#could it have been more transgressive? yes! but also no have you seen the response to it

[kalashtars]

crazy just howww much saltburn was a movie filmed For Me. i was there for the dark academia boom on tumblr. i was part of its creation. there's like a straight line between my posting about the secret history on tumblr and the creation of this film.

[americancowgirl19]

Puppet Master

Summary: Riley Biers, king from the shadows.

Warnings: angst, fluff, vampire mob shit

Reader: Female Vampire Reader

Pairings: Riley Biers x Female Vampire Reader

Word Count: 2,310

A/n: @fyeahtaylorp

Masterlist

“And what do we have here?” Aro questions, tilting his head as Felix forces the vampire he, Demetri, Jane and Alec brought back from America.

“This is one of the two vampires responsible for the newborn army in the Cullen territory, Master.” Jane tells him. “The other was torn apart and burned.”

Aro steps forward and places his hands on the American vampire. He struggles but is unable to escape Felix’s grip. Aro reads his mind. He sees his life, his death and his ‘resurrection’. He pays particular attention to the part in his memories where the Cullen boy, Edward, told the guards about this boy being his daughters mate.

“I see,” Aro whispers, pulling from him. As far as he could tell this vampire had no ability other than the fact that he is easily manipulated. For millenniums he had hoped that when his daughter finds her match they would be as useful as she is. The fact that he’s one step away from being useless is a disappointment.

His first instinct is to kill Riley before his beloved daughter ever finds him. Then, perhaps, he could find a suitable match and have Chelsea bond them together. Unfortunately, for him, the plan is just a passing thought as not even two seconds later the woman in question struts into the room.

Riley instantly senses you. He struggles even more in Felix’s grip until he can see you. Even though you’re barely in the corner of his eye, it’s enough to settle him.

“I wasn’t informed a trial was in session,” You state, your voice sounding as smooth as honey. Riley craved to hear it once more.

“Ah, my darling,” Aro greets, smiling brightly at you. You return the smile, albeit a more reserved one, as you walk to his side. “They have just returned from their mission and brought back the one responsible for all the trouble,”

“I see that,” You mutter, your eyes not sparing your friends a single glance. You stare at the kneeling man as he stares back at you. “Have you come to a verdict?” You question. Aro’s calculating eyes stare are you.

“He created a newborn army, caused quite the eruption.” Aro tells you. Your head turns to him. It only takes one look for you to catch onto what was going on.

You love your father as he loves you. The two of you worked hard to build this coven. As much as you loved him, you weren’t naïve. You knew your father’s thirst for power. You knew he would do anything to gain an inch, even if it meant hurting the ones he claimed to love.

You also knew him like the back of your hand. You didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking. Even if it had only been a few minutes since you walked into the room, you could already sense the tie binding you to this new vampire. A tie that Aro knew about. You assume, by the look in Aro’s eyes, that this vampire has no ability to please Aro.

Only vampires that were useful to Aro’s ultimate plan survived breaking the law. The only reason he’s still alive is because of the connecting tie to you. Still, you knew that wouldn’t have been enough to save him had you not arrived. 

“Well, I’ve been paying attention to the human news. I haven’t seen a single report about some demonic creature tearing apart a city in America. That means the vampire secret is still a secret.” You tell him. Aro’s lips tighten, his eyes trained on you.

You walk toward the kneeling vampire, unable to help yourself you comb your fingers through his hair enjoying how his eyes close briefly to enjoy the contact. You don’t stop walking, you pace around Felix as you continue with your second point.

“Has he had any dealings with the Children of the Moon?” You question. 

Aro shakes his head hesitantly. A pleased, yet cocky, grin lifts across your face.

 “He hasn’t exposed our secret to any human, unlike your precious Edward Cullen. He also hasn’t hunted in Volterra, that I’m certain of.” You mutter, knowing that your friends had brought him straight to the castle. “He hasn’t been a false witness to any other crime. Any immortal children?” You ask, your eyes glancing to your father as you pause by the twins.

“No,” Aro says lowly. You stare into your father’s eyes wonder if he wanted you to continue or if he was done pretending to be in charge. He remains silent prompting you to continue.

“Yes, he has caused some attention with his hunting habits,” You concede. You slowly move back toward Aro. “and yes his newborns made a mess of things. However, all the newborns are now gone and his hunting's in the future will be more... discrete,” You promise him.

“The Volturi do not offer second chances,” Caius growls from his throne. Your eyes roll as you turn toward him.

“Oh, do shut up Caius or I will have you punished for the town you drained in 1305,” You snapped, glaring at him. You and Caius spend a few moments staring each other down. A stare down you inevitably win. A small surge of pride runs through you when Caius averts his gaze.

Turning your gaze, you look back at your father. You continue to step closer to him until your just about toe-to-toe. You’re posture is relaxed but your gaze is challenging. You dare him to go against you.

“So, let me get this straight you want to kill him for a law that has been broken by everyone in this castle at least once?” You ask. “I just don’t see how that’s necessary,” You hum.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Aro states.

“Perhaps,” You hum condescendingly. “Felix, let him go.” You order. The brutish vampire releases Riley. You hold your hand out as you continue to stare at your father. Riley looks around him as he slowly stands up. Slowly, he takes your hand. “Though, is suppose to make up for his transgressions he can have a place on the guard,”

“A marvelous idea,” Aro nods. You hum, taking your gaze off of him. You send a smirk to Caius before pulling Riley out of the room.

“What’s going on?” Riley askes you quietly. You don’t answer.

You take him to your part of the castle and into your private quarters. It’s one of the largest rooms in the castle. It certainly impresses Riley.

“Make yourself at home,” You tell him, closing the door behind the pair of you. Riley turns to you after observing the room.

“What the fuck is going on?” Riley asks.

“Before I tell you my story,” You say taking a seat by the table. “Why don’t you tell me yours? It’ll be easier that way,”

You waited for Riley to begin. You understood his hesitance. When he did begin, you soaked up every detail. You managed to bite back multiple growls at every mention of this bitch Victoria. You didn’t know whether to be happy or annoyed that she’s already dead. You honestly would have liked the pleasure of killing her yourself.

“Well, I can tell you for certain that Edward was right. Victoria was using you. She wasn’t your mate.” Riley sits down in the adjacent seat.  “You weren’t anything more than a means to an end,” You tell him.

“What is this place?” He asks, looking at you. “What am I doing here?”

“This is Volterra, Italy. You are in the Volturi castle. We are the strongest and largest coven of vampires. The vampire world, like the humans, have laws. We’re the coven that enforces them.”

“And I broke your laws,” Riley states.

“Some minor ones,” You shrug. “You did nothing that nobody else in this coven has done,” You assure him. Riley frowns his eyebrows and you sigh. “Think of us as... the vampiric mob.” You smirk. With that explanation, everything starts to click for Riley. “Every vampire here serves a purpose because every vampire here - well, almost every vampire has some sort of ability. Like Edward with the mind reading and Jane with the torture,” Riley nods keeping up with you so far. “If you have value to the coven, you live. If you don’t, you die.”

“And what is my value?” Riley asks. You press your lips together.

“I’m your true mate,” You tell him not wanting to beat around the bushes. “You’re still alive simply because I want you to be.” Riley’s eyes widen a fraction. 

“You’re my mate?” Riley whispers. You nod, gently holding his face in your hand.

“And I have waited for you for over three thousand years,” You tell him.

“You’re-... What?” Riley asks. You grin laughing at his astonished look.

“I had lost faith that you would come,” You whisper to him. “I figured after all the lives I took and destroyed that I wouldn’t ever find you. I figured you had lived a human life and died long ago without me ever knowing. I never believed I was worthy of you but here you are,” By the end your sentence you had moved even closer to him. “And I will destroy this entire coven, my father included, before I allow one of them to harm you.” You promise.

“Three thousand years?” Riley whispers. You laugh kissing his cheek.

“I hope you’re into older women,” You whisper in his ear before leaning back in your seat. Riley’s quick to grab your hand before you can withdraw from him completely. You smile, interlocking your fingers with his.

“You’re father’s in this coven?” Riley suddenly asks.

“Aro,” You tell him. “He can read every thought in your mind with a single touch,” You explain. Riley instantly pictures him. “He would have had you killed had I not shown up,” You mention.

“Can you read minds too?” He asks. You smirk.

“My gift’s a little deadlier than mere mind reading,” You tell him. Riley raises his eyebrows obviously wanting to know. “I can kill everyone in this castle at the same time without lifting a finger or blinking an eye,”

“How?”

“Molecular combustion,” You tell him. “I can speed up the molecules in your body until you just burst. I can do it so fast you won’t feel a thing or I can draw it out,” Riley winces. “So, as you can see, if I want something, I get it,” You wink at him.

“What do you do here?”

“Destroy problematic vampires,” You answer shortly. “My father, along with Marcus and Caius, run the coven. I’m not into politics or power all that much. I have enough to make me happy. I have more power sitting in the background than I would on the front lines,”

“How so?”

“Fear,” You smirk. “Everyone here is afraid of me, with good reason. I’ve killed some of my fathers prized possessions more than once. It’s why the twins make such an effort to befriend me. I’ve also sped up Caius’s molecular structure enough to cause severe pain for a month straight after he pissed me off one time. They can’t control me. They can rule the coven all they wish but if I want something all I have to do is take it. It brings me great joy to watch the oh so powerful Kings of Volterra shudder in fear at the sight of me and stand by helplessly while I take what I want. Stomping on their ego is always satisfying.”

“So, even though I have no power, I will be apart of this coven?” Riley asks.

“Yes,” You nod. Riley slowly smirks.

“And since you truly hold all the power, does that make me the second most powerful vampire?” Riley arches his eyebrows. You chuckle winking at him.

“Now you’re getting the hang of it,” Riley smirks broadly. “You spent the last year being that red headed whore’s puppet but now you’ll spend the rest of your immortal existence playing puppet master with the strongest coven, hell the entire vampiric race as your puppets” You tell him.

Riley imagines his future with this kind of power. You stand up and walk behind him. Your arms circle around him and rub his chest. Your head nuzzles into his neck, your teeth nipping at his marble skin.

“Anything you want, my love, I will be sure to give it to you,” You promise him.

“Your father is the king of Volterra... but if we control him then...” You hum biting his ear seductively. 

“You catch on quickly, my dear” You whisper to him. In a flash, you come in front of him and straddle his waist. His hands instantly grab your hips. “Rule from the shadows,” You tell him. “Wil Aro, Marcus and Caius as a front all opposers and enemies will target them instead of us,”

“Surely vampires know of your power, wouldn’t they be able to figure it out?” Riley asks.

“When I use my power, I never leave witnesses outside of this coven,” You tell him. “There are only three people outside of this coven that know of my power. Edward Cullen, Carlisle Cullen, and Alice Cullen. Should word spread, I made sure they knew what I would do to those they love,” Riley smirks holding you close to him.

“Rule from the shadows, all the power we want, all the benefits, hardly any risk,” Riley mutters.

“A major step up from small town Forks, don’t you think?” You ask, tilting your head.

“Well, I certainly didn’t think this is where I’d end up,” Riley admits before getting handsy with you. You smirk, dragging your nails down his chest. “Certainly glad I did though,”

“Ditto,” You whisper, pressing you lips to his unable to hold back any longer.

[cotton-candy-in-a-thong]

Noncon stories, Fantasy vs. Reality, and more. fucking. issues.

Recently, I’ve been hit with some drama as to why I’m a “bad person” by various, anonymous users in this fandom. I thought I’d try to address the claim, address my stance on fics that involve noncon, and what I think about the “Tumblr mentality” after everything I’ve seen of this place. I should also note that I’m going to use the specific words and phrases I’ve been forced to constantly repeat as explaining my stance has been very difficult for me, as I’m a person who’s apparently challenging to understand.

This is going to be a long post, with subjects that's obviously going to trigger people so here's a warning right now..

That being said, I’m going to dive into this with some shit I’ve definitely said before:

“Consensual Noncon” Kink

The Appeal of this Theme in Fanfiction:

I don't think calling fics that involve noncon "rape fics" and those who enjoy it "getting off to rape" is a very good way to put it. Many engaging and well done media pieces often involve some very dark themes. Again, Monster by Meg and Dia is a song that features the main character sexually abusing a girl he met. You COULD call this a "rape song", but acting as if the rape is the only thing that matters in this story would be pretty..naive. The story has to do with an emotionally, and physically neglected/abused boy, who grows up and becomes an attention/love starved monster who's SO starving for validation, that he believes forcing himself upon a girl he knew would "prove" to himself that he's capable of being touched and loved. Of course, the main character eventually realizes that rape is not love, that what he did was wrong, and later kills himself in his own bathtub with kerosene and a match.

However, the assault aspect of this song is still a meaningful and alluring part because it talks about how emotional and physical abuse can warp someone's perspective on reality, to the point where they think forcing someone to "stay" with them is how to create a healthy relationship. That's the same energy I have for noncon fics, especially in the slasher fandom. Many slasher fics that contain noncon often have to do with the slasher preying on the reader because of their own fucked up mind. It's intriguing because, let's be honest, pretty much none of the slashers are in a pretty good mental space lmao. Thus, noncon actually falls more in line with how slashers would go about what they believe is a "good relationship" more often than quite a bit of fans here seem to believe. Again, Michael got boners, Jason chained someone up, Fredddy smooches people against their will, Billy Lenz is a sex offender, Chromeskull makes snuff, yada yada yada, you know the drill. That being said, it's interesting to see noncon being expressed with these characters because it gives us a new perspective on how fucked up they'd likely be if the world of sex and relationships was introduced to these characters.

Now why would some people become sexually aroused by the events of the story? First of all, how does “Consensual Noncon” kink work?

u/Jumbledcode. (2015). ‘Can anyone comment on why people (someone like me) enjoy rape/non-con story lines?’. r/TwoXChromosomes.

“I'd suggest that there are several factors that make up the appeal of non-con fantasies.

Guilt/Self-image: For many people, their sexual/relationship desires don't necessarily match their image of themselves, or alternatively they feel guilt over others' perceptions of those desires. Rape fantasies allow them to mantain some illusion of denial over their desires while still indulging in the idea of them.

Responsibility/Laziness: The appeal of abdicating control isn't limited to avoiding guilt; it's very tempting to want a scenario where you have no responsibility for maintaining your lifestyle/happiness. Similarly to before, it's the appeal of being given what you secretly want without even having to choose it.

Transgressiveness: A rape scenario has overtones of danger and taboo-breaking. These can easily be exciting and can therefore be a turn-on.

Desire: Being wanted is often a huge turn-on, and the idea of someone desiring you enough to break laws and disregard everything to have you plays into this feeling.

To me, it seems that most people who fantasize about being the subject of rape do so due to some mix of these motivations I've mentioned. Of course, there are also those who have experiences which have taught them to associate non-consent with their sexuality, but that's a separate issue”.

What if the Fanfic Only Involves the Act though? Wouldn’t it Encourage Actual Rape?

Let’s differentiate fantasy and reality. Towards those with the noncon kink: it offers arousal because of the ideas listed above (the idea of the reader not having to make any moves and the character doing the “intimate work” FOR them, the excitement of such a taboo sexual encounter, and the feeling to be desired through an altered, brutish encounter). Rape is the use of sex to remove control over the victim’s mind and body. The readers DO have control over whether or not they get to “encounter” (the choice to even read) this fantasy, so right away consent is present in reality, and no actual rape is being done.

Now does this mean that the kinkers are getting off on the idea of rape? Not really.

The thing with self-inserts is that it allows you to be connected to the story. That way, even if the story has you bruised up and begging for mercy, a part of you-you (if you’re a kinker) wants to keep reading it as you find it exciting. That way, as you and story-you are connected, what you really want in such a fantasy is for it to keep going despite the brutish, possessive, however yet desired nature of the character you’re dreaming about dealing with. (repeat: the idea of the reader not having to make any moves and the character doing the “intimate work” FOR them, the excitement of such a taboo sexual encounter, and the feeling to be desired through an altered, brutish encounter). That being said, it’s still entirely possible for kinkers to have their personal space and wishes crossed, and ultimately assaulted. Us enjoying the fantasy of such a reverie sexual encounter does not spell out to real life because (in reality) we’re not horny all the time, we would still like our bodies to be respected when we find it necessary, and we still have feelings as we’re still human.

“Fantasy (including video games) leads to violence” fallacy.

It would be like assuming that shooters in games like GTA fantacise about murder, encourage it, and would do it in real life. Taking fabricated anger out on virtual bodies or NPCs is quite different from the weight of murder (the killing of another human being). One can play video games with lots of violence towards such fabricated characters, while discouraging violence towards human beings. The act of using a game controller to beat up Donkey Kong in Smash, to shoot Nazi zombies in a Black Ops game, or to kill a Geisha in Little Nightmares is incredibly, and immensely different from completely eradicating the life of a person on Earth, and to assume that everyone who plays violent video games would spill out to violence in reality would be to participate in a ridiculous fallacy. Yes, there are outliers who are feeble minded enough to let their fantasies influence their actions towards actual people, but I must repeat that there are also people who utilize these fantasies for their personal satisfaction, while understanding the weight of the real world around them (and choosing not to act so detrimentally). Therefore, it wouldn’t be fair as it would be unnecessary to blatantly say that all fantasies are horrible and should be entirely eradicated if there ARE many people who ARE aware enough to understand that some thoughts are better off staying in fiction.

Now is the time to address what’s been said:

...Firstly, I think it’s very disgusting that random users, on Tumblr of all places, are trying to manipuate random victims of sexual assault into hating something or someone just because these users FEEL like “it’s the right thing to do”.. People, victims of sexual assault aren’t your fucking dogs. They’re not carriage horses, they’re not your work mules, they’re not your guns and swords...they’re just people who normally wanna be left the fuck alone like everyone else. Plus, there ARE people who have experienced sexual assault who take joy in reading such dark storylines. What would these users have to say to them? That they’re not “real” victims? That what they’ve experienced “never happened”? That they’re “just like” their own perpetrators for using the consensual nonconsent to miraculously help them overcome their trauma? Should they really abandon their coping mechanism just because there are other victims who cope in different ways?

..If you seriously believe that all people who have gone through a traumatic event are gonna cope in the exact same fucking way, you literally don’t even know enough about PTSD to even be making a bold statement about cope.

This is the part where I finally realized that people, and especially those on Tumblr, don’t actually care about rape victims as much as they may claim. Many users on here, on this platform and in this fandom, don’t truly give a flying monkey shit about rape victims as people, nor what they have to say about the subject. Rape victims..on this place..seem to be used mainly as a means of figurative weaponry for a group’s subjective morality.

I find the similarity close to radical feminism. Radical feminists often believe that women, from near and far, have to do everything in their power to “destroy” the patriarchy. This would mean disobeying the societal expectation of women, even if there are some women who take joyment in engaging in some societal standards for their personal liking. An example would be sex work. Radical feminists acknowledge the flaws in performing sex work, but believe that NO woman should EVER partake even if the woman wants to do it out of her own free will. In demonizing and ostracizing any woman who doesn’t fall into the radical feminist agenda, radical feminists actually contradict their purpose to “let women be free”. At this point, you realize that radical feminists often don’t actually give a fuck about what any woman wants for herself. Instead, radical feminists want to utilize any woman they can find just to flip off men as a group.

In Tumblr users trying to “stand up” for rape victims for their personal “holier-than-thou” ego, they fail to care enough about the very people they defend to understand the dynamics of some of their coping mechanisms, thus begin to bully some members of the group they claim to protect because of the very narcissism, misunderstanding, and controlling nature going on behind their own “activism”. So now that some users have found something to hate, in this case being noncon stories, they attempt to manipulate victims of rape into ostraciszing and demonizing fantasies and other victims of rape just because the “activists” themsleves don’t like it. Even trying to argue that rape victims have a “duty” to agree with everything these “activists” try to do for them.

Sounds awfully familiar to the attitude democrats have towards any minority when it’s time to vote. “I care about you...but you have to agree with everything I say and believe because I want what I think is best for you. If you disagree with me, you’re ungrateful and a traitor”.

Now...a little about myself.

I’m not sure of everyone else who’s into the noncon type of story, but I use it to get away from my past. In noncon stories, I want to read what happens in the chapters. I want to imagine them for morbid curiosity and arousal I feel at the time being. In reality, my attackers didn’t care when I wasn’t in the mood, and never gave me a choice. In noncon stories, I get to choose the character I want to encounter in the fantasy and NOT have it picked FOR me. In real life, I didn’t get to choose who did some things to me. In noncon stories, I get to stop reading them and do something else whenever I’m not feeling it anymore. In reality? My attackers kept going because, in the situation, it was no longer up to me. After noncon stories, my body doesn’t walk away with bruises, bite marks, and physical reminders every time I take my clothes off or try to masturbate. In real life...that shit can mark you, disease you, and then traumatize you. With the stories, I get to delete my search history, join another fandom, and act like nothing ever happened. For reality? Your own body is a reminder of what happened because it was real. In reality, I’m NEVER gonna fucking forget what happened. I’ll be lucky if my own mind and body doesn’t haunt me for at least one day..

So seeing that someone, and probably multiple people not only tried to use victims of sexual assault for their own “go get em” dogs, but to try and phrase me as someone who loves and encourages such an assault on human beings? After the things I felt? After the things I tasted? After pathetically searching for the support of relatives, just to get shut down with “you’re lying”?..

...All the times I've been held down..threatened..clothes getting snagged off..parts being opened and touched after I've fought to just get the fuck away from certain people...

According to this anon..."she likes rape".

...I guess I just fucking LOVED EVERYTHING THEN.

You know...all my life I’ve been misunderstood by many people. It’s honestly really disappointing that even now when I’m better at explaining myself than ever, I’m STILL being phrased as a “psychopath” by random people who haven’t even taken the time to even know me. Not even from a minute-long conversation through a damn computer screen. And you wanna know the funny thing? I’m probably being laughed at as this is being read. Some of these users, these internet stalkers, are probably giggling, smiling, and saying “Haha YES we GOT the bitch!! Cry you piece of shit SLUT!!”. So maybe explaining my past experiences to help everyone understand why some people may use noncon stories to their fantasy advantage is gonna land me messages going: “You haven’t been raped you lying bitch”, “Maybe you should get raped again”, “You definitely enjoyed it”, and the overused, yet strong “Kill yourself”.

So how am I gonna end this message? With me saying that many of you, who THINK you’re doing the right thing by justifying harassment and trying to manipulate others into joining your little crusade to bully people away from the fandom (over extremely mundane fucking things)...aren’t really good people. At best, in this case...you’re fucking stupid. You will never truly speak for any of the marginalized groups you claim to know like the back of your hand. Simply, you will never. be. a hero.

If by chance, by an astrological chance..that any random user wants to come up and apologize out of the blue for talking such shit and for saying such things..I don't even wanna hear it...just get the fuck out of my face..

[claymorecut]

YOU KNOW IT’S TRUE LOVE WHEN YOU CAN’T STOP LOVING YOUR WIFE EVEN WHEN SHE GROWS A PAIR OF KINTAMA

A GinTsu fanfic

Word Count: 8072

A/N: This fic is long. And messy. And I wanted to write this for a really long time. Hope you guys enjoy! <3

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‘Huh? When did I get here..?’

Standing under the scorching afternoon sun, this is the first thought that crosses the silver-haired samurai’s mind. The familiar crossroad bustled with people as Gintoki scrunches his eyes and shields them from the blinding sunlight. Not long ago was he lying on his precious couch in his cozy little apartment, so how come is he now standing on the middle of Yoshiwara? Oh yes, he was already on his way to pay his busy wifey a visit.

‘Must be the heat, I might’ve lost track of when I reached here.’ Rubbing his eyes which seems to itch a little, the man decided to make his way towards the infamous tea-house. It has been months since he last visited Yoshiwara but the true reason he’s here today is because he wants to see his wife. For the last few weeks, Tsukuyo has been coming home late due to work and to his disappointment - and sure enough, hers as well - they hardly get the chance to spend time together.

Of course, like always, Gintoki stays the same, good, supportive husband who doesn’t constantly nag his wife about her workaholic nature and busy schedule but right now, perhaps, he has started to feel a little lonely. And as cheesy as it sounds in his thirty-five years old mind, Gintoki really misses her. Not just the sex or the long, passionate kisses, but he really misses spending quality time with her. Seriously, when was the last time the two sat down and read their favorite manga series together? More importantly, their second anniversary is only a few dates away and this time, he wants to surprise her with something special. Something that can help the Tsukuyo take a break from her job and relax.

The former city of night appears as same as ever with people busy with their daily work. A few Hyakka members patrolled the streets, in case of any transgression. However, far away in front of another tea house, Gintoki catches a small crowd of woman swarming a large, tanned man, most likely flirting with him while he seems to be going along with them playful pokes and giggles. Due to his back facing him, he can’t get a clear look on the unfamiliar man except for his wide back and blond hair which perfectly contrasted his bronze skin. No wonder so many women were flocking around him, he appears to be quite a good-looking man.

“Oh Gin-san, how have you been?” The delighted owner of the tea house was greets him as he walks inside.

“Usual, I guess.” The man simply replied and takes a seat on one of the benches, facing her. “I just saw this guy outside. You guys hired a new bodyguard?”

At his curious question, Hinowa gives him a confused look. “No. We haven’t had new recruits for quite some time now.”

“Oh.”

“So, Gin-san.” Hinowa asks, changing the subject. “What brings you here?”

While Hinowa gives him her signature smile, Gintoki finds the situation quite odd. Wouldn’t a teasing “Here to see Tsukuyo~” with her playful smirk have made more sense?

‘Perhaps, she’s gotten used to it.’ His mind reasoned back as he brushed off the thought.

“Uh…well, I was basically here to meet Tsukuyo but I was thinking of taking her on a trip for our anniversary.” Looking down, he nervously rubs the back of his neck. He may have been a married man now but even still, showing his rather romantic side of his in front of anyone except Tsukuyo makes him a little…flustered.

“You know how she is with her ‘I don’t want anythin’’ and stuff. That woman has been working constantly for ages and she really needs to get some rest! I never thought choosing a gift for a woman would be this tough, let alone surprising her but it’s her we’re talking about after all….So, I thought maybe you can suggest me something.”

After finishing up his chattering, Gintoki looks back up at her with a flushed face, only to find Hinowa confusedly blinking at him. “…Eh? Anniversary?”

The man knits his brows. “Don’t tell me you forgot?”

“Forgot what?”

“My and Tsukuyo’s anniversary.”

“But when did you get marri-“

“What’s goin’ on?” A deep and surprisingly familiar voice came from behind the silver-haired man.

“Oh, Tsukuo. Did you know Gin-san got married? He just told me.”

“What? When?”

“I don’t know…maybe he’s talking about someone else…”

This casual exchange of words sounded strange. But what sounded stranger is the name of the man who is talking with Hinowa. Who is now standing right beside him. Perplexed at this sudden change of events, Gintoki slowly turns to his side to find the very same tanned and muscular man he has seen before entering the tea house standing who now looked at him and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“Yo, Mr. Husband. Did ya forget to invite us or what?” The man named Tsukuo teases him.

And Gintoki felt all the blood drain off his face.

He knew something was off. Really off. And as he got the closer look of the man’s face, the more he finds himself horrified. “W-who are you?”

The large man quirked one of his brows and then looks back at Hinowa, directing his thumb at Gintoki. “Is he okay?”

“He looked fine before. Gin-san, you look pale. Are you okay?”

No. No, he isn’t. Because this doesn’t look right. And no matter how much he tries, his brain has now failed to process the entire situation as Gintoki finds his eyes fixated at the buff man who looks shockingly familiar. Blond hair, violet eyes, the familiar black kimono decorated with autumn leaves and the infamous scar that he has gotten accustomed to kissing - Gintoki has been seeing all these features for years now.

In his wife.

Pointing a shaky finger at the large man, Gintoki felt his voice turn into a mere, almost squeaky, whimper “Hinowa-san….what happened to my Tsukuyo?” He could no longer contain the shock and disbelief in his voice. No way is this happening!

“Tsukuyo?” At this, the raven-haired woman looks puzzled. “But that’s Tsukuo.”

“I-I know..but…did some strange light fell from the sky and changed her sex? Like how it happened last time in the Dekobokko arc?” Each syllable he stutters makes his heart race a little faster. “What happened to Tsukuyo?”

“….Gin-san, what’re talking about? There’s no one named Tsukuyo here.”

His mouth falls agape. “Hinowa-san, please don’t joke like this.”

“But….I’m not joking, Gin-san….”

“Then…you’re saying my wife…is now…a man..?”

Suddenly he feels a large hand on his shoulder, probing him to look at the other direction which he was so badly trying to avoid. “Are ya outta your mind, ya bastard?” His said wife says up loudly, sounding quite offended by his genuine question. “I’ve always been a man.”

.

..

…

‘WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!?’

*****

“Of course Tsukuo-dono has always been a man.”

“Who doesn’t know about the King of Night in Edo, Danna?”

“Gin-san~ Why are you suddenly so interested in that bastard when I’m right here~”

“Oi, Sarutobi. I’m right here - By the way, why’re you asking around if Tsukuo has always been a guy or not? Did you lose your memories or something?”

Nobody remembers. Nobody.

For the last three hours, Gintoki has been running around the city of Edo after dashing out of Yoshiwara, just so he can find out whether the unearthly Dekobokko cultist have made their comeback or not.  Unfortunately, nothing of that sort has happened. In fact, after asking Kyubei, Saachan and the Shinsengumi who once turned into the opposite gender knows nothing this uncanny event of his wife turning into the male version of her. Actually, his wife never swapped genders even when they did.

And every time he frantically asked the same damn question, their responses also stayed the same - “But Tsukuo has always been a man. We don’t know anyone named Tsukuyo.”

The statement itself is like a tight slap on his face. But what hurts more is that she is no longer here. Nobody remembers their marriage and…nobody remembers her.

His ring is gone.

All the wedding pictures and albums he once had in their little house are all missing.

And now that he looks at the empty shelf where they once had a beautiful framed picture of them kissing on their wedding day, Gintoki slumps down on the floor as he ponders about this absurdity he is currently in. Wasn’t it just this morning when he saw his wife leave for work before giving him a quick peck on his lips? Wasn’t it just a few hours ago when was planning to surprise his wife on their second anniversary? But now it feels like he is in a completely different world. And suddenly he is back to the same ol’ single and unmarried Sakata Gintoki who no longer has the amazing badass blond bombshell of a wife by his side.

In this sorry state, Gintoki recalls a memory from the morning where his favorite weather girl, Ketsuno Ana was announcing today’s horoscope predictions.

“For Libras, today, you may find yourself in an uncanny situation. Perhaps, your love life will be tested today under very confusing conditions but let me tell you, do not give up hope. As long as you believe in yourself and your partner, everything will turn out just fine.” The woman gave a bright smile from behind the screen as he flicked the TV off.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!?” The utterly confused and enraged man yelled at the ceiling without paying any attention to what his neighbors are going to think. Confusing!? No, this is a hellish situation! “OI WRITER! WHY WON’T YOU JUST LET ME LIVE AS A HAPPILY MARRIED MAN!?”

Even breaking the fourth wall didn’t work. Finding himself alone in the bland living room, Gintoki hopelessly looks down on the floor and then at his empty left ring finger, gently rubbing it. He is not a sappy man, never has been, but truthfully, the empty finger does not suit him anymore.

The day he found out Tsukuyo had been in love with him throughout the runtime of the series was the day realized how much of lucky bastard he has been to have someone like her in his life. Idiot he might have been for not acting on his feeling but the day he took his vows was day he promised he will not let go of her. Ever.

‘Then why the hell is this going on…?’

A knock on his door interrupts Gintoki and he lets out a heavy sigh. If it was any other day, he would definitely have answered the door. But right now, ignoring it seems like a better option. Must be the baba is what he thinks and then stands up from his place to go look for some strawberry milk in the fridge. Maybe that can help him cool down…even just a little. Another two knocks, this time louder, tries to get his attention but he chooses not to respond again. No way is he in the mood to have a chat with someone.

“Oi Gintoki! I know you’re in there!” A voice calls out for him. A very familiar voice that he just wants to…avoid right now.

However, his mission fails instantly when another knock comes in, making him rub his already throbbing temple.

Groaning, Gintoki turns the other way to greet the unwanted guest in his house. Well, technically that was her- oh sorry, his house too, but according to the current situation, calling him a guest seems more appropriate. Sliding the main door open - and deep down, wishing it’s Tsukuyo standing there – he finds the male version of his wife nonchalantly smoking from the signature kiseru with his muscular arms folded under his well-toned chest. His blond hair is now tied in a small ponytail and damn, he is a few inches taller than him.

“Why did ya run away like that?” Tsukuo asks, putting down his kiseru. And while he refuses to admit, Gintoki can clearly hear the concern in his voice which seems so…familiar. But this isn’t her.

“Just had something to do.” Shrugging, Gintoki tiredly looks at the man. “I don’t know what I was saying, sorry about that.” He lies, really not in the mood to explain whatever this is. And possibly, this man will not believe him.

“Okaaay.” Tsukuo trails off, confused at his dismissive behavior. “You okay now? You seemed a little off back in Yoshiwara.”

Oh, can he just stop resembling her so much!?

“Yeah. Can you just leave me alone? I’m gonna get some sleep now, my head hurts” He knows he is being an ass but this is for the better. Tiredly, he slides the door close only to find a tight grip on the doorframe and shoves it open again.

“Hey. What’s wrong with you?” Tsukuo asks, slightly annoyed as he bends a little forward to look into the silver-haired man’s eyes. “First you act like you’ve seen a ghost and now you’re actin’ like an asshole?”

Hearing this, a vain pops in his head. He really can’t catch a break, can he? First, he sees his wife turn into this extremely handsome and muscular man who has lost all memories of their marriage and now, he’s supposed to explain why he is acting like this like a madman!?

“So, how else am I supposed to act, huh!? Act like everything’s normal when it’s actually NOT!?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean!?” Tsukuo snaps back, confused at his sudden outburst. “Isn’t this normal, you moron!?”

“Oh yeah!?” Gintoki grits his teeth, feeling fumes coming out of his ears. “Maybe it would have if my married life hadn’t been suddenly erased from existence!”

“And when the hell did you get married!?”

“ ALMOST TWO YEARS AGO ON 21ST JUNE, AT THE END OF SPRING!” Gintoki screams out, making the passerbys look above at the two men who are now engaged in a heated argument.

“What the-!?”

Scoffing loudly, Gintoki throws his hands up in the air in utter defeat. “See! This is what I’m talking about! A few hours ago, I was a happily married man, planning to surprise my wifey for our second marriage anniversary and suddenly, I see everything is gone! Poof! Vanished in thin air like it NEVER existed!! And the worst part- nobody remembers my marriage, NOT EVEN YOU!”

Tsukuo only returns him another puzzled look. “And how the hell would I remember that!?”

“Because you’re the one I’m married to, damn it!” Frustrated, Gintoki jabs his pointer at the man’s well-built chest, only to realize what just he said and immediately rephrases his statement to, “Or should  I say the female version of you.” and awkwardly pulls back his hand. “And now, suddenly she looks like Arnold Schwarzenegger and I’ve no fucking idea how or when it happened! I don’t even have any evidence to prove myself in this…this crazy situation and damn it, this all sounds so ridiculous!”

Silence follows and the two men stare at each other, one giving an extremely baffled look while the other groans in embarrassment. This is not going anywhere.

Covering his face his hands, Gintoki breaths out a long, exhausted sigh. “Listen, I think I need to clear my head. Can you just…go?”

The man doesn’t reply for another few seconds. Perhaps, he’ll just leave him alone now.

“….I’m not going anywhere.”

Gintoki’s ears perk up. Did he really just..?

“And I think it’s better if we talk properly.”

Finally, he looks back at the man’s earnest face. “Eh?”

“Let’s get outside.” His said wife suggests and turns to walk down the stairs. “I think you should tell me what exactly happened. Maybe that can help you clear your head.”

“You believe me?” Gintoki calls out, baffled at how serious he sounds.

“Not completely.” Tsukuo looks back as he steps down the last stair. “But I do know you’re not lying.”

*****

Tsukuo is popular, just like his wife. Very popular.

But fun fact, unlike Tsukuyo, who makes every other lecher look the other way with her intimidating glares, Tsukuo doesn’t seem to mind all these flirtatious wink and compliments that keeps coming at him from the opposite gender.

“You seem to have quite a huge fanbase in Edo.” Gintoki inquires. The two has been walking down the streets of Kabukichou for quite a few minutes now and the extra attention the tanned man keeps garnering is making the silver-haired samurai a little distressed.

“Well, can you blame them?” Tsukuo looks at him, smirking proudly.

“No.” Gintoki shrugs, glancing at another group of women eying Tsukuo, who literally has the body and face of a Greek god. “But I never thought you’d enjoy so much attention.”

“I don’t exactly.” The man casually replies. “But when someone wants to talk and spend time with me, I can’t just say no to them.”

“And you just said the typical playboy line. How convenient.” Gintoki mumbles, not audible enough for the man beside him to hear. He remembers the first time when he met this version of Tsukuyo back in chapter 441 in the Dekkobokko arc. To watch the serious, tsundere woman suddenly turn into a player who shamelessly flirted with his female version was such a shocker.

“Flowers have no beauty nor ugliness. If such a thing does exist, then it’s in the looks of a man that cannot admire both equally.”

“HEY, WHO IS THIS GUY!? A VIRGIN WOMAN SUDDENLY TURNED INTO A PLAYER!!!”

Gintoki lets out a sigh. Even though back then such a thing happened, the situation was, more or less, temporary. Tsukuyo’s sudden personality change was only limited to that one arc. However, from what he has come to understand here, this Tsukuo has always been…Tsukuo. Sneaking a glance at the man, he again finds him smile at another woman on the sideways who flushes bright red and shyly hides her face behind her palms.

‘Yup, this is not Tsukuyo…’

After another few minutes of silence, Tsukuo asks. “So, you were saying I’m your wife?”

“No. I’m saying my wife got replaced by you.” Gintoki replies bluntly.

Unnoticed, the man rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Do you remember what exactly happened?”

“What do you mean what exactly happened? I was on my way to meet my wife, but then I see you and suddenly everybody has forgotten about Tsukuyo and our marriage.”

“Yeah, you already said that. But I’m asking did something happen when you were on your way?”

Gintoki knits his eyebrows. “…Huh?”

“Did you meet any…shady fortune teller on your way?” Tsukuo inquires seriously, glancing at him.

“Umm..nope.” Comes his honest answer.

“Then did you inhale or drink something strange before?”

“Nooo….”

“Then what about the headaches you were getting?”

“Most probably because of stress. What about it?”

Tsukuo shrugs. “I don’t know. I thought maybe it’s some sort of a side-effect of some ‘magic spell’ you’ve been put into?”

“This doesn’t make any sense, you know.” Gintoki scowls at his absurd speculations.

“Well, this is Gintama. Remember when the animation staff decided to freeze you for an entire episode due to budget issues?” Tsukuo points casually.

“Yeah, I do remember tha-“

“Plus, this is a poorly written fanfi-“

“Please don’t mention the obvious to our readers so casually. It can ruin their reading experience.”

Tsukuo sighs. “So, nothing out of ordinary happened?”

“No.” Except for his horoscope coming true which he cannot tell him.

“Tsk. That’s a very cheap way to move the plot though.”

“Would you stop being fussy about the plot already?”

“I was just pointing out the errors.” Tsukuo says as a matter of fact.

“You’re starting to sound like Onishi-kun now.”

Tsukuo grumbles. “Fine, I’ll stop.”

“Good.”

Even like this, the nitpicky and logical side of her is still clearly there. And a part of him feels happy that it is there. As the two continue to stroll around the streets of Edo, Gintoki finds his lips curl upward for the first time in the last few hours, unaware of the blond man looking at him with him own small smile.

*****

The afternoon heat is now replaced by the breezy evening evening as the two make their way to a public park.  Gintoki has no idea why they are still hanging out together. Or why Tsukuo still hasn’t left for work? Or why they are suddenly in a park and why does it feel like a date? Well, obviously he does not mind spending time with him – it’s actually quite refreshing – but still, Tsukuyo has always been a busy woman, a workaholic who doesn’t leave her duties behind, so, shouldn’t Tsukuo be like that too?

“Why’re we here?” Gintoki asks as he watches Tsukuo taking a seat on a nearby bench and stretches out.

Tsukuo, to his question, gives him a blank stare. “Because I’m tired of walking.”

“You aren’t even wearing any heels!” Gintoki frowns, pointing at his zori. “Tsukuyo can jump twenty buildings on her four-inch heeled leather boots and won’t even beat a sweat.”

Listening to his sudden proud comment about his wife, Tsukuo gives an amused smile. “Oh, that sounds interesting. That’s what I expect from the female me.” He gives himself a few pats on his shoulders.

Gintoki scoffs at his prideful gesture. “You’ve no idea how she’s like.”

Scooting a little to the side, Tsukuo taps on the empty seat right to him. “Wanna tell me how she’s like then?”

There is a moment of silence between the two before Gintoki walks towards the bench. “Oh, she’s just…amazing.” Taking a seat beside him, he grins widely, suddenly at a loss of words to describe his wife. “Sometimes even I end up thinking how I landed a woman like her.”

“You sound like a love-sick puppy.” Tsukuo chortles lightly.

“Well, I am a lucky man.” Gintoki shrugs, surprisingly unabashed by Tsukuo’s previous remark. There is a familiar sense of security in his company even though the man is the very much different from the woman he has fallen for.

“Well, you did marry me. Of course, that makes you a lucky man.”

His cocky response made Gintoki scoff in dismay. The moment he was starting to think they were a little alike, Tsukuo once again made him rethink his words.

“I didn’t marry a smug bastard. She’s the complete opposite of you.” Gintoki proudly replies, ready to explain his point. “Beautiful, serious, workaholic and definitely not a flirt - that woman can kill a lecher just by looking at him her venomous stare. And she’s called the Shinigami Tayuu in Yoshiwara. Well, formally, but you get how scary she is by that name. Hell, even I once became a victim of her wrath for ‘accidentally’ groping her before we started going out. Fortunately, she didn’t kill me then….”

Memories of the time flash in his mind as a soft chuckle escapes his lips. “Actually, it was my fault so I really can’t blame her….There’s always been so much more. She’s always been so strong and kind and…so different from me. Someone that I thought a broke man like me could never have. But she still stayed…right there with me….That’s what made me fall for her.”

“…You really love talking about her, don’t you?” Tsukuo asks, smiling at the man.

Gintoki sighs, smirking proudly. “Boasting about my wife once in a while isn’t bad.”

Soon, silence falls between them. Without having any idea of the kind of face the man sitting beside him is making, Gintoki lets his eyes stay fixated on the bushes right across their seat. For some reason, he has been rambling quite a lot today. Was he always this chatty? No, as far as he can remember, he was not. Probably, it’s the heavy feeling in his chest that’s making him so talkative.

“…and, who proposed first?” Tsukuo first breaks the silence.

This catches the silver-haired samurai’s attention.

“Of course, I did.” Gintoki replies, turning to see the man giving him a shocked look that made his eye twitch. “Oi, don’t gimme that look! I saved for the ring!”

At this, Tsukuo gives him an impressed smile. “Who’d have thought, Sakata Gintoki would become such a hopeless romantic for his precious wife?”

This time, the playfulness in his voice makes Gintoki grunt in embarrassment but he chooses to answer anyway. “For her, it’s worth it.”

“Umm-hmm. But I’m pretty sure she made most of payment during the wedding.” Tsukuo cleverly remarks.

Gintoki sighs, nodding in agreement. “Yes. Yes, she did.”

Sneaking a glance at the blond man, Gintoki finds the blond blankly gazing up at the sky, a small smile adoring his lips as he closes his eyes and breathes heavily. Albeit all the striking differences, he couldn’t help but find a sense of secrecy surrounding him, much like her. And right now, his serene expression reminds him of the way she would sometimes get lost in her thoughts.

“Missing her?” Tsukuo asks after a moment of silence.

Upon hearing the question, Gintoki sadly smiles. “Of course…Plus, we haven’t been spending much time together recently because of her work so….yeah.”

“…you still don’t know what’s going on?”

“Nope. But my horoscope did say it’s gonna be a strange day.” Gintoki confesses as a dry laugh escapes his lips. However, Tsukuo doesn’t inquire him any further.

Suddenly, a sense of uneasiness envelops Gintoki. He quietly watches the kids run back to their homes while the sky now appears to be painted in a deep shade of orange, the sun slowly disappearing in the broad horizon. It is strange how everything seems so normal to everyone but him; everything here feels like a strange dream he is unable to wake up from.

For the last few hours, being in Tsukuo’s company didn’t make him feel lonely in any manner. No matter how different he is here, there is a sense of peace in with him.

However, this is not his reality. This is not the place he belongs to. And this person, at the end, does not have any feelings for him.

“I think I should go back.” Standing up from his seat, Gintoki decides to take his leave. A part of him fears if he stays any longer, he would forever remain stuck here.

As he walks away, Tsukuo call out to him. “Oi, where are you going?”

Gintoki can hear his footsteps now. “Home. And I’m hungry.” He replies without turning back.

This still doesn’t stop the man from following him. “How about you come with me to Yoshiwara? It’s better than staying up like some loner in your little house.”

This time, Gintoki turns around, skeptically looking at him. “Don’t you have work?”

“Nope.” Tsukuo shrugs and walks to him. “Hinowa told me to take the day off.”

Well, that kinda hurt. He didn’t even come on his own accord, that’s how bland their relationship seems now.

“Well. You’re free to return back to work, then.” Gintoki waves his hand dismissively, ready to leave again.

“There’s a new izakaya.” His immediate response stops Gintoki on his tracks as he hears his stomach growl hungrily. “My treat.”

*****

By the time the two reached Yoshiwara, it has already turned dark outside as the full moon shone brightly above, illuminating the night sky. The streets appear busier than it was during the afternoon as the two make their way to. But before that, Gintoki gets to hear all the Tsukuo fangirls welcoming him back to Yoshiwara after his oh so long, tiresome day. Damn, nobody even bats an eye on the Savior of Yoshiwara anymore.

“Tsukuo-sama, how about you spend your night with me?”

“There’s a new kimono I received, I’d love~ to show it to you~”

“But I wanted to serve you sake and enjoy watching the full moon with you~”

Damn it, he hated how Tsukuo is like a chic magnet. Yes, the man is handsome and of course, he cannot blame the ladies for being smitten over him but he has been seeing since the afternoon and now all these flirty gestures are starting to get on his nerves. First, he brings him here – basically bribes him with free food - and then, pulls off this shit!

Picking up his pace, Gintoki makes his way through the crowd, leaving Tsukuo behind. If that blondie is going to take his sweet time with his precious ladies, he might as well search for this new bar and get something to eat all by himself.

“Oh Gin-san!” A familiar voice call for him. His mind was so delved into Tsukuo’s apparent bachelor life that he forgot to notice he was passing by the teahouse. “Are you doing okay? ” Hinowa asks sweetly, walking towards him.

“Um…yeah. I’m-I’m fine. That was- I was asking those questions f-for a friend of mine. Sorry for leaving like that.” Gintoki nervously chuckles, scratching his head. It’s better if he just stay quite instead of bombarding her with another set of ridiculous questions like before.

“I see. That’s good to hear. I was worried.” The rave-haired woman politely smiles.

“Um, yeah. Tsukuo mentioned.” There is a hint of disappointment in his voice as his eyes fall on the dusty street. “But you didn’t need to tell him to take day off for me.”

“Oh, but he was way more worried than me. At first, he just simply went back to work when you left. But I could tell how much he was worried.” Hinowa instantly replies, catching Gintoki’s attention. “You know how that man is. Always working and acting like he doesn’t care when he actually does.”

Baffled, Gintoki looks back up to find the woman giving him her signature smile. “You mean-”

“AHHH HINOWA!” The loud voice quickly interrupts their little chat as Gintoki finds a heavy arm casually crash around his shoulders, making the poor man wince. “I’m treating this dude for dinner at Sato-san’s place.” Tsukuo fakes an excited grin.

Not noticing the slight blush on Tsukuo’s face in the dim light, Hinowa beams excitedly. “Oh, that’s great! Their bar is right around the corner. You must taste their kushiyaki, Gin-san -- Tsukuo, don’t forget!”

“Yes ma’am!” Tsukuo obediently notes and starts dragging Gintoki by his neck. “Now let’s get you something to eat!”

“I can walk on my own, damn it!” Comes Gintoki’s grumbling as he frees himself from Tsukuo’s death grip.

“Yeah, yeah, ojii-san.”

“Who’re ya calling ojii-san, bastard!?”

As the two continue their banter on the way, Hinowa lets out a chuckle, waving at them. “Enjoy you two!”

A few moments later, the two enter the new izakaya which appears quite crowded due to its growing popularity. The interior seems to be pretty much similar to Otose’s snack bar – with a bar counter stretching to their right and a few dining tables to their left with customers enjoying their meal – the lively atmosphere feels refreshing. But what catches Gintoki’s interest is a savory aroma of grilled meat around the room that almost made his mouth water.

Walking up to the bar counter, Gintoki takes a seat on one of the stools with Tsukuo sitting beside him. He watches the man take his kimono off and place it on lap, exposing his well-toned biceps that can make every man in the bar look away in envy. Yes, even him.

“Ojii-san, two beef kushiyaki and one sake.” Tsukuo signals the old man behind the counter who quickly responds with a “Coming right up!” with a big smile.

Gintoki gives him a surprised look. “You don’t drink?”

“Nope. Never have.” Tsukuo honestly replies. “Does Tsukuyo?”

“Oh, yes! She loves drinking.” the silver-haired samurai exclaims, remembering all the times when they trashed countless bars together after getting wasted. “But that woman is terrible at handling her liquor.”

This catches his interest. “Really?”

“Yeah!” Gintoki shivers at the thought of his drunken wife’s face. “Give her one drop of alcohol and she turns into a savage beast! I got my head smashed by a bottle of sake when we first had a drink together.”

Tsukuo lets out a chortle. “Damn, I guess it’s better for me to not drink then.”

“Good choice. I call her ‘the drunk terminator’.” Gintoki proudly declares the infamous nickname he once gave to his lovely wife.

The old man places their order in front of them to which Tsukuo gives him a generous nod before turning his attention back to their little chat. “That’s why you called me Arnold Schwarzenegger’s lookalike back when I came to your house.”

Gintoki chuckles and picks a kushiyaki from his place. “Who else am I supposed to compare the brawny male version of my wife with, then?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” With that said, the two dig in to their plates. “Itadakimasu!”.

Taking a bite of the flavorful kushiyaki, Gintoki hums in delight. “This is really good - Ojii-san, I’ll have another of this!”

“You really don’t say no to free food, do you?” Tsukuo shakes his head, not surprised by this habit of his at all.

“Well, you offered.” Gintoki slyly replies with a mouthful to which Tsukuo feels his lips curl.

The two then continue to eat in silence, with Gintoki sneaking a few glances at the distracted man who now has again started smoking from his kiseru after the old man offered his an ashtray. Something about this entire day feels off and yet, with him, he felt at ease. Still does, actually. Perhaps, it’s because Tsukuo’s the only one who knows about his condition. Or perhaps, he’s just trying to deny the fact that he’s, at the end, the same person deep down inside that he has always felt at ease with.

Gintoki recalls the horoscope news– your love will be tested – that’s what it said. Maybe, now he understands what the test really means. But to say it out loud to him; wouldn’t that make things awkward? Because, at the end, this Tsukuyo has no reminisce of the things they have shared together…And the last things he wants to be called is a creep by his own wife.

‘Just talk to him, damn it!’ Slapping himself inside his head, Gintoki pours a glass of sake for himself and chugs it down in one go, loudly exhaling at how unusually strong it tastes. However, before he could bring up the subject, he watches a middle-aged woman wearing a lavish kimono walk to their direction.

“Tsukuo-san, I didn’t expect you to be here.” The woman stands to his right, her silky tone didn’t going unnoticed by Gintoki as she casually puts a hand on Tsukuo’s shoulder.

Something inside Gintoki catches fire.

“Oh, Kirishima-san, what brings you here?” Standing up from his seat, Tsukuo places his kimo and generously greets the lady who, not so surprisingly, reminds Gintoki of a jorogumo. What about personal space- she even has the audacity to stand so damn close to him.

“Oh, nothing, nothing.” The said sophisticated Kirishima-san replies as she coyly places a hand on his chest. “You haven’t been here the whole day, I was looking for you.”

Gintoki chugs down another cup, the burning sensation in his body no longer because of the alcohol.

“Oh, um, I’ve been a little busy.” Tsukuo nervously glances at Gintoki who seems to have been declared invisible by the woman while he continues to drink his sake. He looks furious. “Is there something that you wanted to talk about?”

“Oh, yes. Regarding the donation work.” Kirishima-san says courteously. “If it’s okay, would you like to come outside for a little?”

“Ah, yes, I almost forgot about it.” Tsukuo apologetically says as he escorts the vixen-like lady outside of the bar. Whether it’s just work or not, this Kirishima-lady definitely has ulterior motives.

From the corner of his eyes, Gintoki watches the two chat about something that’s pretty much inaudible to him. The woman says something and Tsukuo nods. Then Tsukuo says something and the woman flirtatiously giggles. From this little view, he could say how badly she wants to get into his pants. However, he feels his blood boil when the woman starts to seductively rub her hand over his left exposed arm, as if he’s her little plaything. And Tsukuo doesn’t seem to mind at all!

‘Hah! He really is a player!’ Immediately, Gintoki looks away before he could see that Tsukuo has politely taken the woman’s hand off his arm.

Scoffing, he drinks up the rest of the liquor from the bottle, sighing in satisfaction. Again, this wasn’t the first time he is seeing this side of Tsukuo but it would be a lie to say none of it…disturbs him. Not even a slightest. Of course, he understands the two are different and never can he ask the person to be someone else but still, isn’t this the same person? At this point, he really cannot comprehend any of such thoughts. And by now, he can feel the alcohol kick in, making his mind all dizzy and muddled.

“Ya know, Ojii-san, I’ve a wife! She’s jus’ the best in the world!” Gintoki slurs in front of the old man, his mind now all foggy. Never had one bottle of sake been enough for him. But tonight, it’s somehow started to show its effects.

“You are a lucky man, sir.” The old man smiles at him.

“Right~” Gintoki hiccups, a goofy smile now plastered on his flushed face. “And she’s called the Shinigami Tayuu, isn’t that cool!?”

“That’s a very great name, sir.”

“Wanna show me where she is?” Ginotoki giddily whispers, just like a little child who has found lost treasure.

The man politely nods “Of course.”

Directing his thumb outside the door, Gintoki points at the Tsukuo with lopsided grin. “There! That man with the blond hair my wife!”

Hearing his little declaration, the old man laughs rather awkwardly while Gintoki continues to ramble. “Isn’t that funny? Like, she was this really sexy, badass woman before but poof, she’s a sexy, badass man now! And seriously, I don’t ‘ave any problem with tha’. But she doesn’t even remember anything! She doesn’t even love me anymore and is now flirting with other girls!” Slapping the counter loudly, he lets out a dry laugh, making the customers nearby look at his direction.

“Sir, I think you’ve had enough drink today. It’s better if you return back home with Tsukuo-dono.” The old man politely says, now giving him a concerned look as if he is now some drunk who has lost all his senses. Seriously, who was he kidding? There is no chance anyone will ever believe his words. And truthfully, a drunk’s confession is generally considered gibberish.

Exhausted and slightly dizzy, Gintoki stands up from his seat. “That guy will pay.” With that said, he leaves the bar quietly.

*****

Staggering on his feet, Gintoki somehow manages to get out of the flashy and lively streets and enters a dark, deserted alleyway. The full moon shines brightly above him, fortunately enough for him to not lose his steps and stumble down on his face like some cheap, homeless drunk. His head aches and at this moment where he has no solution to whatever-this-is, giving up seems like the only option.

“Oi, Gintoki!” The familiar voice call to him…yet again. And just like this afternoon, he wants to avoid it.

“Will ya just wait!?” Tsukuo yells again, his breathing heavy as Gintoki finally stops at his place and faces him.

“…What do ya want?”

“Why did you leave like that?” Tsukuo asks, slowly walking closer to him.

“You seemed busy with the pretty lady so I left.” Comes his cold response, making Tsukuo stop just a few steps away from him.

Gintoki expected a cocky laugh. Instead he finds Tsukuo gravely looking at his direction.

“…it was work. Really.”

Oh yeah, sure it was work. It’s always work. Whether it’s in here or there, it’s always work! And goddamn it, he was so tired of listening. All he has been trying to do for the last few weeks is to be a good, supportive husband who does not nag his wife for overworking or not spending enough time with him. If he’s being honest, he was angry, really angry at everything. But the moment he tries to make things better, some stupid horoscope predictions decides to test his affection for his wife and now, he’s stuck here with an alternate version of his wife.

Despite all this, he decides to stay quite again. No way is he going for another round of ranting session. Exhaling sharply, Gintoki rubs his temple again. “You know what, instead of doing all this, I should be looking for a way out. But for some dumbass reason, I ended up spending the entire day with you and watched you smug ass getting constantly flocked by your fangirls who you just shamelessly flirt with while I’m constantly reminded that you are not the person I love when I know it’s not true!”

….He failed. He ended up rambling again.

And so to calm himself, Gintoki breathes in. A long, deep breathe. While the man standing in front of him freezes on spot, dumbfounded and speechless.

“…were you jealous?” Tsukuo finally finds his voice back and carefully takes a step forward.

“Of course I was jealous!” The permhead finally admits.

“Why?” And another step forward…

Gintoki scoffs. “Really? You’re asking me ‘why’?”

“Yes.” And another…

He sighs loudly. “Because I love you.”  And Tsukuo smiles.

“Even when you are this flirty, cocky man! Even when you don’t remember a thing about us! Even when I know that you don’t love me here! Because whether you’re Tsukuo or Tsukuyo, deep down, I know it’s you. It will always be you. The same person that I happily devoted my heart to and there’s nothing that I ever want to cha-“

Before Gintoki can finish, Tsukuo’s presses his lips against his, shutting him up in an instant. And Gintoki freezes on his spot, his hands awkwardly dangling around his sides while his eyes widen in surprise. There is nothing too fierce and hungry about the kiss; it feels like the ones they always share after waking up, chaste and full of love. Slowly, Gintoki closes his eyes and returns the kiss back with the same favor as his. Unlike the soft and pink ones, his lips are slightly chapped. And yet, the taste and smell of smoke he has so gotten used to is enough to tell him that yes, he’s kissing the right person.

Shortly later, the two pull back. Panting, Tsukuo puts his head on Gintoki’s shoulder, hiding his now flushed face as they silently stand there, savoring this little moment.

“It’s good to hear that you still love me.” Tsukuo is the first one to break the silence, his voice a little muffled.

‘Still?’ Gintoki knits his brows, confused as he recalls the strange horoscope predication.

“Guess I’m bound to fall for you no matter what.” He can hear the relief in his voice as Tsukuo slowly raises his head. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

The test, this strange world…His smile said everything. “You knew…?”

Tsukuo doesn’t answer his question. Instead, he just lovingly smiles at him and says something else as Gintoki feels his vision get blurry, his face slowly disappearing before him as his voice gets replaced by the one he has been hearing for years.

“Wake up, sleepyhead. I’ve got something to tell you.”

*****

The stiff sofa cushion has made his back ache painfully as Gintoki slowly sits up, stretching his arms and legs to loosen up his sore muscles. Sluggishly, he scans the surrounding to find the bulb above him glowing and outside the window, its pitch black, suggesting its night by now. He doesn’t even remember when he fell asleep. The TV is right around the corner as always and so is the little shelf. And there are two frames kept there- one of the Yororzuya and the other of his wedding day…

“You’re awake.” His eyes snap open at the familiar….and feminine voice of his wife who emerges from their bedroom right behind him. Turing around, he finds Tsukuyo walk up to him with her nightgown on.

In an instant, Gintoki jumps up from his seat and rushes to his wife, embraces her in a tight hug and almost making her lose balance. “OhmyGod, Gintoki! What’re you doing?”

Even her yelp didn’t make his huge grin disappear as he held his wife close, breathing in her freshly bathed scent. “I missed you!”

“H-huh? W-what’s the matter?” His sudden confession made the woman turn a deep shade of pink.

Pulling back from the hug, he lovingly presses his lips against hers. “I’m saying I missed you, woman!”

Watching the joyous smile on her husband’s face, Tsukuyo feels her lips curl up too as she caresses his cheeks affectionately. “I missed you too, you foolish man.”

“I just had the strangest dream ever. All just to see that no matter what or who you are, I will always end up falling for you.” Placing a hand on her heart, Gintoki looks at the love of his life with the brightest smile on his face. “It practically called you my soulmate.”

Hearing this, Tsukuyo lovingly holds her husband’s face in her palms, her amethyst eyes and soft voice entrancing him for the rest of his life. “Soulmate or not, I’ll always fall for you, too. No matter what.”

This makes the man exhale a sigh of relief. “I love you.” Gintoki says and leans in to touch his forehead with hers.

“I love you, too. And I’m sorry I couldn’t spend time with you for the last couple of weeks. You even came to meet me today but I couldn’t make it.” Tsukuyo apologetically says and closes her eye, finding comfort in his embrace.

Instead of asking when he went to meet her, Gintoki gently presses a kiss on her forehead and looks back at her. “Don’t apologize. Just…don’t overwork yourself, okay? And take a break. I was thinking of keeping it a surprise but let’s go somewhere for anniversary, on a trip.”

To his offer, Tsukuyo happily hums in response. “Okay. Let’s go.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulls him for a hug which he happily accepts.

Gintoki doesn’t remember what exactly happened here; the dream is only that he has memories of. And yet, there is a part of him that knows that wasn’t just a dream. However, instead of pondering about the past, he’d rather live in the present. After all, he deserves this moment of happiness his wife after getting his mind bombarded by a strange ‘test’.

“By the way, I think I’ll have to take a longer break.”

At this, Gintoki pulls back a little, slightly confused. “Huh?”

Looking down, he watches Tsukuyo take his hand off her waist and slowly bring it to her belly while Gintoki looks back up at her, astonished and completely speechless.

“Looks like you’re gonna be a father again, Sakata-san.” Watching the sexy smirk adoring her beautiful face, Gintoki feels his face go from surprised to purely ecstatic. And in an instant, he sweeps her off her feet, spinning her around in exhilarating joy while Tsukuyo giggles warmly in his arms.

“WE’RE GONNA PARENTS SOON!”

“Hahahaha! Gintoki, stop it!”

“WE’RE GONNA BE PARENTS SOON , BABY!”

“Yes, yes! I know! Now put me down!”

In between their giggles and joyous laughs, the two stop midway in their little celebration as Gintoki carefully brings the woman down. His wide, goofy grin never leaves his face and he once again presses his lips against hers, which she wholeheartedly returns. No way can he ever explain how happy he is now. After years of running away, after years of calling himself unworthy of love, he finally found someone who now shares her life with him. And never in this lifetime or any other, would he like to change that.

“Thank you for making me the luckiest man in the world.”

[goldencorecrunches]

@bitterfrosts @autumnsky YES yes these are the things I am ALSO passionate about 

--

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing Jiang Yanli says, when Wen Qing reaches out and turns her bleeding knuckles out of the shadows of the lamp. If she were A-Ning, Wen Qing would hit her. But that’s the whole point—she isn’t, she’s Jiang Yanli, and so Wen Qing shoves the violence down into a lump inside of her, denser than lead but a thousand times more voliable, and examines the cracked red sores on the backs of Jiang Yanli’s hands. It’s a chill evening, and the blood has dried into little strings of painful gemstones, dotting between the bones, the tendons. They look so pitiful, these hands, for things so precious, which have helped so much. Wen Qing wants to fold them to her chest and cradle them close.

“Did you lose the salve?” she asks, with a look that says her meaning: Did you give it away? She knows enough of the other woman by know to know it a reasonable suspicion. Jiang Yanli shakes her head, cheeks pink from the bite of the wind. Her hands twitch in Wen Qing’s, and start to curl around her larger fingers, before they flinch and still. That is it, Wen Qing decides: she is not letting Jiang Yanli out of her sight before getting something on her poor chapped skin. “Come with me,” she snaps, too focused to soften her voice. She cuts herself off, expecting Jiang Yanli to turn away hurt, but she only smiles and follows where Wen Qing pulls her. Wen Qing’s cheeks feel flushed themselves, now. Stupid.

To cover her emotional response, Wen Qing bustles Jiang Yanli inside her small room and onto a cushion, and spends an embarrassing amount of time getting out the stock jar of moisturizing salve she keeps for situations just like these. The clinking of the lid on the table is very loud. Wen Qing is a seasoned doctor: she is not clumsy. The lid is just very slippery. “It’s going to burn at first,” she warns, scooping out two generous measures of the pungent salve and plopping them on Jiang Yanli’s helpfully presented knuckles. “It wouldn’t, if you were using it regularly. It can’t help if you don’t actually put it on your skin.” Briskly, she takes Jiang Yanli’s right hand between her own and begins to rub the salve in with her thumbs, circular motions, making sure to spread it evenly. Jiang Yanli stiffens, a tiny noise of pain escaping her; it goes right through Wen Qing’s heart, an arrow-shaft punching clean through. “What did I tell you,” she says, instead of sorry or I know, it’ll be okay, or any of the other things that would be kind. She doesn’t usually mind it, not being kind—it’s served her well—but right now she could hit herself. She looks up, and Jiang Yanli’s bottom lip is dimpled with her small, white teeth, her eyebrows drawn together. Her expression—Wen Qing has seen many people, in pain—it’s rather her profession—but Jiang Yanli looks resigned, in a way that has Wen Qing’s own fingers slowing. “Why didn’t you use this?” She asks, easing her grip so Jiang Yanli’s hand is merely resting upon her own, thick paste a greasy layer over all three. She is not a patient woman; not usually. But she waits, while Jiang Yanli ducks her head, and worries her lip, and shifts on her knees like a woman admitting to much worser transgressions than forgetting a bit of skincare in the evenings. “I use my hands a lot,” she says, finally, small and soft. “It…can hurt, at the end of the day. Rubbing in a salve is difficult. I know I—” “Hush,” Wen Qing says. And then, forcing herself: “Wait. That’s—I should have thought. One moment.” She drops Jiang Yanli’s hand, reluctant—horrified a bit, with herself, at using it so ungently—and stalks back over to her chest of medicines. Pressing her mouth in a thin line, she tugs out a roll of bandages; discards it, finds a roll that is softer; stomps, nearly, back over and drops to crouch again in front of her patient, unwinding the roll as she goes. Jiang Yanli is blinking at her, doe-eyed like some creature not tested in blood and battle as she is. Trusting. It makes a fierce instinct rise burning behind Wen Qing’s ribs, the desire to spirit her away and hide her in softness while the ugly world tears itself apart outside. She would never do such a disrespect, of course. But she wants to. Carefully, touching now Jiang Yanli’s skin as little as possible, Wen Qing spreads the salve over the backs of her hands, her fingers, her palms too for good measure. Instead of rubbing it in, this time, she tucks the edge of the bandage against a fine-boned wrist and wraps from there to fingertip, and then back again, pulling the fabric only as tight as is needed to keep it secure. Jiang Yanli is silent, watching her. She keeps very still. Wen Qing is dizzy with something that is not rage but feels like it. “Sleep with those on,” she says, when she is finished, pushing Jiang Yanli’s hands back gently to her chest. She lingers, unable to stop herself, touching the overlapped vees of hemp that hide Jiang Yanli’s too-well-earned suffering from the world. It is past sundown, now: she should light another lamp. She is so tired. It has been a day of broken flesh and twisted bone and she wants to cry at the sight of these dear bandaged hands lying so stiffly against their mistress’s robe, the smallest of things ruined in this endless march of brawl and battle that men call glory. “Wen Qing,” she hears, like the bottom of a well. One of the bandages comes up to her own cheek, touches the skin under her eye. “Don’t get that wet,” Wen Qing chokes out. Oh: she is crying. Stupid, stupid. “They’ve been talking about what will happen, after,” Jiang Yanli says. By They she means Them, the warlords, the sect leaders, the people who decide the fates of those like them, who are only people when they are useful. That is uncharitable; but that does not mean it is not true. “I can ask you, and your brother, to come back to Lot—to come back when we rebuild Lotus Pier. You have helped us.” “Don’t,” Wen Qing says. By strength of will, she keeps her fingers from clenching around Jiang Yanli’s. She cannot do this now, here, in a field tent with this beautiful, sad woman. “Wrap your hands like this every night. It won’t work as well as rubbing it in, but it should keep the pain from flaring. If you need to, you can come to me and I’ll do it for you.” “All right,” Jiang Yanli says. Softly yet, but it is a firm promise; it is a promise of more than a bit of salve and cloth, but Wen Qing cannot let herself think of that. “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow, at the morning meal. You can sit with me, and check my hands again then.” Wen Qing can only nod, and watch, tongue heavy in her mouth, tears drying to flake away, while the flap of the tent falls closed behind her.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Eye of the Storm 2

Warnings: nonconsensual sexual acts (tags to be added throughout series), implied sexual acts, hints of voyeurism, Thor just generally being a skeev.

This is dark!Thor and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a new servant at the palace of Asgard but the job isn’t so easy as you thought.

Note: Apparently I keep calling out @lokislastlove​ and she doesn’t appreciate me exposing her perversions so I won’t mention her this time and just say I hope you all enjoy the second chapter.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Several days passed in tedium. To your relief, you were kept to the kitchens and the lower floors and did not encounter the king again. You fell back into the routine of the palace and became more accustomed to the hustle and bustle of the place. Mealtimes were always a flurry, whether taken privately or in the feast hall, and the corridors always acquired a new layer of filth before the day was done.

A week after the feast and your brush with royalty faded away. You weren’t so worried about Thor or his nobles, more so about the endless list of chores. You woke and readied in the pale dawn as you did every morning. Melora stirred as you tied a band around your head to keep your hair in place.

Agnes was waiting in the corridor. Usually she was already in the midst of her fretting and you met her with silent surprise. Her lip curled and she huffed as her hand went to her hip.

“You,” She pointed at you. “I’ve finally found a place for you.”

“Oh?” You batted your lashes curiously.

“Can you change a bed? Draw a bath? Empty a pot?” She inquired as she stepped closer. “Surely it is not so difficult, even for you.”

“I can,” You ignored her brash jabs as Melora slipped past you and several other girls followed, praying not to draw Agnes’ attention from you. “Where am I to go?”

“Well, the king is in need of a new chambermaid. These other girls are much too eager for trouble and you are much too tame for it, so you will take over.” She declared. “If I hear one word about you, girl, you will be back to the docks. The king has already dealt with enough mischief from this staff.”

“The king?” You said. “You mean--”

“Don’t act like such a dullard and get to work. If you keep him waiting, well, he is not one to wait. Now go.” She jabbed her thumb down the hall and you followed the movement. She tutted and marched away. She stopped at the end of the corridor and cleared her throat. “You’ve almost a dozen floors to go so you best start now.”

You nodded and spun on your heel. You knew the king’s chambers were on the top floor just past the solarium. You hurried up the first flight but stopped as you were out of breath by the third. You slowed and realised how fast your heart was beating, as if it would come right out of your body. It wasn’t just the running. 

By the time you reached the top floor, you caught your breath but your body felt as if it was jittering. You steadied your steps as you made your way down the stone corridor. You passed a noble with wavy auburn locks but he barely seemed to notice you. Another chambermaid exited a door and carried a pot in her arms with a grimace. She didn’t pay you much heed either. 

You turned the corner and then the next, the doorway of the solarium shone bright as the sun lit up the windows within and you carried on. You stopped before the double doors, immaculate with carvings of the royal family tree. You stared at it and followed the branches until you found Thor’s name. You shook yourself and knocked.

You waited and heard nothing. You knocked again but there was only the slightest noise from beyond. You leaned in and listened. It was a moment before the sound came more steady and you recognized the soft footfalls as they neared the door. You stepped back but weren’t greeted by the face you expected.

The noblewoman was tall and her cherry locks hung loosely from a loose pin. Her gown was askew and barely kept in place by her crossed arms. Her eyes were wet with tears and she sniffed them back as she nearly collided with you and looked down her nose at you. You backed up and she brushed past you, disappearing down the corridor without a word.

You peered through the open door and heard a chuckle. You entered, slowly, and looked around. There was a wine bottle and two cups on the table in the receiving chamber, droplets of wine around the stems. You moved a chair from your path and jumped as a voice came from the bedroom.

“Hello?” The king called. “Who is that?”

You looked to the door and crept forward. You cautiously looked around the door frame and quickly tore your eyes away as you found Thor in his bed, a silk sheet barely concealing his most intimate part. You stared at the ceiling as you stood straight, rigid and gulped.

“Your majesty, I was sent to--”

“Ah, yes,” He sat up and the silk slipped to the mattress. You kept your eyes up and folded your hands together. “Well, a pleasant surprise. I did request a new chambermaid since my last did find herself straying from her duty.” He moved around and you refused to look at him. “It is more difficult to steal whilst missing a hand but it is also harder to clean.”

You blanched and turned your head away from him and stared at the tall portrait in his likeness against the wall.

“I did ask for one without past transgressions. One I could trust.” He stretched before the window and groaned. “I do hope you are honest.”

“Your majesty.” You eked out.

“Your duties have kept you busy,” He mused as rested his hand above the arch of the window. “I’ve not seen you for a week or more.”

“My duties do often constrain me to the kitchens or the lower floors, your majesty.” You explained.

“They did,” He said staunchly and turned without shame. Your eyes went to the floor and you shivered as you felt his gaze on you. “I should like to break my fast.”

“Your majesty,” You nodded and turned.

���I would request you address me as ‘my king’,” He remarked and you stopped in the doorway. “It would sound so sweet on your lips.”

You turned your head slightly but not enough to peek at his nudity. “My king.” You uttered.

“Ah, see,” He purred. “I shall be waiting. Impatiently. I am… ravenous.”

You carried on through the door and nearly tripped over the rug as you hurried through the receiving chamber. The heat that enshrined you made you sweat and your stomach churn. You pulled closed the chamber door behind you and let out a breath in the corridor. 

Did he only long to see you squirm? He needn’t do much more to achieve it.

🌩️

You were grateful when Thor did not provoke you further. You returned to find him clothed and stood by as he cleared his plate and then some. He sent you glances and little smirks but said little. You tried to ignore him without seeming dismissive and he rose at last to leave. He bid you to stay and tidy his chamber and to be there upon his return that evening. The thought of the hours without him was bliss even if it meant you would be working.

You cleaned up the remnants of his breakfast and the night before. It wasn’t difficult to guess at what had occurred between him and the fleeing noblewoman. You preferred not to think of it as you dusted and pulled back the curtains. As you polished the ornaments and straightened the rug and the furniture. You stripped his bed and fetched clean linens before remaking it, then you swept the floors and gathered the garments left in the armchair near the door of his bedchamber. 

The time passed quickly and the end of your work was not enough to assuage your dread of the king’s return.

When the door swung inward, you were balanced on your tiptoes as you wiped the engraved frame of a picture. He barely paid you any heed as he entered and tossed his cape on one of the wooden chairs around the painted table. 

You tucked the cloth in your apron and retrieved his cloak before it could slip to the floor. His eyes narrowed as he turned to watch you hang it inside the tall armoire. You were aware of his gaze but didn’t let on as you greeted him with a simple “my king” and took the cloth from your pocket.

He sat on the sofa and stretched his arm over the back. You finished wiping down the frame before you turned to him. Unsure of what to do, you bowed.

“Would you like your supper, my king?” You asked.

He shook his head and his eyes gleamed. His fingers played with the seam along the couch and he tilted his head. He smirked.

“It was a terribly long day, I should like a bath drawn,” He said. “If you would, sweet maid.”

You hated the pet name, not that you expected him to use your true name. His tone and the words themselves seemed entirely patronizing. As a servant you should be attuned to his attitude and yet it irked you more than ever. You ceded to his will and passed through to bedchamber. 

You entered the bath chamber and lit the lanterns along the wall. You went to the large tub and the golden pump along the other side. You lifted and lowered it several times before the water began to spill from it. Steam rose and you continued your work as you sensed the shadow pass through the door. You peeked up for only a second as Thor entered and watched you at the edge of the basin.

You heard his tunic drop to the floor and you flinched. You watched the water fill the tub, focused on the bubbles that strayed across the surface as it got higher and higher. It could keep your mind from what was happening just across from you. 

Thor’s clothing heaped on the stone and his bare feet slapped across the floor. He lowered himself into the tub as the water reached the rim and you stopped the pump. You stood and stepped carefully around the edge. You neared the door, eager to be away, even if just in the next room.

“Stay. It is your duty to tend to my bath, to my meals, my… bed.” He snickered at the last word. “In a manner of speaking.”

“My king,” Your voice quavered and you turned back. “What-- What shall I do?”

“I like some jasmine in my water. It is soothing.” He said. “And some for my hair.”

You went to the long stone counter and searched the bottle. You sniffed several before you found the jasmine. You returned to the tub, keeping your eyes above the water as you flicked a few drops into the water and swirled it around with your fingers. The water moved loudly around Thor’s hand and you tiptoed towards him. You held out the bottle and he chuckled.

“You must wet my hair first,” He said bemusedly.

You sputtered and clamped your lips shut. You tucked the bottle into your apron and returned to the counter. You took the pitcher there and returned to the tub, standing behind Thor so you could not see more than his head and shoulders. He leaned forward slightly as you filled the jug and lifted it over his head. You placed your hand along his forehead to keep it from pouring down into his eyes. He let out a hum and you ignored it. 

You repeated the act several times until you were certain his locks were soaked. You set down the jug and dabbed the jasmine on your hands. You rubbed it into his scalp and hair gently and he leaned black into you. When you finished, you rinsed his hair lightly, a single pour, and returned it to the counter.

He got to his knees and took the cloth from the ledge along the back of the tub. He wetted it and your eyes met his. You looked away quickly.

“I cannot reach my back,” He held out the cloth.

You nodded and crossed to the tub and took it from him. You went around his rear. You reached out and began to scrub the thick muscles of his back and shoulders. He seemed to get further away as you did and you found yourself leaning more and more over the lip of the tub.

As you got further down, your feet nearly slipped out from under you as he spun quickly. He caught your arm and placed the cloth to his chest. He smiled and moved closer. He pressed himself to the edge of the tub, the side barely concealing his pelvis. He bent until you felt his breath on your temple and inhaled.

“Rosewater? Lily?” He wondered.

“Servants haven’t any oils,” You said and kept your hand moving in circles as his fingers slipped down your arm.

“You just smell like that?” He asked with a snicker. 

You froze and pulled back to look him in the face. He laughed again and stilled your hand. He took the cloth from you.

“Finally,” He winked. “I see those eyes again and my memory does not disappoint.”

You didn’t know what to do or say. He let your hand go and you backed away.

“I’ll need a towel when I finish,” He said as he turned and scrubbed his hard stomach. 

“My king,” You breathed.

You went slowly to the short shelf by the wash basin and took a large folded towel from the stack. You put your back to the wall and lowered your chin as you listened to the water ripple around Thor’s movements. It was a time before he called for you and it took you a moment to tear yourself away from your brief haven against the stone.

He stepped out of the tub before you reached it and you gasped at his brazenness. You stared above his head as you unfolded the towel and offered it to him. There was a silence and he did not move.

“Well, dry me off,” He bid. “Or I will grow cold.”

Your lips parted as the order left you speechless. All you could do was obey. You wondered if you were mistaking the situation. Perhaps his former chambermaid had done the same without pause; without doubt. You lifted the towel to his arms and began to rub him dry. His shoulders, his chest, you moved around him and did his back, avoiding the inevitable and daunting lower half.

You lingered around his back and he turned to you. You winced as he grabbed your hands and pulled the towel down to his pelvis. He rested your hands against his hips and wiggled just a little. You stared to his left and wiped his thighs dry. The towel caught on his member and you tried not to show you noticed it. Or the way it twitched as you tried to untangle the fabric.

You bent to get below his knees and his feet and he turned for you to do the back. You stood straight and he swept the towel away from you as he angled around just enough for his arousal to be visible along the bottom of your eye line. He slung the towel around him but made no hurry to close it.

“You should fetch my supper now.” His voice was gristly as the towel brushed against his cock. “Enough for two. I am expecting company and it would be rude not to share.”

You nodded and left him so quickly you nearly collided with the door frame. You rushed through to the receiving chamber and by the time you reached the corridor, you were shaking. You weren’t imagining things, he was doing… something. You just didn’t know what.

The kitchen didn’t keep you long knowing you came for the king’s supper. You resented their rare expediency and the trek back up to Thor’s chamber was torture. 

You knocked before you entered and sure enough, Thor’s company had arrived. Her long black hair was straight and sleek and her shoulders were bare above her pale dress. You greeted them with a bow and set the platter down and poured their drinks.

You neared the door but didn’t even touch the handle before you were stopped.

“I did not dismiss you. You will see to our meal before your night is over.” Thor ordered.

“My king,” You accepted as he began to split up the hanks of meat and roasted potatoes.

The noblewoman trilled as she picked at the spread and drank deeply from her wine. Thor was barely concerned with his own food as his arm wrapped around her and he muttered in her ear. The act made her giggle louder and touched his arm coyly. You stared at the painting of a lion behind the sofa and tuned out their lurid voices.

A loud belch drew you from your trance. Thor’s guest stood and his hand slapped her ass as she did. She gave a coy look and he nodded to the bedroom door. She dragged her fingers along his shoulder.

“Wait for me,” He said. “I won’t be long… you best be ready.”

Her hips swayed as she traipsed into the bedchamber and you glanced at the double doors longingly. Thor stood and stretched. The collar of his tunic was low on his chest and his trousers barely clung to his hips. He took one last drink of wine and rounded the table. He crossed to you and planted his hand on the wall over your shoulder.

“Sweet maid,” He touched your apron. “You will tidy our mess and then you will return and wait until I need you next.” He bit his lip and straightened up. “I might just undo all that work you did in the bath chamber.”

“My king,” You forced out as you tried to dissolve into the wall.

“I will know if you leave and you do not want to disobey me,” He warned. “Not on your first day.”

You nodded and he backed away. He stayed facing you as he neared the bedchamber door and finally turned to leave. You touched your chest before you recovered. You went to the table and stacked the dishes on top of the platter. You left the half-finished wine just in case and went to leave the leftovers with the kitchen.

You returned quicker than you wanted to but Thor’s warning echoed in your head. As you entered, you were stunned by the sounds that met you within. The woman’s voice had turned dusky and mingled with the king’s. You held your breath as you tried not to hear but it was impossible not to. You stayed by the door, as far as you could from the other room.

Soon the woman was louder and louder, her moans turned to shouts, of pleasure or pain you could not tell. Thor’s grunts came between her laboured whines and you clasped your hands tightly as you kept your head down. It was humiliating because he knew you could hear. Was he loud because he wanted you to or for his own pleasure?

It seemed to go on forever and it was quiet for a time. A weak whisper and a gruff snarl in return. Then it started again and the bed knocked against the wall. The woman wasn’t so loud but only because she sounded weaker; tired. At the next lull, the king emerged, naked, but you could only stand there and hope he’d forgotten about you.

“Wine,” He demanded.

You scurried over and filled his cup. He took it and drained it sloppily, licking his lips as he slammed it back down.

“Almost done,” He growled as his eyes burned down at you. “I will need you to see her out soon.”

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Ảγαπάω (νοσταλγία deleted chapter)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Ảγαπάω (agapáō): to treat with affection, be fond of, love; to be beloved; and also to show brotherly love (Ancient Greek)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: This takes place exactly between chapter 28 and chapter 29, it was originally chapter 29 but I decided to make it a deleted/extra chapter instead. It centers on the relationship with the other sons of Ragnar, and Ivar and his boundaries, for lack of a better explanation.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: I love this chapter. It is a deleted one, but bc I feel like it doesn’t particularly bring anything new to the table, not bc I don’t think it’s important. It is, at least for me. The boundaries thing that is spoken of in this chapter is a favorite of mine.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @heavenly1927​ @toe-vind-ek-jou​ @xbellaxcarolinax​​ @pieces-by-me​​ @angelofthorr​ @samsationalwilson​ @peachyboneless​​ @1950schick​​ @punkrocknpearls​​ @ietss​​   @itsmysticalmystery​​ @revolution-starter​​

You realized months ago Ivar has no respect for other people’s boundaries, and that includes yours, even when you give him a piece of your mind at every transgression and kick and scream all the way.

You realized months ago too that Ivar has so many boundaries of himself, that, hypocritically enough, no one is to disrespect or ignore. They usually revolve around his legs, his pain, his authority, his honor, his capabilities; and you have learned to live with them, even if you more than once find yourself threading those limits with a quickly beating heart.

And then there’s this very specific boundary you have realized weeks ago Ivar has. There’s this…ward around him, like a physical barrier that if you are to cross you find a completely different man looking back at you.

There’s something in the way he looks at you when you cross that imaginary boundary by leaning a little too close, by laying a hand on his arm, by lowering your voice and looking into his eyes. And that something is much more evident when he is the one to cross said barrier.

When he is the one to cross it, you notice, he does it so uncharacteristically braced for rejection that the sudden change in demeanor startles you every time. When he is the one to lean closer, when he is the one to put an uncertain but possessive hand on your knee, when it is his voice that lowers and his secrets that spill; there’s so much for you to see, and now, as he crosses that invisible barrier tonight, you realize something else.

Ivar leans so close you can feel his breaths caressing your bare neck as he speaks lowly, only for you to hear, but you cannot hear anything past your heart beating in your own head, and you cannot keep your eyes off his hand.

It rests open, unexpectedly vulnerable on the table. Fingers loose, palm facing upwards. As if it waits for the touch of yours.

You realize then truly how much power he has given you over himself, over his secrets, over the man past that invisible barrier.

So, with warmth spreading over your chest, you quieten thoughts of who you ought to be and reach confidently for his hand, trapping it with your own and delighting yourself in the way immediately, almost inevitably, his fingers close around yours.

He pulls back barely enough to meet your eyes, and does so with many questions written in his, but you offer him a one-shouldered shrug and a small smile.

There’s foolish and cursed hopes growing in your heart, painting a future you know you shouldn’t want, and know you cannot have. Hopes of finding warmth in this land of cold, of finding life and freedom surrounded by death and iron.

“I hope you know, brother, that you owe me for this.” Hvitserk calls out, startling you.

You turn around in your chair to find him entering the hall with two small bottles in one of his hands and a smile on his face. He falters when he looks at you and his brother, but decides only to widen his smile and send you a silent message with his warm eyes.

Still, Ivar leans back into his seat, barrier back in place and untouched, and motions for his brother to approach.

“You actually found it?” Ivar asks his brother, accepting the small bottle the other Viking gives him and looking at the foreign liquid.

“It wounds me that you thought I couldn’t.” Hvitserk points out, serving himself a cup of mead and sitting down in front of you.

Ivar says nothing, only sparing his brother a glance that seems to share a secret message between the two of them.

Then, he turns to you, and offers you the bottle.

“Rose wine.”

Your easy smile drops as shock fills you. A conversation in what feels like a lifetime ago, where you were babbling on about wines and whatever came to your mind.

Where you told him that your favorite was rose wine.

Your smile is tremulous as it returns to your lips, and you grasp the bottle with trembling fingers. You were gifted a crown, and though it remains one of the gifts that you’d never willingly part from, it still doesn’t mean as much as this.

A foolish, sentimental part of you wants to make a knot close your throat, wants to make your eyes sting with tears and…Gods, when was the last time you allowed yourself to feel safe enough to be soft like this?

“You remembered,” You whisper, almost to yourself, before lifting your eyes to his. The fact that a silver of uncertainty, of apprehension, shines in Ivar’s eyes makes your smile widen, your heart beat faster, “Thank you.”

He says nothing, a hand by his mouth hiding a smile of his own, and motions with a subtle movement of his head for you to pour yourself some.

You do, feeling strangely giddy. It’s been so long since you’ve had rose wine.

The dark-skinned girl shakes her head, the braids that have Sieghild’s mark on their tightness and finesse following the movement, and passes you the bottle.

“I do not want peace.” Galla growls, teeth bared in a way that makes you realize why the savage and bloodthirsty Anax of Sparta himself wants her as a wife.

You swallow the warm and sweet liquid, and ask, “What do you want then?”

“I want it all.”

You chuckle, “Don’t we all?”

Galla turns dark eyes to you in a side glance, and lifts the bottle in silent toast when you pass it back to her.

“And here I sit and drink with the one woman mad enough to actually achieve it all.”

You snort, rolling your eyes, “Oh, yes. Mighty Anassa of Attica, without an army, without lands.”

“With the love of one warrior you got yourself a kingdom,” The spy knocks her shoulder with yours, “If anyone is to believe in destiny, my friend, it’s you.”

“Fate.” You say, deadpan. When the throne is empty…“Is your Fate also woven by Gods you do not worship?” You ask bitterly, taking a long sip from the sweet wine.

“No matter which Gods lay claim on your soul, I’ll only say the world is lucky no man claims your heart. With a man’s love you got yourself a kingdom, but your love could build a man an empire.”

“Why should I build it for any man?” You tease, a sly smile on your lips. Your smile is secret, secret like that anger you’ve held inside your heart for so long, secret like that kiss you shared with that Ayyubid girl in the tent, secret like the dreams you’ve had of the woman with the red veil. The hunger inside of you, the restlessness, the ambition; none of that surprises you anymore. What surprises you is seeing it all bare in Galla’s eyes as well.

“Like I said,” She laughs, accepting the bottle and pointing with it to you, “The one woman mad enough to achieve it all.”

You offer your husband a taste from your own cup, and only smile in reluctantly fond exasperation as he mutters about it being to sweet.

Whatever it is you were to say is interrupted by the sure steps of Ubbe walking into the room, wiping his hands on the cloak he takes off, returning form probably spending a good part of the morning preparing for the trip back to Dublin.

He walks confidently to the table, touching Ivar’s head as he passes him by and nodding at Hvitserk, with you being the only one he greets with a proper good morning.

He stretches to take the rose wine bottle from Hvitserk’s hand.

“What’s this?” Ubbe asks, eyeing the bottle in his hand.

Hvitserk leans back on his chair, hands folded over his stomach.

“Our sister-…”

“Don’t call me that.” You interrupt, but the Prince only winks at you in response.

“Prefers wine, it seems.” Hvitserk finishes anyways.

“Yes, I noticed you don’t drink much mead,” Ubbe frowns, putting the bottle back on the table and taking a seat next to Hvitserk, stealing a small handful of hazelnuts as he does so. “Why?”

“Because she’s a lightweight.” Ivar replies for you, sly smile on his lips.

“I…am not!” You argue, but it is pointless.

“We have seen you drunk, don’t forget that,” Hvitserk smirks your way, ignoring your narrowed eyes, and adds pointedly, “Sister.”

Leaning back on your own chair, you tilt your head to the side and say,

“I wouldn’t mock the woman that saw you run in tears into her shop because you thought your cock was cursed, Prince Hvitserk.”

The Prince looks utterly betrayed, though an amused smile curves his lips, even as Ubbe chokes on his drink as he laughs.

“You what!?” Ubbe asks, voice hoarse as he hits at the center of his chest with his fist.

Ivar’s eyes look between you and his brother, but he betrays a mocking smile as well.

You take his hand and intertwine your fingers with his, before you lean closer to your husband and whisper in Greek, “He told us his cock was about to fall off.”

You startle a laugh out of Ivar, and he presses his brow to the crown of your head as his shoulders shake silently. You laugh alongside him, you can’t help it; the unburdened, young, free sound of his soft laughter by your ear warming you to your core.

The younger Prince drags a hand over his face, and explains in a sigh, “Thora saw me with some merchant thrall, and she said a lot of words,” He frowns, recalling, “I don’t remember most of them, but they sounded like curses.”

Ivar’s eyes narrow as he tries making sense of his brother’s logic.

“That…It doesn’t work like that,” His lips curve into a side smile, and brings your hand to his lips before offering, sharing a look with you, “If a woman shouting at you meant she was cursing you, trust me, brother, I’d know.”

It is not his words, though you respond to them with a smile and a shrug of acquiescence; but his gesture what stays with you, what makes you for a moment stop and think.

Past the electrifying warmth that courses through you every time you feel his lips on your skin even if it is just a kiss pressed over your fingers or the back of your hand; or the touch of his skin on yours, even if it is just careful fingers trailing up or down your back as he works on the laces of your dress; past the flutter of your foolish heart, past everything, you realize something.

Since he first brought you to his side, every gesture Ivar makes, especially when it comes to you, is deliberate, calculated. His hand holding onto yours when he announced to the people of Kattegat you would be married, a deliberate angling of his upper body towards you when he made the same announcement to his brothers.

But now, you realize, the simple but heavy gesture of lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to your fingers seems to come so naturally, so effortlessly for him.

It makes you think there’s more than one kind of walls for you to break or climb over. It makes you think you’ve crumbled many of those walls to dust without realizing.

“Doesn’t it scare you?” Hvitserk presses, eyes on his younger brother, “That she could?”

“It doesn’t work like that.” Ivar insists.

“So the rumors about her bewitching you…”

“Not this again.” You sigh, rolling your eyes.

“Don’t try making us forget you believed Thora cursed your cock.” Ubbe chuckles, shaking his head as he once again imagines the sight of Hvitserk on a panic at the thought of having his prick cursed.

The younger Prince waves one of his arms as he starts arguing, and from the corner of your eye you see Ivar gesturing with his hand not on yours, interrupting his older brother. The sons of Ragnar continue discussing whatever it is that you can’t focus on, continue to share laughs at Hvitserk’s expense. And you put your hand joined with Ivar’s under your chin, and sigh, resisting the urge to press a kiss on his knuckles.

You allow yourself to bask in the strange, foreign, priceless familiarity of this, a small smile on your face and a thrill of something in your heart.

It is only when you are halfway to the shop that your smile trembles. It shouldn’t feel easy, familiar, this new life of yours. This place shouldn’t feel like home. Ivar shouldn’t be someone you can love.

Repeating to yourself like a mantra the arrangement you made on the first morning after your wedding helps you stomp down the bubble of panic that starts taking form inside of you.

You tell yourself this is only temporary, that it doesn’t matter what happens, that nothing matters until you are able to make your choice. You ignore the voice that whispers you are lying to yourself, twisting your own rules so you can put something as foolish as love over duty, even if only for a time, even if only for as long as you can remain in this world between worlds.

____

You are overseeing the shipments of tinctures and presses to be taken for the trip and any battle that may occur shortly after they cross the sea, when the eldest son of Ragnar in Kattegat approaches you, leaning his back and head down so he meets your eyes comfortably.

“Thank you for this,” He says, eyes switching for a moment to the thralls that are loading the crates onto the ships before returning to yours. Ubbe smiles, “Kattegat was missing a woman like you.”

Before you can reply the Prince straightens, and offers you his arm. You take it, and he walks with you away from the docks, towards the longhouse.

“Ivar told me of the pact you made,” Ubbe starts without prompting, and you turn to him, a frown on your brow, “On your first morning as husband and wife.”

“Please don’t tell me you once again think I’m planning on betraying him.”

“No,” He confesses, before a deep breath, “But I won’t return before my brothers move for Strepshire. We may not see each other again before Stithulf dies.”

“We may not see each other again.” You correct, realization dawning on you like a mist of cold. You stop walking, and drop the Prince’s arm, stepping back.

“It’s in the hands of the Gods.” He offers, a shrug of his shoulders.

“It always is.” You reply, hesitating only for a moment when Ubbe offers you his arm.

When you start walking again, you cannot shake off the dread, the finality, that comes with the realization that life as you know it might end in a matter of months, maybe weeks.

Ubbe clears his throat, drawing your attention to him. He offers, “I saw that Saxon fight, he is not easy to kill.”

“Much to his fortune.” You grumble without missing a beat. A voice in the back of your head tells you he meant to reassure you, to cheer you up. You refuse to listen to that voice, because that would imply many things you are not ready to face yet.

Ubbe looks at you from the corner of his eye, and offers a smile, “And the fortune of others.”

____

You stand at Ivar’s side as Ubbe departs for Dublin. The people start dissipating, and soon Ivar motions with his head, telling you to get moving.

The distinctive wail of a falcon brings your attention to the messenger, and you watch the bird take off from its place on a nearby roof towards the trees further north, past the walls. You follow it with your eyes, your heart telling you to chase after it, but you quieten that thought quickly.

“Messenger of Freyja.” Ivar states at your side, his eyes on the same animal.

Your lips tremble into a smile, “Symbols of Hermes, messenger of the Gods.”

“You told me of him.” He states, turning to you and trying to pinpoint the tale you told him of the God.

You shake your head, “He is the one that ventured into the Underworld to take its new Queen back to the living.”

“Your Goddess.”

“The one whose name we cannot speak,” You remind him with a small smile, before continuing, “He wandered to the realm of the dead with a message, with the task to set her free from King Hades.”

“And did he succeed?”

“We have spring, do we not?”

“And winter.” Ivar insists, to which you shrug.

“I suppose whether he succeeded or not, just like whether she had a choice or not, shall remain a mystery then.”

____

She’s a cuddly drunk, in case you were wondering. I’ll post the Ivar PoV of the first time the sons of Ragnar saw her tipsy soon, I hope.

Do you think this should have been a chapter in the main story? Idk, I wasn’t sure about keeping it in the main chapter thingy, which is why I changed it here, but idk.

As always, thank you so much for reading, I love you!!

[graceverse]

Oh there's a third part?!!!

Please note that this is post "The Final" movie. This happened around 2 months after Kenshin and Enishi's fight.

An Unexpected Invitation

Part III

There was no letup in the heat, which unfortunately had gotten worst the moment they arrived at the burning warehouse. The air simmered as flames licked and climbed through walls and roof. They could hear the woods creaking and groaning before finally collapsing with a loud crash, like the sound of booming thunder moments before the storm hit. It didn't take long before feathery-light as snow but dark and acrid soot started to rain down on them.

They were told to move back and Kenshin and Yahiko, shifted with the small crowd that had gathered to watch the conflagration, the largest they've had this summer. There were whispers of apprehension that the warehouse used to store gunpowder, but fears of a possible explosion was allayed when Police Chief Uramura assured them that the old building had been unused since spring and was definitely empty when it had caught fire.

The police around them grumbled about ruffians who were last seen loitering around the vicinity, though it was still unclear how or who started the fire. The day was thankfully saved by the quick and able response of Tokyo's fire department, but the building alas, was unsalvageable.

There really was no need for them to stay behind but they waited until the fire had been completely put out; better be safe than sorry. They kept watch of everyone, particularly looking out for possible suspects. Arsonists are almost always caught observing their crime, finding some sick sort of pleasure in watching that which they have turned turn into ashes.

Frowning, Kenshin moved his head for just a fraction of an inch, confirming that Saitou was among the curious onlookers, standing just a few feet away from them, and as always, smoking a cigar. The Mibu Wolf was consistent at least when it comes to his nasty habit, regardless of the weather or the place. He'd probably still be smoking while trapped in a blizzard. Kenshin gently nudged Yahiko and nodded over at Saitou's direction.

If he hadn't known any better, Kenshin would have thought him the guilty pyromaniac; the dour expression on his face and the usual dangerous air about him made for a perfect suspect. Of course, burning empty old buildings would be too boring for Saitou, who thrived in the quiet kind of chaos. He liked the mental games and the manipulations, which was how he undoubtedly secured his position as a government spy.

As though feeling their eyes on him – not that they were trying to be discreet anyway – Saitou glanced over at them, sneered and rolled his eyes before carelessly tossing his still lit cigarette. He let out a satisfied smile, lips curling to bare his teeth, as Yahiko yelped in surprise, frantically trying to brush the cigarette out of his hair.

Narrowing his eyes, Kenshin glanced down to find that it had fallen right in front of him. He quickly squashed it, its embers winking out underneath his sandals. When he looked up, Saitou was already gone, disappearing with most of the nosy town folks who were already dispersing, bored now as the police started clearing away the debris that littered the streets.

What are you doing here, Saitou? Kenshin didn't particularly liked that last sneer sent their way. He had a feeling it was directed at him and not at Yahiko. He hadn't seen Saitou since last winter, when he had still been recuperating from his wounds. Under the wrathful eyes of Kaoru, Saitou had come to the dojo to ask him what he knew about Yukishiro Enishi before he had become a smuggler of weapons and battleships.

It had shocked Kenshin to find out that Enishi had sold the ironclad Rengoku to Shishio. That some sort of transaction had transpired between the two had sent a chill down his spine. He had tried to hide the shiver that went through him, but sharp eyed as always, Kaoru had caught it and had immediately proceeded to kick Saitou out of their house, official police investigation be damned.

"Come back when he's all healed. Or maybe just do you job and not come back at all!"

For a moment, Kenshin had actually been worried that he'd have to try and physically restrain Kaoru from punching Saitou when he had arrogantly replied that his job would be so much easier if people like Kenshin didn't do stupid things that would eventually come back to bite them in their ass.

And anyway, it wasn't like he could give Saitou helpful information. He had barely known Enishi. He'd been a quiet boy who skulked every time they were together in the same room, fiercely glaring at him from the fringes of his dark bangs (back then his hair was as dark as Tomoe's). Kenshin had been slightly bothered by the blatant dislike of his young brother-in-law; they weren't so terribly far in age and he had harbored some secret hope that one day, they could become a family. Him and Tomoe and Enishi. That he all but abandoned him when Tomoe had died shattered that hope.

It was a constant guilt that nagged at him: why hadn't he tried to find Enishi? If only he had – but he hadn't been in the right frame of mind; his grief had prevented him from even thinking about anything else. And Enishi had hated him and Kenshin had hated himself – and two boys (because he had been a boy back then) living together filled with hatred – it would have been impossible even back then, for him to have taken Enishi under his protection. How could he, when he couldn't even protect his own wife?

Kenshin felt Yahiko sharply elbowing him, pulling him out of his own dark reflections. He hadn't given Enishi any thought since last winter, odd to suddenly start thinking of him now. But yes, Yahiko was trying to catch his attention. Plastering his usual smile, Kenshin realized that some of the police were giving them small nods of thanks, in obvious acknowledgement of their effort to come and check if they needed any help.

This was a common enough occurrence, assisting the police and they have always been appreciative. It made up for, well not exactly bother – more like an inconvenience that he did actively sought out. After all, it was something that Kenshin he had sheepishly looked forward too.

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

There wasn't anything wrong with finally settling into the peaceful, daily rhythm of the dojo. It soothed him like nothing else; he loved how mundane his life had become of late. A welcome blessing, truly. But a small part of him still harkened for some way to help, no matter how unexceptional it may be. Indeed, he rather preferred assisting in the more common struggles of their small community as opposed to the much more dangerous tasks of trying to save Tokyo or as before, the whole of Japan. Those involved too much politics and he hated becoming a part of that, even if it was for just a little while. Politics felt too dirty.

Helping out their neighbors was highly fulfilling and best of all, it didn't endanger the person most precious to him. And this was something he was certainly tired of. Having to constantly worry about the threats from his past coming to drag him and everyone else into a fight for whatever reason they have: vengeance, to right a perceived wrong, a quest to best a legend. The list of his transgressions and his victims are endless and there was no telling what would motivate any of his enemies to kill him. Kenshin had long ago accepted that this will be a frequent occurrence in his life, given his past. It troubled him to a certain point but what he couldn't find acceptable was that it also meant that the people he cared for were also threatened, turned into targets. A pawn to draw him out.

It made him angry. The kind that he could quietly hide, but the burn of it, the sting of it, could not be completely extinguished. It was a worrying realization but he understood that it was part of who he is: that deep seated rage, always just below the surface. He just needed to control it – not fight it, not deny it, not be ashamed of it, but harness it – as best as he could. That understanding didn't come so easy but he had, over the years, learned this lesson. He had to treat it just like every other emotion that he was capable of feeling.

Sadness. Fear. Pain. Love. Joy.

His thoughts immediately drifted and he could feel his lips curling up in the smallest of smiles.

Kaoru.

She would sometimes help out too, mostly when the police needed to stop some petty criminal or drunkard making trouble, much to his silent dismay and the loud complaints from Sano and Yahiko – which was done mostly for his sake, because he'd always have that tense look whenever Kaoru insisted on joining in on the fray. Surprisingly perceptive, Sano and Yahiko would use it to redirect Kaoru's annoyance and help alleviate the tension-filled moments of stare down between the two of them.

It was fine if Kaoru and Yahiko fought. It was amusing when Kaoru and Sano argued. But it was different when it was the two of them. It made everyone else uncomfortable and everything was done to try and diffuse the situation.

He didn't want to fight with Kaoru but it was inevitable, they were both too stubborn for their own good. He didn't think it could ever truly be called as a fight anyway as he would never explicitly tell her of his disapproval; would never be vocal about his displeasure. Kenshin would make non-committal grunts whenever Kaoru dared him to make her stay at home and do nothing while they were out helping the police. He'd long since memorized her arguments, all of them valid: she is a capable fighter; could easily and effectively hit the more harmless offenders without permanently injuring them. She was definitely the most level headed, the least hot-tempered and wasn't prone to doing foolish things. She'd fought with the Oniwabanshū in Kyoto and they had let her.

Kaoru found it deeply insulting that she would not be allowed in any of their adventures. It wasn't that he didn't trust her or her abilities. He just couldn't stand the thought of her being hurt – he could bear any kind of pain and for her, he would – all except for her pain. It was maddening sometimes how couldn't say 'no' to her, despite his better judgement. To not agree with her would be to disrespect her and Kenshin would rather swallow glass. He just had to allow all the fear and worry settle at the pit of his stomach, take hold of his heart and steal his breath and then do everything he can to protect her.

I'll let you come with us, Kaoru. I'll let you fight but Kami help anyone who would dare hurt you.

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

Kenshin always made sure that she was well within his line of sight and if any idiot ever got close enough to touch her, well – bodies flew, as promised. He had had enough of men taking her. Jin-eh. Soijuro. Enishi. Once was already unbearable, but for it to have happened three times was just down right unacceptable. No more. Never ever again.

In complete contrast to his quiet temper, Kaoru expressed her exasperation by running the opposite direction of wherever he was. It never failed to stir in him equal amounts of trepidation and admiration and sometimes – sometimes, there was a strange hint of eroticism in the way Kaoru would fearlessly charge at members of the yakuza; her battle scream and ki something he could almost taste and this, he secretly savored.

He would, of course, pivot to follow her, sending death glares ahead so that by the time Kaoru had faced their opponents, mindless thugs mostly but the smarter ones at least had enough sense to run away from her, out of sheer terror at the red-haired demon just idly standing behind the screaming girl carrying a bokken.

Kenshin knew that it made Kaoru feel more like a child and oh, how she hated the constant, worrying attention that he couldn't help but shower her. That he still called her Kaoru-dono seemed an even greater sting to her pride. Even though, in truth, in his mind he had learned to call her just by her name. Or at times, even beloved.

Kaoru beloved, I understand. I do.

It all came back to being repeatedly taken against her will. She wanted it made clear that she was not a weakness but a source of strength. That she was his equal and together, they can move forward and face the future. He could see it so clearly in the proud way she'd tilt her head, chin jutting out in defiance.

Kaoru wanted to prove that she would be a suitable partner for him. Homemaking skills aside, she could take care of him and protect him too. And really, Kenshin didn't mind the housework. It made him happy doing the little things for her. It meant that she could find time to rest or indulge in the things that she liked. It mattered little to him that she wasn't the typical Japanese wife who stayed at home doing wifely duties. He wouldn't be a typical Japanese husband to be certain, what with his tainted past and its shadow always looming down on him. What right did he have to demand that of her?

She was strong willed and modern and knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it. He admired that in her. And she had as much right as all the men to pursue her interests and dreams. It was the kind of life that he had wanted, dreamed and fought for. This world, this era where anyone could freely aspire to become better versions of themselves.

And it touched him to the very core of his heart that this girl – no, no this woman, so strong and so filled with light, found him worthy enough to want to share the warmth of her home and her future, so bright with possibilities, with him.

Kaoru really didn't need to prove anything; his heart already belongs to her. All of him belongs to her. Kaoru is his home now and will always be, but Kenshin was also aware that trying to show her worthiness wasn't really for him but for her. After all, he felt exactly the same way, this need to be worthy of her kindness, of her devotion, of this life of joy that she was offering him, his to take.

Not that their relationship had significantly progressed enough for Kenshin to initiate anything other than taking her hand and holding it clasped inside his or to even stop calling her Kaoru-dono. Frankly, he didn't think he could ever be so bold as to call her just by her name in front of other people, but there has been a silent understanding between them that eventually, it will happen.

It wasn't a question of when he would be brave enough to tell her with words and not just with actions. Kenshin will always find courage in her smile, in the way she'd look at him: all fierce and gentle and promising. It was that he rather enjoyed this time they had together, this gentle unfolding of their affection.

He had only ever experienced this once in his life and it had been sudden and abrupt. The swiftness of his romance with Tomoe had been borne out of his own impetuousness; he had been young and desperate for warmth and companionship. Being a shadow in the dark, a dreaded secret, a rumored monster – it made him feel cold and inhuman. And maybe, that it had stared out so quickly was why it had ended the way it did, with the silver arc of a sword and violence of death.

He wanted to savor it this time: the shy glances, the soft look in her eyes, the tenderness in her smile, the way her cheeks would turn dusty pink whenever they caught each other's eyes, the way the smallest, lightest of touches could send his heart racing like he had just performed a Ryūtsuisen. That thrill of launching himself up to air and then free falling - it was getting all the blood pumping exhilaration from a fight without the fight.

It was all so new to him and even in his age, he found himself feeling as though he had reclaimed a part of his youth he thought he had lost so long ago.

Just moments before the alarm for the fire had sounded, Kenshin remembered feeling so utterly relaxed and clamed, just quietly sitting by the engawa, Kaoru's presence always a soothing balm to his weary heart. He had his eyes closed, inhaling the subtle scent of jasmine, listening to her breathing and smirking at the annoyed snort she'd let out as she tugged at the collar of her kimono. The heat made him feel almost drowsy, on the verge of falling asleep and dreaming wonderful dreams of Kaoru and the warmth of her skin, the slide of her hair against his calloused fingers -

But damn that fire for breaking that spell.

Kenshin was looking forwards to coming home and finding Kaoru right where he had left her. He hoped she had gotten a nice afternoon nap and now that he had spent so much of his time thinking of her and their burgeoning relationship, Kenshin thought perhaps he was taking things a little too slow.

Later, after dinner he'd invite Kaoru to sit with him at the engawa, just as they had done earlier. But this time, no matter what kind of alarm would sound through the night, he would not leave her side.

Tonight, he will choose her.

It was time that they moved forwards and Kenshin was ready to tell her everything that he has been keeping inside of him.

Tonight, will be the night of tender confessions.

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

It was nearing twilight when they rounded the corner towards the dojo, the summer sky the color of over ripe oranges and peaches, streaked with the same shade of dark blue that reminded Kenshin of Kaoru's midnight colored hair. And as though his thoughts had the power to conjure her, they spotted her standing just outside the gates, clearly waiting for them.

Kenshin frowned. Even from a distance, he could tell that she was not in the best of her moods. Her hands were resting on her waist; back rigidly straight, her shoulder a tense and angry line. He stretched out his senses, like a net being thrown into the ocean and felt only the spark of annoyance from Kaoru and just a hint of fear – small enough to not make him worry. They had been gone for a while and he could understand her anxiety, it was just like her to -

Wait.

There was no other ki that he could sense but - there -right there! Kenshin tensed, coming to a sudden halt, Yahiko almost stumbling beside him. A blankness. Deliberate. Like small punched hole against a span of blank canvass. Someone was trying to hide their own ki. The effort to smother it, to prevent its detection was barely palpable. It can only be done by someone who was like him. Someone as strong. Maybe even stronger.

He lengthened his stride, hurrying over to where Kaoru was standing, already feeling the familiar sharpened claws of fears sinking into his chest. And with that, the ever-present anger stirring inside of him, enough to wake up the coiled, slumbering dragon.

"Kenshin! Wait, what's going on?!" Yahiko shouted after him and Kenshin fought the urge to turn his head and glare at the boy, whose yell would have undoubtedly alerted their presence to whoever was trying to hide from him. He warily glanced at the ginko trees that lined the streets. (Where are you hiding, you bastard? No matter, we will settle this.)

"Hey, slow down!"

This made him do just the opposite. He had to bite his own tongue so as not to yell at Kaoru. He wanted very badly to tell her to go inside, bar the doors and wait for him. She probably wouldn't understand him, he was still too far, so he kept his mouth shut, sending a silent prayer that Yahiko does the same.

Yahiko could not have known, Kenshin reminded himself. Clamping down at the frustration that he felt, he only quickened his pace yet again, now practically running towards Kaoru who had turned her head towards them, no doubt having heard Yahiko's voice. Kenshin grimaced. He wanted to get to Kaoru now and drag her back inside the dojo. Hide her away from everyone who wished him harm, who wanted to steal and ruin the precious happiness that he had found after years and years of misery and loneliness.

Never again. He reminded himself. Never. Again. It was a silent chant that kept his anger in check. He was close enough now to see the alarm in Kaoru's face and his momentum almost made him run right into her, but he turned just slightly to his right, grabbing Kaoru's hand and nudging her to her to his left side, where she would be safe if he needed to draw his sakabatou. He started wordlessly pulling her inside, but she tugged back, feet firmly planted on the ground, effectively stopping him from moving forwards.

Yahiko had caught up with them breathing heavily. "Wha—" he started but this time, Kenshin silenced him with a look. Understanding finally dawning on him and Yahiko quickly took out his shinai.

Kaoru glared at both of them. "What is going on?!" She hissed; her wrist still caught inside his grasp. He could feel the jumpiness of her pulse and when he glanced down, he saw it: a faint blue-violet bruise. A circular band around her wrist, someone who had held on too tightly. And it was fairly new. It had not been there this morning. He was certain of this because he had been discreetly admiring her hands and how strong it looked, not at all bird-like or easily broken. But now, it was marred by the slight discoloration on her skin and he was angry.

"Who did this to you? Are you hurt elsewhere?" He questioned, his voice hardening. Kenshin searched her face, the wonderful shades of sunset that he had admired earlier cast an almost eerie color on her skin and he swallowed hard. "Kaoru-dono, please –" He wasn't sure what he was begging from her: to come inside with him and be safe, to tell him who had hurt her, but before he could ask anything more, he was suddenly surprised by the color that rose from her neck, spreading up to her cheeks.

A deep dark flush of embarrassment.

She bit her lip and turned away. That she wouldn't meet his eyes, it hurt in a new, almost physical way. Like a pinch inside his chest. She had never been evasive, had never tried to hide her feelings. It had always been him who would place the rurouni mask on every time he had to withhold information from her, for her sake mostly – but also really, his. But this was not the time to be thinking these thoughts! He couldn't sense any danger right now (how strange!), but that blankness was still ever present. Swallowing down his panic, sliding his hand from her wrist, he pressed her fingers together. Firm enough to get her attention back to him. He needed – was desperate for her to look at him. To see her face and her eyes.

She seemed to have read something in the expression he was wearing and she squeezed his fingers back. "I'm fine Kenshin, really. I just –" She shook her head and took a deep breath. "I'm not hurt. I'm more," she paused, muttered something dark, too low for him to hear. He could feel his frown deepening. He thought he heard what sounded like, 'so humiliated' but he couldn't figure out why she'd be so.

"I'm not hurt. I promise." She insisted and this was spoken with clenched teeth, her eyes suddenly flashing. "I'm actually really, really, pissed off." And then as though having chosen that emotion, she grabbed on to it and shook her head, snorting with surprising disdain. "You are not going to believe who is inside, visiting me – us."

An unexpected visitor, then. Having realized that Kaoru wasn't in any immediate danger, she wasn't acting like it anyway, Kenshin reluctantly dropped her hand and faced her. "It is Shishou?" He asked with growing trepidation.

Kaoru puffed up her cheeks and let out a soft, 'pfffft' of what sounded like regret. "I wish."

Yahiko rolled his eyes, "Well spit out already, busu. The suspense is killing me."

Kaoru narrowed her eyes at Yahiko before taking another deep breath and then looking alarmingly apologetic, eyes filled with worry, she winced and murmured softly, "It's your brother-in-law, Kenshin. Yukishiro Enishi."

Kenshin felt everything inside of him freeze, like he had suddenly been submerged into an icy lake and he had swallowed lungful of cold water. He couldn't breathe. "Oro?!" He sputtered hopelessly. That would explain the suppressed ki. He didn't know Enishi was capable of doing that. Kenshin didn't want to be impressed by it, but it was a skill not very many could accomplish. What had Enishi been doing all those years in China?! This was a terrifying revelation, one that his mind still couldn't quite grasp.

"WHAT?!" It was Yahiko who screeched this, breaking Kenshin's thoughts. "Where is he?" he demanded, pausing to look at Kaoru up and down, clearly noting that she was still wearing the kimono from earlier. "What are you doing here outside? Is he inside the dojo?!" Yahiko was nothing but spluttering rage, now. "How could you invite him here? I'm going to smash his face in." He made a move to enter the gate, but Kaoru was quick to snatch the collar of his gi, pulling him roughly back.

"I didn't invite him. He just showed up, kicked the gate too! He's going to pay for that and just - I woke up and found him staring down at me! Almost gave me a heart attack. Mou! I'm too young to die of a heart attack!" Kaoru complained, miserably.

Yahiko sent her a look even Kenshin couldn't decipher.

"Anyway, I threw my favorite tea cup at him." Kaoru continued, ignoring the bewildered look that Yahiko was giving her, "He crushed it inside his hand and you can bet your ass, he's going to pay for that too. Damn him." Kaoru ended her rant by angrily shaking her fist in the air.

Yahiko didn't look too impressed. "Please tell me he's inside only because you knocked him unconscious and you need help moving the body."

"I tried, okay. He broke my bokken." Kaoru clenched her face, eyes glittering in rage, "He broke all of the bokken inside the dojo, the stupid fucking bastard. He's doing to pay for all of that as well! I am definitely making a list!"

Kenshin had to wince at her language, mentally blaming Sanosuke for teaching her all of the swear words known to man. Thank Kami, Sano hasn't gotten out of Japan yet, because he could just imagine their friend writing Kaoru letters just to tell her how to say "fucking bastard" in six different languages. But he was getting distracted. "He didn't hurt you, Kaoru-dono?" He asked again, remembering the tiny bruise inside the tender flesh of her wrist.

Kaoru sniffed. "I kind of – he was asking me I was – if I wanted to – and I just - I punched him in the nose. He briefly lost his mind after that. The dojo is a mess. I swear to Kami, by the time I'm finished making him pay for everything he would be as poor as Sanosuke!"

"But he didn't hurt you?" This was important. Kenshin needed to know.

"He grabbed me by the wrist when I tried to pick up his eyeglasses. Jerk." Kaoru grumbled. "Bu no. He couldn't really hurt me anyway. Even if he wanted to." The reminder was more for his benefit than anything else and Kenshin recalled that day so long ago when Kaoru had told her what happened when after she'd woken up inside Enishi's mansion and had attempted to escape. He tried to shake the vision of Enishi's hand wrapped around Kaoru's neck, squeezing and squeezing…

He couldn't do it. Kenshin reminded himself. He couldn't. Kaoru's fine. She's fine. She said so herself. But still - Enishi, what can you possibly want?

"Let's go and bash his stupid head in." Yahiko suggested rather gleefully.

Kaoru winced. "I -" she let out another great big sigh. "We can't. I mean," she blinked realizing her apprentice's proposal. She glowered down at him. "Yahiko! We don't just beat people up for showing up uninvited."

Yahiko looked at her as if she had lost her mind. "Well, we should. And we do, if it's that bastard." He said this with the casualness of someone stating a mere fact.

Kaoru looked aghast. "There will be no bloodshed in my house. I just had that floor mopped!"

"You're worried about your stupid floor? I'll mop it again, then. What is wrong with you? This is the guy that hurt Sanosuke. That hurt you and took you. The guy who wanted to kill Kenshin? Did you forget about that?! This is the guy who bombed the Akabeko and hurt Tsubame!" There was a note of hysteria in Yahiko's voice and Kenshin couldn't help but cringe.

Kaoru let out a scream of frustration. "I know that! I remember all of that! I'm sorry but I already told you, I tried to make him leave. You think I want him – just sitting there, like a complete ass – like he belongs here and he has all the right in the world to ask me dumb questions! What exactly do you want me to do, you brat?"

The argument was increasingly becoming loud and Kenshin winced, knowing fully well that Enishi who was apparently inside the dojo, could probably hear everything. "Ano I think we should –"

"Don't call me brat, Ugly!"

Kaoru almost lunged at the boy whose anger perfectly matched hers. Kenshin had enough sense to restrain Kaoru, keeping a hand on her shoulder as he finally turned to Yahiko. "That's enough."

But Yahiko didn't seem to hear him. The kid was just too worked up now. "Kaoru, how could you?!" He wailed at her.

"He didn't want to leave." Kaoru repeated almost desperately. "What am I supposed to do?! I've no weapon left. He didn't want to fight me! He just sat there and - and-he-"

"And what, Kaoru-dono?" Kenshin asked, feeling his gut clenching in sudden fear.

For a moment, Kaoru seemed like she was in pain, her blue eyes watering. She looked slightly, inexplicably guilty. "And said he was hungry." Her voice was small and sad.

Oh no. Not that. Kenshin thought, shoulders slumping. Kaoru had a penchant for feeding the hungry. It was one of those things that she just couldn't allow to happen. Of all the things that Enishi could have said, why did it have to be that?! Now he could understand why Enishi was still inside the dojo.

"So you poisoned him, then?" The hopeful tone in Yahiko's voice wasn't loss on Kenshin, who winced at how incredibly inclined Yahiko was too violence. At least concerning his brother-in-law, which he also could understand. It had traumatized Yahiko to not have been able to stop Enishi from taking Kaoru. It had clearly wounded his pride more than he had let on.

"What? No, Yahiko. I - I invited him for dinner."

Kenshin watched as Yahiko's jaw dropped. "You what?" He staggered backward as if Kaoru had physically struck him. "I must be dreaming." Yahiko announced, not waiting for Kaoru's response. He stood very still and then nodded his head in confirmation. "This is a dream and I just need to wake up and everything will make sense again." He then proceeded to close his eyes, grimacing and then snapping it open after a few seconds, "Wait. Should I be closing my eyes to wake up?" He asked out loud and from beside him, Kenshin heard Kaoru's own gasp of surprise.

"Kami-sama." She murmured wretchedly.

"I am not having dinner with that freak! You can't make me!" Yahiko told her, crossing his arms against his chest.

Kaoru mirrored him. "Fine. Go to the Akabeko."

Yahiko gave her a look of pure disgust. "And eat what? I don't have any money."

"Then you can stay here and act like a civilized human being."

"I refuse." Yahiko all but screamed, stomping his foot. He whirled around and turned towards him. "Kenshin, do something!"

Kenshin swallowed hard. What could he do?! "Ano," he glanced at Kaoru who was a picture of misery and regret and anger and something else entirely that he'd never seen before. He shrugged his shoulders helplessly, "This is Kaoru-dono's home, Yahiko. If she, if she has -" he glanced back at Kaoru who was refusing to look at them, her eyes blankly gazing straight ahead, jaws silently working. "If she says that – that is, if she has told Enishi," he couldn't help but choke a little. He cleared his throat, "That he could - that we should-"

"Ah, goddammit!" Yahiko interrupted. "Let's just fucking get this over with." He proceeded to go inside, but stopped midway and slowly turned to look at Kaoru, eyebrows arching up. "You did cook, right? Please tell me that you at least cooked."

Kaoru made a face, understanding what Yahiko was saying and quick as lighting, she made a grab for Kenshin's sakabatou. Never been so thankful for his god-like speed, Kenshin moved his sword out of her reach. He tried taker her hand, but she slapped his fingers away and without another glance at him, followed Yahiko inside, both of them grumbling what sounded like a list of painful ways to die.

Kenshin closed his eyes, counted to ten and when he was certain that the urge to hurt someone had passed, he let out a huge sigh.

This was going to be long, long, long night.

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

Author's note:

Ahhhh! I had fun writing this and now I want a Yahiko POV. HAHAHAHA. Ugh. For the nth time: what have I gotten myself into?!

This has also totally messed up this whole One-Shot Repository thing I have going on. Should I just like, move this story?! Or move the one shots somewhere else?! But then the comment section is going be so messed up if I do that. I guess we'll have just to stick this story here. Anyway, comments please :)

[dramaticviolincrescendo]

The thing is, Ian was right. Mickey doesn't know any better, the writers on the show made sure of that, because for them the only important thing about Mickey is his devotion to Ian. But we're a bit more realistic about it and can analyze Ian's actions without being limited by someone's poor imagination.

There’s a lot to address here, so please forgive me for the lengthy response, anon! 🙂 I’ll preface all of it by saying this: my general opinion is that if Mickey has what makes him happy, we should support that regardless of how we feel about the other party (with obvious exceptions like physical abuse, etc.). If Byron was what made him happy, I would support him even if I couldn’t stand the guy. The same goes for any other character in any other franchise, at least for me. Now, onto your points:

I’m not sure which scene you mean when you mention Ian saying he doesn’t know any better, but I’m definitely with you on our ability to analyze Ian’s actions. The problem here is that analyzing will always be colored by perspective and implicit bias. If your fave is Mickey, anything that hurts him will look a whole lot worse than what he does that hurts Ian and perhaps lead to conducting a less than thorough analysis or rejecting sensible arguments about Ian’s character. Based on the number of posts I see about how Mickey is the only good thing on the show, I’d argue that that is a very real danger in many of the takes on Ian as well as everyone else. I’ve seen some pretty heavy demonizing of characters who hurt Mickey’s feelings or aren’t actively sweet to him, which is a bit unrealistic since that’s life and Mickey certainly never seems to mind or let it keep him down for long.

As far as him not knowing better, on the whole, I don’t think that gives Mickey much credit at all. Actually, it doesn’t really give him any credit, which is sort of surprising given how vehemently people defend his IQ, academically and emotionally, against what amounted to a joke. Mickey knows that Ian messes up and does things that are questionable at best and hurtful at worst. He’s not an innocent, pure character who endures heartache after heartache to throw himself at the brick wall of earning Ian’s attention. He gives as good as he gets and has hurt Ian too. They’re human and written very realistically in that regard. Their love for one another allows them to forgive transgressions and move on, not hold grudges or “not know any better” with regards to what they deserve. Love isn’t about what we deserve, and I think it’s important to remember that a relationship won’t last if it’s based on an arbitrary numerical score of who has done more harm than the other. Things happen. Poor decisions are made. They can allow that to break them or work through it. Mickey has actively chosen to work through it because at the end of the day, he loves Ian more than he is interested in finding something else. In earlier seasons, Ian similarly chose to work through it with someone who might never be in a position to come out and begin the full relationship that he so desperately wanted. That’s beautiful to me, not contemptible.

As far as the only important thing about Mickey being his devotion to Ian, we’ll also have to agree to disagree. 🙂 In the early seasons, while Ian was certainly the catalyst for it, Mickey’s story was about coming out more than his devotion to Ian. That’s why we have the scenes where he taunted Kash (focus: keeping his secret), purposely got sent back to juvie (focus: hiding from Terry if he found out), and got married (focus: self-preservation). We do absolutely see a rising devotion for Ian during this period, of course, and there’s no argument that his character was written expressly to be Ian’s love interest. The writers still made him a well-developed one with his own motives, fears, and desires outside of Ian in a way that later love interests didn’t get. (My own belief is that they didn’t intend for the later relationships to last like they did Mickey, but regardless of the validity there, Mickey was written as a character with more depth from the very beginning and existed before anything with Ian ever happened.)

The first half of s4 shows Mickey on his own merits. He’s handling his new position as a patriarch of the family, running the business while Terry is fairly hands-off and watches. He decides to help the Russian girls and ends up going into business with Kev. We learn a lot about Mickey’s character outside of Ian during that time. In fact, there are only a couple of scenes that really focus on him missing Ian until finding him becomes Mickey’s task: asking Kev if anyone has heard from him, the bathroom scene, and the later Alibi scene. Otherwise, the early s4 writers showed us a Mickey who was compassionate, ambitious, utilitarian, entrepreneurial, and collaborative—all without tying it back to Ian. Kev and V are renowned friends of the Gallaghers, but Mickey doesn’t grow closer to Kev in an attempt to learn more about what happened to Ian. He doesn’t help the girls because he thinks Ian would want him to. In fact, with the exception of those scenes I mentioned, we have no reason to believe that Ian is on Mickey’s mind at all while he’s doing these other things. He has a life outside of Ian just like the opposite is true, and s4 went to great lengths to show us that.

The second half of s4 is, once again, about keeping his secret until he decides to come out. (Read: decides to, is not forced to. More on that in a moment.) Yes, his devotion to Ian is once again the catalyst for some of his decisions, but there’s much more to it than that. Once again, we still see scenes with Mickey operating on his own for his own purposes. He doesn’t leave home entirely because he wants to be with Ian—he also wants to escape from his wife and pretend that things are the way they used to be. He doesn’t scam money from the rich guy or take more than his cut from the register at the Alibi to protect Ian—he does it for self-preservation so that Svetlana won’t get him killed. He doesn’t go to the baptism to keep up appearances and protect Ian—he does it to keep up appearances for himself and because...well, like it or not, that’s his son. The lattermost is something Ian specifically does not want him to do, and if he does, he wants to be there. Mickey goes against his wishes because it’s about protecting himself (and perhaps, by extension, their relationship), and rightfully so. Coming out at the Alibi does once again tie to Ian as a catalyst for change in Mickey’s life, but it didn’t have to happen. Mickey could have grabbed his coat, told everyone goodnight, and left with Ian. At no time did Ian tell him that he would leave if Mickey didn’t come out to everyone or admit they’re a couple, even if he did make reference to the fact that Mickey was hiding and not free. All Ian wanted was for Mickey not to treat him like a mistress or expect him to stick around if he did. Instead, it was a logical culmination of Mickey’s written development to come out. He’s stronger and more independent than he used to be. He’s capable of taking care of himself and surviving in the world without relying on Terry. He’s in a position where yes, he’s still justifiably terrified of coming out and what it’ll mean where Terry is concerned, but he’s able to do it. Ian is a catalyst for it, but being devoted to him isn’t Mickey’s only reason.

In s5, a lot of Mickey’s story does revolve around his devotion to Ian, but not any more than Ian’s revolves around devotion to him in the second half of s3. We still see Mickey doing business and running the family, but having Ian be his more central concern makes sense because Ian is sick and the writers have already told us that his health is a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. In denial or not, Mickey knows this. And so we see his story center around Ian because, to an extent, it has to. Ian is mentally and physically sick. He’s adjusting not only to meds, but to a label that makes him feel ashamed and afraid. Mickey is devoted to him, and so Mickey does everything he can to take care of him. But here’s the thing: that scares Ian too. He’s seen what happens to the people who try to take care of Monica. He knows how it felt to try only to be ignored or betrayed or abandoned. The breakup isn’t about anger at being coddled or, by my interpretation and Ian’s own words, him being selfish. It’s about him seeing that Mickey’s devotion is going to keep him from living his life and ultimately (in his opinion) hurt him beyond repair, and so he sets Mickey free. It hurts him, yes, but it does work.

Because even though we don’t see it happen on-screen, s6 through s9 can’t possibly be Mickey sitting in a prison cell pining over Ian. If that was going to happen, we’d have seen it in s4. By this point, we know who Mickey is outside of Ian and can assume that he’s operating in much the same way on the inside until he figures out what he wants to do. We know he and Svetlana had a business arrangement where they took out contracts for work he could do in prison. We know that he makes a business acquaintanceship with Damon, which means he was probably involved in dealing or smuggling while there. Neither of these things can possibly revolve around devotion to Ian because they could conceivably keep him from Ian longer. His sentence is fifteen years, and if he’s counting on being out in eight to be with Ian, he needs to be on his best behavior. He’s not. He’s unapologetically not when he sees Ian again and talks about what Damon is. Ian looks less than comfortable with it, but that’s not why they ditch him—it’s because he might get Mickey caught with his behavior. Even breaking out happened once he was able to solidify an opportunity working for a cartel, so while Ian may have been another catalyst (besides the obvious desire to get out of prison), the decision wasn’t about devotion to him. The only decision that was about that was the one he made at the border to let Ian go without making him feel worse about it. He’s devoted to Ian, so he knows that dragging him along on the run into the unknown won’t be good for him. He needs stability and a support system and medication, none of which Mickey can provide if they cross that border together. So, out of his devotion, he lets Ian go. They have a heartfelt goodbye and separate for what they think is the last time.

Does Mickey’s devotion lead him to turning himself in? Absolutely. But not before spending another long stint living his own life. The writers make sure we know that he had a life without Ian playing a role in it, once again conducting business and operating successfully on his own merits. They’re limited in what they can show because Noel wasn’t available, which made logistics important, but they didn’t leave him high and dry or insinuate that he was waiting around in Mexico for an excuse to return to Ian. He was once again a successful businessman in the illicit economy. When he returns in s10, his storyline does then appear to revolve around devotion to Ian more—but it doesn’t. Mickey has people he hangs out with in prison separate from Ian and with no ties to him. With the Byron situation, it wasn’t about proving devotion for Ian when he thought Ian questioned it—it was about hurting Ian because of what happened at the courthouse, even after he found out what Ian was really afraid of. If the writers were only interested in showing his devotion to Ian, he would have ditched Byron the second Ian told him that he was scared of his disorder and ruining them. He doesn’t. He sticks it out because Mickey is so much more than his relationship with Ian: he’s independent, vengeful, hot-headed, impulsive, and stubborn. These are traits that have been set up by the writers throughout the series both with and without ties to their relationship, and he very adamantly adheres to his revenge-plot-turned-catalyst-for-Ian-pulling-his-head-out-of-his-ass because he isn’t all about devotion to Ian.

I completely respect your opinion on the matter and appreciate the opportunity to discuss it at length! Ultimately, it boils down to this for me: the writers get a lot off flack for some of the narrative decisions and, of course, they won’t always be to our liking. Opinions and preferences assure us of that. I don’t think it’s about us being more realistic or more capable of analyzing a character, though. Everything above was written. It wasn’t spelled out and handed to us, no, but the writers put it there so that we could then analyze it. There’s no analyzing a blank slate or someone whose only narrative is devotion to Ian. The writers have given us a wealth of things to consider when it comes to all the characters, Mickey included, and we wouldn’t be able to have this conversation if they didn’t. Mickey is intelligent, thoughtful, insightful, and more than capable of standing on his own two feet as both a fictional person and a character. If he chose Ian, then it’s because he has weighed all these things and found them to be nothing in the grand scheme of their love for one another. Again, though, we can agree to disagree. Thank you for this ask—I find myself writing more about Ian, so I had a lot of fun thinking back over the series to answer it! 😃🧡

[thestupidhelmet]

I always got the impression that during Zen breakups, Donna more sided with Hyde than Jackie. What do you think?

Donna is often seen through an undeserved negative lens by a portion of T7S fans. Contradictions in her characterization do exist, thanks to inconsistent writing. But when her behavior, dialogue, and choices are examined closely, her true character is revealed. I do this in the metas linked below.

In Defense of Donna (an essay in eight parts).

In Defense of Donna: Supplemental

In Defense of Donna (Yet Again) in Her Relationship with Eric

Was Donna Mean to Jackie from Throughout Their Relationship?

Analyzing the facts burns away the foundation on which the biases about and misinterpretations of Donna’s character are built. After the cut, I discuss in detail her reactions to Jackie and Hyde’s breakups. She’s a far better person, and friend to Jackie, than is often recognized.

Jackie and Hyde’s first breakup occurs in “Babe, I’m Gonna Leave You” (5x14), after Jackie shouts, “Get off my boyfriend!” to Annette about Kelso in the previous episode. Below is Donna and Jackie’s first discussion about it.

Donna: So, have you talked to Hyde about the whole, “Get off my boyfriend,” disaster? Jackie: No! And why is everyone making such a big deal about it? It's like every time I walk into a room, people look at me funny. Donna, how do you deal with it? Donna: Jackie, the reason people are making a big deal about it is because it sounds like you still have feelings for Kelso. Jackie: Well, I don't. I think the only reason I said it was because I was having an allergic reaction to the Formans' cheap, generic soda.

Here, Donna is being supportive of both Hyde and Jackie. She cares about them and their relationship. Jackie, however, has a tendency toward denial and self-delusion, which Donna has experienced extensively. She wants Jackie to be honest with herself, face reality, and not put herself or Hyde through the pain she went through with Kelso during seasons 1-4.

The next time in the episode Donna talks about this situation is with Annette at The Hub.

Annette: Guys, I really think there's some unfinished business between Michael and Jackie. When they were together, did she make him happy? Donna: Well, she totally dominated him and made him feel bad about himself. Annette: I guess what I'm really asking is, was she ever fat or anything?

Donna’s assessment isn’t accurate and nowhere near complete. This is not the fault of Donna but the writers, whose take on Jackie and Kelso is made clear in “Everybody Loves Casey” (4x26). Despite the few concessions the writers make during Jackie and Kelso’s exchange that give Jackie some sympathy, the onus for the toxicity of their relationship is put on Jackie. New “facts” that are never mentioned or shown in the series before this episode are introduced so that Kelso can give Jackie the responsibility for his cheating and the audience will agree with him, at least in part.

Donna’s assessment of Jackie and Kelso’s relationship in “Babe, I’m Gonna Leave You” reflects the point of view given in “Everybody Loves Casey”. What actually occurs during seasons 1-4 contradicts this assessment. Jackie encourages Kelso and bolsters his self-esteem (see “The Forgotten Son” [4x09] for one of many examples). She buys him so many presents that he owes her $8,265 in 1977 (see “Baby Fever” [3x07)], which is the equivalent to $35,525 today (due to inflation).

Yes, Jackie also berates him, but she most often does so when he mistreats her by lying, cheating, and generally disrespecting her. She also tries to control him in certain situations, like how many of her stuffed animals she’ll keep in his van or refusing to break up with him when he asks to in “Red’s Last Day” (2x02).

But the so-called total domination Donna claims Jackie had over Kelso is false. If it were true, Kelso never would’ve cheated on her with Pam Macy, Laurie, a girl from Sacred Heart. He wouldn’t have avoided her for a week after the first time they have sex or treat her like a servant once he gets in contact with her again. He wouldn’t have ignored her many nos about having sex until she’s exhausted by his relentlessness and given into what he wants. The list goes on.

The point, though, is that real!Donna would not have said Jackie “totally dominated [Kelso] and made him feel bad about himself.” Real!Donna -- who’d tried to get Jackie to break up with cheating Kelso then stay broken up with him -- would have said that Jackie and Kelso made each other miserable and that it wasn’t a healthy relationship for either of them. This assessment would have given Annette, a virtual stranger, enough information without betraying Jackie’s privacy.

Jackie enters The Hub soon after this conversation.

Jackie: Donna, Steven broke up with me. Donna: Oh, Jackie, I'm sorry.

Donna is sincere in her compassion. She doesn’t say, “You deserved it,” or, “What did you expect?” Her friend is hurting, and Donna feels for her.

This is the last interaction between Donna and Jackie before Jackie and Hyde reconcile in this episode. Donna’s empathy is obviously for Jackie. We get no scenes between Donna and Hyde or dialogue from Donna that shows she believes Hyde is in the right for breaking up with her. She just wants Jackie to recognize why Hyde might feel hurt by Jackie calling Kelso her boyfriend.

Jackie and Hyde’s next breakup happens in “Nobody’s Fault but Mine” (5x23). Kelso tells Donna about Hyde sleeping with the nurse.

Kelso: [Hyde] doesn’t know it but I saw him kissing this lady at the hotel. Donna: Oh, my God, that’s horrible. Kelso: I wanna do the right thing, right? So I’m thinking that I’ll just tell Jackie, and then she’ll feel really bad. Then I’ll console her, and -- presto! -- we’re making out topless! Donna: No, Kelso! The thing to do is to tell Hyde that you know and then give him a chance to tell Jackie.

Again, Donna is concerned for the well-being of both Jackie and Hyde and their relationship. She cares about both of them, but Hyde’s behavior / choice is likely incomprehensible to her at this point.

Once Jackie breaks up with Hyde and the full truth is out, Hyde calls Jackie at Donna’s. Donna wants Jackie to talk to him, but Jackie hangs up the phone, and Donna pleads Hyde’s case

Donna:  I think this whole thing was a misunderstanding. Hyde didn’t know what was going on. Jackie: I know, okay? But after Michael, I promised myself that I would never be with another boy who cheated on me. Donna: But Hyde’s so good for you. Since you started dating him you’ve completely stopped quoting Nancy Drew.

Donna’s point of view, again, reflects the writers’ -- that Hyde’s transgression is a “stupid, one-time thing.” If Hyde had actually been written as real!Hyde during this episode and arc (after sleeping with the nurse), he would’ve put Jackie’s pain and feelings ahead of his own, shown true and lasting contrition along with self-awareness, and not expect forgiveness.

Donna’s argument would be much stronger if Hyde hadn’t displayed similar behavior to Kelso’s in season 2 (e.g., acting entitled to Jackie’s forgiveness and growing hostile toward her when he doesn’t get it in his desired time frame). Hyde’s relationship with Jackie does inspire her to grow and change, but that doesn’t negate his betrayal of her -- or vice versa.

Donna needed to give Jackie empathy in this moment rather than try to fix what Hyde had broken, but she does so right after Jackie rejects Donna’s argument to give Hyde a chance. Jackie cries on her shoulder, and Donna holds her during it.

Before Jackie and Hyde reconcile in “Join Together” (6x02), Donna continues to point out the positive effect Jackie’s relationship with Hyde had on Jackie. She’s neither Team Jackie nor Team Hyde. She’s Team Jackie-and-Hyde. She’s supportive of and compassionate toward Jackie while also maintaining faith in Hyde’s innate goodness.

Donna believes that Hyde, at his core, isn’t a cheater. That he isn’t Kelso, but this doesn’t excuse Hyde’s transgression. What’s missing during this breakup arc is a scene where Donna confronts Hyde about what he did, why he chose to act out instead of talk to Jackie, and where she tells him he has to own his crap. This would have connected nicely story-wise (or grown out of) the lessons she should have learned with Eric in season 5 had the show not rushed into their engagement arc.

Donna could have brought up Hyde’s childhood, the source of his deep fear of abandonment, and how he allowed this fear to seep into his relationship with Jackie. Hyde, then, might have admitted he’d fallen for Jackie when she’d chased him back in season 3 and felt betrayed by her ultimately rejecting him for Kelso.

Hyde: I guess that crap came up again when she became my girlfriend. Part of me always believed she’d always go back to him.

Unfortunately, the writers didn’t make these story and character connections, and the characterization and story suffered because of it.

During Jackie and Hyde’s season 7 breakups, Donna behaves similarly as described above. She’s Team Jackie-and-Hyde. She supports both her friends and believes they’re happiest (and best) when together. She brings Jackie to her martial arts class to get out her rage at Hyde in a healthy way. She consistently teases Hyde about his love for Jackie so he won’t deny it to himself or quit fighting for it. She’s always got a hug for Jackie when she needs it, and she calls Hyde on his B.S. (finally) in season 7.

So, no, Donna doesn’t side more with Hyde over Jackie after their breakups. She an equal friend to both of them, despite the flaws in the writing.

[thickenmyblood]

I love how you really put a lot of thought into how you regard and read fanfic as well as how you respond to questions about how you feel aout it. Can I ask what are some parts/ideas in fics that really made you go wow, this is well planned or like I never would have thought about this or I forgot that this plot point and device were even a thing! I hope this makes sense

I love you, kind stranger. Thank you for reading my delirious posts and giving me the chance to scream about fics, which is always a pleasure. 

Note: If your fic is in this post and you don’t want it to be, let me know and I’ll take it down. 

Zeitnot by thereshaegoes

I love the idea of time travel, so when I read this fic’s summary I bookmarked it instantly. At first, I thought it was going to be eight chapters of Laurent waking up the day of the battle of Marlas, but the author really surprised me.

I loved that someone died at the end of each chapter (at first, at least) but what really made me go ‘oh’ is when Lauret realizes the Damen from “this new reality” is, in fact, his Damen! 

Damen not being with Jokaste was weird to me, but I shrugged it off as a personal choice the author had made. Then, when Damen was talking about abolishing slavery, I was still in denial. ‘Oh, well, some people don’t like to write Damen as a slave owner, which is cool’. And then, when the big reveal finally came, I was just… amazed. I literally put my phone down and went, ‘okay, this person really knows what they’re doing when it comes to writing’. 

I love the little plot twists. In my head, a plot twist most basic example is ‘oh, X is a traitor’ but… this? This is so much better.

Between the Shadow and the Soul by Anonymous

This work was… insanely refreshing, innovative, transgressive, and outrageously good. It does feature a lot of sex scenes, but at the same time, it felt like sex was the least important part of the story. I don’t know how to explain myself when it comes to this fic (and God knows I’ve tried) but… The sex scenes aren’t there just for the smut of it all, if that makes any sense. 

Auguste as a narrator is so unusual, and yet it made the fic so painful and enjoyable! I loved the way it left you wondering just how accurate his POV was. I loved the sex scenes with actual characterization. This author never, not even for one second, stopped focusing on the dynamic between Laurent, Auguste, and Damen. It could be argued that the Laurent/Auguste bit weighted more than the overall OT3 bit, but still… I had literally forgotten what sex scenes were for until I read this fic.

Sex scenes, especially in this particular work, are not parentheses in the story. They’re not there for the reader to take a break from the “actual plot” or “narration”. They are what holds the story together, and they’re opportunities for the reader to learn more about the characters

.

Cherry Wine by SteeleStingray

Yes, I’m back on my bullshit. Yes, I’m talking about CW again. But I’ll make it short because there is no way you don’t know how I feel about this work. If you don’t, check out this comment (which, by the way, is not even a fraction of what I wanted to say to the author when I read the fic). 

What I found innovative and made me go “is this allowed?” about CW is not the idea of an OT3, but rather this particular take on a relationship that consists of three people. I’ve read a few published books that feature similar couples (all of them suck, and when I say they suck I mean it) so I was very hesitant to read this because of that reason. 

Usually, when people write OT3 they pepper in a lot of stuff I don’t like to read about: extreme jealousy, misunderstandings, cheating, weird dynamics that feel stilted, awkward sex scenes where one of the three just sits in a chair and watches the other two like some voyeur from Juan José Saer’s stories. Guess what doesn’t happen in CW? 

Another thing I liked about this work is that it reminded me that themes in fiction aren’t limited to one specific work. This author really likes nicknames. At the time, when I had only read CW, I thought it was just a one-time thing. Turns out, it’s not. An emerald-coloured nightmare also features nicknames. I like this idea that you can tell who wrote something based on little details and narrative choices. It’s like the author is winking at you, going ‘ha, did you get it?’

Ink on Paper by deripmaver

I don’t usually like fics with non-linear narrative because I’m a lazy bitch who can’t keep up. I’d never really seen the point in using flashbacks, scenes from the past, or anything like that because my writing style (oh, fuck off, my writing style, who the fuck do I think I am) is more about references. And then I read this fic. And I was like, ‘okay, I’ve seen the light of not writing everything linearly like an idiot’. 

The Mannequin Gallery by marrieddorks

Yes, I realize I’m talking about all my favorite fics. I feel no shame.

This fic is a Modern AU. Everyone who has ever written a Modern AU knows that one of the trickiest parts is finding characters professions that make sense with who they are/what they like/what they’re good at. This story features Damen as an influencer. That’s it, that’s my whole tweet. 

It reminded me that even when you’re writing a Modern AU (or any sort of AU, really) it’s important to know what the essence of the characters you’re writing is. The way even Jord’s job makes sense… And how it feels like the author didn’t just steal the characters’ names and use them to create a random story (which is valid, too)... and… Okay, this has nothing to do with a plot twist or a narrative device but have you read this Nicaise? Have you? You haven’t read Nicaise until you’ve read this fic.

(and that's why) you're so beautiful now by iwasgonegonegone

This fic is 612 words. It has no plot. One of the tags reads, “listen they're in love and they're cute and that's all i have to say” and I… yes. This fic inspired me to write plot-less stories again. Not only that, it made me enjoy writing them. 

Lately, I’ve been talking to a friend of mine about a new pairing we both like a lot. We go back and forth for hours sometimes just talking about what they’d do, details about the worldbuilding, a billion ‘what-ifs’... and I love it. If one of us sat down to write a story based on all our conversations, it would be a character study fic. It would have, maybe, some plot to it, but… Plot would feel like an excuse to talk about their relationship. And I love that. I fucking hate plot, I hate it, and this… Yes. This fic is like a little slice of life. The author has mentioned before that they enjoy writing poetry (more than longer pieces of fiction) and this story reads like a poem. You know when you read a poem and you get this weird tingly feeling? Read this and feel that, you’re welcome.

The Life We Live by homewithyou

I’ve said before that I don’t go looking for mpreg. Sometimes, mpreg has come looking for me, and I’ve closed my door on its face. I read this fic mainly because I never pay attention to the tags on AO3 (healthy, I know) and I was too busy making myself toast to read the summary. 

I was five paragraphs in and this bit hit me like a fucking electric hammer to the head: “...which had been going haywire more often than not since the pregnancy began five months ago.” I was like, ‘wait, did I—am I reading—why am I—’ and then I just shut my mouth and continued reading. I’m glad I did. I’m glad I didn’t let my narrowmindedness stop me from giving this fic a try. I’m glad people out there are writing stories that they enjoy, about topics a few others would deem controversial. 

This also applies to the Lamen/Auguste fic I mentioned above. What’s the point of writing if you’re not going to take risks and be honest about what you like to write about? It takes honesty and commitment to write anything that strays from the norm. And so I’m glad this person posted this story, because it changed me in a small way (‘what if I shut the fuck up and read more mpreg instead of instantly clicking out?’).

This is another perfect example of how plot is poison and you don’t need it in your life (unless you enjoy poison. In that case consume the plot, write the plot, sniff the plot. And die). A morning in bed, just nuzzling and talking… living life… Again, this made me realize that you can say a lot about two characters just from a morning in bed. It made me want to write 25 pages of dialogue in bed (this and Manuel Puig’s book titled Kiss of the spider woman, which I recommend fervently). 

Plot? In this house? We don’t know her. You’re a strong, independent writer. You don’t need no plot.

For a more general response, I’d say that Steele’s worldbuilding is impeccable and made me look at the setting of stories differently. 

Foreshadowing is always amazing, but I haven’t read a lot of fics where it’s a prominent element (which is not to say authors aren’t good at it, I just don’t read enough fics to give you a good example of this). 

I really like oxymorons and when writers use funny adverbs. GallaPlacidia’s adverbs are to die for, so definitely check out her stories if you’re interested in that. 

I also love the way xlydiadeetz writes archs. She does this thing where she divides the story into different… timelines? archs? I… don’t even know. Amazing.

I hope this answer made sense. 

[justletmeplayminecraft]

so that cute clip i posted of scar and wels? angst brain went brrrr.

scar has his reckoning. wels is the unlucky target. i’ve left it ambiguous whether or not it’s really scar, that’s up to your interpretation. also briefly mentions the wels backstory i wrote up, you don’t need it to understand this though.

featuring: scar can and will use his mayor powers for evil, he also has some scary magic that he uses on wels, wels cannot shut up to save his life, please stop him, there’s no comfort but its a fairly open ending, scar finds his enforcer through less conventional means.

warnings: using magic to physically control & hurt others, abuse of authority (kinda??), possession (if you read it that way), threatening someone with their past trauma, just big evil scar vibes.

also posted on ao3!

"Scar!" Wels steps through the large, open doorway of the town hall. Scar's called him here, on 'official mayoral business' or something. Really, it's been awhile since they've just had time to hang. Scar's in a different area of the server, plus he's busy with being the mayor and whatever Grian's doing in the Nether. Whilst Wels is still trying to catch up on the time he lost.

"Ah, Wels. You made it." Wels has to look up to see the source of the booming voice. Scar is nestled on the diamonds, his legs folded as he lounges on an arm. The throne sparkles in the sunlight, lighting the hall up with a blue shine. Wels has to say, it's an impressive sight. If a little conceited.

"Hey, man." Wels holds his hand up in greeting. "What did you want to meet me about?"

"I'm sure you remember your... Infraction, correct?" Scar sits forward, pressing his hands on his knees. Wels smirks.

"You mean your list?" He teases. "I thought you were joking about that." Scar's eyes narrow, a hint of annoyance on his face. That expression doesn't look right on Scar. Wels is about to apologise, but Scar speaks first.

"Well, the reckoning has begun. Kneel, Wels." Wels raises his hand very slightly.

"What? Seriously, Scar?" His voice comes out flat. Scar's eyes flash bright blue.

"Kneel, Wels." Wels feels the air shift, something magical stirring. He opens his mouth to counteract it but it sends a shock through him, the magic overpowering his own with ease. His body moves without him controlling it, getting down on one knee and bowing his head. He tries to tense his shoulders, wiggle his fingers- there's nothing. He's completely cut off from his own body.

He doesn't think this is Vex magic. He remembers his cathedral, only two worlds ago. The very air felt electric in there. Everything the Convex touched had the energy of a charged creeper. No, this magic is cold. A numbing sheet laid across his body, disconnecting it from his thoughts. Like a diamond in the shade. Wels' wordsmithing doesn't have such a chill. Scar was trying magic at the start of the season, wasn't he? Those crystals... This is no magic he's seen before. He shivers involuntarily. He barely feels himself doing it.

"There's a good knight." Wels scowls at the mocking tone. Scar sounds so pleased with himself. "Oh, you can look at me." His voice is brighter, but still dipped in power. Wels looks up, meeting glowing blue eyes.

"What is this?" He asks. He tries to keep his nervousness from his voice. Scar holds his hands out, refolding his legs.

"It's a neat trick I've learnt! Don't you think?"

"It's pretty cool," he replies, slightly hesitant. "Now let me go. You've made your point." Scar's laugh makes Wels jump slightly.

"My point? Please, this is just to keep you in one place." Wels watches him closely, clenching his jaw. "Oh, no, I'm here to offer you an ultimatum. An offer you can't refuse."

Wels' voice is dry, "Really?"

"You don't have to sound so enthusiastic about it." Scar rests his chin on his fist, looking down at Wels with a smug smile. "It's simple, really. You accept the punishment for your transgressions. I've already got it all thought out. That's all you have to do."

"And what if I don't?" Wels asks, testing.

"Well-" Scar drags the word out, "-I could find somewhere nice and dark for you. Let you watch the sun set over the horizon without a bed to sleep in and leave you there until you come to your senses. Would that be nice?" Wels glares, his stomach twisting. Scar's his friend. Wels told him that fear in confidence.

"This isn't you," he declares, confident in his assessment. "This is something... puppeteering you, or whatever. You're not Scar." Scar laughs, his eyes flashing as he does. Wels feels a spike of pain in his chest, gritting his teeth.

"Y'know, Wels? For someone who likes to think so big of himself, you can be very naive."

"I'm sorry I like to think the best of my friends." Wels raises his eyebrows. "Is that a crime, now, oh great and powerful mayor?" The stab in his chest hurts enough for his body to break out of the control. Wels curls forward, clenching his fists as a weak noise escapes him. Scar sighs.

"I was going to let you off lightly with that... Motivator." When Wels gathers the strength to look up, he feels his body disconnect once more. Stuck in this perfect kneel. He holds back a sigh. "But maybe I need to turn things up a little."

"Do your worst." He regrets those words the moment he sees the delight on Scar's face.

"Oh, sweet Welsie." Wels continues his unimpressed stare. "It would be a shame, you know, to lose you to another long sleep, don't you think?" Wels' eyes widen.

"You- you wouldn't." His throat feels tight.

"Do you know how easy it is to break your code?" Scar asks. "NPCs are such simple things. You can put one in a player's body, but it doesn't change what they really are." Wels actually feels a bit sick. Was Scar the one who- no, it wouldn't make sense. They barely interacted last season. Scar had no reason to do that to him. It was a freak glitch. But the comment about Wels' code... He couldn't have been responsible, right?

"You're bluffing." Wels keeps his voice steady. "You know you couldn't get away with something like that." Scar sighs, looking disappointed as he adjusts his sash.

"Please, Wels," he replies. "They forgot you last time, didn't they?" Wels focuses on one of the diamond blocks instead of answering. He could swear they're glowing. "Fine then, I'll just do it now, shall I? I'm sure I can find somewhere to put you."

"You wouldn't." Scar raises an eyebrow, smirking.

"Wels, go to sleep." Wels can feel the magic imbued in the words. He barely manages a gasp before his mind goes heavy with exhaustion. He presses his eyes shut before reopening them, taking a controlled breath in.

"Scar, stop this," he demands. His eyes slip closed. He forces them open. If the magic wasn't holding him still, he thinks he'd fall.

"You have the power to stop it at anytime," Scar tells him. "You just have to submit to your punishment." Wels locks his jaw, head swimming. He can hear his heart hammering, breaths coming too fast. He's determined to hide his fear.

"No- no, Scar-" His head spins with another wave of exhaustion.

"Oh come on, Wels. Do you really want to sleep again that badly?" He tries to take a deep breath but it shakes. Even his posture is slipping now. He sinks closer to the floor. He doesn't want to sleep again, he doesn't want to.

"Fine, I yield!"

"Do you really?" Scar watches him with a small smile. "Do you agree to accept whatever punishment I see fit to administer, as elected mayor of the shopping district?" Whatever punishment Scar's thought up can't be worse than being forgotten again. What does Scar consider a punishment if this isn't? Wels squeezes his eyes shut, fighting the fogginess threatening to overtake him.

"Yes. I accept, please. I accept your stupid punishment, just stop!" His energy comes back to him in a rush. He opens his eyes, frustrated to find he still can't move. But he's not falling asleep, he's awake, he's awake-

"Well." Scar's eyes glint as he leans forward on the throne. "We've been needing an enforcer. I think a chivalrous knight such as yourself would work perfectly." For a second, Wels can hear Scar's usual tone. His excitement when a plan all comes together, eyes lighting up before he breaks into a ramble. Wels only feels cold.

"An enforcer?" Scar's smile grows.

"See, there's a few people, such as yourself, that need some... Reminders of how things work around here." He gestures to the shops outside. "Rules to be followed, payments to be made. But people don't really like seeing this side of it all." His palm moves towards Wels. The knight nearly scoffs. "I have a reputation to uphold, so we need somebody to do the... Let's call it 'dirty work' for me."

"You want me to threaten our friends?" After this, Wels isn't surprised. But- these are their friends. They're basically family. He wants to believe Scar still is. That whatever this is, it isn't him.

"I want you to do whatever it takes to get the results I want." Wels swallows. Scar wants him to become the bad guy. Take his fall.

"This is too far," Wels warns, trying to appeal to whatever good nature is left. This can't be him, can it? Please, it can't. "The others won't-"

"Wels." Scar's voice drops low. Wels finds himself breathless. "Are you telling me you'd prefer to take an extended nap?" He takes a deep breath in. What's worse, being possibly hated by his friends, or forgotten by them? At least he can explain this. It's all part of the bit.

"I'll do it. I'll be your damn enforcer." He can feel the magic in the air click at his words. He closes his eyes as Scar claps in delight.

"Perfect! This meeting has worked out wonderfully." Wels falls sideways as the magic lifts, barely catching himself with his hands. The terracotta doesn't even feel cold against his skin. He winces as the strain of his muscles hits him all at once. He looks up at Scar in surprise, breathing heavily with exhaustion. Scar's still relaxed on his throne, head resting on his fist. The magic usage hasn't affected him at all. Wels struggles to his feet, trembling with the effort.

"Isn't that great." Wels looks at the darkening sky. It shrouds the town hall in shadows. All Wels can see of Scar's face is that glowing blue. "I'm leaving now."

"So soon?" Scar asks. Wels consciously stops himself swaying as he moves.

"I want to get home before it's dark." He should be able to make it, even if his base is a little further out. He'd find a bed in the shopping district, but he can feel the lingering magic in the air. It's making him sick.

"I suppose that's fair." Scar leans back against the throne. "Have a good night, my enforcer."

"You too," Wels bites in response. He makes it two steps when Scar calls again.

"Oh, and Wels?" He turns back automatically. Scar smiles at him, all too pleasant. His eyes feel like ice. "You can't tell a single hermit about this arrangement of ours. Or this meeting. Not one word about it, to anyone." Wels is about to cut back when he feels the enchantment hit. Something woollen settles in his brain, blocking off his own thoughts. He glares instead. "That's a good knight. Run along now. I'll be in touch." Wels breathes out through his nose, accepting this new reality. He doesn't let Scar see his fear.

He flies away without another hesitation.

[hi-im-dazey]

My first thoughts on 15x17

Behind the cut for head-canon and spoiler avoidance for them that wants ‘em

Chuck was writing versions. Each version had a different twist to set them on the path to Chuck's ending.

So what was the twist for this Sam-n-Dean that made them able to defy the narrative? Where was the moment that Chuck "screwed" his story and made actual free will?

I'll tell you what I think.

I think Chuck accidentally made one human with free will.

Only one.

Sam Fucking Winchester.

Sam can see and understand exactly what's going on. AND he is coming to realize that he is outside of Chuck’s control.

He knows Dean is being manipulated. Dean is clearly aware of it too, but he doesn't seem able to stop it. So what's the difference?

Sam told us, he told Dean, he told everyone, throughout the show, for 15 years,

‘It’s not who you are; it’s what you do.’

And because of this understanding, he relies on one particular trait of Dean's.

Dean will do literally anything to protect Sam. It's not always the right thing (he doesn't “always like it”) but in the end Sam knows and has always known the magic spell to trigger this trait in Dean. (call it “puppy dog eyes” if you want, but someone having blind trust in you, no matter what, is a helluva drug. Dean is addicted to it.)

But how come? Where did Chuck make his fatal error? What was the twist this time? The one that broke, not only the plot line Chuck wanted, but the character of Sam, as well. Making Sam incapable of following the narrative laid out before him.

I think the moment where Chuck made his mistake was the moment he had John hand the baby to the four-year-old. There’s a reason that’s the scene that kicks this all off.

A moment of extreme trauma and dire importance, literally burnt into Dean's brain.

Setting up this trait in Dean enabled Sam to truly push through any obstacle Chuck's story presented, because he knew Dean had his back when push came to shove.

Nothing bad was ever going to happen to him as long as Dean was around.

It's the song he grew up listening to.

"But," you say, "Everything that ever happened to Sam was quantifiable as ‘bad’!" (the joke of the only stroke of luck Sam Winchester ever had was that coffee cup landing on its ass is sad, but true)

Yes, and don't you think he has noticed that?

He’s given considerable thought to the fact he has survived this long with that much crap, against all odds, largely because of Dean. Anyone else would have been dead the first time and it would have stuck. Yet here he is. This has only reinforced the fact that Dean will try to do anything to save him. Not only will he try to do, he will succeed.

Without Dean he may have died at six months, or any time between then and now. It’s an important revelation when Dean tells Sam about carrying him out of the fire in season 1, Sam did not know that before then, but it makes Dean’s entire character snap into focus for him.

Sam has seen the pattern, he sees the hand of Chuck in their lives. He tries to break them out of the pattern over and over again.

Even before he fully understood what was happening and that it could be broken out of. Or that this was what he was doing. Before he was consciously breaking free, he still broke out of the plot.

Dean sees it too, he's not dumb.

But Dean's life did not belong to anyone, not the way Sam's has always been his responsibility. He only has Sam to help him break out of the hamster wheel, and I think they are just now seeing that.

I think Sam understands now, that for some reason, he is free and can refuse to do what is laid out before him. And, indeed, that he has been refusing his entire life.

He also understands that Dean can break out of the pattern too, but he needs Sam to help him.

Sam is the snapped fingers in the corner of Dean’s eye.

Sam is the trance breaker for Dean.

Sam is that moment of real panic that flooded his system when the house was burning and Sam’s life was in his hands.

That moment, that plot twist, is what broke Chuck’s story.

I’ve said before that the reason Chuck is afraid of Jack is that Jack was not written by Chuck, Jack is what the characters in the story wrote when Chuck left them alone (to go off and play with Amara), and in Unity Chuck admits there were things he “didn’t write”

So someone else must be writing things. When did that start, though? At what point did Chuck lose control of the authorship and accidentally allow another author into his sandbox?

Maybe when John Winchester handed a baby to a four-year-old. Maybe the reason Sam has free will is because he is also capable of writing in Chuck’s world. Or maybe he is capable of writing in Chuck’s world because he has free will.

What we saw in Unity  was Chuck forcing his will on Dean to get to his poetic, tragic ending. He squeezed all of Dean’s rage up to the surface, and added more, he gave him an order direct to his nerve ending, squeezing his ink through Dean’s veins... “This time, fire that gun, boy!” Daddy’s blunt little instrument fed on rage and frustration and anger at being thwarted and impotence at being led on a string...

And Sam, again, snapped his fingers in the corner of Dean’s rage and broke him out. I think we saw Sam beginning to realize that he has the upper hand here.

And I don’t think Chuck has realized that Sam himself is, in fact, the issue.. yet.

Not the bullet hole, or Sam’s hope, or the demon blood, or the latent powers or missed destiny.

Sam’s existence and being are the issue. What Sam DOES, not who he is or was meant to be. Sam’s actual free will is the problem for Chuck. (and take a moment here to remember that almost every crisis Chuck wrote for Sam involved removing Sam’s agency and autonomy.)

He thinks they are all refusing to toe the line, I don’t think he understands that Sam is the one editing his book yet.

And what about Castiel? Well, the moment he shook hands with Sam, he was broken. His chassis may have come off the assembly line cracked, and Naomi may have patched him up time and again, but the second he shook hands with Sam, he was irredeemable for Chuck’s narrative.

Chuck inserts himself in to the story as the prophet, maybe to check in and see what’s going wrong? Figures out that Cass is broken (again?) and takes steps to make an opportunity to “remake” Cass. Then again, once back in Sam’s orbit, Cass is again, broken... there is something that cracks apart for Cass when he interacts with Sam.

This is not a shippy thing, btw. It’s being confronted with a creature that has actual free will... Cass is not equipped to handle that. He left the angel factory without that blind faith setting. He can ‘see’; and he ‘sees’ Sam. Every interaction with Sam shows him what is wrong with the rest of the story.

And again, Chuck rebuilds Cass, and this time traps him in a story where Cass himself is the villain. And Cass was a great villain, that was a good story, no matter how you feel about Cass or Misha, season 6 was a good story.

When Cass returns again, in season 7, hyperbole is gone now, he literally BREAKS himself upon touching Sam. There is no metaphor here, he takes on Sam’s brokenness, with a touch.

(”you’re broken [...]broken toys? You throw them away...”)

The only way Chuck could possibly hope to keep Castiel from being broken is if he can keep him away from Sam.

But Chuck hasn’t realized this yet. He tries to write a narrative that Naomi is “tuning him up as he transgresses” as she has in the past? or as she has in other worlds?

Is Dean what really breaks him free of Naomi?

No, touching the Angel Tablet does it... and again, this is just Chuck, writing his way to his preferred ending. The Narrative Cycle begins again because the Angel Tablet ‘resets’ Cass. This plot point starts us on yet another iteration of the “remove Sam’s agency so one of the brothers sacrifices either himself or the other” cycle.

~~~

Looping back again to the fifth season...

When Chuck says “endings are hard” in Swan Song he’s not talking about writing that ending. That ending was good, it was solid, it closed out the story on a note of melancholy hopefulness, Sam was gone, and the apocalypse averted. It wasn’t happy but it was complete.

That ending wasn’t hard to write.

It was hard for Chuck to read.

Because that wasn’t what he was trying to write, Sam took over his narrative. Sam refused to kill Dean, Sam refused to kill Adam, Sam refused to kill Michael or allow Michael to kill Lucifer, or allow Lucifer to kill either of Sam’s brothers or his own brother.

Sam effectively cock blocked Chuck’s little ‘fratricide 21-ways served in a light creamed-angel sauce with a side order of fried surrogate dad’ all you can eat and there’s dancing after banquet finale.

Cass comes back, almost immediately, because Chuck needs to re-boot the cycle. Because Sam screwed it up for him, again. (Maybe if Chuck takes Sam’s soul out of the equation... he can get some traction on his plan, this time.)

Sam Fucking Winchester is simultaneously Chuck Shurley’s hero, voice, protagonist, and muse.

He’s also Chuck’s biggest problem.

Sam Fucking Winchester is the corner Chuck has written himself into.

~~~

Now this is all just spit balling head-canon, and probably nowhere near where the writers are actually going, but it woke me up early and took over my brain and prevented me from doing my homework (which is also writing, to be honest) until I got it all out of my system.

~~~

Inserting standard disclaimer: (C-A-S-S is how they spell it on the show, and more importantly, it makes screen-reading software for the visually impaired pronounce it correctly; as opposed to C-A-S which makes screen-readers say “Kah.”)

[know-the-way]

(1/?) Talking about their fire scene.. I have seen interpretations about it being an abuse of authority from Faustus, and that he manipulated her to sleep with him. It is an interpretation and a valid one, I totally respect it. But me, personally, I have an entirely different take on that one. I actually thought it was their most genuine/spontaneous interaction. Which is a lot, considering their relationship was about how they could manipulate the other, in order to do what they wanted (while

(2/?) having an unspoken history and intense sexual desire for the other. Like, that night Faustus was in the house to talk (manipulate) Ambrose into uplifting his sentence and all that. When Faustus arrives to the Spellman’s house he doesn’t flirt with her even barely says hi. Same when she catched him in the door, he was leaving, that day he wasn’t there to see her. So everything that came afterwards wasn’t planned or calculated, uncharted territory, so to speak. True, when she ambushes him in

(3/?) the door she leans towards him in an extra close manner (which makes him to do the literal combination of this faces:🤨😏), but actually she wasn’t flirting with him at that moment, she was trying that no one in the house heard. It was clear she truly wanted to relieve her spiritual crisis. Since the begging of the show we saw that she was interested in rekindling the relationship, but she actually wasn’t aming to do that on that moment. Then, during the beginning of the confession, he

(4/?) doesn’t even look at her, and as the confession progresses, he starts to lean towards her and it can be seen how he strokes her hand somehow affectionately. And they get intimate, not physically (that one came later) but like they shared their weakness and problems with each other (sure, Faustus’ where stupid AF, but it seemed he truly was meaning what he was sharing with her). Moreover, he kinda comforted her when he said that the DL accepted weakness etc, look at her face: she wasn’t

(5/?) expecting that empathy from a/her high priest. I am sorry of this was a long af rant, but, as someone said, quarantine is not good for a shippers brain. I think that this was the literal best spellwood scene, it showed their complexity, a lot of chemestry, a glimpse into their story and emotional intimacy. That scene and that kiss are, character and story wise, winners. I can’t believe what the writers did to them afterwards. I would love to hear what do you think :)

Your question is the one I have specifically been building up my energy for, so I’m sorry it’s taken me so long, but I wanted to address it properly and with equal care to what you put into it.

First things first - I agree so hard with your analysis and that it probably was the most genuine and raw emotional exchange we saw between them the entirety of part 1.

HOWEVER, I do think there was still mutual manipulation happening in that scene. I think the scene culminated in a moment they mutually wanted at that point (and that they both saw coming from the near start of the conversation), but the dance they performed to get there wasn’t without one or another’s guiding hand at any given time.

Do I think Zelda asked for private confession only to be intimate with Faustus? No, I don’t. I think she truly did want to relieve herself of her sins and ensure she/her family still had security within the coven. But I think once the opportunity unfolded as he explained the challenge to his faith from Constance rigging the Feast of Feasts (a tradition he stated, while under the powers of Hilda’s truth cake, was divine instruction from the Dark Lord himself to reinstate), Zelda didn’t stop what she (perceivably) saw coming.

So I can only take his solemn re-telling of that event (“a challenge to my faith after my wife’s transgression”) to be genuine. Because, thanks to Sabrina’s influence, he nearly cancelled the Feast of Feasts altogether, even though - again - the truth cake had him swearing it was the Dark Lord’s will. So he nearly committed heresy, as a high priest under the impression that his faith in the Dark Lord was not as strong as Sabrina’s logic to end it. Which originated from Constance’s interference in the ritual.

But then Mildred, ya know... did the thing and proved to Faustus that the Dark Lord would always find a way. And he very nearly offended the Dark Lord greatly.

So I think when he expresses the fear he felt to Zelda, it was a genuine effort to relate to her and reassure her. And - in my interpretation - at the same Zelda realizes the conversation has become more intimate than anticipated (she now has a secret about the high priest’s insecurity), he lets slip that he’s also not getting sex from his wife.

And oh bitch, shit gets real. Again - my interpretation only here - yes, he is actively trying to manipulate Zelda into sleeping with him at that point. And he is absolutely using his “allure” as high priest (abusing his power) in the process, but I think Zelda is FULLY aware that’s what he’s doing. She is far too observant and far too intelligent to not see right through him. I personally cannot see her as unassuming prey in this situation because of how she claps her hand over his and says “No” as in “ya don’t say” about Constance refusing him in bed and leans into him with beseeching eyes like “Okay you bastard, now’s the time... enough with the bloody speech mate, we get it, we ALL get it, just get on with it.”

So I don’t think she has ANY sympathy when she whispers “Faustus” and he crumbles to his knees. I think she was just saying “green light, I would like passionate emo sex, too, and I know you’re more than capable, plus I see this as a great opportunity for me rise in the ranks of the coven, so let’s carry on, shall we?”

The bonus comes from their (at that point, unconfirmed) history together. The kiss is tentative at the first taste, but then it’s like they both remember they’ve kissed each like this before. And that it meant something once. He pulls her up tight to him, she rests a hand on his shoulder, and he breaks away to look over her face, both breathless. And the kicker, the absolute CHOICE of Richard/Miranda/whoever directed that episode to have him gently hold her face while looking at her adoringly for half a second while she hooks her hand over his forearm... that said everything it needed to.

In summary, my opinion - that scene alone displayed the complex dynamic between Sister Zelda and the high priest who both respect their faith, the power it gives them, and the Dark Lord. Zelda Spellman and Faustus Blackwood who have known each for decades upon decades and can anticipate each other’s next move with amused certainty. And finally Zelda and Faustus, who - in all their years of playing games - have never been able to quite figure out or explain the very peculiar attachment they have to one another.

It’s frustratingly saturated with subtext and I LOVE it so much.

Now. Does the fact that they were both playing some emotional games make it okay/healthy/acceptable/etc? No, of course not. They are very much still using each other here and Faustus, in a position of power, holds more responsibility for it certainly.

But I just personally feel there were more layers to the scene than that.

(I started to run out of energy towards the end, so I’m sorry if I stop making sense half-way through, but thank you for your question! It was a pleasure to dissect that scene with your interpretation to guide me. xx)

[arguments-rants-conspiracies]

A MDZS Theory That will Make You Want to Slap Me

Warning: This only applies to the MDZS novel.

So, I was thinking about Mo Xuanyu and Jin Guangyao one day, as one is wont to do these days, and I’m thinking --

What if instead of Mo Xuanyu sexually harassing Jin Guangyao during his time at Jinlintai, it's the other way around? Namely, what if Jin Guangyao had been the one to sexually harass, if not assault, Mo Xuanyu?

Now, to be honest I don’t think this is what MXTX had in mind, and this is more of a "Hmm won’t this put things in a different light” conspiracy theory than an actual deduction of what happened, but hear me out.

First, let’s look at their circumstances:

Mo Xuanyu:

- Was a minor (14) when he was called back to the Jin family.

- Not in a position of power. (Didn’t grown up in a cultivation family, and was only there because Jin Guangshan wanted someone to hold Jin Guangyao back. Thus, the only backing he had was Jin Guangshan, and I highly doubt that accounted to much, if at all.)

- Physically weaker (No spiritual powers or fighting experience).

In contrast, Jin Guangyao:

- Was an adult (Exact age is unclear, but he’s born on the same day as Jin Zixuan, who’s around Wei Wuxian’s age, so 21 plus and minus some?)

- Had significant power and influence. (Yes, he’s the son of a prostitute, but  he made enough of a name for himself in the Sunshot campaign to strong-arm his way back into the Jin family. In addition, he has some pretty powerful people (Lan Xichen for one) on his side so he definitely could move a few things around, and he probably did.)

- Knows how to fight, not on the same level as some other cultivators but keep in mind, the dude was a soldier.

- Has shown himself to be manipulative multiple times.

I can’t help but notice a power dynamic going on here, and to be frank, Mo Xuanyu’s profile reads more like that of a victim than a perpetrator. While a child can perpetrate sexual harassment against an adult, it is VERY, VERY rare. Unfortunately, these things are usually done by adults in power.

Second, why sexual harassment?

Isn’t it odd that of all the crimes and transgressions Jin Guangyao could pin on Mo Xuanyu, he picked sexual harassment?

Why not just have him, you know, killed and done with? Some may argue that he couldn’t outright kill Mo Xuanyu because that’d be suspicious, but even so, I’m sure there are a million ways to embarrass him and get him kicked out.

Fake sexual harassment is literally the worst plan for him. Why? Because sexual harassment is disgusting not just because of the act itself, but because of how people react to it. Even in modern society, victims are often not believed or accused of being somewhat responsible for the harassment by “seducing” the perpetrator. And I can’t imagine things being any better in ancient China for the son of a prostitute, especially considering that, as I argued earlier, he could easily be seen as having more power over Mo Xuanyu.

As unfortunate as it is, I can already hear the following dialogue at Jinlintai:

“Hey, did you guys hear? Apparently Jin Guangshan’s youngest bastard has been harassing Jin Guangyao.”

“Mo Xuanyu? The kid who couldn’t hold a sword to this day? Harassing the dude that killed Wen Ruohan?”

“Yeah, I don’t believe it for a second either. Who knows if that son of a whore was really harassed? You know what I think it is? That snake led the kid on with his brothel tricks and Mo Xuanyu, being stupid, fell right in.”

“Or maybe it was him that’s the real cut-sleeve here. I’m not saying Mo Xuanyu is particularly great, but how’s the child of a pure mother supposed to know about cut-sleeves? Lianfang-zun on the other hand...”

Even if he can silence these counter-accusations, rumours still go around and Jin Guangyao would be associated with “deviant sexual things” and I don’t see him wanting that, given that there’s nothing he hates more than being reminded of his parentage.

So why would he choose this path?

Because he had no better option.

This could be one of several cases:

There's no other way Mo Xuanyu's going down.

Mo Xuanyu actually did harass Jin Guangyao.

He harassed Mo Xuanyu and was discovered, and Jin Guangyao had to address it in a way profitable to himself.

1 seems unlikely. As I said earlier, Mo Xuanyu is a kid with no political power and a familial background only marginally better than Jin Guangyao's.

And take a million steps back, even if framing him of sexual harassment was the only way to get Mo Xuanyu kicked out of Lanling Jin, Jin Guangyao didn't have to frame himself as the victim. There are others (Jin Ling for one) whom he could have utilized as pawns to deflect the hit in reputation sexual harassment victims get.

2 also seems improbable. Even ignoring the fact that Mo Xuanyu doesn’t match the profile of a sexual harassment perpetrator (which I’ve mentioned far too many times), another thing to note is that Jin Guangyao seems...somewhat fond of Mo Xuanyu.

Yes, Mo Xuanyu could enter Jin Guangyao's personal quarters and peruse top secret documents. But also, Jin Guangyao's not a nice person to those that wrong him or get in his way. He killed a fellow clansman for taking credit of things he did, musically poisoned Nie Mingjue for calling him the son of a prostitute, and murdered his wife and son when they became not useful to him -- why would he leave Mo Xuanyu alive?

It’s probably not because of commiseration because we know he killed off all of his other brothers, some of whom must have came from backgrounds similar to his. Also, brother or not, if someone sexually harassed you won’t you want their heads off? And we know Jin Guangyao’s...a little pettier than the average person, so why would he let someone who sexually harassed him live?

Also, as long as Mo Xuanyu is alive he is a potential liability to Jin Guangyao. What if he takes revenge? Sure, he's mad and harmless, but what if he's faking it? A lot had happened that could have been entirely avoided if Jin Guangyao just offed Mo Xuanyu when he had the chance.

All of this points to Jin Guangyao feeling like he “owes” Mo Xuanyu something for having wronged him. Now, why would he feel like that? Maybe because he dragged an innocent kid into his lust for power, but combined with option 3, I’m going to stretch it and say another reason could also be because of guilt for sexually harassing Mo Xuanyu.

Abusers (ouch, that’s a heavy word) often use “gifts” to mollify their guilt and to manipulate their victims into compliance [source], and it’s possible that Jin Guangyao saw giving Mo Xuanyu his trust and, ultimately, keeping him alive as “gifts”.

Perhaps the abuse continued after Mo Xuanyu left, perhaps it didn’t.

Third, let’s look at what happened on Mo Xuanyu’s side after the “scandal” happened.

After Mo Xuanyu went back to Mo village, he supposedly “went mad”. Sometimes the madness goes away, and sometimes it acts up. A couple of years under abuse from the Mo family, and the madness got worse.

I’m going to go out on a limb and say that sounds an awful lot like PTSD, which could be caused by the sexual harassment or the traumatic aftermath.

A prominent symptom of PTSD is uncontrollable thoughts about the traumatic event, in the form of reliving the event, distressing emotions regarding the event, or anxiety and panic attacks. [source]

This theory could explain the sporadic nature of his madness. Notice that even the victim themselves cannot control the flashbacks, so the anxiety and panic attacks, as well as other actions undertaken, could definitely come across as episodes of insanity to observers.

But if that’s the case, why doesn’t he ask Wei Wuxian for the revenge on the Jin sect?

The answer - Because he thinks he’s not worthy of it.

At the beginning of the novel, we get to read Mo Xuanyu’s “will” of sorts through Wei Wuxian’s eyes, and it’s from there that we know he was kicked out of a prominent sect for being a cut-sleeve. However, Mo Xuanyu doesn’t tell us which sect he was kicked out of and whom he supposedly harassed.

Why doesn’t he tell us that? He went so far as to tell us a brief history of the Mo family and his cousin’s obsession with cultivation, why wouldn’t he tell us which sect he had once been a part of? Even if he was kicked out in the end, being related and having once been a part of the LanLing Jin sect could be an honour of a lifetime.

And why would he (to Wei Wuxian at least) openly admit that he was kicked out for harassing a fellow male? It sucks being a victim, but there’s no way that being a cut-sleeve sexual harassment perpetrator could be seen as an honor. He even seems to be protecting Jin Guangyao, by not giving his name.

Note how both of these actions serve one purpose - to demean himself. This letter reveals what Mo Xuanyu thought about himself at the time of his suicide - A cut-sleeve bastard who shamed his family and harassed an innocent man.

You might ask: why would he think this lowly of himself?

Well, remember what I said about sexual harassment? Victims are often not believed or accused of being responsible by asking for it.

Mo Xuanyu is also gay, so he was a teenager, on the cusp of puberty, that had his sexuality outed and ridiculed. And combine this with the fact that not only was Mo Xuanyu not given any support, but every adult blamed him for it.

Perhaps Mo Xuanyu was convinced, either by Jin Guangyao or by the homophobic rules of his society, that since he sexually preferred men, he must have liked the “attention” Jin Guangyao was giving him, and that he deserved to get kicked out for “liking” it.

This, combined with the guilt that sexual harassment victims frequently have regardless of gender and sexuality, made for a difficult recovery. Even his own mother committed suicide in shame, and that, combined with the abuse that came from his aunt afterwards, likely further exacerbated his spiral into low self-esteem.

And judging by the fact that he waited many years to commit suicide, I think he genuinely tried to recover. He tried standing up for himself in front of his aunt and convincing himself to live, but it was a very, very tough war that he lost more often than he won. Thus, when Nie Huaisang gave him an incentive, he likely took it without much protest.

So what, according to this conspiracy theory, actually happened?

This, I repeat, is more of a “what if” situation than a serious guess at canon. Thus, do not attempt to stab me over the internet. You will only wreck your own device in the end, and you do not want that.

Mo Xuanyu is a closeted, 14-year-old gay boy who has yet to come to terms with the fact that he’s one of them despised “cutsleeves”.

His mother placed a lot of hope on him when he was taken back to LanLing.

He grows close with Jin Guangyao, because the guy is charmer and a really pleasant guy to be with when he doesn’t want to kill you.

In spite of his best wishes, Mo Xuanyu’s sexuality begins to show itself. No secret is safe at Lanling Jin.

And Jin Guangyao, for whatever reason, decides to make a move on Mo Xuanyu.

And Mo Xuanyu 1) couldn’t reject him and 2) was gas-lighted by him into believing that he was at fault.

How far the “sexual harassment” went depends on how you want to believe it.

Regardless, Mo Xuanyu and Jin Guangyao grows close, and Jin Guangyao gives him gifts.

Then, someone catches them together.

Jin Guangyao quickly pushes all of the responsibility onto Mo Xuanyu, leading to his being kicked out of Jinlintai.

He lets Mo Xuanyu live, and pats himself on the back for it.

After being shamed by Lanling Jin and kicked out, Mo Xuanyu was shamed by his own family.

His mother, especially, was disappointed in him, and Mo Xuanyu didn’t defend himself because there’s nothing to defend - he’s a disgusting cutsleeve who harassed Jin Guangyao.

Mo Xuanyu down spirals into depression after his mother’s death.

He tried to convince himself to live for many years, but is teeming on the edge.

Nie Huaisang comes and gives him an easy way to die.

He takes it.

[thedistantstorm]

Project Compass 33

Read along on AO3 here

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This time: A trap must be dealt with.

Next time: Vah’nya and Eli stage a rescue.

-/

Warning alert for this chapter - violence related to torture and use of interrogation drugs.

-/

Ezra felt the subtle nudge of the Force pushing him forward, telling him to pay attention. Something had changed in that moment when Vah’nya’s fingertips glowed white and lightning arced through the interrogation room at her behest.

The disgraced mid-commander spoke as though possessed. Tanik gave everything from his instructions and plans to what he knew of the incoming forces waiting for them on the freighter set to deliver the uncovered “shipment.” He recalled every detail he could remember, then answered every question Vah’nya, Ar’alani, and even Ivant had asked him. He knew little of the Compass, other than that he was to take the freighter and bring it to the Compass when enemy forces had locked down the hangar upon their arrival.

The Admiral had seen the plans for what they were. “Their warship plans to take the Steadfast,” She said, and Tanik winced, finally tearing his gaze away from Vah’nya’s face.”

“There are explosives aboard the freighter,” Vanto speculated, to Tanik’s growing horror. “Either we surrender and they render us dead to rights or blow us out of the sky.”

“That’s not right,” Tanik interjected. “They wouldn’t-”

“No,” Vah’nya corrected, “We wouldn’t. But the Grysks,” She paused for emphasis, her gaze condemning, “And anyone who has been compromised by them - would.”

“You have the misfortune of being one of the few not so entrenched in their ranks to still be able to see it,” Ar’alani told him when Vah’nya stepped away and yielded to her authority. “Our people - loyal people - will die because of your mistakes in judgement.” She stepped into the room and released him from his bindings. “You will be tried for your transgressions,” She told him with the finality of a door being slammed shut. “But first, you will help us make this right.”

It wasn’t a question and yet the answer laid in Tanik’s response. “Yes, admiral,” Agreed Tanik.

Ezra could feel the regret, the hollowness, the embers of loyalty he held for Ar’alani, peeking through the gouges made in his prideful ignorance. Tanik was not a good being, of that Ezra was certain. But he did believe himself to be loyal to his people. He’d chosen the wrong side and was unwilling to die for his crimes. Clearly he was only truly committed to himself.

“You will not leave my sight,” The admiral said, indicating what must have been a concealed blaster at her hip. “If you deviate from our plan or disobey my orders, I will execute you myself.” Tanik gulped at that.

Ezra looked around at the collection of resolved faces. “Plan?” He asked, but pressed forward despite wincing at his own interruption. “You already have one? He just told us what was going on!”

Vanto nodded. “This isn’t our first rodeo,” He said in Basic, pointedly ignoring the younger man’s lack of decorum. Faro snorted and the admiral rolled her eyes, though Ezra wasn’t sure if Ar’alani had understood what he’d said. In Cheunh, he refocused them with a kindly phrased order, “Let’s get to the hangar and prepare for the first phase.”

The picture began to change in Ezra’s mind before they’d met a small task force inside the main hangar. He knew the Steadfast would be targeting the concealed Grysk warship Tanik had confirmed for them. The freighter’s arrival time could not be altered with - it would raise suspicion. Ar’alani sent Faro back to the bridge to prepare her vessel for combat as their group and the task force finished fanning out around a holoprojector.

There would be two theatres of combat.

The first would be the larger and more obvious maneuver Ezra had predicted: the Steadfast would tangle with both the Grysk warship and the renegade Compass if need be. Ar’alani outlined her plan without going into specifics, because this group was very clearly a part of the second, more intricate battle about to take place.

Ezra was reminded of that first time he had joined Ar’alani for combat, when he’d found himself face to face with Grysks for the first time. He bit back a shudder at the way the strange beings had felt, oily and icy and malevolent in the Force. Ar’alani was crisp and direct. She split the troops she’d selected into two teams, briefing each on their objectives. One would hold the hangar for the other to handle the crew aboard the freighter. Ezra fell into the group who would be going to the Compass. That didn’t particularly surprise him, though he felt a pang of concern for the Steadfast.

Ar’alani must have seen it on his face. She held his gaze for a moment, scrutinizing him. He bowed his head in deference and she moved on. “The second team will report to Ivant.”

The Captain stepped forward as Ar’alani inclined her head. “We have three objectives,” The holotable pulled up a multidimensional projection of the Compass, already flashing in three widespread areas. He indicated the first. “The enemy will have compromised the engine and shield systems. We also have to assume the hyperdrive will be rigged to implode the vessel utilizing a manual interface, though they may also employ a remote to keep things under control on the bridge.” He tapped the console and the route from the engine room to the hangar was illuminated. “The tech team-” Ezra looked to the group of six Chiss behind him when Vanto nodded to them. Clearly he had been a little too caught up in his own musings and missed some things, “Will deactivate the explosives and power down everything but life support.”

Another tap on the console changed the projection back to the overview of the warship. “The second team will be the strike force.” This time Vanto regarded the group on Ezra’s left, twelve more Chiss that looked well versed in combat if the way they held themselves was any indication. “They will reclaim the bridge.” His gaze was striking when it landed on Ezra and he stiffened to attention without thinking about it. “Bridger will accompany this group. We must take control of the bridge by any means necessary, so I don’t recommend keeping your weapons set for non-lethal damage.”

Vah’nya nodded. “Ivant and I will locate the Navigators, and free any captives we identify once the bridge team secures their objective.”

Seamlessly, the Captain continued, “We’ll need the bridge team in place to make sure we can neutralize any death-traps and minimize loss of life.” Ezra didn’t hear any hint of irritation or pain he’d felt from Ivant earlier. The Captain felt nearly serene, though Ezra supposed it was resolve and professionalism, but maybe Ivant had learned how to keep his cool from the Chiss and really was that calm. “Tanik suspects that they’ll be interrogating high level prisoners, which is consistent with what we know of the enemy’s tactics. The Navigators will likely be kept contained within a high security clearance area if not within the detention cells with the rest of the prisoners. Either way, we’ll neutralize the threat and get them out.”

A tall, thickly muscled Chiss took a step toward the holotable and waited for Vah’nya’s indication that he could speak. “You two should not go alone.”

“We’ll be fine,” Vah’nya assured. “We will not be alone for long.” She pursed her lips. “Our guest,” She indicated Tanik, “Has been so kind as to inform us that Senior Captain Khresh is still alive. He is one of our secondary objectives, but he will be able to assist us, or any of the other teams so long as he is relatively uninjured.” She turned and looked at the man standing behind her and almost shoulder-to-shoulder with the Admiral. Tanik flinched. Perhaps she saw some reasoning within that? Her gaze had looked especially predatory, from Ezra’s perspective. Though, perhaps there was something about Khresh being alive that was of value to Tanik. Everyone aboard the Steadfast knew that there had been bad blood between the two officers due to familial disputes. It was common knowledge and water-cooler gossip. Was the disgraced Chiss truly that petty?

Without waiting for permission, a woman’s voice rang out from one of the squads. “How are we so sure that the enemy transport won’t blow up in our faces? Certainly they’ll realize it’s a trap.”

At this, Ar’alani indicated her unrestrained but very captive prisoner. “Tanik was meant to detonate the ship remotely if there was an issue. However,” She nudged him forward by several millimeters, and he had enough shame to cast his gaze at the floor instead of meeting the accusing faces of his peers. Upon closer inspection, Ezra realized there was a remote in her hand. “It seems we caught on to his machinations before the ship was in range. Now, he will be assuring his comrades that all is well,” She regarded him with a false kindness that made Ezra gulp. “And in exchange, I will suggest that the Admiralty consider alternatives to execution.”

Angry murmurs suggested that the disgraced commander didn’t deserve such treatment, but Ar’alani did not back down and the muttering subsided quickly. “If there are no further questions, I suggest you study your datapads while we wait for the enemy to make their move. We will be arriving at the rendezvous shortly.”

-/

“Admiral, a moment.”

Ar’alani turned toward the person calling her. Ahead, a group of six officers - all armed - led an incarcerated Tanik toward the bridge to play his part in the proceedings. The Chiss woman rolled her shoulders back and down, regarding the human before her with serious eyes.

“The plan has progressed sooner than we imagined,” She said to him, one eyebrow rising in a silent challenge.

Ivant did not give her any. He merely inclined his head.

She read into what he did not say. “You have spoken to Vah’nya.”

“And canvassed the Jedi.”

“And?”

“Vah’nya has always been amenable.” He shifted his weight from left to right and crossed his arms. “Bridger won’t stay forever, but I don’t think he planned on leaving anytime soon. I was going to broach the subject in a more official capacity once this is all over.”

Considering the thought, she waved a hand before speaking as if to dismiss the point. The Jedi’s inclinations changed little. “Moreover, are you prepared for what you must do?”

“I am,” He said. “Do I have your blessing?”

“Yes, Eli’van’to,” She nodded, “You have it. I expect you’ve already submitted the paperwork.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Very good.” For a moment, her serene aloofness receded, and Eli was granted the sight of a genuine smile and intelligent eyes bright with concern. “You will only get one chance at this. Make your actions count.”

“I will,” He vowed. “Thank you, Admiral Ar’alani.”

“It has been my pleasure, Captain Eli’van’to.” A klaxon rang shrilly in the direction of the hangar. They both knew it was a precursory alarm, feeling the mild shift of the ship preparing to emerge from hyperspace travel. “And now, we must go.” She regarded him sharply.

“May warrior’s fortune be with you,” Said Eli, shifting to a formal salute, one hand pressed over his heart.

She mirrored the action: a rarely utilized token of respect from superior to subordinate, meant to indicate the superior officer regarded their subordinate to be their equal. “May it smile upon you as well,” She paused, and her reserved gaze held pride as she added, “Warrior of the Chiss Ascendancy.”

-/

The teams were prepared. Having been hand selected by Ar’alani meant that they were more than up to the task. Tanik had handled his portion according to plan, no doubt forced by the admiral to fulfill his intended role whether under duress or resigned agreement. The enemy was given clearance by the ‘temporarily re-instated’ Mid Commander, and the dozen elite troops instructed to hold the hangar moved swiftly, falling in with the infiltrators under the guise of being their support. A jammer and three signal dampeners later, the entire group - the nearly twenty Chiss intending to wreak havoc upon the Steadfast were neutralized. They had intended to fight, but Ar’alani’s strike force was well trained. It was hardly a battle.

The infiltration attempt was pitiful at best. Uncoordinated, but the potential for destruction was there. Had Tanik been able to allow them aboard the ship and given them access to offload their explosives - or worse, to detonate them - the Steadfast would have been compromised or even potentially blown from the sky.

It indicated deadly intent and dangerous potential. It couldn’t be allowed to stand.

“What should we do with the explosives aboard?” Ezra asked, poking his head into the ship’s cargo hold.

“Leave them,” Replied Eli. He waved his hand. “The Compass is already rigged for self-destruct protocol,” He explained. “Having them with us will be no more of a liability than it would’ve been to step foot in the Compass as is. Besides, we might need them later.”

The other human pulled an unhappy face but relented.

The captain shook his head ruefully as he steered Ezra in the direction of the helm. “We’ll be underway before you know it.”

Vah’nya waited for them in the cockpit, already cycling through her pre-flight checks. “Just waiting for Tanik to give them the all clear. After that, Ar’alani stalls and we jettison ourselves into the belly of the beast.”

“Good. The teams are standing by,” Ivant said.

It took another fourteen minutes for Tanik to transmit his codes and establish contact with enemy forces aboard the Compass, but the moment he was speaking, Vah’nya had let the ship hover off the deckplates and drift toward the two-way shield that separated the hangar from deep space.

No matter how many times he’d looked out at the stars, Ivant found he never got tired of it. Somehow the inky void had become a home, the endless expanse welcoming in its cold, familiar way. As he watched the capitol ship - his ship, the one his capture and escape from the Grysks had earned - replace the stars in the viewport, all sleek and gleaming and agile in the distance, he couldn’t help the sense of nostalgia that stole over him.

He hadn’t had the vessel for a long time, but it’d been a good ship. Unbroken in battle save for mild repairs, well travelled, and home to what had started out as a loyal crew. He drank in the sight of his first - and last - command and allowed himself a sigh. The ship wasn’t going to look like a vicious protector when they were through with it.

“Compass has engaged their tractor beam,” Vah’nya said softly. They hadn’t accounted for that.

“Damn,” Ivant said. His gaze drifted to the gaping maw of his ship’s hangar. It was smaller than the Steadfast’s, but it was still large. “They won’t have a large crew holding the ship. We’ll need to neutralize the hangar staff.” He rose, giving his ship one last, lingering view from the outside, and turned back to the main cabin.

The sound of troops checking blaster cartridges and adjusting their armor was loud when the hydraulic doors opened into the small galley area.

“Change of plans,” Ivant said, then threw a look over his shoulder at Ezra and jerked his head to indicate this involved him, too. “I know you all felt the jerk of the tractor beam. We need to secure the hangar. They’ll be working with a skeleton crew.”

The strike team seemed to confer amongst each other. “Captain,” Their leader said, “We can spare two to take hangar control. That should give us eyes and ears. Hopefully it will be enough to hold our position.”

Ivant nodded. “Alright Lieutenant Commander. Make the changes.” He inclined his head to Ezra. “Ezra will go with you to make sure things stay quiet. After the hangar is secure, we’ll move out.” Orders received, the troops began to shuffle about in the small open area, making their arrangements.

As they went back to check on Vah’nya in the cockpit, Ezra called out to Eli. “You’re awful sure about this,” He muttered. “There could be an entire army of traitors waiting for us in that hangar.”

“There won’t be,” Ivant vowed, confident. “They don’t have enough trustworthy staff for something like that. They probably don’t even have enough space to stow their prisoners. If I had to guess they’ve sealed everyone out with the blast doors and an override. The high value prisoners will be isolated in the brig.”

“And you’re sure?”

“Positive,” Said Ivant. He met Ezra’s gaze. “I have a bit of inside knowledge, remember?”

The Jedi did remember, Ivant could see it in his face, the way his features wrinkled and softened so quick it was almost like it hadn’t happened at all. The young man blinked, and his deep blue eyes shifted before losing some of their accusing nature. “I’m worried,” He admitted.

Ivant stopped in his tracks, taking the time to pat the young man’s back. “Me too,” He admitted, in Basic this time.

Ezra blinked at him in surprise. “You are?”

“That so hard to believe?” Eli’s voice was warm, curling with that Wild Space drawl. They paused in the tiny hall between the cockpit and galley. “Just because I’m confident in the plan doesn’t mean I haven’t considered its weak points. Thrawn’s out there itchin’ to get himself killed because he thinks it's going to save people and-”

“Wouldn’t it?” Ezra interrupted.

“Some,” The captain reckoned. But not all. There wasn’t a way to save everyone aboard the Compass, it had been too long since the infiltration and mutiny had occurred. Thrawn was acting to minimize casualties, but there was another way.

Some of the captain’s thought processes must have been transparent to Ezra, because he said, “He did it for the right reasons, even if he didn’t-” Ezra flushed. Of all those present when he’d come to in the sickbay, Ezra was the one who understood both what he said, and the context. The kid didn’t elaborate. He didn’t have to. “You know.”

Eyebrows rising in a gesture that was half furious, half conflicted - but not at Ezra, Eli’s gaze was far away when he replied, “Yeah, I know.” His lips didn’t quite make it to a smile, but the hand he placed on Ezra’s shoulder was grounding. Reaffirming. “Can you do something for me?” He asked, brandishing the tiny controller Ezra had seen in Ar’alani’s hands earlier, a small remote that blinked slow and sluggish, as if it were benign and not the key to their vessel’s destruction. “I think that if anyone will be able to tell when or even if we need to make this play, it will be you.”

The Jedi looked at it, recognizing the device for what it was. “Okay,” Ezra said, looking back up. His voice held resolve. He understood what was being asked of him. “I will.”

“Good,” Eli said. “I’m counting on you.”

-/

There was a pattern to the sounds coming from the next room, but Thrawn's mind couldn't quite make sense of it. Every bit of his body felt weighed down, his senses dampened and all sound muffled though he could not feel the weight of any device covering his ears. He attempted to open his eyes, but even the ultra-dimmed lights of this location - Where was he? - were overpowering to him. His eyes watered and burned, so he let them fall closed and relished the relief that the inside of his eyelids provided.

Voices. That was the first sound, the words indistinguishable from beneath his haze. There were two. One had the unmistakable intonation of a Chiss, and the other, more frequent speaker was…

Grysk. Thrawn did not panic when the memories did not come back to him immediately, his usually sharp recall failing to provide him with the details. Panicking was not something he did, even on the cusp of death. He knew with certainty that this situation was nowhere near that. The sound shifted, something like shuffling?

No, that was not right. It wasn't muted footsteps. Thrawn forced himself to focus on listening, keeping himself limp, eyes closed, completely still in his restraints. The sound became slightly clearer, though not by much. This sound was quieter than the first.

Breathing, he thought to himself. Heavy breaths, wet hiccoughs interspersed with sobs-

And then more screaming. Shrill, painful to his ears, which were about as sensitive as his eyes to the stimulation, the screaming carried on for a thirty second interval before the cycle repeated.

He should know who was screaming, he chastised himself by the third cycle, but it couldn't be helped. His thoughts were slurry from what he surmised to be a potent chemical cocktail in his bloodstream. This was obvious information. Obvious but not useful. He needed to formulate a plan.

What was the last thing he remembered?

That, it seemed, his mind could tell him. The Steadfast. He was in the hangar, and Eli had-

And then Thrawn had…

It all clicked into place painfully fast, adrenaline wiping away some of the drug induced stupor. Un'hee, he thought, wincing viscerally when the girl screamed again, hoarse and brokenly. He listened to the Grysk again, crooning in its native tongue, a language he knew Un'hee could understand. A language Thrawn did not, could only gather context from.

It was an interrogation, to say the least. That much he was sure of. An interrogation and an attempt to break her. A pause came in the enemy's questioning, and the Chiss with them - male, possibly the one he barely recalled from earlier - began to speak in Messe Calf, but Un'hee interrupted them.

"You will have to kill me," She said in Cheunh, her voice - a child’s voice - warped into a snarl even as she paused between words to gather breath. "I will tell you nothing. I will show you nothing."

“You will find,” The Grysk began menacingly, “You have little say in the matter.”

The cycle began again, with a sort of vehemence it did not have before. When it stopped, their captors realizing that Thrawn was again lucid enough for questioning, the Chiss captain was grateful. Grateful for anything that would take their captors’ attention away from Un’hee, if only for a little while.

They asked far fewer questions of him this time around, quickly growing tired of his rambling - it was an obvious attempt to pull their attention away from the tiny Navigator in the adjacent suite and they all knew it. He’d been dosed again before they returned to their torment of the Navigator, barely allowing enough time for Un’hee’s sobs to subside into wheezes.

“Who will cave first?” One of the Chiss asked, looking between them in the doorway. “Maybe instead you will break. The one who wants you,” They said, indicating Thrawn, “Might be grateful.” His voice bled with malice, yet remained light and apparently amused as the Grysk gave a trill of scratchy delight regarding the latter option. Thrawn could barely make out the words, his eyes feeling almost too heavy from whatever they’d given him to close them all the way. It made his eyes burn, but he could feel very little otherwise, his senses no longer overstimulated but feeling like they were cut off. He received the information they collected, but it simply… existed, indiscernible.

He struggled to focus on each blink, on his hearing. Those were the two most powerful senses he could retain at this moment. It was a losing battle, but just for a moment longer, perhaps he could-

There were more words being spoken. Threatening ones. Un’hee. Then the Grysk, in his language, shouting something Thrawn knew he did not understand. Un’hee spoke again, but the words were like trying to collect smoke with his bare hands.

Seconds later, his vision went white, flickering before the normal overhead lights attempted to turn back on. By the time anything could have shifted into focus, his sight had gone hazy and blurred beyond recognition, and the effort required to blink was impossible. He felt himself lose the ability to perceive anything at all, all traces of rational, conscious being fading away amidst a symphony of screaming.