches of dusty red. Rust, most likely.

Jesse never had the chance to study the sword up close, Brenner wouldn’t allow it, but he knew there had to be Awakening symbols etched into it, along with speckles of the magnificent, red dust. The other weapons Jesse’s seen before had such details, Brenner’s sword wouldn’t be an exception.

The training room held a few more Awakening weapons; an axe, daggers, a shield, and another spectacular, diamond sword Jesse had his eye on. There were probably more weapons stored in the chests.

Brenner was the only one who used these weapons. Mahlon didn’t have the strength anymore. Mahlon has told him how he used to be ‘Quite the fighter’ back when he was Jesse’s age, but nowadays it seems he uses most of his energy for shouting. Cecil wasn’t allowed to use any of the weapons, Brenner forbade it, so Cecil used his own daggers. Jesse’s seen Cecil use heavier weapons in the past, so forbidding him from using them is for the best. Brenner had once mentioned that Antonin used to train with him, and their matches would last quite a while. Antonin often used the sword Jesse liked, the shield, and the daggers.

Jesse uses what’s given to him. The iron swords, bows and arrows, and sometimes one of Cecil’s daggers if he’s able to steal it for the day.

Jesse once questioned if he’d ever be able to use any Awakening weapons one day.

“These weapons have been passed down through generations of Visions and Senses. They are made for the strongest and most dedicated of members.” Brenner’s words echoed in his head.

“Are they only for the leaders?”

Jesse still remembered the way Brenner swung his sword. The determined, concentrated look in his eyes.

“There are exceptions. They may be gifted to members who have proven their loyalty towards the Awakening. Those who have risked their lives for others, who have been beside the Visions for years… They must be worthy of such weapons.”

Suddenly a long, high, quivering creek brought Jesse back to reality. That sounded like Mahlon’s door.

Jesse stood in his room and stared at the book in his hands.

He wasn’t getting any writing done.

He still needs to find a way to save Olivia.

He should get to it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Brenner stepped into Mahlon’s room, “Sir?”

“Now, now, you know you don’t need to call me that.” Mahlon replied from his desk. Brenner could hear the scratching of pen against paper, and the sound of redstone torches snapping. “Is all well? I heard you speaking with Jesse.”

“Yes. He had gone to town for a few moments.”

“And I’m hoping he hasn’t caused another scene?” Mahlon carefully closed his bottle of ink and placed it on the top left shelf of his desk, where he kept the rest of his writing supplies. His right shelves had the more sentimental items; photos, small jewelry, his favorite books.

Brenner came closer, the smell of old books and wet soil of Mahlon’s plants became stronger.

“No, however…”

Mahlon’s grip on his pen tightened as he prepared for the worse.

“... He has discovered a successful portal in one of the abandoned shrines.”

Mahlon froze.

His pen fell to the floor.

“How…” Mahlon whispered, his heart pounding in his chest, “How is he so sure?”

“He’s stated to have found his once-dead friend in the nearby town. She appeared mere days after the Shrine of Eyes had been activated, I find it hard to believe this is a coincidence. I also doubt Jesse would lie about such a thing. We should start focusing on--!” Brenner was suddenly pulled closer by Mahlon.

Mahlon’s joyful laughter filled the room as he spun and danced around, hands locked with Brenner’s.

“Oh this is wonderful! This is fantastic!” Mahlon cheered. It’s been ages since he’s been so happy, so joyous, so full of energy! This is what they’ve been needing for so long. It’s what they’ve been looking for for so long! Hope. Even the tiniest speck of it was enough to light up the entire shrine.

Brenner moved along with Mahlon, his ‘dancing’ more like rigid steps as he focused on making sure Mahlon didn’t stumble over the rug or collide with any of the furniture.

Mahlon thanked the Hero as they danced. He thanked the Hero for blessing them, for giving those who have passed a second chance, for making such miracles possible.

“It is wonderful news, isn’t it?” Brenner said, no trace of enthusiasm in his voice.

Mahlon slowed, “Aren’t you happy? Excited?”

“I am.” Brenner let go of Mahlon’s hands, “But I will save my energy for later.”

Brenner stepped away and placed his hands behind his back, “Please don’t let me stop you from celebrating. I’ve a lot on my mind on what our next steps should be.”

“Oh dear, you’re right. We have to figure out the portal’s materials, how to prepare the vault below, and--and we need to tell the members of this news as well!” Mahlon couldn’t stay still. He rushed back to his desk and grabbed a clean sheet of paper; he needs to write this down!

“Exactly.” Brenner lifted his head, “We have much to prepare for.”

#mcsm #minecraft story mode #mcsm aiden #mcsm jesse #mcsm stella #mcsm maya #mcsm gill #mcsm olivia #mcsm oc #mcsm cecil #mcsm brenner #mcsm mahlon #fic #hope u enjoy!!!!!! #had fun writin this sucker hehe

[johnkrrasinski]

𝐄𝐱𝐢𝐥𝐞

Chapter 1: You Were My Town

full masterlist // series masterlist // commission open // support my work

Pairings: Dark!Steve Rogers (in future chapters) x Reader 

Word Count: 2,061

Summary: Steve Rogers; a Hollywood A-lister and your clandestine occasional hookup. Best friends since childhood, but people change and friendships fall out. Now you were merely strangers with benefits. What happens when one day you stopped being his doormat to be a better man’s queen? The selfish Steve Rogers would not like it. How far is he willing to go to get his favorite possession back?

Warnings: smut, non-con/dub-con, dark Steve (in later chapter), angst, Steve Rogers is an asshole in this one, no redeeming qualities. (MUST BE 18+) 

A/N: first chapter is finally here!! this series is dedicated to the lovely @belovedcherry​ who commissioned this story and developed the concept. thank you for being a friend when i truly needed it. i’m really glad that you trusted me to write this story for you. with all my heart, i sincerely hope you like it. this series will be updated everyday, there will be 4 more chapters ahead. 

PICTURE EXCLUSIVE: New Couple Alert! Steve Rogers and a blondie bombshell can’t keep their hands off each other! The headline verbalized.

The notorious heartthrob was spotted leaving The Ritz-Calton Hotel in Los Angeles around 2 AM with Spanish model, Alondra Ondiviela, 28, who looked stunning in a salmon sports bra and black overall, as she walked hand-in-hand with Dusk and Dawn star, Steve Rogers.

Steve Rogers was last linked to Blade in Deep actress, Anne Amorós back in early spring this year but had reportedly split after only two months dating.

Steve Rogers has been previously linked to many gorgeous models in the past, earning him the infamous title of ‘Hollywood’s favourite ladykiller.’ Will Alondra Ondiviela be the one to finally make Steve Rogers settle down and give up his womanizer ways? Placing our bets on how long this couple is going to last!

You closed the tab on your browser as you sighed defeatedly on your couch. You laid your head back on the headrest as you shut your eyes and folded your arms against your chest. Just how many more gossip articles can you endure?

Steve Rogers was your childhood best friend and… Perhaps the only man you had ever truly loved. You knew it was nothing but sheer naivety for you to concede that. You knew it was cruel and inequitable to your heart, but, you still held on to that tiny glimpse of hope that someday, things will change. He will change. Despite all the shit he had put you through, you couldn’t abnegate yourself from him. He always lured you back in with his sweet words and sinful lips whenever you try to expel him from your door.

It wasn’t always like this. Back in kindergarten, Steve used to be this good, shy, scrawny kid who had a blistering passion for art. He was always very twitterpated by watching live shows on stage. When you were kids, Steve would try to sneak both of you into the theatre when the lights were out. Steve didn’t grow up in a very lucky family. His abusive father abandoned his mother when he was only four years old, and since then, his mom had been working tirelessly to keep a roof over their heads and fill in their fridge with food.

You, on the other hand, were a little luckier than him. Your parents had decent jobs that paid the bills well enough to survive. Whenever Steve was short in cash, you would always offer him a little bit of your pocket money or your meal. You would even offer to buy tickets for both of you so you didn’t have to sneak in and could actually get good seats. But he would always say, “well, where’s the fun in that?”

So you’d drop the topic and go along with whatever deceitful ways he had in mind. After all, he was your best friend and you trusted him. You’d rather choose the thrill of bootleg games than waiting ten minutes early before the show starts anyway. But you remember it vividly under the aura of those stage lightings and when the actors were personifying in their larger-than-life costumes, he would be so mesmerized by the show before him that sometimes he wouldn’t even say a word to you at all until it was over.

Before you went home, he and you would walk to the nearest burger place, where you would eat under the polychromatic neon sign and he would tell you, “someday, I’m going to my face on the big screen or one of those giant stages and I would make my mom proud!” he cheered. And you’d always encourage him, “…and I’ll be there to watch and clap for you in the audience.”

Rest in peace, to your naïve bravado… Little did you know, his dream was going to be your doom.

You remained closed friends as you grew up; going to the same school, sharing a few classes together, until, in high school, things began to change. He began to join auditions and taking art classes and extracurriculars. He became busier and busier every day to the point where he could only hang out with you on the weekends. That is when he absolutely had no rehearsals or he wasn’t too worn out from a week full of activities.

You also noticed the different manner and shift of inflexion when you two hung out. All he would talk about is the ‘clique’ of popular boys in school had asked him to sit with them at lunch and how the popular girls would start preening at him when he walked down the hallway. It was as if by partaking in these arts clubs, it gave him a VIP member card to get access into sitting with at exclusive spots and it upgraded his status.

He changed his looks as well, by going to the gym more often and eating more so that he would gain some muscles. He began dressing like one of those jocks and he would begin throwing in some flirtatious comments to those popular girls when they were around.

Eventually, he and you began to grow apart. It got worse when he started dating one of the popular girls, Janet, and he would ditch you even on weekends despite all the plans you had made weeks prior.

“I can’t hang out today, y/n. Janet’s parents are out of town and I think we are going to hook up in her giant pool!”

“But what about the movie that we planned to see together today? I thought you had been anticipating for it since a year ago?”

“I know, but can we just postpone it? It’s not like they are going to take it out tomorrow! We could still see it next weekend.”

“Well, we’ve bought the tickets, Steve.”

“Ah, shit, alright, I’ll just pay back the money, okay? How much are those tickets?”

“No, it’s fine, Steve. Don’t worry about it.”

“Really? You sure, y/n?”

“Yeah, I’ll just ask my mom or maybe Wanda to go see it with me. Don’t want those spoilers on the internet ruining it for me.” You chuckled hollowly. Disappointment filled up your heart but you pretended like it was alright, anyway. If Steve wanted to spend time with his girlfriend then, you had no right to stop him and force him to hang out with you.

“Ah, got it. Thanks, y/n. You’re the best!” and then the frozen seconds on the screen showed that he had ended the call.

The phone calls and text messages began to dwindle. You would often try to text or call him first but it would go to voicemail and or you would be left on read. When you were at school, Steve completely stopped hanging around you. He would rather be with his new ‘friends’ now. And he was too occupied with making out with Janet to notice you as you both walk past each other in the hall.

Wanda was your most trusted confidant and she knew about all the feelings you caged inside you for Steve. She would always be there for you when you cry over him and she would always encourage you to move on and stop trying to reach him. “You deserve so much better than this, y/n. Why would you ruin yourself for an asshole like him?”

Curse your adamant heart for refusing to listen to Wanda and take her advice. In the bottom of your heart, you knew that Wanda was right. You deserved so much better than what Steve had turned you into. You used to be this bright-eyed, rose-coloured heart person who saw your future in a radiant lustre. You were always drawn to helping people out. You used to think that maybe you’d end up being a nurse or a school counsellor, but as you grew older, gradually, you realized that there is far way more pernicious malady than physical ones.

Like the wound in your heart that Steve keeps tapping on every time he acts like he didn’t know you or he left another call or text unanswered. Every time he posted pictures of him and Janet, or him and ‘the boys’ who would walk around the school as they owned it. You had always dreaded those boys. You knew they were bad news and you didn’t want to be associated with them under any circumstances. You and Steve used to make fun of them, how much of a loser they are and how negligent they are toward their grades. But who would’ve known that Steve would turn into his own worst abomination?

Eventually, like all good (and bad) things, they must come to an end. You graduated with a 3.8 GPA and you were proud of yourself for all those times you spent being at home to do your homework and study until around 2 AM.

You were happy; you were satisfied with your grades, your parents were there, cheering for you in the audience and taking countless pictures of you when you walked on stage, and you could finally move forward to the next stage of your life. But something was missing.

“Gosh, I can’t wait to finally graduate.” He scanned the paper with a mark that mocked him in big bold red as he sat at the edge of your twin-sized bed. You had just returned from school and you had received the result of your Math tests. You luckily got a B+ but clearly, Steve didn’t acquire the same latter.

“C’mon, it’s just one bad test. It doesn’t mean that your life is over.”

“I know but, I don’t like seeing a C+ on my test, y/n. It makes me feel inadequate. Besides, I need a solid 3.7 GPA in order to get into NYU. Otherwise, I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Stop being so dramatic, you still have what it takes. You just need to do a lot better in the next one.”

“Yeah, I’m really gonna have to work my ass off though. Math has never been my strongest suit.”

“Neither it’s mine, but you know what? Someday we’ll wear our graduation hat and this wouldn’t even matter. You’d probably forget that you’ve ever had a C in your high school year.”

You recalled those times where Steve would endlessly talk about graduating and what would happen when both of you go on separate ways. He would tell you “don’t be silly. We’ll always be best friends even if we go to different universities. It’s not like we don’t have a phone, y/n.”

You always imagined that on your graduation day, you both would celebrate it together but of course, those dreams have long perished. Steve didn’t even have a smile on his face when your name was being announced.

He was supposed to be there, standing right next to you and engulf you in a warm, giant hug. The one that he used to give on your birthdays. But no, now, you could only watch him from several feet away farther than you both used to be. You could only hear his echoing laugh as he high-fived the boys and twirl Janet around up in the air like the happy ending in your favourite Rom-Com movies.

That should be me. Your heart cry mourned for the memories and the fractured promises. It was like there was this colossal fortress between the two of you and while you were fighting to climb it to reach him, he, on the other hand, didn’t even have the patience to wait for you.

It’s okay though. At least you had your parents and Wanda and her parents and twin brother, Pietro who adorned this special day distracting you away from the anguish of missing Steve. You were going to spend this entire day with the people who truly loved you and you loved just as equal before you had to leave for the new phases of your own lives.

You will finally move to your college dorm, have yourself a roommate, and invest your time and energy in something that you knew you were always meant to do and it excites you that your journey of helping people will start soon.

And Steve Rogers will be nothing but a consigned to oblivion memory that will sink like a battleship beneath the waves.

At least for now.

#steve rogers #steve rogers au #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers smut #steve rogers angst #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers series #chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #chris evans imagine #chris evans fanfic #dark!steve rogers au #dark!steve rogers series #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers smut

[archadianskies]

croissant aux amandes

→ on Ao3

@dbhrarepairs​ Saturday Day 6: Meet the Family •  Reverse AU; Mob AU RK900/Simon

Ronan supposes he should be thankful his mother is keeping this particular meeting just between them. He’d rather be uncomfortable in private than openly humiliated though he thinks there’s a degree of humiliation regardless.

“We could do with a connection to the DPD,” Amanda swipes up on her tablet and the screen fills with a detailed profile. “Gavin Reed, former detective, freshly made Lieutenant as of two months ago. Negligible age gap, questionable morals but gets the job done. He likes cats, which is in your favour.”

“With all due respect, mother,” Ronan makes a face, “I’d rather be disowned.”

“Duly noted,” she nods, swiping a new profile onto the screen. “David Allen is your senior by thirteen years, Captain of SWAT Unit 32 and wields immense influence. His team is loyal to him, and he is known to be a kind, honorable man. He likes dogs which isn’t to your favour, though he is not against cats.”

Ronan studies the profile for a few moments- it wouldn’t be a bad match but it still didn’t feel right. “Perhaps in another life?”

“I will put Captain Allen as a ‘maybe’,” Amanda notes. “If not the DPD, then we could accept Carl Manfred’s offer.” The screen populates with a new profile, lengthier and more detailed. “Markus Manfred is an excellent candidate: no age gap, powerful family, powerful connections. Kind, thoughtful, charitable, and very well educated. Not sure where he stands about cats, but he’d be cordial about it I’m sure.”

“I find the older brother far more tolerable company,” Ronan scoffs, turning away.

“Leo?” Amanda says incredulously. “Leo Manfred has nothing to offer, that son squandered his inheritance and spent half a decade high on red ice, disgracing his family.”

“He’s gotten clean and is redeeming himself. He’d be a far better companion than his pretentious, insufferable -”

“Enough,” his mother commands, and Ronan cuts himself off. “There is of course Elijah Kamski, since he is unmarried and of similar age to his cousin Reed. We already have the Kamski connection through your brother, though.”

He tries again. “Are they the only options?”

“They are the best options we have researched,” Amanda turns the screen off. “There are female candidates as a backup but you said you prefer men so these are the male candidates. The gender is of course irrelevant; your fiance must be the one who brings the most to the table.”

“Mother,” Ronan sighs miserably, and Amanda sits beside him. She rests her hand over his, and knowing she is not an overly physically affectionate person only makes the gesture more meaningful. 

“You have submitted no candidates yourself, Ronan, these men are just the ones my team have found,” she reminds him carefully. “I want you to be happy with your choice, whether it be genuine affection, or an amicable arrangement like your brother.”

He knows it could be worse. He knows she could force an arrangement and there would be nothing he could do about it. The Stern family controls this city and it isn’t out of character for his mother to want an advantageous match now he’s turned thirty and declared no intentions to marry yet. It is a kindness, doing all this for him when he has been dragging his feet the past year, knowing this was to come. 

“I can postpone the luncheon, if you would like more time,” she says gently, squeezing his hand. 

“I’ll have an answer by then, I promise,” Ronan vows, because he does not want to disappoint her and delaying it will only prolong this particular brand of suffering. 

 *

Connor finds him under his favourite tree by the pond, and Ronan scoots over to make room on the blanket.

“That bad huh?” His older brother teases, though his smile is apologetic.

“It wasn’t...bad,” he concedes with a wince, “just awkward. And uncomfortable. She suggested Reed at the DPD.”

“Oh, yikes!” Connor laughs and Ronan manages a brief smile. His expression softens as he shifts to wrap an arm around Ronan’s shoulders. “Hey, it doesn’t have to be The One, you know? I don’t- I’m not... inclined romantically or sexually. Chloe is a wonderful friend, and I treasure her company. Our marriage provides her power and influence and security, and safety to nurture her relationship with North under the guise of a bodyguard.”

“You are...happy?” Ronan asks curiously, and Connor smiles.

“I’m very happy,” he nods. “It might not be romantic love, but there’s love in our friendship. You can have that too, brother, if you want.”

 *

It’s a lot to think about. It’s too much to think about, really, and so after too many hours of being stuck in his own head, Ronan escapes to his favourite spot in the whole city: Jericho. 

The cafe is somehow in the heart of town but so hidden it feels like stepping into an entirely different world, and he’s been escaping to its bare brick walls and cosy interior for years now. It’s owned by the Lambert twins, Daniel and Simon. Though the older twin is abrasive and curt, the younger is shy and gentle and always has time for Ronan.

“You look like you’ve had quite the day,” Simon laughs, already reaching for a mug and starting to make him coffee. “Take a seat, I saved an almond croissant for you.”

“You’re an angel, thank you,” Ronan takes the corner booth and watches as Simon goes through the familiar, well practiced motions. It’s close to closing and there’s only one other patron, so Simon decides to sit opposite him with his own mug of coffee.

“What’s got you looking like you’re carrying the whole world on your shoulders, hm?” The blond prods, and Ronan delays answering in favour of sipping the perfectly brewed mug of coffee in his hands. 

“My mother was being a little...overbearing this morning,” Ronan says hesitantly, leaving out the big details. “With the best of intentions, of course. She means well, but I still feel like I’m being slowly backed into a corner.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that, it must be difficult,” Simon frowns empathetically, earnestly, because he is a good and kind friend. Ronan thinks if he weren’t the son of a crime family, he would marry Simon. 

They would have a soft, quiet life full of love and be entirely uneventful and Ronan would manage the business side of things for the cafe so Simon would never have to worry. Maybe they could adopt a cat or two. He wouldn’t even mind a dog, honestly. He’s partial to german shepherds. 

But that’s never going to happen, and it’s with a sinking feeling Ronan realises once he marries he may have to cut ties with Simon completely as he takes on more and more of their family’s work in the criminal underworld. 

“I… am to be married,” he says no louder than a whisper but Simon hears it, Simon’s lovely blue eyes widen at those words. “Well, in the future I mean. My mother is trying to matchmake me with- with certain friends’ sons.”

“In 2038?” Simon asks in disbelief. “Your mother is trying to matchmake you in the year 2038?”

“She means well,” Ronan repeats, sighing tiredly. “She just wants me to marry ‘the one who brings the most to the table’.” He echoes her words with the same regal air and Simon laughs though not unkindly.

“Sounds intense.”

“I have a luncheon next weekend with all of our extended family and friends, and she expects me to announce an answer then.” He picks at the almond croissant, and it’s as perfect as always- buttery, flaky and fresh. The layers are light, the almond slivers paper thin, and the sweetness just right. It feels like a last supper, knowing he probably won’t be able to return. He’d never want to drag Simon into his world of blood. 

 *~*

Danny arrives in time to help him sweep and mop up. His brother is a warm, comforting presence in his peripheral, and Simon soaks it up like warmth from a blanket.

“Saw one of those supervillain black cars the Sterns use on the way here, was it Ronan again?” Danny asks as they’re putting the mops away. “You know he’s getting engaged next weekend, right?”

“How did you know that?” Simon blinks in surprise as he hangs up his apron.

“Leo told me,” Danny shrugs. “The old man said he’s pushing for Markus to marry him.”

“Oh,” Simon tries not to sound so disappointed, and he’s not even sure what for- that Markus is to be married, or that Ronan is the one marrying him. 

“Yeah, I know right? Ugh, gross,” his twin makes a disgusted face. “Poor Ronan, imagine having to marry Mr Perfect and run the criminal underworld.”

“They’re a respectable family!” Simon argues, feeling a twinge of indignant anger on Ronan’s behalf. “The Sterns have transformed the educational landscape of the city- Kara was able to open a kindergarten because of their philanthropy! Imagine having that influence- I’d- I’d completely revamp child services and open shelters and proper mental health centers for abused children and adolescents. I’d make sure no one ever had to go through what we went through.”

“You sweet sweet child,” Danny snorts back a laugh, though it isn’t mocking in the least. “They’re a necessary evil for this city because the senator is an incompetent but dangerous fuckwit. Don’t get me wrong, I like them- they get things done. It’s just the thought of the Manfreds joining that circle that gives me bad indigestion.”

“Markus Manfred is- he’s an amazing man, Danny. Ronan and he would be perfectly matched,” Simon chews his lip, feeling his chest ache. “He certainly would bring the most to the table.”

“What?”

“Oh, it’s just something Ronan said,” Simon flashes an apologetic smile. “He said he has to marry ‘the one who brings the most to the table’.”

“Brings the most to the table ,” Danny repeats, stressing the start and end of the sentence. Simon looks at him, eyes wide. “You don’t think-”

“Oh I do think,” his brother’s grin falters slightly, “But only if you want to, Simon. It’s a pretty crazy idea and uh, we might mysteriously disappear only for our bodies to be found in an underpass somewhere in a couple of weeks.”

It’s a ridiculously crazy idea, Simon knows this for a fact, but it’s so crazy it might just work.

* 

The Stern estate is beautiful, even from the other side of the huge wrought-iron gates. 

“You boys must be lost,” a guard drawls, sauntering over to the driver’s side. “Best you head back down the driveway and forget you ever came this way.”

“We're catering for the luncheon you dumbass,” Danny rolls his eyes. “So best you step aside and let us through so we can set up.”

The guard falters, frowning heavily. “There’s no mention of-” he looks at the side of the delivery van, “Jericho Cafe on the guest list.”

“Because we’re not guests,” Simon tries to mimic Danny’s impatient, snappy tone. “We’re catering for the guests.”

“Hey, listen, honest mistake,” Danny shakes his head. “No harm done. Let us in and we’ll do our job and you can do yours.”

“I-I’ll run it by the boss,” the guard fumbles for his phone.

“Ask Ronan,” Simon says firmly. “He’s the one who booked us, not- not the boss.”

The stretch of time as they wait for an answer feels like an eternity, like Simon is awaiting sentencing where the outcome could very well be execution. Is he signing his own hit? Is dragging his twin into this the worst mistake of his life?

“Alright, sorry about that,” the guard apologises, pocketing his phone and waving at someone up ahead. The gates part, and Simon doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or even more fear. “Go on through, the service entrance is on the right-hand side.”

“Thanks buddy,” Danny salutes lazily before driving through the now opened gates. He’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white.

“Danny-”

“No, shut up, we’re doing this. He ran it by Ronan and Ronan okayed us to come through,” Danny exhales slowly as he brings the van to the service entrance. A couple of confused kitchen staff come out to see them. 

“Alright,” Simon swallows thickly. “We’re doing this.”

* 

They unload and designate whole delivery trays laden with baked goods to be carried by the staff. Simon leads the way, trying to will his hands not to shake as he carries the feast he and Danny spent all yesterday prepping for, and all this morning from the crack of dawn baking so it would be as fresh as fresh can be for this very moment. 

He enters the dining room and there is Amanda Stern, matriarch of the Stern family. There is Ronan Stern, handsome as can be in a sharp tailored suit, and beside him are a couple- his brother Connor Stern, given the resemblance, and a lovely blonde lady in a periwinkle blue dress.

“Simon-”

“Madam, I have come to ask for your son’s hand in marriage,” Simon commends his voice for not trembling as he sets down the tray on the long dining table. Behind him, Daniel places his tray down and soon the staff follow, more and more until the table is absolutely brimming with food. “This is what I bring to the table.”

Amanda looks at him, expression unreadable and Simon thinks oh, he’s absolutely about to be executed. “You’re the Lambert boy,” she looks him over as if taking him apart atom by atom. “That cafe in Capitol Park.” “Yes ma’am,” Simon nods, clasping his hands behind his back so she won’t see how badly he’s shaking now he isn’t holding anything. She turns her eyes to the spread on the table.

“What is Ronan’s favourite?”

“The almond croissants,” Simon answers immediately, gesturing at them. Amanda nods and he picks one up using a pair of tongs, serving it to her on one of the bread plates. He risks a glance at Ronan who still seems frozen in shock, and it’s as if everyone is waiting with baited breath as Amanda bites into the croissant. Chewing thoughtfully, she sets the plate down and looks over at him. 

“I prefer blueberry danishes, but I can see why he likes these,” she’s smiling now, an amused matronly smile. “Is he your chosen fiance, Ronan?”

“If he would have me,” Ronan replies softly, reaching for Simon’s hands. “If a life with me is what he wants.”

“Yes,” Simon smiles, “I do.”

~*~*~

{ Inspired by [this tumblr post] about the intricacies and formalities of the 'Bride Price'.}

#rk900 #simon pl600 #daniel pl600 #detroit: become human #amanda stern #connor rk800 #dbhrarepairsweek #simon900 #annie writes: dbh