#critiquing him and bringing up all his past failures as a way of making herself feel better about her own bad self esteem he kind of just

[13eyond13]

.

[whitherliliesbloom]

heartbeat concerto

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #03 - scale ]

[ alphinaud/wol ]  ★ [ 2,605 words ]  ★ [ nodame cantabile au ]

scale: an arrangement of the notes in any system of music in ascending or descending order of pitch

Illya prays to the heavens that the man beside her does not hear the fortissimo that was her pounding heart. 

“Rachmaninoff?” Her voice was equal parts confused as it was alarmed, hiking in pitch that sounded like an ear piercing squeak, almost grimace worthy. Trepidation rings loud in her chest, like shrieking white noise that deafens her. “I’ve never played a concerto in front of somebody before.” 

She had hoped that admittance would allow him to grant her some fraction of mercy. After all... for as gracious and supportive a tutor as he was a diligently observant audience for her playing, he surely wouldn’t throw her into the deep end after she’d just barely able to make some progress, right?

The boy merely smiles, navy blue eyes softening in its gaze as he waves the music sheets in his hands before placing them delicately upon the piano stand. He exudes an aura of gentle reassurance, but knows that his resolve to push her past her comfortable limits is implacable. 

“Now would be a good time for a first then, wouldn’t you agree?”

Illya heart sinks, lips pressed into a thin, paling line as she glances at the score that awaited her - notes upon lines that were rapidly blurring into nothing but squiggles and incomprehensible doodles in her vision... as if taunting her, daring her to butcher one of the most iconic piano concertos to have ever been composed - by one of the greatest virtuoso pianists to have ever lived no less? 

Sonatas were one thing - it took Illya a good amount of time to be able to even bring herself to play the first movement of Sonata Facile to completion in front of him without breaking down into a mess of cold sweat and trembling fingers. 

But concertos... by the twelve, even saying the word brings her chills down her spine. 

She was nowhere near good enough for pieces that demanded such high amounts of skill, precision and talent... nowhere even close to being able to perform alone on stage for a crowd to behold... let alone in front of an entire orchestra. 

When she had met the violin prodigy that had been her new neighbor and he’d offered to help her overcome the performance anxiety that had crippled her ability to play the piano in front of others for years, she hadn’t expected for him to have such sky high expectations for her - expectations that she was certain she’d never in a million years be able to meet.

Alphinaud is a confident, assured young man. Performing was only natural to him, came as naturally as music does flow through his very veins - he had even stated so on the very day that they’d met. Music is for ears to hear, for the world to enjoy. What point was there to keeping music hidden behind four walls? To hide away the sound of their instruments is an affront to the very reason those instruments were made in the first place. 

He moved into this apartment complex for a very different reason than she did - and she understood that he too, in his own ways that she could not yet fully understand, had his own troubles which kept him from reaching the heights in which he, and his family had aspired him to be. 

But the notoriety behind the difficulty of the pieces he plays has never once made his bow once falter, nor has it ever put him off the idea of even trying. Certainly, there were aspects of his playing to critique... but his determination and confidence alone makes him more of a capable musician than she is - something she both deeply envied and admired. 

Would that she could even possess half the amount of talent as he- she’d constantly tell herself, and it was a thought that possessed her even as she hung her head in defeat, trudging to the piano that sat in the middle of the living room before sitting herself down on the cushioned bench, the dent in the corner of the wood still visible from their first meeting when she’d knocked it over onto its side from panic. 

Violet eyes glance down at the black and white keys with a gulp - her greatest friend in her darkest times of sorrow... yet also the cause of many of her biggest regrets and worries in life. 

She stalls for a moment to pick her train of hair up from the floor and let it unravel gently behind her on the bench, her cotton slippers kicked aside to place her feet upon the pedals that were propped up by a well used extender - a necessity due to her short stature. 

With stiff, slightly shaky fingers that now laid delicately upon the surface of the piano keys, Illya sharply inhales, and forces herself to quiet the raging thoughts of potential failure and humiliation as she presses down to play the first notes. 

Alphinaud stands behind her by the window, quiet so as to not disturb the girl... but even with his considerate silence, Illya could not help but be acutely aware of his eyes staring holes into the back of her head. She could only begin to imagine what he was thinking - and while she’s befriended him long enough to know he was a man who was above ridicule, she still hated to disappoint - especially the first person who has heard her play the piano for the first time in years. 

A symphony fills the apartment, bright as the rays of sunlight that shone through the window, making Illya’s starspun hair appear to glow like a halo. Like little bells, the piano sings out a melody that is as light as the air. It sounds easy on the ears, gentle and kind as the timid pianist who was weaving this piece into being with her fingers. 

And that was the problem.

Rachmaninoff composed Piano Concerto No 2 during some of the darkest moments of his life - the piece that would go on to save his career as a floundering, helpless musician had been written from the very pits of his own despair - a song of tragedy and sorrow that tells of a struggling pianist and composer who feared to lose the very thing that gave his life meaning; something many other aspiring musicians would surely understand... something Illya herself knew all too well.

And yet when Alphinaud listened to the piece being played, it conveyed none of that sadness, none of the essence of what made Concerto No 2 become such an iconic classical piece in history. 

Illya played without fault - that much he is certain. She’s taking great care to play the right notes, attentive to her own pace that would be fitting were a choir of violins and cellos playing after her tune. But he can tell, even without looking upon the tense, rigid scowl upon her face that she was focusing too much on the technicalities that she’s lost all of what made him so captivated with her playing before - a mistake that he himself has been criticized for countless times. 

Father has chided him for that before - praised him for being a genius and young violin paragon both while at the same time admonishing his lack of improvement even after three years of performing professionally - three years of the same critique that would come back to haunt him over and over again.

Music was more than playing perfectly - it was about the inflections, the subtleties in the way one moves their finger across the piano keys, or the way one draws a violin bow... The emotions that would stir one’s heart in a way only music would be able to convey and can never be properly emulated with computerized digital sound. 

When Alphinaud closed his eyes, he did not hear the disquiet of a child’s heart as he heard the echoes of church bells ringing on a Sunday morning... but, just as it is - a nervous pianist who was pressing keys because she was told to, because she is doubting herself. 

“Illya.” he calls her name, softly so as to not startle... but more importantly, to convey that he wasn’t mad, disappointed or upset with her - as she is wont to often assume. 

The piano stops abruptly, and the girl turns to look at him, her piercing stardust hued eyes shimmering with a glossy layer of worry - it suits her less than the rare blossoms of joy that sprouted in her eyes whenever she seemed to genuinely be enjoying his company.

“Y-Yes?” 

The young man pauses for a moment to casually stroll up beside her, before gesturing for the lady to move. Though confused, she scoots over to her right to allow him space on the bench, questioning expression apparent on her face about his intent.

When he sits, the close proximity between them brings him warmth, and he feels the corners of his lips instinctively pull into a gentle smile.

“I’m sorry, you must have been caught off guard with such an unreasonable request from me.” He apologizes before quickly holding up his hand when he sees the young lady’s lips part in an impulsive need to protest.. but it is quickly lowered when she draws back into herself and swallows her retort. “Maybe... a little warm up would be better before we move on to such a challenging piece.”

His slender fingers stretch, the pad of his index finger resting gently upon a D key, but not pressing down. 

Alphinaud has only the basic understanding of how a piano is played... and he has in the past tried to expand his musical repertoire to cover the undisputedly most popular classical instrument of all time, but he regrettably never quite got the time or chance to. But he is aware of a routine piano players would use to practice, not too dissimilar to the way violinists would warm up as well.

“May we perhaps practice scales? Just for a little while?”

The humility in his tone with his request compared to before doesn’t escape Illya’s notice, but she refrains from commenting on it as her eyes widen up at him.

“Um... s-sure.”

The hesitation in her response is only natural - after all he’d just challenged her to play a difficult piece of piano concerto only to reduce their practice down to repetitive scales - something even the most amateur of players could easily do. 

Perhaps he’d felt a tad sorry for his earlier forwardness and the not so subtle way he’d intimidated her into playing something she was clearly not completely comfortable performing for him.. and the only way he knew how to make amends was to correct the damage of his own transgression’s doing. 

Getting Illya to relax was important - not just for her music but for the sake of herself as well. If her Rapunzel length hair, lack of fresh foods in her pantry and well worn and weathered pink camise was any indication, the girl wasn’t the best at taking care of her own wellbeing in her pursuit for musical perfection. 

Illya’s shoulder is still relatively stiff as she begins to play, though not nearly as much as they were before while she was playing the concerto. Her fingers effortlessly glide across the keyboard to play an ascension of notes before moving back down. 

By the third repeat, she’s begun relaxing considerably and picking up speed, and her hands were moving with a practiced, ethereal fluidity that was akin to waves of the ocean... as were the sound of the notes being played - reminding Alphinaud of the push and pull of the tides upon a sandy shoreline. 

She transitions from C major to C minor, weaving in the scales of D-flat major and minor before the scales moves further and further up in pitch, so seamlessly that anyone who isn’t familiar with notes in the slightest would have trouble even realizing the switch in scales until she’s reached F major. 

In the face of something that comes naturally to Illya, she is at ease... and the piano is once more harmonizing in tune with her love for the instrument. 

It’s a not so subtle way of giving her a confidence boost, but Alphinaud claps as she finishes the B minor scale with a flick of her arms - and though her confusion is still apparent, he can tell just from the adorable tilt of her head that she’s relaxed now.

“Wonderful, Illya... It’s clear as crystal with the way you played how seasoned you are. I’d dare say you’re quite a prodigy yourself.”

Having a lofty title thrust onto her so suddenly without warning burns her cheeks a bright shade of red, and the girl is quick to shake her head.

“I-I... I appreciate it, Alphinaud... But I know you’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Be that as it may...” He retorts before leaning forward to close the distance between them, his blue eyes swirling with a sincerity that begins to mirror in Illya’s bejeweled ones. “My praises are always truthful and well deserved. You’re a wonderful pianist, Illya.”

Something compels Alphinaud to continue speaking. Perhaps it was the twinkling of Illya’s eyes that held the radiantly clear reflection of himself within... or the dust of pink speckled upon her cheeks and across the width of her little button nose and pointed ears... or maybe it was the soft sound of air being inhaled through her barely parted lips - glossy, pink and befittingly cute for a woman of such beauty. But he deigns to open up his heart and speak his mind freely- he finds himself being able to do so more easily towards her than any other person for some reason.

“Besides... It was because of my own selfish desire to be able to hear you play that I offered to be your tutor. Being able to be by your side here like this and watch you play alone is an honor I would always treasure. So you needn’t be so afraid of playing how you wish to with me.”

When Alphinaud leans back, he finds the delightful cherry pink shade upon Illya’s face to have darkened, and her flustered quivering of her lips as him self-reflecting upon his own statement which causes him to dart his head to the side in an attempt to hide his own blooming blush.

Not that it’d be noticed by Illya in the first place, as she tilts her head down to hide her thoroughly embarrassed expression beneath the shadows of her white bangs. 

“I-I’m sorry. Maybe I said too much.” 

Illya doesn’t respond, and the young man is almost thankful she doesn’t... because he’s determined to force himself to recover and continue on with their practice.

Clearing his throat unabashedly, his head turns slowly back to look at the girl beside him.

“Well. Shall we continue? I could pick out an easier piece for you to try, this time.”

She nods, as halfheartedly as she did earlier when he’d asked her to perform  Rachmaninoff’s piece for him. And though her playing of Mozart was even more shaky, off-pace and lacking in original intent as it did with Piano Concerto No 2 before... Alphinaud could only acknowledge her efforts with an apologetic and bashful smile on his part... for the deep red flush upon Illya’s face never once dissipates during her performance. 

Nor does the trembling of her fingers - which, if nothing else, conveys the pounding of her racing heart more than clearly and loudly for him to hear. 

[houseofhurricane]

ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (18/28) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: Everyone is back at the Spring Court, but nothing is as Elain imagined. I hope you enjoy! You can find all previous chapters here, or read Bloom & Bone on AO3. Thank you for reading! ❤️ There will be no new chapter next week because I will be on vacation with limited wifi, but after that, it's full steam ahead until the end.

Once Lucien takes Vassa to their room, Rhys and Tamlin agree to survey the wards on the estate, and Elain waits with Feyre and Eris for any sign of Koschei. She does not know what use she’ll be, but though her dress is torn and there are leaves tangled in her hair, Elain is not willing to leave the great hall.

“Will you go to the Autumn Court and claim your title?” Feyre asks Eris, her voice carefully neutral.

“I think that even with your limited years in Prythian, you will understand that such a thing is not a simple matter of appearing on the throne,” Eris responds in that silken tone which is seemingly not affected by torture or pain.

He shoots a look at Elain that indicates her presence is unwelcome. She crosses her arms.

Then Feyre turns to her.

“Can you give us a moment?” her sister asks, in that too-gentle voice that knows that Elain could not do what was needed in the moment of crisis, that she will always need rescuing.

But this is not some private room in which she can tell Feyre what is the matter. She is standing before the High Lady of the Night Court and the High Lord of the Autumn Court, and she’s been dismissed.

She forces her lips into the approximation of a smile and leaves the room, pushes her way out of the great wooden doors, and walks into the garden.

Elain has imagined this moment, her return to the gardens of the Spring Court, so many times. She would be walking with Vassa, healed and happy, and Elain would share her plans for the new garden, new hybrids developed on the continent or a more pleasing arrangement of plants, and Vassa would tell her a story about Scythia, which would make her laugh and also contain a thinly-veiled lesson on what it would mean to rule. There would be an affectionate joke about Lucien, perhaps a reference to Tamlin that would have Elain blushing, but mostly she would savor the nighttime walk in the garden with her friend, who would trust that Elain was capable of nearly anything.

Now Vassa screams at her touch.

Elain makes it as far as the edge of her field of tulips before she falls to her knees, ready for the sobs to overtake her. Instead, there is a great roaring emptiness inside of her. She’s surprised to realize that this feeling is not unfamiliar, something akin to what she felt in the Night Court months and months ago, convinced she’d turn into a monster. The feeling that she’d once had a purpose, only to find it had abandoned her.

She does not want to go back to the Spring Court, or to the Night Court, or even to all of Helion’s libraries. Instead, Elain thinks about wandering the forest, letting the low-hanging branches tear at her until she is dirty and empty and snarling.

Still, when she hears the sound of footsteps behind her, Elain does not fight. She freezes. She feels the hand on her and then she does the only thing she knows: she disappears.

Elain had worried that she’d lost this ability because of Koschei’s magic, that she’d be bound to her own world forever, but she leaves Prythian behind as easily as a leaf falls to the earth, the Spring Court gardens giving way to the familiar passageways.

Tamlin is beside her.

Watching the play of emotions on his face, Elain is sure he’s going to rage at her, point out every stupid decision she’s made, every risk and every failure, but instead one of his hands goes to her shoulder, the other to her chin, gently lifting her face until their eyes meet.

What she sees in his eyes makes everything else dissolve into mist around her. His green eyes do not waver in their gaze on her, as if he can behold every piece of her. She could never have imagined a look that tender, that hopeful, that concerned, that kind. The fairytales never went into such specifics.

“Are you all right?” he asks, the words so gentle and raw that Elain begins to cry. Not the screaming sobs she imagined. Instead, her tears leak out from her eyes, silent as they fall to her cheeks.

“I couldn’t save her,” she says. Her voice goes high and plaintive, a child’s wail. “I couldn’t take her to a place where she’d be safe. And she was there for so long. And the way she screamed when I touched her. I thought I was helping but all I did was cause her pain.”

The thought brings on the sobbing, her shoulders heaving with the recollection of Vassa’s screaming, the fact that even in the face of her friend’s suffering, Elain did not let her go. The fact that in the end, all she’s learned, all her abilities, were of no use.

Tamlin does not tell her to stop crying, does not tell her it is all right, doesn’t even remind her that everyone is waiting at the Spring Court, that there is every chance they’ll be retaliated against by Koschei or some unknown ally. Instead he draws her against him, her cheek against his chest, his hands on her back, up and down her spine, over and over, until her sobs calm.

“Without you, we wouldn’t have known that Vassa and Eris were in danger in the first place. You were the one who drew us together, who made the strategy.”

“Koschei will just claim her again.”

“We won’t allow that to happen,” he says, his hands cupping her shoulders, warm even through the heavy beading on her gown. But some perverse part of Elain is tired of being comforted.

“You think the High Lords will be willing to sacrifice themselves for the safety of a human queen?”

“I’m not talking about the High Lords. I mean you and Lucien. And me.” The last part comes after a hesitation, phrased almost as a question.

Her mind shifts them, to his appearance in the clearing.

“What happened to the shield against Koschei?”

“Feyre realized you were in trouble. She or Rhysand winnowed me to you. Koschei built a trap into the spell he has on Vassa. Likely it’s on Eris as well.”

She knows this will have political implications for Eris, but she cannot think about those now. Not when she’s dismissed from the rooms where such matters are discussed.

“I should have thought that Koschei wouldn’t make rescue so easy. Not when everyone was telling me to wait.”

He pulls away from her, meets her eyes, and does not look away.

“There is always a point where courage seems like stupidity.”

She shakes her head, tries for a smile. Of course Tamlin would know this.

“You’re being too nice to me,” she says. She was trained all her life to read the desires of men on their faces, and she knows when there’s something they’re not saying.

He sighs, looks away from her.

“You tried to do everything on your own. If you were anyone else, I would have started by saying that you should have let go of Vassa the moment she started screaming. Lucien could have winnowed her, or Feyre or Rhysand. You didn’t know what magic Koschei was working. And when I thought you were in danger, I… I was willing to sacrifice myself for you, Elain. To buy you the time to save Vassa, or run to safety. I would gladly make the same decision again. But you did not show the same amount of trust.”

She looks at him for a long moment. His muscles are tensed against her, as if he is waiting for her to rage at him, or else to disappear and leave him stranded between worlds. It occurs to her, then, that he is completely at her mercy.

In the space of that realization, all her angry thoughts toward Feyre evaporate. All she can think about is that if he braces for rejection in the face of such a gentle critique, he must have faced it from everyone he ever cared for. That she is now one of those people. Elain isn’t sure if it’s the mating bond, but this idea is a heady one, thrumming through her body.

There are a thousand reasons she should distrust Tamlin, even now, but she pushes each one firmly aside.

“I think you’re right,” she says, her voice a thread, swallowed up by the expanse around them.

When she sees the slight widening of his eyes, the surprise at her acceptance, she wants to fling herself at him, press her mouth to his. But they need to return. There is work to do, still, and she cannot lose herself to this desire, she cannot be the person who winds up trapped by the idea of romance.

And though Elain wants to trust Tamlin, believe that he has changed, that his past is behind him, she’s still comforted by the fact that in this place, she is the one with the power. That despite all his training, the arms that heft a broadsword without hesitation, the thighs that strain at his pants, she could trap him with a thought. In another world, he cannot harm her.

So instead of kissing him, she steps out of the circle of his arms, says, “We should go back to the Spring Court.”

“I need you to go to the Summer Court.” He looks down at her but she doesn’t feel him looming, only the earnestness of his gaze. Still, she steels herself.

“In case Koschei comes for Vassa and Eris?”

“Because I’d like you to tell the High Lords of Prythian everything that has happened while I ensure my court is secure. I’m asking you to be my emissary.”

“Why me?”

“You see what nobody else does, Elain, and beneath your lovely face is a mind that never stops. I think only a fool would underestimate you, but it seems this world is full of fools.”

His little speech is pure poetry, everything she’s ever dreamed a man or male could say to her, more than she ever expected. Still Elain remains out of the circle of his arms. She was part of the deliberations between Tamlin and Lucien over the meeting of the High Lords, the bickering that turned thunderous. As much as she wants to believe them, she knows firsthand how words can be manipulated, how a story of disaster can be turned into an epic tale of bravery and vulnerability and redemption. And while she believes both halves of this story when it comes to the Spring Court, tonight her heart feels too bruised and tired to take the risk on Tamlin.

“You’re sure Lucien won’t mind losing his post?”

“Lucien has been revealed as the heir to the Day Court and will likely be the consort of the Queen of Scythia. Even if he’d like to reclaim the position in the future, I don’t think he’ll object to your mission tonight.”

“Then I’ll accept,” she says. “As long as you’ll agree to consider the fact that you’ll still need an army to deal with the Autumn Court and fend off Koschei.”

His mouth thins while he considers.

“What did you see when you were there?”

“I don’t think the Vanserra brothers are ready to hand over the throne to Eris. We can try a diplomatic option but they’re unlikely to be receptive. They threatened Feyre and me with fire when they found us in the Autumn Court.”

His fists are clenched.

“How did you escape?”

“Feyre made a shield of water and we ran as fast as we could.”

“You could have--”

“I know I could have brought you from the passageways,” she says, “but this is going to be a political nightmare already, and we barely have the other courts as our allies.”

She hadn’t realized she’d looked away from him until his hand interrupts her view of the tiled flooring of the passageways. She reaches for him and their fingers intertwine, effortless.

“We will require an army,” he says, and Elain could swear that the air fills with the scent of springtime, green and sunlit and full of promise.

&

&

&

The High Lords have remained in the same room of the Summer Court, and at first Elain wonders why their expressions are rapt from the moment she appears. Then she realizes that Feyre is speaking, that Vassa is at her side.

“That is the chaos in the Autumn Court,” Feyre says, without acknowledging Elain’s appearance, “but I think that the larger threat to all of us is Koschei.”

“The sorcerer is bound to the lake.” Kallias’ voice sounds certain, but he looks around at the other High Lords as if requesting reassurance.

“He spoke to me of other worlds.” Vassa speaks into the silence, which grows more profound as her words resonate in the room. “He means to conquer them.”

“By what means?” Helion tries for arrogance but Elain can hear the concern, the curiosity in his tone. She has heard those qualities in his speech too many times to miss them.

And it occurs to Elain that she knows the answer to this question, that she’s held it inside of her since that vision long ago. The world shifted around her to make sense of it, and still her thinking mind shielded her a bit longer, as if knowing she was not ready.

Before Feyre can answer, she steps forward to where the rulers of Prythian cannot help but see her, her tired face and the leaves in her hair and the sparkling dress that’s smeared with blood and dirt.

“I think he means to get the Crown on me,” she tells them.

“I heard you were a seer.” Tarquin’s voice is calm, the sea on a sunny day, but Elain wonders what’s lurking below, how his mind moves.

This is the moment when Elain must choose how much of her gifts to reveal. For a second she hesitates, nearly looks to Feyre or Helion for guidance. Instead, she turns to meet Vassa’s eyes.

Though her friend’s face is pale and haunted, her blue eyes blaze bright. The gaze of a queen.

Slowly, because a queen is never hurried, much less by a commoner, Vassa nods at Elain, her lips ever so slightly uptilted.

“I am still learning about my powers,” Elain says, turning back to Tarquin, then letting her gaze rest on each of the High Lords in turn: Kallias, Thesan, and Helion. “But what I thought was the power of foresight seems to be more complicated. I can see the inflection points, where one world becomes another. These worlds are forged by our choices. In one, for example, Koschei captures me and forces the Crown on my head. In another, we defeat him.”

“And why are you the central figure in his plan?” Thesan’s voice is pleasant, almost musical, and yet she sees the tension in his body, nearly hidden. Elain thinks that, should she survive what’s to come, she would like to know him better, learn the way he balances his strength and kindness, the way it is not weakness.

But there is work to do, so she breathes deep and explains to them about the way that she can walk through worlds. She tells the High Lords about the passageways, the way she’s guided by desire, so that she can find the worlds that answer her needs in half a heartbeat. She speaks of the world of Koschei’s origin, the tethering spell, the spell that keeps Vassa in this world.

“There’s one other thing I encountered on my travels,” she says, trying not to sound too excited, too naive. “I found a world where the fae and humans live together, a world at peace. I did not speak the language and looked unlike the humans of that world, but they gave me food and shelter and kindness. When this is over, if we can defeat Koschei, that is the kind of world I want to live in. Where visitors from other realms would like to stay because they know they will be safe.”

“First we will need an army.” Vassa steps in before any of the High Lords can speak, stepping towards Elain but far enough away that their bodies cannot accidentally touch. “First we will need Eris to rule over the Autumn Court. His brothers will be easy targets for Koschei.”

“I thought you would say that we must protect Elain,” Helion says, more steel in his voice than Elain would’ve expected, until she remembers once again that Helion is now Lucien’s acknowledged father, observing his lover for the first time.

“I will not be safe if any court in Prythian falls to Koschei,” she says, shooting a glance at Vassa, makes it as warm and encouraging as she can. “The Spring Court will raise the largest army it can cobble together to support Eris’ claim.”

“The Night Court will back Eris with an army.” Feyre’s voice is as sure and savage as any of the High Lord’s, and this is the moment when Elain has most delighted in her sister, at the swell of her power in the room, her refusal to yield.

“The Illyrians?” Helion asks, crossing his ankle over his knee.

“The Illyrians support Eris.” Feyre crosses her arms over her chest.

“If it cannot be Lucien,” Thesan sighs, “Eris is the best of the lot. The Dawn Court will offer its army.”

Kallias gives a nod, and then the room goes quiet.

“This is what your son would want,” Vassa says, her face aimed at Helion.

“Then why does he not ask me himself?” The words are too hard to be entirely false.

“He is strengthening the wards on the Spring Court against Koschei.” Vassa crosses her arms. “He’d like it clear that he wants to make no claim on the Autumn Court.”

“I see why he likes you, Queen of Scythia,” Helion says, his smile brilliant. “I’ll offer my army.”

“Then we’ll return tomorrow night to discuss our strategy.” Feyre’s gaze sweeps across the room but does not rest on Elain.

“We need to rule our courts,” Kallias says, with a shake of his head. “Give us another night, and bring the firebird queen.”

The other High Lords murmur their agreement, and when Elain steals a glance at Vassa, she could swear her friend is barely concealing a victorious smile. One battle, at least, has been won.

But when they’re in the Spring Court again, Feyre tugs on Elain’s arm, pulls her into an alcove off the great hall.

“Which vision was the lie?” Feyre’s voice is sharp, her fingers pressing into the soft part of Elain’s upper arm, so that she thinks of claws.

“I meant to tell you--”

“I gave you everything you needed, and the High Lords came to your meeting, they left their territories vulnerable against Koschei and the Autumn Court, and you lied. Was there even a true vision? Because I have been looking over my shoulder and wondering how he’d use you, how he’d break you, all the misery that would happen when your vision came true. And all that time you were here, and silent, and I thought you were in danger from him. Are you really such a monster that you needed to hurt me? Or are you in league with him, trying to have us all tearing at each other’s throats until you truly do wear a crown?”

At first Feyre’s words had been ragged and filled with hurt and rage, but gradually the emotion had disappeared, leaving only a flat despair.

Elain had never stopped to consider the impact of her lie on Feyre. She’d been so focused on her escape, the life she’d made in fits and starts in the Spring Court, her power. Just as she’s always been, she realizes, focused on her gowns or the men she might marry, her dreams of flowers when they’d lived in the cabin.

“I lied to you,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady. “I am sorry, Feyre. I felt… when I saw that vision, I felt like the monstrous thing inside of me was going to turn me into something completely different. A person I couldn’t recognize. Except I already felt that way. Angry and useless and vile. And I thought, I couldn’t bear it if you and Nesta saw me turn into a monster. But I should have thought of you, what it would mean if I went to Tamlin. That you were in the vision.”

She expects Feyre’s voice to soften at her words, the honesty in them. Instead her eyes are downcast, her face hard and focused.

“I want to forgive you,” her little sister says. “But I don’t know if I believe you. Because I believed you when you lied to me. And you didn’t even think…”

Elain wants to insist that she’s sorry, kneel in front of her sister and weep until she’s so wretched that Feyre has no choice but to forgive her. Somehow she forces her spine to stay straight, her head to nod.

“I understand,” she says, unable to keep her voice from wavering.

“Of course this will not affect relations between our courts.” Feyre adjusts the sleeves of her gown, the same one she’d worn to the High Lords’ meeting, black and almost severe but for its close fit against her body. Her sister, who went off into the woods every day in search of food, who learned how to be a queen.

“I wasn’t aware that those relations were particularly friendly.” Elain tries to smile and feels it twist into a grimace.

“I will never let this court fall if you are there.”

“I -- thank you, Feyre.”

She had planned to say that she did not need this special protection, but she thinks of what Feyre said. Of what Tamlin said. The feeling when she was stuck in this world and Koschei seemed imminent.

Instead of arguing, she holds out her hand to her sister, and when Feyre takes it, she squeezes it tight until Feyre steps away, leaves the alcove, her skirts sighing against the marble floors.

Elain sinks to the ground, curls herself into a ball, and stares at the tiles until she hears the footsteps approaching her, Tamlin’s scent.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“Are the wards secure?” she shoots back, looking at him, dirty and disheveled but still so handsome he’s practically glowing.

“They recognize Koschei’s magic and should repel him from appearing. And Rhysand is taking Melis to the Night Court. Apparently Nesta and her Valkyrie friends will be guarding her in the library.”

“I thought Melis would stay here.”

“We still don’t know what she can do if she touches you. As talented a designer as she is, and as beautiful as this gown is, I would rather know that you’re safe from her.”

“It’s not -- I don’t care about the dresses,” she says, holding up her hand so that he cannot get close enough to drown out her voice. “But we didn’t torture Melis. And in the Night Court, Azriel might.”

“That is why I made Rhysand swear that Melis would not be tortured as long as she behaved herself.” Tamlin crouches down, and even then, she has to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. “I made sure that Melis was aware of the arrangement.”

“So Vassa and Eris are safe?”

“As safe as anyone is in this world.”

The day and night have been endless but still Elain reaches for Tamlin. The world around her wavers, half-dissolving, before she resolves herself. That this must be here and now.

Before he can speak, she presses her mouth to his, hot and searching.

There is only time for a kiss in this world. Elain is battered and bruised and exhausted, and Tamlin is needed for a thousand things, and anybody could see them, but for this moment there is only his mouth opening to hers, his arms pulling her body tight against his, Elain is only a person who wants, and wants, and wants.

[more-miserables]

I was trying to keep a steady-ish posting schedule but that hasn’t happened. I’m flakey as hell now I don’t have teachers and deadlines. I don’t know if any of you guys still remember or care about my pair of whumpees, but I was randomly inspired tonight. Hope you enjoy this anyway.

Tagging: @albino-whumpee @cubeswhump @liliability

Warnings for dehumanizing language, institutionalized slavery, boxboy universe, implications of past self-harm, implied and obvious abuse, implications of drugging, very brief implication of an eating disorder, panic attacks, lots of messed up stuff, you guys know.

Yates never seemed to get completely better after his illness. He stopped coughing, his fever went away, but he stayed very pale, and Ginger could hear how crackly his breathing was at night. His nerves didn’t seem to recover either. Yates’s hands shook now whenever Stanley gave him a task, and he became clumsy and jumpy, forever dropping things. Stanley stopped being so soft with him and started yelling, which just made things worse. Yates was a bundle of stress.

He cried bitterly every night, cradled in Ginger’s arms. “I’m a failure,” he sobbed. “I keep messing up. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“It’s not you, it’s never been you. You’re just tired, that’s all it is,” Ginger insisted over and over, but Yates couldn’t seem to hear him.

Seeing Yates looking so pale and miserable all the time made Ginger burn with fury. He didn’t care about the pain in his head now; he was frequently spitting in Ivy and Stanley’s food, arguing back, slamming doors, doing anything he could to draw their attention away from Yates. He was disciplined over and over, in new and creative ways, until he was black and blue all over, but it was worth it to keep Yates safe.

The first time he swore at Ivy he was chained up in the garden all night, completely naked. Ginger drew his bare knees up to his chest and held them tight, shivering. English winter nights could grow cold enough to kill, especially when a person had no protection; maybe that’s what Ivy wanted.

Maybe that’s what Ginger wanted too.

“Ginger?”

Ginger jumped, his head snapping up off his knees. Yates was standing beside him, pale and anxious, carrying a blanket.

“What’re you doing here? How’d you get out of the room?” Ginger asked.

“Window,” Yates whispered, cuddling up beside Ginger and wrapping the blanket around them both. “I couldn’t just leave you out here. Give me your hands, I’ll warm them.”

“You’ll get into trouble if they catch us,” Ginger said, linking his fingers with Yates’s.

“I couldn’t leave you,” Yates repeated firmly. He clasped Ginger’s freezing hands between his own, rubbing them hard.

Ginger smiled weakly. Maybe he didn’t want to die just yet.

It was hard to hang onto that feeling during the day, even so. Ivy found fault with everything he did now, and Stanley was equally brutal with Yates. Ginger’s headache was constant, but he refused to lie down and take it. He argued, yelled, swore and spat like a wildcat, allowing Yates to creep around relatively unnoticed.

Ivy had taken to standing in the kitchen while Ginger cooked, peering over his shoulder and critiquing every single thing he did, even the most basic things like pouring water. Each correction carried its own insult.

“Stir that syrup, it’s sticking to the bottom of the pan! Are you blind as well as stupid?”

“I thought icing cakes was your speciality? Seems you only specialise in failure.”

“You’re too heavy-handed with that whisking. I don’t know why we ever bought you. You’re such a disappointment.”

Ginger knew Ivy was just trying to wind him up - but it was working. He felt like he was boiling along with the syrup. It was so unfair to be stuck making wonderful desserts for two people who told him he was stupid and useless and disappointing - and he couldn’t even spit in the food with Ivy hovering.

Ginger held his tongue, presenting Ivy with the finished cake. It was baked beautifully despite Ivy’s complaints, with pin-neat icing flowers and swirls, the buttercream smooth as silk. It was perfect - but Ivy sniffed scornfully. She gripped the plate and slowly pushed it off the counter, watching it fall face down on the floor with a depressing splat.

“Make another one,” she commanded, then turned on her heel to walk away.

Ginger felt like someone had ignited a bomb in his chest. He burned all over with rage. Without thinking, he grabbed hold of the egg box, took one out and pelted it with all his force at Ivy. The egg hit her squarely in the back of her head, splattering yolk down her back and in her hair. The force of the blow sent her staggering forward with a scream. She peered over her shoulder, looking bewildered. For a second.

Ivy’s face flushed a deep red, and she rushed at Ginger, gripping fistfuls of his red hair and slamming him against the kitchen counter. “How dare you!” she screamed, shaking him so violently he felt she’d yank out clumps of his scalp too. “I won’t stand for this. You’ll learn if I have to beat you till you piss blood!”

“Get off me!” Ginger yelled back. He tried kicking out at Ivy, but he was weak and undernourished, and Ivy was a big, strong lady. He couldn’t wriggle free.

“Give me your hand!” Ivy commanded. Ginger didn’t, so she took hold of his left wrist herself, dragging him over to the cooker. “I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget. You’ll be able to look at your hand every day after this and remember what happens to disobedient little pets.”

She swept the dirty saucepans away with a flick of her arm. The hob was still on, glowing bright red with heat. Ginger renewed his efforts to break free, but Ivy hung on grimly, battering him about the head with her free hand.

“Remember this,” she snapped, and pressed Ginger’s palm firmly against the hob.

The scream Ginger let out echoed through the whole house. It was barely human, like the howl of a dying animal in a trap. Ivy held his hand down for a good three seconds, though it felt like a lifetime to Ginger. He arched his fingertips, trying his hardest to escape the blinding heat, but Ivy had her hand pressing down on the back of his own, so Ginger’s palm couldn’t be spared.

When she finally let him go, Ginger collapsed in a heap on the floor, whimpering. He cradled the burned hand to his chest. It was bright red and already starting to blister. The kitchen was filled with a sickly sweet, burning smell, and he gulped in horror when he realised he was smelling his own cooked flesh. He couldn’t stop the tears this time, though he hated Ivy seeing how much she’d hurt him.

Ivy laughed heartlessly. “I told you so,” she said. She crouched down in front of him, her voice soft, menacing. “You’ll never win. You’ll learn to do as you’re told if it kills me - or if it kills you.” Then she stalked out the room, leaving Ginger sobbing on the floor.

Yates was horrified when he saw Ginger’s hand that night. He’d heard the scream, but Stanley hadn’t allowed him to go investigate. Ginger told him the whole story, whispering because his crying had left his voice raw and painful. He couldn’t remember how long he’d cried; it must’ve been hours. His hand was still so painful he couldn’t move it. His fingertips were mostly spared, though they were raw and red, but his palm was screaming and covered all over with throbbing blisters. He couldn’t even make a fist anymore.

“Ivy did this?” Ginger had never seen Yates look so angry. “That’s horrible! Oh, you must be hurting so badly. How could she?” He took hold of Ginger’s hand. “You poor thing... Here, I’ll help you. I’ll fix it.”

They sat up well into the night while Yates cleaned, treated and bandaged Ginger’s palm as best he could with the limited supplies. He didn’t have anything stronger than pharmacy painkillers and it barely touched Ginger’s agony. Before the burn was even properly dressed, Ginger had been begging Yates to stop for almost an hour. He was howling again, light-headed with pain.

“Stop, stop, please...” he moaned.

“I’m almost done, I promise,” Yates whispered. He saw Ginger starting to wobble and quickly pulled him close, right onto his own lap. Ginger was bigger and heavier so Yates must’ve been very squashed, but he didn’t complain. “Put your head on my shoulder. I don’t want you fainting. Your eyes keep losing focus.”

Ginger let his head fall on Yates’s shoulder with a thump, biting his shirt hard when the treatment continued and the pain returned with a vengeance. He managed not to faint, but the agony combined with his sobbing made him retch. He thumped Yates’s shoulder weakly with his good hand. “Le’ me up,” he gasped. “‘M gonna puke.”

“No, you stay there,” Yates said firmly. “I don’t care if you’re sick. Do whatever you need to. Vomit, bite my shirt, bite me if you need to. It’s alright.”

So Ginger stayed, and when he did bring up bile and spit all down Yates’s back and across their mattress, Yates didn’t even flinch. Ginger felt a soft hand rubbing up and down his back, a gentle voice shushing him when he groaned.

“I know, I’m sorry, but we need to make sure it’s treated properly,” Yates said, his own face crumpling whenever Ginger whimpered. “I’ll change your bandages every day, but it’s going to take a while before this heals. How’re you going to do any cooking and cleaning?”

“I’ll have to, won’t I?” Ginger sighed wearily. “Never mind that now. I don’t even care about the mess. Let’s just get some sleep, please.”

The next day was exceptionally difficult for Ginger. He supposed that was what Ivy had wanted. His bandages were cumbersome and clumsy, and the pain was still so terrible he couldn’t put any weight on the afflicted hand. Ivy made sure to give him every possible job that required two hands, eventually resorting to ordering him to move heavy furniture across the room and back with no real purpose other than to cause him pain. Several times Ginger’s knees buckled from the agony, his vision becoming dark and fuzzy at the edges, but Ivy’s shrill voice would always drag him back to reality. He vomited again three times before noon.

Ivy elbowed Ginger out of the way when he prepared Stanley’s lunch tray, piling it with half a dozen plates, cups, cutlery, even a teapot. She smirked, handing it to Ginger. “Be careful, it’s heavy!” she said in a falsely bright voice. “Hold it with both hands.”

Ginger couldn’t. It wasn’t even about defiance anymore, he really truly couldn’t. He was almost sobbing with the pain already, shifting the majority of the tray’s weight to his right hand. He couldn’t take this anymore. He wanted to run far away, across fields and over pavements and through cities. He wanted to lock himself away with Yates and never see another person again. He wanted to cut his own hand off to stop the pain. He wanted so many things and none of them were allowed.

Stanley’s door was closed. Ginger tried nudging it with his foot, but it didn’t budge. He didn’t know how he was supposed to get the door open with just one working hand. He knocked, but Stanley just barked at him to come in already and stop hovering outside. Ginger sighed, juggling the tray and trying to hold it just for a second with his left hand as he grasped for the door handle with his right.

Sharp pain surged all the way up his left arm in an instant. He stumbled through the doorway with a yelp, dropping the tray with a terrible clatter. Food splashed all across the linoleum and crockery shattered into shards of glass like glittering stars. Stanley and Yates gawped as Ginger landed on his knees on the bedroom floor, crouched in the midst of the mess.

“You stupid, clumsy idiot!” Stanley roared, his face flushing scarlet. He grabbed his walking stick and raised it to swing.

“Oh please, sir! It’s not Ginger’s fault,” Yates gasped frantically. “He’s hurt his hand, sir. He shouldn’t really be working at all. Please don’t hit him! He’s being so brave and-”

“Shut up, will you! You’re getting far too mouthy. Ginger’s a bad influence. You shouldn’t question me, boy.” Stanley paused, walking stick still raised like he was about to conduct an orchestra. He suddenly smirked, holding it out to Yates. “Okay. I won’t hit him.”

Yates took the stick gingerly. “R-really, sir?”

“Am I not a man of my word? You, Ginger!” he barked.

Ginger raised his head, glaring through his curtain of red hair.

“Hold out your hand!”

Ginger did as he was told.

“No, not your right hand. The one with the wound,” Stanley said, still smiling. Ginger did so, far more reluctantly. Stanley turned to Yates. “I won’t hit him. So you’ll have to do it for me. That’s what you’ve been trained to do, correct? So whack him six times on that hand with my walking stick. And don’t you dare hold back or I’ll double the punishment.”

Yates stared at Stanley, mouth gaping. “But... but he’s so badly hurt, sir.”

“That’s no concern of mine. Get to it.” He paused. “At once!”

Yates glanced at Ginger, helpless and terrified. Ginger tried to smile at him. It’s okay, he mouthed. He wanted to comfort him, but Yates’s eyes filled with tears - bad tears, that’s what they’d been taught. He’d never seen Yates cry properly.

“No,” Yates said quietly, his voice wobbling. He put the stick back in its usual place by Stanley’s bed.

“What?” Stanley snapped. “What’re you waiting for? Do as you’re told, boy!”

“I won’t,” Yates said. He blinked, and two fat tears ran down his face. “I’m not going to hit him, especially when he’s hurt.”

Stanley trembled with rage. He grabbed his stick and aimed a swipe at Yates instead, and Ginger hurried to his feet to drag Yates out of reach. Stanley shakily swung his legs out of bed, leaning heavily on the stick, practically frothing at the mouth.

“You disobedient little swine!” he yelled, pointing mutinously at Yates. “You’re more loyal to him than me, the man who feeds and clothes you and lets you live under his roof. All Ginger ever does is hold you back! How dare you! You’re not to answer to Yates any longer. I don’t want you attached to my name. You’re not worthy of it. You’re nothing.”

Yates was sobbing in earnest. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t hurt Ginger like that. I’m still loyal, I promise, I can still be Yates, I-”

“Shut up!” Stanley screamed. He turned to Ginger, crimson in the face and breathing heavily. “And you! You were a mistake right from the start. You’re the cause of all this!”

“What the hell is going on up here? What’s all the noise?” Ivy demanded, rushing into the crowded bedroom too. “Oh for God’s sake, look at the mess on the floor! And what’s your idiot blubbering about, Stanley?”

Stanley wasn’t listening. “Get him out of here!” he boomed, pointing at Ginger. He sounded so fierce that Ivy did as she was told at once, grabbing a fistful of Ginger’s hair and yanking him out the door.

“You just wait!” Stanley continued, staggering out into the hall and yelling down the stairs as Ivy pulled Ginger away. He was exceptionally wobbly without his wheelchair, supporting himself on his stick and the wall. “I’ll turn you out of my house without a care. You’ll die like a dog in the gutter, you’ll see. I won’t have you two together anymore. You’re getting in the way of Yates’s work. You need to be separated!” He wavered precariously, eyes wild.

Ginger felt sudden panic, raw and sharp. “You can’t split us up! We’re a pair!” he yelled.

“I can do whatever I want with you. You’re mine,” Stanley said triumphantly. “And you’ll do as I say, and be out of here by-“

Stanley was cut off by a sudden cacophony of bumps and thumps, then eerie, still silence. Ivy, almost back at the kitchen with Ginger in tow, quickly hauled him back to the bottom of the stairs.

They stopped short. Stanley was lying crumpled in a heap on the floor, one leg bent at an unnatural angle, head twisted uncomfortably and staring at the ceiling. There were shallow, rasping gasps coming from low in his chest. His eyes swivelled round frantically, the only part of his body still able to move freely.

Ivy started screaming. Ginger’s mouth fell open, but he didn’t make a sound. He looked up - and saw Yates standing there at the top of the stairs, face ghostly pale, eyes wide, outstretched arms shaking, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

There wasn’t time to think. They couldn’t let Ivy recover from the shock. Ginger dashed up the stairs, grabbed hold of Yates and rushed him down past Stanley’s crumpled body, along the corridor and out the door. They ran like rats despite the hard pavement cutting their bare feet. They ran even though they had no idea where to go next.

[rachelbethhines]

Tangled Salt Marathon - Before Ever After

So we’re back and kicking off the salt marathon proper with the pilot movie, Before Ever After. Lets dig in shall we.

Summray:  Six months after the events of Tangled, Rapunzel is settling into life as princess of Corona, but is unable to enjoy it with the constant protection of her father's guards. When she and her lady-in-waiting, Cassandra, sneak out of the castle, they come upon some black rock spikes that magically bring back her long blonde hair. Meanwhile, a figure from Frederic’s past is out for revenage. 

Lack of Set Up

Right off the bat we got our first flaw. The show opens with a song reintroducing our main characters, where they are right now in the story, and showing off their goals and personal conflicts. All save for Cassandra that is. 

This is Cass. You wouldn’t know it from the pilot but she is the secondary protagonist of the show. (I’m sorry Eugene fans, like it or not she is) And that’s precisely the problem. She gets no introduction. She’s just there. Her entire motivations, goals, and interpersonal conflicts are suppose to drive the story line of the last season and a half, but we have no idea what any of those things are from her beginning episode.     

The show-runners have tried to excuse this with wanting Cassandra’s arc to be a ‘slow burn’ but that’s not how a slow burn actually works. A ‘slow burn’ is either a background element/character being established early and then reveled to be plot important later, (think McGucket in Gravity Falls) or a prominent character being given a seemingly shallow goal/motivation and then slowly peeling back the layers and showing more complexity behind that goal/motivation. (like Zuko in Avatar) 

Cass is neither of these things. She’s not a background element. She’s there from the word go and given the same amount of screen time and focus as both Raps and Eugene through out. But she’s not been established like Zuko either. We won’t know what motivates her until four episodes in, it’ll take another four episodes to show all of her important interpersonal relationships, and it’ll take a whole S3 seasons just to give us a clear goal. 

These are not things your audience should be left guessing about. They are what propel your story forward and must be made clear from the get go. 

Not a Flaw, But...

I don’t like that the series blends several different time periods and cultures together into a grab bag of world building.

Now this is an opinion, not a critique. What’s the difference?

A flaw in writing is a failure to communicate your ideas clearly to your audience. The lack of introduction for Cassandra, as mentioned above, actively gets in the way of the story the writers want to tell. That is a flaw. 

But this? This an idea that the creators wanted to use and they conveyed it quite well. They use various fashions to show off different characters’ personalities, anachronistic technology in order to make certain plot points happen, and visual cues from other cultures around the world to give a feeling of fantasy to the series. It’s very well done. I just don’t like it.      

I personally prefer a more anchored take on world building with an actual designated time period and place, even in a fantasy world. Once again is this just an opinion and there’s no right or wrong here. Just preference. 

And I bring this distinction up now to show that one can have both personal preferences and still give valid criticisms. The existence one does not invalidate the other. Some sub-sections of the fandom love to shut down any sort of critical examinations by acting like having a different opinion is grounds for dismissing critique entirely. 

That’s not going to fly here. Which brings me to...

Lack of Follow Through

Initially, I enjoyed the conflict presented here between Rapunzel and Eugene. Young couples just starting out often have disagreements on what direction they want their lives to go in. It’s very real and very normal and I know actual people who have been there or are currently there right now. 

Unfortunately there’s no follow through. 

The core conflict is never actually resolved on screen at any point in the show. The characters keep putting it off and then it’s suddenly forgotten about by S3. We the audience are just left to assume that they worked things out some where off screen. 

If the lack of intro to Cass showcases the series problem with establishing plot points, then the treatment of Eugene’s and Rapunzel’s relationship shows us the other half of that coin. The show often steps things up or makes a big deal out of stuff that is never again brought up or resolved in a satisfying manner. 

Failure to Learn 

It also shows the fundamental flaw behind the premise of the series. Rapunzel never learns. 

Oh she changes through out the show. The Raps we see here is not the Raps we end up with. But how she develops doesn’t involve her owning up to any of flaws that she presents. 

This conflict with Eugene requires showing the audience that Rapnuzel is not good with communication and by the end she is still not any good with communicating. However, Eugene, and by extension the show itself, just gives her a free pass. 

The show wants to be a coming of age story, but fails at the one thing required for it to be a coming of age story. 

Show Don’t Tell

Getting back to Cass, another problem with the show is it’s over reliance on exposition. In a visual medium, like animation, you want to show the audience the information they need to know when ever possible. You can have exposition from time to time, but you generally want to use it sparingly and not rely on it for really important stuff, like idk... say introducing an important character relationship. 

This scene actually showcases the issue quite well. We are told two things about Cass here.

1. That she collects weapons, indicating is a warrior/tomboy

2. That Cass is the Captain's daughter.      

The first one is shown to us, by seeing her collection, and the second is told to us through a single line. Of the two which would you think is the most important to the story?

You’d be forgiven if you thought her weapon hobby since that’s what the scene focuses on, but it’s actually her relationship with her dad. A dad we won’t see on screen doing anything until episode three, and won’t see him interact with said daughter until episode eight. 

Cassandra's relationship with her parents is supposedly a driving force behind her decisions in season 3, which in turn drive the main conflict, but we so little see those relationships that they leave little impact once they become important. in fact the audience is mostly just left scratching their heads and guessing what went down between them. That’s not a good thing. Once again, motivation, goals, and inter personal conflicts should not be left to viewer interpretation. They need to be established. This line does not establish what audience needs to know.   

Eugene Deserves Better 

On that note, Eugene is set up pretty well, but he doesn’t get the focus he deserves.He’s constantly shoved aside for either Rapunzel’s or Cassandra’s conflicts/goals instead.  

As the series goes on, this translates into him actually being subservient to Rapunzel herself while she goes around bullying, dismissing, and actively brow beating him until he complies to all of her wishes. And the line above is foreshadowing for that. 

The writers don’t consider Eugene a main protagonist, even though they should, and think that all secondary characters must comply to anything and everything the protagonists desire. Which it not how you should write characters ever. 

A good compelling protagonist won’t get everything they want and nor should they. Likewise just because a secondary character wants or needs something doesn’t mean their goals or desires should be ignored. 

The result of this line of thinking is to present an obvious power imbalance in numerous relationships throughout the course of the show, which are unhealthy and uncomfortable to watch. 

As for New Dream specifically, they go from being a cute couple who are learning from one another equally to a toxic relationship where one character is a doormat to the other. The fact that this is presented by the show as ‘positive character development’ and a healthy relationship that is to be emulated is one of the more repulsive elements to sit through. And looking back you can see the warning signs starting all the way back to here in the pilot. 

Lady Caine is Wasted   

Speaking of undeserved characters, meet Lady Caine. By all accounts she should be one of the main antagonist of the series. 

She isn’t. 

If Cass lacks set up, then Caine has too much. She’s given a complex backstory, sympathetic motivation, and a understandable goal from her first reveal. And none of it matters. 

She only appears three times in the series and each time she is cast aside. Her original goals and motivations ignored upon subsequent appearances.   

She is made to be the perfect foil for Rapunzel. Her opposite in every way. And is presented as someone important to the audience. Everything about her screams main villain and the show never delivers on its promise. 

This is Abuse

Another thing the show fails to acknowledge is calling out abusive behavior, routinely. 

In this episode alone, Rapunzel’s father 

Dismisses Rapunzel’s autonomy as a grown adult.

Repeats Mother’s Gothel’s lines about the world being a ‘dark and cruel place’ nearly word for word back to Rapunzel in order to guilt her into staying, there by preforming the same abuse as her former abuser

Is constantly feared by everyone, even his own daughter. To the point that no one trusts him with the truth for fear of what he may do. This is passed off as humorous until you remember he has the power to hang people and has done so for non-violent crimes 

Is hinted at being a totalitarian ruler who disproportionately enacts punishments upon poor people who need to steal to survive. 

Is hinted to have orphaned a child once and may have done so to numerous other children    

Abuses his authority as king to coerce his daughter into obeying him

And that’s only in the first episode. It gets worse guys. Much worse. 

Oh Look! Foreshadowing that Means Nothing

You can’t tell but that’s suppose to be Quirin. This winds up mattering not in the slightest. 

Conclusion

So in conclusion, Before Ever After is a false advertisement. A pilot is suppose to inform the audience of the premise of it’s show and give them expectations of what is to come from the series. Nothing that’s set up here comes to fruition and things that do wind up being important aren’t established properly. The only reason to watch is to find out how Rapnuzel got her long hair back and get the mystery of the rocks. As a singular episode it’s ok, as part of ongoing series it’s dismal. Which is the majority of this show in a nutshell.  

[linkspooky]

Who are your top five BSD characters?

I love to talk about  how much I love my faves. If you ever ask want to ask me who my faves are for a series feel free to send me an ask.

1. Human Failure - Dazai Osamu

I like that he’s a bad person. I know I say this a lot, but I really do think stories are at their best when they allow characters to be bad people.. The narration itself never tries to make excuses for who Dazai is, or gloss over what he’s done in the name of making him look good. It just allows him to exist as is. Dazai is a total failure of a human being, but at the same time he’s more human than any of us. 

You get the sense that Dazai is an overgrown kid who just, never learned to deal with any of the things that adults learn to deal with as a result of growing up as a person. He views himself as this non-human thing and at first when he’s much younger means he thinks he can do whatever he want. 

There’s a lot of works in ficiton that attempt to correct the misery in “No Longer Human” Osamu Dazai’s final work, which to me is really a disrespectful response to the work itself. Like, Dazai wasn’t trying to comment on society, and he didn’t think he was more right than anybody else or saw through the lies of society. Dazai wasn’t trying to be miserable on purpose or like, meditate on human nature. 

I am writing a tired story for young readers,

not because I want to be different,

or because I am unconcerned with young readers’ tastes.

I write it rather because I know it will please them.

Young readers are tired and old themselves these days,

and my story can bring them no discomfort and no surprises.

It is a story for those who have lost hope.

No Longer Human is just this deeply honest and brutal work of his that stands on his own. People feel the need to make miserable things happy and correct them, but sometimes things are beautiful because they are miserable. Dazai himself as a character is like one of the only responses to No Longer Human that I’ve ever been able to digest, because it’s not trying to correct anything. 

Dazai is a bad person, but he’s still undeniably human he’s not something lesser or greater than human, and in his own way he is trying to live too. A lot of people forget the humanity of the work. 

2. Old Sport - F Scott Fitzgerald

He shares the name with the author, but Fitzgerald is so obivously based off the main character of the author’s most famous work, the Great Gatsby. Gatsby is at the same time, a scathing critique of the false dreams we spend our entire lives working towards, but at the same time instead of condemning us for dreaming in the first place like a lot of critiques do, it instead reaffirms that humans wants to dream, that they live because they want to strive for something and that there’s still worth in that even if it ends up entirely in failure. 

Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther… . And then one fine morning—So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

Gatsby sailed against the current, and it ended with him drowning and yet his efforts in life were not worthless. The book portrays that kind of complexity, that there are two sides to everything. 

“You can’t repeat the past.”“Why of course you can!”

And as a character Fitz embodies that complexity just as well. His goals are good, what else but family can you burn everything for? Yet at the same time, you see he goes the extra mile in trying to destroy everything around him for the sake of his goals. Just like Gatsby, his goals are inherently one impossible to achieve and two, self destructive. Yet, there’s something brilliant in watching how this man will not give up and will continually break himself against the currents trying to reach just a little bit farther.

3. Ugly Girl - Lucy Maud Montgomery

Lucy is a character I like because she’s the introduction of how victims can be more grotesque and violent. They are not always people who beg to be saved the way Atsushi and Kyouka do. As the story advances, it becomes deeper and deeper in complexity especially when it comes to the issue of saving the orphans, and being on the side of helping people. It’s not always so noble a thing as Atsushi makes it seem to be, it is sometimes messy and even harmful.

What I likea bout Lucy is that nothing about her is straightforward. Trauma has made it possible that she cannot be straightforward or forthcoming with her own emotions in any way. Not only that but you can still see just like Atsushi the effects of being raised as an unwanted child in an orphanage have not worn off. She gets mad when Atsushi ignores her, because she feels at any moment he might abandon her. Her assumption is that people will not care, that they will fail her and Atsushi has to work against these assumptions. 

Ultimately what I like is that Lucy does not get saved, but rather starts to save herself. The reason that she’s on this list instead of characters I like for the same reasons is that she’s started to show the growth that Akutagawa really has the potential to show and I myself cannot wait until he hits. She’s started to grow for the sake of one boy who inspired her and related to her, and in the end it’s more like she was the one who saved Atsushi which led to one of the most beautiful moments in the second arc of the manga. 

4. A Monster Without a Heart - Nikolai Goggol

Goggol is one of my favorite characters despite being only around for a few chapters at most. The ideas behind his character are so interesting and thematically rich. He’s a character who decides to live and die entirely based around the concept of freedom.

Due to that fact he’s far more insightful and clever than most of the characters in the manga. He’s the only person who can be on equal terms with Dostoevsky, rather than just being either a total sycophant, or someone mind controlled like the rest of his compatriots. That’s because Goggol as terrible as he is completely owns who he is as a person. 

His lines are some of the best in the series. The moment where he takes off his mask and reveals to Atsushi he’s not the villain of the story, but a human being completely aware of the harm he’s causing others just completely smashes Atsushi’s simple black and white values of good and evil he has been fighting with so far. It reminds the audience once more that this is a story about human beings. 

5. Just a Normal Person- Edogawa Ranpo

Ranpo is here for two reasons. One my love of detective novels, and Ranpo exists as a tribute to those same novels so every plot he is involved in reads as a love letter to my favorite genre. The second is that Ranpo himself is so interesting a person, because he’s so clearly coded as someone neurodivergent and not able to fit in with a lot of society.

Yet, he’s the only case of such a character where I’ve seen them so humanized. Nobody ever treats Ranpo’s quirks as a burden, or pities him for them. It’s even right in Ranpo’s backstory that he was constantly targetted and taken advantage of because he was only specifically really smart at one thing and couldn’t fit into society otherwise, and the detective agency was made to give him a place to fit in. 

Ranpo is valued for who he is. Because of that he’s able to be completely self confident and know his worth. His cocky attitude comes from the fact that he’s somewhere where he’s accepted by others. Not only that but Ranpo is also the person who helps accept other people into the detective agency, as shown in the empathy he showed Yosano. Rampo’s on my faves not because he’s treated like an eccentric super genius, but how much the story empathizes that underneath his layers he really is just a normal person the same as everybody else.

It’s one of my favorite quotes in the manga and it shows why I love humanizing work and human misery above all else. 

Your ability doesn’t matter. That sorrow has value. 

[krsnlove]

I Can Fix My Own Crown

A/N: This came out of nowhere because of Jhene Aiko’s new album [SO GOOD!] Currently ignoring the other WIP’s and requests I have just to get this written. Don’t judge me. Not sure why Madeleine gets all the hate. I like her *shrugs*

Inspired by B.S. by Jhene Aiko featuring H.E.R.

Tagging: @alj4890​ @thecordoniandiaries​ @vickypoochoices​ @i-am-liam-rhys​ @lodberg​ @desireepow-1986​ @rafasgirl23415​ @indiacater​ @texaskitten30​ @darley1101​

Without a second thought, she tosses her belongings onto the nearby table. It didn’t matter that the sound of glass breaking was shortly heard after.

She needed to find a new scent. Preferably one where the perfume wasn’t held in glass. That was the third one this week.

Rubbing the back of her neck, Madeleine closes her eyes for a brief moment of respite from her duties as the Royal Secretary.

The title mocks her.

Secretary.

Not Queen.

Kicking off her heels, she moves to sit at the vanity set in the bedroom. Her reflection in the mirror warranted a self-assessment. After all, Madeleine thought bitterly, no one had the ability to critique like she did.

She frowned at her short, platinum hair having a ridiculous amount of split ends.

Lines were beginning to form at the corner of her eyes and mouth.

Hopefully they were frown lines from dealing with Riley’s antics and not...she doesn’t allow herself to finish the thought and continues in her analysis.

Madeleine can see the creases on her forehead becoming increasingly prevalent.

Seven months in this role would do that to anyone, she reassured herself.

But you’re not just anyone, Madeleine chastised herself almost immediately. Associating with Riley and the rest of her unruly group of friends was beginning to affect her.

“Stop,” she said out loud as she continued to stare at the reflection in the mirror. Madeleine didn’t believe in extending mercy to others, least of all to herself.

The vivid picture of disappointment on her father’s face when Leo abdicated the throne and broke off the engagement was permanently etched into her memory.

She held her head high when news broke about the former Prince running away with a desperate American he had barely met.

That was in public though.

The privacy of her bedroom allowed her to mourn for what could have been.

What would it have been like to be married to the man she had loved since childhood?

What would it have been like to make a difference in the lives of the Cordonian people alongside the man she loved?

And, she despised this thought above all, what would it be like to bring a child into the world with him?

Madeleine grieved in silence.

If the press, or worse, her father had seen the weakness in her after Leo’s abdication there was no telling what country Godfrey would have shipped her off to.

So, she carried on like she was expected to without showing signs of frailty.

It seems as if her silent suffering had paid off when she was presented with another opportunity to become Queen of Cordonia.

Sure it was to the brother of the man she loved.

And sure anyone with sense could see Liam was in love with the reckless newcomer from America.

Madeleine looked past the small details.

She had to.

If she were to be Queen the people of Cordonia deserved, this would simply be one of many sacrifices she would have to make.

Even if it meant turning a blind eye to Liam having his daily dalliances with another woman.

Somehow that too was taken from her when news of Riley’s scandal had broken and her name was cleared.

Liam had broken off their engagement that same day.

Two failed engagements.

Two failed attempts at becoming Queen of Cordonia.

Two strikes in her short life.

She was on her last run.

Some run, Madeleine mused. Being the secretary to the woman who took her place as Cordonia’s ruler.

Heaving a tired sigh, she walks into the large bathroom and begins to draw a bath.

She was no stranger to failure and consequentially, no stranger to picking herself up and moving on.

Her livelihood depended on it.

There was no time to grieve for what could have been.

Not too long anyway, she had learned.

Her head turns to the knock on the window of her bedroom’s private balcony. Pulling her short satin robe close to her chest, she quickly moves to the sound.

“Can’t you use the door like a normal human being?,” she hissed, allowing her late-night visitor into the room.

“That’s a bit predictable and borish Maddie,” he teased.

Madeleine watched him close the window and held her breath when he moved towards her. One hand slipped around her waist while the other brushed her cheek before he placed a chaste kiss on her lips.

She watched him undress as he told her about his day.

Their conversations had become more natural the past several weeks.

After his failed marriage and returning to Cordonia they had somehow fallen into a comfortable friendship that eventually grew to something more.

Madeleine even found herself sharing her innermost thoughts with him and slowly open up about her feelings.

It was an oddly satisfying process.

“Shall we get you cleaned up, Madame Secretary?,” he interlaced his fingers with hers as he led her to the bath.

“You know I hate that title Leo,” she groaned as Leo’s infectious laughter filled the room.

She was on what seemed to be her last run and only a fool would focus on what could have been.

And Madeleine was no fool.

Maybe, she thought to herself just before she felt Leo’s lips on hers, this was the universe’s way of finally granting mercy on her.

It would be the first for her and Madeleine would forever be grateful for it.

[arigatouiris]

out of my league // t.h — 12

Pairing: Tom Holland x Critic! Reader [I use female pronouns]

Warnings: depressive/triggering thoughts, explicitly mentioned; swearing; eventual fluff; angst; hurt/comfort; pining; a little bit of cliche because come on.

A/N: Again, more angst. But there’s fluff if you squint a bit. Don’t worry, this will pick up soon~ 

Also, if you want me to add you to the series taglist, just drop a note or comment! ^^

Word count: 3644

Series Masterlist 

 11 | 12 | 13 

Harrison never considered himself a very successful actor. Though, he had never really found himself being too attached to the profession as Tom was. He loved acting, and that’s where he wanted to end up, this was certain. And he believed that if he didn’t make it, he would be okay, and wouldn’t feel too disheartened. He wouldn’t feel as if the world collapsed above him, and that he was carrying the weight of his sorrow in his bones. However, Harrison was wrong.

    When his director told him that his show was now cancelled—he didn’t care what reason it was. Three days into being in Portugal, having been so excited in diving into a new opportunity, Harrison told himself his big break was finally here. But, his director walks and and tells him that it wasn’t his fault or it wasn’t anything that had to do with him, but the funding hadn’t come in and the production team had cancelled and all Harrison could think of was how he wasn’t Tom Holland. He was never jealous of his best friend, he never told himself he was, and this wasn’t jealousy—he knew he was more than happy for his friend’s success, but the failure of his own broke his heart.

And the flight he took to London had him rethinking every choice he had made. His blue eyes were always filled with some or the other positive emotion, but were now devoid of feeling. Strangely, he knew he had to surround himself with family or friends to help him cope, but he didn’t want any of it. He didn’t want sympathy or empathy, he wanted someone who wouldn’t linger on this topic.

    And the only person he could think of was (y/n). Strangely, he understood why Tom found her company pleasing. Even if Harrison had no intention in his mind, and thought of the girl as only his good friend, Harrison understood what was so likeable about her. She treated them both as regular people, and it isn’t easy for someone to do. Harrison himself found it difficult sometimes to have a conversation with someone more popular, but (y/n) made it look way too easy. As soon as his flight landed, Harrison shot a message to (y/n), and awaited her reply. She didn’t respond immediately, but agreed to meet him that evening.

(y/n), on the other hand, was slowly healing. Healing took a lot out of her, and she buried herself in reading and watching Star Wars again from the beginning. She was currently watching Return of the Jedi when she saw Harrison’s message. Shouldn’t he be in Portugal? Her mind jumped to thinking maybe something was wrong, and accepted to meet him that evening. Standing up, she quickly rushed to the shower and began to get ready.

She thought of Tom as she was getting ready. She wasn’t stupid, she knew that they had almost kissed the last time they met, but she told herself it was just the spur of the moment. She would definitely apologize when she met Tom next, and felt slightly glad that he was sending her messages everyday. She knew Croatia was an hour ahead of London, and that communicating wouldn’t be too hard; but, considering he was acting and it would take most of the day, and sometimes night, she didn’t tell him too much. Their messages were cordial, and she planned them to be that way.

Harrison and (y/n) met at the usual bar. Harrison was already sitting there when (y/n) showed up, confused and not aware that Harrison was in the need of some mental comforting. She embraced him, like she would any friend, and sat across him. The two were quiet, her not knowing how to bring it up and Harrison not knowing where to start. Calling the waiter, Harrison broke the silence and ordered them both a beer each.

    “Haz, what’s wrong?” Her voice broke him out of his reverie. “You’re back?”

Harrison looked at (y/n) and sighed, “They cancelled our show, (y/n).”

Her eyes widened a second later but that was all that her reaction was. Biting her lip, she placed her hand on Harrison’s, bringing a smile to his face. She squeezed his hand and said nothing for a full minute.

    “May I ask why?”

    “Apparently the production team pulled out. Not sure why entirely. Didn’t have the heart to ask.”

(y/n) observed her friend for a full moment. He was trying very hard to look like it didn’t affect him; Harrison had a calm and composed demeanour which was begging to slip at that second, an instinct that she noticed rather easily.

    “Haz,” she began, looking right into his eyes. “You can feel bad, you know. This calls for it.”

Harrison chuckled, “Do you want me to feel bad?”

    “Actually, it’ll do you good,” Haz looked at her like she was mental. “I’m not kidding!”

    “Why?” His voice was low.

The waiter came back with their drinks and (y/n) let go of Harrison’s hand. He wanted to understand what she was trying to tell him and why she was saying it, but perhaps, the grief was still fresh and didn’t allow him to think as clearly as he wished he could.

    “Susannah, you know about her?” (y/n) asked. Harrison nodded. “She’s my manager. And ever since we found out where she had gone, and ever since she had returned, she’s been very unhappy. Her unhappiness projected itself as anger and bitterness. And she took it out on everyone at work.”

    “That’s terrible.” Harrison said, not sure where this was going.

    “She asked me not to come to work,” His eyes widened now. “She told me I was the reason she was unhappy and a great many other things that made me feel terrible about the choices I made and what I’ve done—”

    “(y/n), you’ve wanted nothing but the best for her. Don’t blame yourself.” Harrison’s voice sounded super kind. It melted her heart.

    “That’s the thing, Haz. I thought it was best for her. I made those actions. She wanted to be left alone so she could grieve. And I didn’t give her that. Sure, she could have made it clear that she wanted to be alone at first, but some people grieve differently. And I never gave her that chance.” Harrison blinked.

    “Sounds very familiar.” He muttered.

(y/n) smiled bitterly, “It does. I did the same thing to Tom. I hurt him using my grief as a weapon. And he only tried to apologize.”

Harrison smiled. “So, your take on this is?”

(y/n) rolled her eyes before saying, “My take on this is simple, Haz. Allow yourself to feel bad. Susannah isn’t letting that happen and that’s why she’s hurting. Let yourself feel bad, Haz. For the past few days, since she’s told me not to come to work, I’ve been feeling bad a lot. But, doesn’t end there. It’s getting better slowly, and I can feel it. Please, don’t try to hide it.”

Harrison smiled at her before lifting up his beer can.

    “To feeling sad.”

(y/n) giggled before clicking her can with his, “To feeling sad.”

The two had never thought it possible but it felt like they have known each other since forever. Friendship and romance were not different. They were the same; albeit two different versions. They were the different versions of the same desire to be close and stick to one another. Harrison and (y/n) could laugh and smile at things as lovers did, but at the same time, their bond needn’t require physical closeness in any way. It was a pull so pure, it gave meaning to the world platonic.

    “I’ve always believed that this whole calm nature of mine is a lie,” Harrison said, after his fourth can of beer.

    “A lie?”

Nodding, “A lie. I don’t know… Feels like everything I say and do is a lie. I feel like I’m constantly lying to people about who I am. But, I know I’ve nothing to hide, though this feeling never really goes away.”

    “You feel like an imposter?” (y/n) asked, taking a sip of her own beer.

Harrison nodded. “An imposter.”

    “Harrison, you’re so humble. I’ve critiqued things and people for years now, I can tell apart any sort of lie. It’s both a curse and a gift, really.”

Harrison laughed. “So, let me tell you this. You’re very talented. And your calm nature is no lie. You’ve been telling yourself that you can’t feel grief like the rest of us, and that’s the only lie. Nothing else, love. You’re a darling and you need to believe that.”

Harrison leaned back, “Aww. You’re making me swoon here, really.”

    “Shut it.” (y/n) said, giggling.

    “Have you ever had a dream you gave up on?” Harrison asked, out of nowhere.

(y/n) was drunk enough to answer this with no hesitation, “I’ve always wanted to write a TV show.”

Harrison frowned, “That’s still possible—”

    “Don’t be like Tom, Haz. He told me the same thing. I just… I don’t think I ever could. It’s something… I don’t know.” She couldn’t find the words.

    “You’re giving up on this because you don’t know?” Haz made it sound ridiculous.

(y/n) rolled her eyes, “I know it sounds ridiculous, Haz. But, I just can’t. It’s…”

    “You’re not brave enough to take a risk, is that it?” Haz pressed.

    “It’s everything, really. I won’t deny it, it’s a risk and I’m scared. But, I haven’t had the best and very confident days either. Everything that went on with Susannah and—”

    “Is that why you broke down the other day?” Haz’s voice was low.

(y/n) nodded quietly. I miss Tom, she thought, randomly; unsure if it was the intoxication that made her believe so, or if it was pent up feelings from the last time she saw him. She was aware, that each time she thought of Tom, she thought of loving him. She was aware of it now, she knew it was too soon and perhaps it was because he’s an actor that she believed she loved him, but some part of her heart knew otherwise. Some part of her heart told her it was because Tom tries so hard with people he cares about; it was because Tom had a laugh that would crease his eyes in the corner and made him seem so happy; it was because his happiness was contagious. She knew she thought she loved him because Tom was just that easy to love—humble and kind, even when the world showered him with affection.

    In her quiet wonder, she knew she was in and over herself for just knowing she loved him. He was someone from an entirely different world; she could never reach up to him.

And perhaps, Harrison saw the dilemma in her at that second. He saw the far-away look in her eye, and her face was transparently thinking of his best friend. The problem here wouldn’t end with Tom confessing to her and her accepting—it was related on a more ideological level. She believed, firmly, that he was out of her league and invariably, so did Tom.

    “You’ll need to book a cab this time,” Harrison chuckled.

(y/n) hit him on the arm playfully before nodding. She stood up with him, Haz’s hand around her shoulder. He radiated a warmth, which was different from the warmth that Tom would send her way. This warmth made her sleepy, calm and everything that fell under serene, while Tom’s warmth sent her stomach to space.

    “Thank you so much.” Harrison said, just as her cab arrived.

    “Haz, I’m here for you. Anytime. Alright?” Harrison chuckled.

    “You’re going to be a great writer someday, (y/n).” He said, looking into her eyes.

    “And if I do, I’m going to cast you as the main character.”

They may have met that evening, feeling low about their circumstances, but it was almost a miracle that they left on a happy note.

*

Tom had just finished acting a scene when he thought of her. It was strange—he found himself repeating her name like a mantra before falling asleep. Somehow the simple pleasure of uttering her name, and the added pleasure of hearing her name was heaven for Tom, and he couldn’t go to bed until dawn, on most days. Isn’t it odd how a single name, a single word associated with her, could bring another person such joy that they inflict insomnia upon themselves and call it a blessing?

    At some point, Tom found himself thinking of the feeling of her hands above his, the night they met for dinner. Tom knew, in between all those sleepless nights, so far away from her, that would remember the feel of her hand around his for the rest of his life.

He sent her a message, “I hope you’ve had a good day today.” He knew about Harrison’s show, and he had called him the night before he left to London. He wanted to give his friend some time, hoping it would heal him more than his words ever could. Just as he was about to put his phone away, it began to ring—startling him, throwing him off balance. When he looked at the name of the contact, his stomach flipped like he was back in school. He immediately answered, placed the phone next to his ear, his eyes widened and his cheeks reddening, breath rolling out of his lips as Tom let out a feeble, “Yes?”

    “I miss you, Tom. I hope you know that.” (y/n)’s voice was soft. Cherry pink. Infused with the intoxication that alcohol provided her.

Worry seeped into his veins and he wondered why she was drunk. Before he could ask, she told him herself.

    “Harrison asked to meet. He was feeling down, the poor fellow. We talked and drank and I took a cab home. I’m safe.”

He could feel the worry being replaced with relief. It was funny how much control she had over him, being countries away.

    “How much did you have to drink, (y/n)? Did you drink water?”

    “Four pints, I think? And yes, I’m drinking water right now. Anyway, I’m sorry for the other night. I wanted to make things clear with you before I start feeling bad about myself for the way I behaved.”

Tom chuckled. He had a shoot to complete, but he wasn’t going for that now. The time was close to midnight, and he had had enough for the day. The director would definitely understand.

    “I miss you so much, (y/n). I do.” Tom spoke, his voice low.

It was no picnic missing her, Tom realized. It drove him insane on most days, he couldn’t concentrate, he found it hard to maintain an appetite, and he found it even harder to sleep. All this for someone he doesn’t even have, he wonders if on the off chance, how things would be if he had her.

There was silence on the other end, but he knew it wasn’t the bad kind. He wanted her to continue talking, he wanted her to pour her heart out, to tell him things about her—to fill his heart with her details, to make him feel so full that he could explode; but Tom knew he had an infinite amount of storage in him just for her.

    “Susannah’s been… She’s been hurting,” (y/n) began, her voice breaking. Days went by when she felt the sorrow on her own, and it was perhaps the first time since coming home did she allow herself to openly break in front of another.

Tom listened, as well as he could, as kind as he could. It was her pain and he embraced it with poise, he knew she was hurting and this was what had happened the night he met her, before leaving. He could tell she cried in bits where she felt confused about her anger and hurt, he knew she struggled trying to be rational about the entire situation, and he knew she was simply in pain regarding being blamed.

    “I did the same thing to you…” She voiced and it threw him off guard.

    “What?” He asked, feeling his heart beat against his chest.

    “I blamed you for my sorrow. I did the same thing that Susannah—”

    “Don’t finish that sentence, (y/n). What happened with us is something you can’t compare with this. They’re both very different scenarios, love. Don’t do that. Don’t corner yourself against a wall. I know you want to, but don’t.”

    “Tom, about the other night…” He felt his heart beat against his ear. For some reason, he knew what she was going to bring up. “I know we almost…”

He gulped and pulled his sleeve away from his throat. He was sitting inside his air-conditioned room, but he still felt sweaty. Tom felt as though he could chew up nails and spit out a barbed wire fence.

    “We almost kissed.” She finished, and he almost fainted.

He didn’t know what to say. He knew she was being direct because she was drunk, but he now so desperately wished he was drunk too so as to not feel this nervousness that brought him down like anchors tied to each of his legs.

    “We…” Tom gulped. “We almost did, yeah.”

    “Tom… Tom, you can’t see me that way. You can’t.” She said, almost begging, her voice breaking at each word.

He felt as if his insides were on fire while speaking to her regarding this.

    “Why not?” He suddenly ran out of liquid in his throat. His throat was on fire, and so was his stomach and his brain and his eyes.

    “Because you’re way out of my league.”

Is she being serious? Tom thought, rubbing his palm over his mouth. He could taste the sweat in his palms, and when he blinked he felt tears well up in his eyes. His head was spinning and he suddenly fought the urge to throw up.

    “You’re wrong, (y/n).” If anything, it’s you. You’re out of my league. Always have been.

He could practically see her shaking her head and not believing his words. But no, now was not the time. He knew she wouldn’t believe him if he told her over phone. She was drunk and sad and alone and in London and he was sober and sad and alone and in Croatia.

    “Sweetheart, you need to sleep.” Tom said, kindly.

    “Tom, I’m sorry. I really am.”

He smiled as he replied, “You have nothing to be sorry for, (y/n). Goodnight.”

*

The morning after, just when she could think about all that she had told Tom the night before, Aditi called her. Her heart leapt, and she wondered if she could go back to work—she wondered if Susannah had changed her mind and forgiven her, if her life could get back on track once more.

    “What’s the scene?” (y/n) sounded perky.

    “She wants you to come in.” Aditi sounded rather monotonous, hiding something she clearly didn’t want to divulge on call.

Getting ready as quickly as she could, (y/n) felt her heart beat against her chest. She was nervous, almost as if she was going in for an interview for a new job. It took her about 30 minutes to reach her office, and once she was inside, she found Susannah near her desk.

    “Susannah—”

Susannah turned around and beside her stood an older male, salt and pepper hair. He had a large nose, but it strangely sat well on his face. (y/n) blinked before turning to Susannah again, wondering who this person was. Her eyes fell on her own desk, someone’s bag had been kept there, and she wondered whose it was.

    “This is Martin Posner,” Susannah said, “He’s our newest addition.”

Aditi entered the area and stood right behind (y/n). Looking at Martin, the Indian woman’s eyes widened before turning to (y/n)’s back.

    “That’s… That’s great. Welcome—”

    “He’s our new critique.” Susannah finished.

Her heart fell. A new critique? Her throat suddenly felt dry. She felt Aditi’s hand grab her elbow, but (y/n) didn’t budge.

    “What do you… Um… Am I transferred?” Her voice broke at the end.

    “You can pack your things and leave, (y/n). We won’t be needing your services.”

What Susannah said stabbed (y/n)’s heart, like someone had ripped through her carefully stitched up world and exposed the infected, pulsing red tissue that she thought was healing.

    “What?”

    “You heard me. Get your things and leave. This isn’t a firing. You have to resign—”

    “What if I won’t?” It came like a small ember, her courage.

    “I’m not giving you a pink slip. If you resign on your own, it won’t look bad. If you still won’t, then I’ll have no choice.” Susannah said, coldly.

    “Susannah, on what basis are you doing this? I’ve been doing my job! You were overworking me and I still didn’t complain—”

    “Don’t make this difficult—”

Aditi grabbed (y/n)’s hand and pulled her away, just as (y/n) broke down. Before exiting, Aditi turned to Susannah and sent her a rather nasty glare, and missed how Susannah’s fists were clenched tight.

*

It seemed to her as though everything that was good and true had been blasted out of the world. All those things had been crushed destroyed made to disappear. Susannah struggled through every hour of each day feeling as if her each breath would be the last. She didn’t know what she was doing and why she was doing it for the most part, and it left her feeling nasty and guilty—she found solace in hurting those around her and perhaps, the most was out of hurting (y/n).

She remembered like it was yesterday when she spoke to her as Stephen, wanting to come out as Susannah.

    “What do you think of the name ‘Susannah’?”

    “I think it’s a wonderful name. Why’re you asking me, Stephen?”

    “I think I’ve always known, (y/n). I think I’ve always known I was a she and not a he.”

She remembered how (y/n) looked at her at that moment. No surprise. No judgement.

    “Alright then, Susannah.”

Susannah felt herself sink to her toes as soon as she closed the door in her new flat. Her eyes immediately travelled to the wall on which a single photograph was fixed. (y/n), herself and Aditi and the rest of the office—looking happy and cheerful as they were a while ago.

She pressed her hands to her mouth and cried, thinking if what she had done was wrong. She thought of when (y/n) opened up to her one night, when they were drinking alone in a bar. (y/n) had told her she’d always wanted to be a writer. She chose to be a critic instead because it ‘suited’ her. Susannah had always known the truth—being a critic never suited her, it was simply a cage. A cage that prevented her from dreaming. A cage that made her believe that her dreams were unimaginable.

A cage that she was out of now. For good.

I am so sorry, Susannah thought. And felt it too.

series taglist:

@strangemaximoff​, @aestheticgaybish​, @noobmaster63​, @why-are-all-the-teens-gay​, @wonders-of-the-multiverse​, @boushalaivre​, @jackiehollanderr​, @nerdypisces160​, @yourwonderbelle​, @quackson606​, @stickyqueenbouquetsstuff​, @fandoms-stuff​, @danicarosaline​, @toolateformcrtooearlytoleaveemo, @multiverseprincess @spider-mendes @jazzhandspotter @the-rad-mad @itsjlynadaxoxo

[awinetintedmuse]

@southern-belle-outcast  Yeah no, I liked season one for certain aspects, but season 2, what little I watched of the beginning sucked all around. The show as a whole is a cop out, although well shot for the first season. Second season has way too many clipping of shots.

@titanofthemoon  yeah, the first season was okay. I liked it less for what it did than what it did NOT do, if you know what I mean. I don't remember if they had 2 or 3 seasons or if I even watched them. I think I watched season 2 and part of 3 and just gave up? i don't even remember what happened after season 1. not a good sign

Apparently, my opinion is not that uncommon. However, I think my issue with the series, and with the netflix shows in general, is a bit more specific. 

I should note that the actors are all great in their roles. Every person is well cast, and unfortunately, entirely wasted, because the writing on this shows is absolutely awful. 

But there’s a bigger issue, and that’s that Jessica Jones as a series aims to be a kind of women’s empowerment show, which it manages in the first season. Killgrave, being a stand in for every controlling, misogynistic, ‘nice guy’ that women deal with every day works. 

But. It relies on a shorthand that so many series rely on that kills it. See, Hollywood in general likes to employ shorthand for women’s empowerment, because it’s a very conservative system. Despite all the claims that it’s super liberal, it should be remembered that what decides things in Hollywood is money and focus groups. And because of that, we get things like that scene with the women in Avengers: Endgame, where they have all the women in one scene, and at the same time try to ignore the fact that none of these women were ever empowered in the movies they were actually in. It’s pure filler, sugar given to mask the fact that the people making the media don’t actually care. Rather that, you know, actually empower women, it makes the decision to give people the image of empowerment while using the same tropes that people claimed were sexist in the past. It equates result with change. Thus, they claim they’re doing work because they had the image of something, without actually changing anything. 

So with that in mind, we need to talk about Jessica Jones, because it’s a complete failure as anything resembling empowerment. As stated, it works on the image without doing the work, but like with the movies, it uses a second shorthand to be lazy, and that’s to cast everything in relief. 

Basically, Hollywood learned that it’s easy to claim that a female character is ‘strong’ if you don’t define her at all and instead define her in contrast to everyone around her. This prevents actually having to write a character and instead allows the audience to place themselves into the role of the character. Romance movies do this all the time. But it’s sexist. It relies on making the female character a cardboard cutout and then having her react to things without having to define her. Captain Marvel had this problem in a lot of its scenes, but they mostly succeed in at least giving her a character. Wonder Woman, had it not had all the stuff at the beginning with her growing up, and instead just had the movie start with her interacting with the mortal world, would have had this problem. 

Jessica Jones, by contrast, defines her entire character by her relationship with Killgrave. Killgrave is everything in season 1. He is the driving force, and she is contrasted with his actions. Her character is defined entirely by her opposition to him. Understandable, but this doesn’t leave her with a lot of character on her own. And it’s exactly why the series falls apart in the next two seasons. 

Remove Killgrave from the equation. What exactly is Jessica’s character? Who is she? Why do we, the audience, want to be around her? 

The answer is we don’t. Because removed from Killgrave, the show characterizes Jessica as a crude, rude, callous, domineering, self-sabotaging, jealous addict. She’s the kind of person who is almost defined by those nihilistic 2000′s myspace posts that are like ‘the world isn’t fair, sweetie’ or ‘god is dead’ and that means that every interaction with another character is her bringing the entire mood down. 

And it’s made worse that she’s contrasted with characters who are entirely defined better than she is. Malcolm, the guy who starts in season 1 as a drug addict, slowly gets his life together as he realizes that yes, life is worth living and that he wants to take advantage of the time he has left. Trish, someone who was abused and had serious chemical dependence issues, is constantly seen as someone who is proactive and tries to handle herself and her life despite the challenges she faces.

Trish is empowered because she directly takes control of her life and how she interacts with it. Jessica meanwhile, is constantly self destructing, lashing out at everyone else, claiming that she knows everything better than they do and that they are the problem for not listening to her, because obviously the woman who drinks herself into a coma on a nightly basis and is always snarking at people is the voice of reason. Because how dare they think the world is anything other than a cold dead void.

And so without the ability to contrast Jessica with Killgrave, a much worse person, we are left with Jessica herself, who becomes basically the worst emotional abuser on the show, who on one hand claims that no one should care about her while using people’s care for her to get her way. 

And the writers, realizing that Jessica has gone from currently being abused empowerment symbol to person who abuses her friends by wielding her trauma as a weapon decide that they need someone new to contrast her with, because rather than have Jessica realize that she has some real issues that need to be addressed, and have her face them and grow as a person, they decide to vilify everyone else in Jessica’s life. 

Trish, inexplicably, becomes the real villain, the person who is trying to control her own life and not be manipulated by anyone, because she’s already been manipulated by her mother as a child star. She cares about Jessica, but Jessica treats her as the villain at every turn, because Trish demands that Jessica actually allow Trish to make her own decisions and live with their own consequences. Jessica instead always frames Trish as someone who is selfish because how dare she not think about how her actions affect Jessica?

The fact that they needed Killgrave to show up in season 2 pretty much revealed exactly the problem: that absent someone so obviously evil, Jessica is a manipulative, vindictive, emotionally abusive asshole. She’s the villain. And so the show tries to frame everyone around Jessica as the problem, while never addressing that Jessica is the exact model of someone who is entirely codependent on others. 

And this is bad, because they have a model of someone who is entirely a women’s empowerment symbol in Jessica Jones from the comics. A woman who knows she has a drinking problem, but works to deal with it. A woman who doesn’t allow Killgrave, or anyone else, to manipulate her, but understands that she shouldn’t do the same. A woman who handles her own demons and has a healthy relationship with Luke Cage, and who has a daughter who she cares deeply for. Jessica is widely seen as someone who has demons, but who never lets those demons control her or define her. 

She defines herself. She doesn’t let anyone else define her. 

Contrast that to the show, where Jessica is entirely defined in contrast to others. 

This works for the first season, because Killgrave is a stand in for every controlling, evil guy that women have to deal with every day. But it doesn’t work in the next two seasons, because Jessica is left to be contrasted with Trish and others who are, by and large, also people who have dealt with shit and aren’t nearly as self destructive or bitter and angry about it. 

And rather than, you know, give her a character, or have her work through her issues, the show instead decides to have everyone around Jessica become the villain, contrasting Jessica to them, and expecting the same results. Only, this doesn’t work, because they all come off as entirely sensible. 

The stories of seasons 2 and 3 come off like they’re being told by that one friend who always feels like the victim no matter what, who can’t interact with anyone without constant validation, and who responds to any and all critique by making it a ‘why are you against me’ arguement. It’s manipulative. It’s regressive. It’s awful. 

And it doesn’t make good television. 

I could go on about how the netflix shows aren’t comfortable just being their own thing, the way Iron Fist is terrified of being based on lots of chinese mythology, but I think the way Jessica Jones goes from a show about a woman’s liberation to a show that actively depicts Jessica in the most regressive way possible. Like, almost nothing about her character would seem out of place if she was a 1960′s female villain in any generic story. 

It’s so, so frustrating. And it’s such a damn shame that the writers are so utterly incapable of making Jessica into what she is in the comics, which is an actually empowered individual. 

[otome-addicts-notsoanonymous]

This is the entry for @letting-them-take-liberties for the fanfic giveaway! Remember, if you want to vote for them you must COMMENT on this post. All the rules for voting as well as the master post of submissions can be found under #fanficgiveawaymaster or here. Other submissions can also be found under #fanficsubmissions.

26. Tending an injury

He should have been used to it by now, hearing the whimpers and the tears that would sometimes stain his kimono, and the way her fingers would latch on to the front of his robes as she tried to sleep off the pain.

But he hadn’t, couldn’t get used to it, even after getting into this… habit of allowing her to lie on top of him so that she could rest and heal properly.

Not when she was suffering for the consequences of his inability to protect those around him.

Guilt had been eating him up ever since she had been struck down by an assassin who had been tasked to kill him. At that time, they were both walking around the area of Hamamatsu Castle, as she had announced to him earlier that day that she had been unable to find the herb he was looking for. Annoyed that he had to go out in the cold just so he could properly show the stupid kitchen wench what the herb in question looked like, he had been rather hostile and curt towards her the whole time they were making their way to the fields. It had only been a few seconds of him turning his back to grab the plant when, upon turning to show to her the herb, she had fallen on him. His initial reaction was to sneer and taunt her for being a weakling who had fainted because she was unable to stand the winter chill… until his eyes gazed upon the back of her light pink kimono, which was slowly turning into a dark crimson.

He could not remember what happened next, other than what Sakai had told him when everything had somewhat calmed down.

How he had been too stunned to move at that time, and how it had been Hattori Hanzou who had subdued the man and the other assassins in the area when they took advantage of him being too shocked to move.

How his retainers had been unable to pry his hands away from her when the others have arrived, as he had actually managed to put enough pressure on the wound to temporarily stop the bleeding, despite him in a daze.

How he had taken it upon himself to bring her to his room and had decided on his own that there would be no need for a doctor, as he would do the work himself, to the horror and amazement of his retainers.

When she started bleeding again as soon as he had laid her down on his futon, he used linen bandages and bound it tightly around her torso to cease the blood flow. He had seen horrific wounds on soldiers, but seeing half of her back raw and open from a diagonal sword wound had made him feeling light-headed.

The attack was meant for him, yet she took the blow and was suffering for it.

Seeing her lying unconscious left him feeling strangely desolate over the fact that a woman had protected him.

Probably in a desperate bid to make sure that she would not suffer in his failure to keep her safe, he cleaned her wound after a few days of binding it. Ieyasu then took it upon himself to stitch her wound shut to lessen the chances of it getting infected. He had seen a number of men dying from both blood loss and infected wounds, and he refused to stand by and watch her die.

Three days later, she was whimpering in her sleep for her father not to leave her side and for Death to claim her already.

The instant he heard about it, he felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him.

The voice in his head had mocked him for doing more harm than good to her, and that he might as well end her misery by letting her die.

The wound he had stitched shut in an attempt to avoid infection had, ironically, become infected in a matter of days. While she was delirious from fever, he had been attempting to lower her temperature with a sponge bath. During that time as well, when he was about to replace the bandages, he had noticed that the wound he had treated a few days ago had turned into an angry red. Wasting no time, he regularly cleaned the infected wound with water that he had drawn from the well and changed the bandages.

He had been having thoughts of her dying ever since she got wounded, but the possibility of it becoming a reality because of his foolish decision to stitch up the wound—

Despite the bleak situation, he found himself laughing.

How could he have ever thought that he had it in him to save her?

He was slowly killing her with his own hands, and right now, it seemed merciful to end her life once and for all, instead of prolonging her suffering.

No doubt, the voice in his head told him, this was her way of blaming him for putting her in the current state she was in, and that she would rather end her suffering than be stuck with him for the rest of her life.

You will not leave me.

If, after all this, she still wanted to leave the clan because of his failures, so be it.

Right now, she was still his retainer, and he was still her lord; he will not allow Death to take her from him that easily.

It had been a task more exhausting than all of the campaigns he had participated in combined. As he did not want anyone involved in the task of nursing her back to health, mostly because of guilt, he took it upon himself to draw buckets of cold water from the well, completely drench a clean strip of linen, and use it to wipe down her feverish body. When the water was not cold enough to his liking, he would proceed to get more water from the well, ignoring the winter chill, and do the same thing over and over again.

At one point, Sakai had told him to get some rest, only for him to glare at his most senior retainer.

“Don’t tell me what to do, old man.”

Sakai Tadatsugu only smiled. “Right now, you have done wonders for her, milord, but you must rest—”

“No.” came the curt reply.

“It would not do well for the lord of the clan to get sick, and you have hardly eaten anything.” Sakai gave him a worried look. “I know Sanae is… not in the condition to serve you meals, but I am sure she will not be happy when she finds out that you have forgotten to eat because of her.”

Trust the old man to say that words that would make him feel even guiltier.

In the end, he had reluctantly allowed Sakai to ask the servants in the castle to prepare a meal for him and bring it up to his room. After the tray was placed in front of him, Ieyasu forced himself to eat the food and downing it with hot tea that nearly burnt his mouth and his tongue.

If he was going to take care of her until her wounds healed, he would need all the nourishment and strength he could get. He could not feel the hunger right now, but he knew that it was better to sate the hunger before it distracted him from what he was doing.

He would make sure that Death would absolute have no chance of taking her away from his side.

He would not allow it.

After an exhausting week of keeping her wound clean and her temperature down, her fever finally broke, and the first thing she did as soon as she opened her eyes was to flash him an exhausted smile and call out his name.

He stopped himself from propping her up from the bedding and holding her in his arms, knowing that her kindness was something that he did not deserve. “… You’re finally awake.” He said, his tone sounding similar to a man who could not be bothered.

Her smile faltered for a split second upon hearing his harsh tone, and the Lord of Mikawa ignored the stab of regret that made its way to his chest, reminding himself that he was the one at fault as to why she was confined to the bedding. While her wound was not infected anymore and her body temperature was back to the way it was, she should not push herself.

“I… guess I am, Ieyasu-sama.”

She sounded so forlorn that he took it as a sign to leave; it was obvious that he was making her feel uncomfortable with his presence. “Don’t move around too much if you want to heal quickly,” was all he said before leaving the room.

That night, he had single-handedly prepared a meal that he was sure would tempt her appetite. To his relief, she had the strength to prop herself up and eat… until for her to stop midway and put the tray down.

“… What’s wrong now?” he managed to ask after he struggled to form the words to ask her why she had suddenly stopped eating. “Was the food that unappetizing?”

She gave him an apologetic smile. “The food is good…” she gave a wistful glance at the tray that she had left on the floor. “It’s just…” at this, she pressed a hand to her mouth.

“What now?”

“Ieyasu-sama…” she took a deep breath. “Can you please bring me to the toilet?”

Puzzled at her request, he took her to the toilet anyway; he had barely managed to bring her in time just before she threw up everything she had eaten.

While she had assured him that she was probably not well enough to keep down the food he had made, in his mind, it did not seem that way to him. She could have simply told him a lie, as she was too polite to outwardly reject him, and that she was actually disgusted with the food she had eaten.

Countless times before, he had rejected the meals she had prepared him without so much as a reason why, and recently started to reluctantly eat the meals she had prepared, if only to shut her up. He ate her food with an impassive look on his face as not to give her any hint with just how satisfied he was, and would proceed to critique and pinpoint every single thing that was wrong with it.

In her case, she ate his cooking without complaint, but when she had put down the tray and heaved it all out of her system… she might as well have slapped him on the face.

As he had been sleep-deprived for the past few days, he had actually forgotten the fact that sick people would not be able to eat properly, and that they needed something light and nutritious to help them regain their appetite.

How could he have missed that?

Seems like I’m the one killing her now, he thought bitterly as he took the uneaten tray of food after helping her back to her bedding. Just before she had lied back down on her side as not to disrupt the healing of her wound, he had asked her if she wanted to eat something else, only for her to shake her head.

“I’m not hungry right now, Ieyasu-sama. I’ll just go to sleep.” Her response was neutral, and yet, it alarmed him enough that it took a minute for him to calm his nerves.

She was rejecting him, and he didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

The him before the incident would have been glad that she would stop annoying him and getting all clingy because she wanted his opinion on her cooking, but now… feelings that he never knew he had were hitting him in full force that it was difficult for him to comprehend what was happening.

She hated his cooking… hated it so much that she threw it all up in the hopes of making it look like she had no appetite.

It made no sense for him to be feeling so down over it, and yet…

Clenching his fists, he took the tray of uneaten food and left the room once more, unable to comprehend why he was feeling so dejected.

On the third week of her confinement, he found her crying silently on the bedding, though as soon as he had made his presence known, she had hastily wiped her tears before forcing a smile on her face.

“Ieyasu-sama.” Just before she could attempt to get up, sit on her calves, and bow at him, he stopped her by holding out a hand.

“Don’t bother, can’t stand to see you looking so pathetic and in pain.” Inwardly, he winced at his choice of words, but knew that he was deserving of all her hatred.

She nearly lost her life because of him.

“Understood. Forgive me for being unable to…” she winced as she shifted slightly on the bedding, trying to adjust her position.

“As I’ve said, don’t force yourself.” He reminded her, and she nodded slowly. “As long as you don’t move too much, you’ll be fine.”

“… Yes, but it’s so hard to sleep…” she sighed heavily, her lips curving downward into a frown. “You keep telling me not to lie on my side too much… but I’ve always been a side sleeper so—”

He masked the feeling of dread with a sarcastic smile. “Aww, are you asking me to cuddle and hold you tight while you sleep?”

Ieyasu meant for his statement to be simply that, albeit a sarcastic one. And yet, he found himself saying out loud, “But if you insist, wench, I will allow you to be selfish just this once and I will allow you to lie on top of me and hold you while we both sleep. After all, you did save my life, and because of you, my quest to unify this country will continue.”

Upon seeing her puzzled look, he chuckled. “I am giving you the option to opt out—”

“I couldn’t possibly impose, Ieyasu-sama. You’ve… you’ve made so much effort to accommodate me. Please, just let me—” before he could even lost his nerve and run away from his own challenge, he found himself sitting down on her bedding and lying down next to her. “W-w-w-what are you—”

“It’s too cold, and I need a heat source. You’re perfect as a warm body that I can hold while I sleep.”

“W-w-wha—”

“I will not repeat myself.” He hissed at her, his tone angry, in order to mask his embarrassment at the boldness of what he had suggested. Even after saying those words, he still felt self-conscious and overwhelmed; for those words to easily slip out of his lips as if it were nothing serious, it shocked him.

To add more to his shock, wordlessly, she had not-so-gracefully climbed on top of him, her hands grasping his shoulders in order to get herself to lie on him. Much to his private relief, she did not look uncomfortable at the… peculiar sleeping arrangement that he suggested; on the contrary, she sighed when she proceeded to place her head on his chest, making him blush at the rather intimate contact.

It was a good thing that with her position right now, as she would be unable to see him blushing like a child whose first love had confessed her feelings for him.

When she started adjusting herself into a more comfortable position, her hips pressing against his own, he felt his eyes widen in surprise before hissing, “Stop moving so much!”

“S-sorry.” She mumbled. “T-trying to find a… c-comfy—”

”… Yes, and you’re making me uncomfortable with what you’re doing.“ He said blandly, hoping that she wouldn’t notice that a part of him was slowly becoming stiff.

The kitchen wench, however, really did not let anything go unnoticed. ”… Is that a dagger I feel on my hip?“

“I’ll stab you with it if you don’t shut up.” He hissed angrily, making her jolt from the coldness of his tone. While he did not want to scare her, the wench was really testing both his patience and his self-control.

… And he was afraid of what he was capable of doing when his mind gets clouded with lust.

“M-my apologies, Ieyasu-sama. I shall have to settle for this position then.”

When she placed the top of her head on the crook of his neck and sighed deeply, he took it as his cue to blow out the candle and settle in for the night.

The first one to take note of their sudden change in sleeping arrangements was, surprisingly, Sakakibara Yasumasa.

One afternoon, just after he had managed to get her to eat some porridge mixed with sleeping draught to help her rest, Sakakibara had opened the sliding doors to the room to hand over a letter. Amongst the clan, only a handful of people knew that it was her who was injured, and that he was taking care of her. The rest, on the other hand, had assumed it was the other way around.

Sakakibara had also thought it was the other way around.

Which was why, upon opening the sliding doors and seeing his lord looking rather nonchalant with the wench sleeping on his chest, even the snarkiest general of the Tokugawa army was rendered speechless at what he had just seen.

“… The last thing I expected would be the wench in the same room as you.”

Ieyasu shrugged one shoulder. “What do you want, Sakakibara? I assume you’re not here to see my condition and report about it to Sakai.”

With him currently taking care of Sanae until she was well enough to go back to her duties both as his retainer and his personal chef, he had tasked Sakai to take over for him during war council meetings in the guise of being injured and recovering from the ‘wound’ he received. With Sakakibara now running around the castle to hand him a letter, he figured that his most senior retainer was too busy to do it himself.

“The rumors are true then.” Yasumasa remarked. “It’s her who’s actually injured, and not you.”

“She was exactly where she shouldn’t have been, which is why she got cut down instead of me.” Another shrug. “It’s a pain to go through finding another chef, so I figured I might as well try and save her.”

“I see.” Sakakibara’s tone, however, sounded like he was not convinced with the explanation.

As if to make his point, he gave out an exaggerated sigh. “Idiots who can’t even protect themselves getting hurt and placing the burden on others… can’t believe this is happening to me. I would’ve been able to handle it without her.”

The lie had been so easy to say out loud.

While she was burning with fever and muttering for Death to take her, Hanzou, sensing that his master was beating himself up over her condition, had told him time and again that the plan to assassinate him had been so carefully planned that the first strike that had cut her down was not the only thing that his enemies had planned. If he had actually survived the first one, there were four more who would chase him down and gut him open until he was dead.

Sanae, in Hanzou’s words, had been the ‘collateral damage’ in an effort to keep him safe, which had angered him to no end.

She shouldn’t have protected him.

It was still difficult for him to accept the fact that she had done this out of the goodness of her own heart.

It was stupid of her to do so, and yet, he couldn’t think of any other reason.

He handed back the letter to Yasumasa after scanning the contents. “Tell Sakai I’ll see him tomorrow morning to discuss this with him.” With another bow, the male retainer left the room and closed the doors.

She was angry at him, and he did not know why.

Last night, she had wordlessly eaten the porridge he had prepared, and just when he was about to open his mouth to ask her how her day went, she had the nerve to ask if it was possible for her to sleep in a separate bedding, which did not sit well with him.

… Not that he was desperate for her to lie in his arms all the time, but he felt more at ease with the current sleeping arrangements. Ieyasu would know immediately if something had happened to her, and if she needed help, he would be able to spring into action.

While he was well-aware that she was already out of danger, with her wound finally closing up and her stitches were to be removed the day after tomorrow (he had been persuaded by Sakai to at least call for a proper doctor for the stitches to be removed), he could not help but be worried that there was still a chance for her to succumb to a fever and die from whatever unknown infection that was lying in wait.

When he arrogantly informed her that the sleeping arrangements could not be changed to cater to her whims, she had the nerve to actually walk out of his room, a first for her since she had been confined, and made her way back to her room to sleep in her own bedding.

As for him, he had no choice but to try and keep himself warm, despite the fact that he had two layers of woolen blankets to fight off the chill. Suffice to say, he did not sleep well at all last night, and had been in an awful mood the moment he chose to get up from bed and preside over the war council. It had only been yesterday since he was back to attending meetings, but he had managed to catch up on everything, all thanks to Sakai.

With that out of the way, there was still one aspect in his life that had to be fixed… and fast.

That afternoon, after he had been informed by Sakai that the doctor had arrived and had been led to his room where she and the doctor were waiting for him, the removal of the stitches began… along with the doctor admonishing him for what he had done in order to close up her wound.

“Should I actually be grateful that you vaguely knew what you were doing? I don’t think so.” tsked the old man, who was also a personal friend of Sakai. “You may have helped close the wound, but I wouldn’t be surprised if, at one point, the wound got infected and she had succumbed to a fever.”

Still, he said nothing, neither confirming nor denying the accusation, choosing instead of keep his expression neutral, as if he had no idea what the older man was talking about.

“… if there’s one thing you did right, you managed to keep her alive long enough for me to remove the stitching.” continued the doctor.

Thankfully, she had managed to interrupt the conversation and prevented the doctor from reprimanding him further from his recklessness. “W-will it scar though…?” she asked in a nervous tone.

“It already did.” The doctor lamented. “But not to worry; it’s not as bad as it looks. In time, it will fade.”

Trust the old man to point out that on her skin was proof of his inability to protect her from his shortcomings. From her upper back down to the middle of her torso was a thin, red line… and even if he was sitting far away from her to give it a closer look, he could feel the dread burning within him.

Though it may be hidden from his view, at the back of his mind, he knew it would always be there to remind him that he was too weak to prevent that attack from happening.

Right after the doctor was done removing the threads, the old man had handed him a small can. “My lord, I will leave you some salve. Apply it on her wound whenever there’s discomfort.” Upon hearing the doctor’s advice, she actually had the nerve to glare at him, as if to tell him that he had no business in getting involved with her any further, something that he ignored.

“After applying to the wound, leave it to dry on the skin for at least half an hour before getting dressed once more.” He nodded at her. “My lady, please take care and take it easy until you are fully healed. My lord, if you’ll excuse me.”

“I-I’m not a—” before she could even protest over being called by the wrong title, the doctor was out of the door.

As for him, he did not know whether to be amused or annoyed that the doctor has assumed that they were a couple.

If Sakai had anything to do with it, he would definitely pull out all of the old man’s hair in one go.

“That old man is getting ahead of himself.” He muttered under his breath.

“Ieyasu-sama.”

He was too preoccupied with his thoughts that he did not notice her until she was standing in front of him. Immediately, he put on a mask of indifference, despite the fact that his heart was doing otherwise.

“Would you please hand over the salve? I will ask Umeko-san to apply it for me if the itchiness gets unbearable.” She held out her hand.

“No.” he glared at her.

“And why not?” despite the calm response, he could see the anger etched on her face.

“Because other than the doctor, I am not allowing anyone else to see nor touch your wound until you’re fully healed.” He stated.

“But I am healed! Weren’t the stitches removed just now?” while he wanted to throttle her for being so stubborn, he knew he could not do such.

Sometimes, her fighting spirit amused him to no end, but today was not one of those days. Why couldn’t she just listen to him?

“You’re not the one who gets to decide if you’re healed or not.” He told her harshly.

The anger in her eyes said it all… and he was actually afraid of what she would say until she simply sighed and shook her head in resignation.

“Fine.”

Inwardly, he sighed in relief.

It was a hollow victory, but a victory nonetheless.

He had to figure out why she had become so cold to him, or risk losing her.

Days later, just when he thought she would be more accepting of her situation (he had managed to persuade her to stay in his room until he deemed otherwise, one of the perks of being the lord of the clan), he found her with Toramatsu, the latter waiting for her while she was in the middle of lowering her kimono to show him the place where the medicine was supposed to be applied.

Ieyasu knew he had no right to get angry over it, as both of them had no hold over the other, but the fact that she had actually called upon his page to help her apply the salve while he was busy with the meetings… it left him seething on the inside.

Did he not make it clear enough that only he could check upon her while she was on the mend?

“Toramatsu.” Upon hearing his name, his page turned around and bowed at him. “I’ll take it over from here.”

His page was out of the room even before she could utter a word of protest.

Upon realizing that she was stuck with him until he applied the salve, she gave out a long-winded sigh and undid her clothing without blinking an eye, startling him. While he had endlessly mocked her by saying that he felt nothing over seeing her naked for the past few weeks, it had been half-true.

With her slowly recovering from her injury, it had been a struggle for him to calm himself whenever she laid down on top of him. A part of him hurt, but he ignored it all, focusing instead on steadying his hold on her waist so that she wouldn’t strain her back and thought back on everything that he considered repulsive in order for the erection to die down. She had caught him once in that state of need, on the very first night he brought up their unusual sleeping arrangements, and despite downplaying it, he found himself threatening to ‘stab her’, but not in the way she thought it would be.

The need for him to bury himself in her… right now was not the time for such, nor would she be ready for it.

He sat across from her, ignoring the fact that she was exposing her upper half to him. “Did you just asked my page to put salve on your back?” it had been difficult to keep the disbelief from his voice, but he couldn’t help it.

Not when she looked like she was eager to remove her clothing when Toramatsu was there, and how she looked like she was facing her doom when he entered the room.

She shrugged. “You were busy, and Toramatsu was not.”

“You couldn’t be bothered to wait?” he asked, irritated.

“What’s it to you?” she asked hotly, her eyes flashing with anger. “You’re the one who told Sakakibara-sama that I’m a burden to you. You should’ve left me to die if I was such a pain to take care of.”

If it was possible to beat his old self for saying the most asinine statements about her, he would do so in a heartbeat. Instead, he hid his hands inside his sleeves and clenched his fists, trying to calm himself, even though her words were hitting close to home.

Her telling him point blank that he should have let her die… he felt his façade breaking at her words.

How dare she say that?

“Besides, you said it yourself: you feel nothing when I’m half-naked in front of you, so what makes Toramatsu-kun any diff—”

He had never been the type who was good at saying what he felt; he either wrote it down, or he covered it up with the most vicious statements he could think of, only for him to regret it midway.

This time around, he knew he couldn’t say anything, as he did not trust himself to say the right things at this particularly critical time.

And so, he did what he thought was best in order to calm his raging emotions and her angry outburst: he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips.

She struggled to get away from him at first, but he held on tight, not wanting her to get away until they were both calm and level-headed to talk. For now, all he wanted to do was hold her in her arms and reassure himself that she was alive, she was breathing, and that she was most likely to slap him after he pulled away.

And so, he put some distance between them, buried his face on the crook of her neck and held her tight, unsure of how he was going to proceed.

“Ieyasu-sama, am I… a burden to you?”

The hesitancy in her tone made him answer right away. “No, you are not.”

“Then why did you… why did you say those things to Sakakibara-sama?”

He was not surprised to know that she may have listened in on the conversation between him and one of his generals, but Ieyasu figured that the sooner she knew the sentiment behind his words, the better it would be for the both of them.

She had to know sooner or later.

Pulling away from her momentarily, he looked into her eyes and said, “Because a failure like me had nearly gotten you killed.”

What was he saying?

Try as she might to make sense of his words, nothing came to her mind at all.

He had sounded so flippant and nonchalant during the time he was talking to Sakakibara, even going as far as to tell the man who disliked her the most that she was a burden, and that he was only keeping her alive because he did not want to bother looking for a replacement chef.

Now, however…

“What are you saying?” she whispered. “I-I don’t understand.”

“Why do you think you’re in this state?” he gave out a cynical laugh. “It might as well been me who had cut you down and killed you.”

“Ieyasu-sama, it was not your fault.” She began, feeling distressed over the fact that he was blaming himself for what had happened. “It was my choice to protect you, and not anyone else’s.”

When the desolate look on his face persisted, she found herself speaking in an attempt to persuade him not to blame himself for what she thought, at that time, was the best thing to do. “Look, Ieyasu-sama, I’m simply just a chef. I’m not like the others who are of use to you in the battlefield. If it had been Sakakibara-sama or Tadakatsu-sama who had gotten hurt, that would have been the worst case scenario for the clan in the midst of this war. They’re your strongest generals in the clan, right? Compared to them, and the rest of your retainers, I am replaceable. After all, you all managed to get everything together, even before I got here and—”

“… The hell did you just say?”

Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if what she had said was the right thing to do.

The look of desolation had now been replaced by fury, and immediately, she had the urgency to run far, far away from him.

“I—” it had been some time since she had felt some sort of fear towards the lord of the clan, but while before, she had feared him before because of his ruthlessness, now she feared him because she had no idea what she had done to anger him. “I-Ieyasu-sama—”

In a split second, she had found herself on her back, and while the impact had made her wince because of her wound, Sanae was more concerned with the man who loomed over her. In order to keep her from trying to get up and run away from him, he pinned her down by her shoulders and looked straight into her eyes.

What surprised her was when he demanded her not to look at him as he buried his face on the side of her neck, she instantly felt hot tears on her shoulder.

The light-hearted teasing she had in mind to ease the tension between them failed to escape her lips as she heard him speak once more.

“How dare you… do you really think so lowly of yourself that you wanted to die? Or are you so disgusted with me that you would rather die than be in my service?”

What is he saying…?

For his voice to tremble like that… she felt as if she had done the gravest mistake in her life.

“‘Replaceable’? Is that how you see yourself?” he laughed bitterly. “You were unconscious and burning with fever during the time I was losing my mind, wondering about a ‘what if I didn’t try and stitch that wound to keep it from getting infected’ scenario.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have done that stupid thing and let the wound repair itself… but I was so afraid of…” at this, she felt him shake his head, as if dreading the scenario that his mind had came up with. “But when you pulled through, I… I thought everything would turn out alright.

“For you to tell me that you are ‘replaceable’, and that it was better that it was you who got cut down… how dare you say that to my face.”

The guilt was weighing him down, she was sure of it.

How many times had she seen him looking so grim whenever he had to apply the salve on her back? She had dismissed it as the face of someone who didn’t want to do a task so degrading, but now that he was confessing everything to her…

Ieyasu-sama…

The burden that he alone had to shoulder because of the guilt… it hurt her.

“Crying on a woman’s shoulder…” another bitter laugh. “How low will I go this time?”

If she had to be honest, she was too stunned to even respond.

No one knew what had actually happened to her after she had been cut down, save for him. According to Sakai-sama and Toramatsu-kun, Ieyasu-sama had been the one who single-handedly took care of her from the very start. While she could hardly believe that he had been able to do such, as the lord of the clan was a busy man, he himself had confirmed all of the doubts she had.

And the doctor… he did mention that it was Ieyasu-sama who had stitched her wound shut, and even reprimanded him about it.

For him to rely on no one… it was an amazing feat that only he could accomplish.

A soft snore on her right shoulder should not have surprised her, and yet, it still did. It seemed like the exhaustion has taken its toll on him, and Sanae figured that there would be no talking for tonight at least.

There was always tomorrow.

With his grip on her shoulders now loose, she had managed to grab the thick winter blanket that had been discarded beside them, and was just about done draping it over her lord’s body when the sliding doors opened, revealing Sakai Tadatsugu.

“Ieyasu-sama, pardon me but—” seeing Ieyasu slumped over her had made the senior retainer blush, especially since their positions right now did look rather… compromising. “M-My apologies, I-I will come back in the morning…! G-good night, Sanae-dono!” after a quick bow, Sakai closed the doors, though she could have sworn that she saw a smile on the elderly man’s face.

As much as she wanted to ask for the older man’s help in putting Ieyasu-sama in his bed, she knew she couldn’t. In the midst of their argument, the can of salve had been laid forgotten in the frenzy, especially since he had pinned her down on the tatami. Aside from that, she had been topless the moment he had sat across from her in preparation of applying the salve… and was still topless until now.

Feeling her cheeks flame at the thought of exposing herself to her lord far longer than necessary, she tried to sleep off the embarrassment.

Needless to say, she was unable to properly sleep at all.

The sun was shining early that winter morning, and as much as she wanted to get up and start her day, she couldn’t. Tokugawa Ieyasu, lord of the clan, was still sleeping, and no matter how many times she tried to push him off, it had been impossible. Not only that, but she didn’t have the heart to wake him up, especially since he was sleeping so soundly.

Unconsciously, she began running her fingers through his hair, feeling its softness. While she was well aware that Ieyasu-sama never really liked being touched, just this once, she knew she had to take advantage of the moment.

This was the man who blamed himself, all because she had gotten hurt.

This was the man who had confessed his fears to her, all because he thought she wouldn’t make it.

This was the man who made time for her in order for her to recover and regain her strength.

“… The hell are you doing?” came the groggy response on her right.

He was up and awake, and the first thing she noticed was how puffy his eyes were, all because of the crying he did last night.

As if sensing where her eyes were aimed, he glared at her from where he laid as he used his arm to prop himself up. “Where the hell are you looking at?”

Good morning to you too, Ieyasu-sama, she said to herself, struggling not to laugh as he began an early-morning tirade about how rude it was of her to forget what he had said yesterday about not looking at him. Despite the puffiness, she still found him rather handsome.

So distracted was she over his looks, most especially his eyelashes, that when he asked her if she was listening, she had actually gave him a blank look, irritating him further.

“I said, are you listening—”

Before she could stop herself, she sent a quick prayer for her own safety, sat up, and kissed him on the lips.

Even she had no idea what possessed her to kiss him all of a sudden; all she wanted to know was if he was as passionate as the man who had kissed her yesterday, and to her own surprise, he responded to her kisses as he ran a hand on her back, his fingertips lightly tracing the scar. Immediately, she felt goosebumps on her skin at the innocent yet sensual touch, but ignored it, concentrating instead on how to divest him of his clothing so she could touch him as well.

In the course of their kissing, he had actually managed to sit her on his lap, her legs folded underneath her on one side as she sat between his legs. As he parted her mouth and began sucking her tongue, she found herself moaning at the new sensation, though it did not distract her from yanking his top down his shoulders, making him shudder as the cold air touched his naked skin. Momentarily, he pulled away from her, his breathing heavy, as did hers.

“I—” before she could utter another word, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her again, pulling her closer as his chest pressed against her naked breasts, making her moan at the contact.

“Ieyasu-sa—MA!!!”

Immediately, she felt him move his body in an attempt to cover her from whoever it was that interrupted them. With his back now facing the person who had opened the sliding doors, she was both embarrassed and horrified to find out that it had been Sakai-sama who had barged in.

… And she had actually forgotten what he said last night about visiting Ieyasu-sama in the morning.

Before she could contemplate on what she should say, Ieyasu-sama had beaten her to it.

“Sakai, get out.”

A loud bang was heard as the sliding door made contact with the frame; Sanae figured that Sakai-sama had also been embarrassed upon seeing them in a state of… half-undressed, which was why the door had been slammed shut and the old man had left without any words of farewell aimed at any of them.

“That old man… I’m gonna turn him bald the next time I see him.” absent-mindedly, he slipped her kimono back on her body before fixing his own, murder evident in his eyes.

“I-Ieyasu-sama, I don’t think—” when he turned to look at her, she felt her face flame. “I-I think you should leave Sakai-sama alone… h-he didn’t meant to, and I-I forgot to tell you that he wanted to speak to you last night, but you were sleeping already so—”

He raised an eyebrow at what she had told him. “Sakai visited last night? How dare he—” before she could try and reassure him that there was no need for him to hunt down the elderly man, he was on his feet and exiting the door, but not before giving her a peck on the lips. “Don’t let anyone in here. Wait for me to get back and I’ll put more salve on your back.”

She didn’t have the heart to tell him that she was no longer feeling any pain nor itch from her scar, but figured that if he wanted to be of help to her, she should just let him.

For now, she would just have to hope and pray that Ieyasu-sama wouldn’t be too harsh on his most loyal and most senior retainer.

Sakai-sama, I’m so sorry… I’ll make you the best tea yet after this…!

“As long as you will allow me to stay by your side… I will wait for you.”

She figured that what she said had startled him, for his crimson-colored eyes widened in surprise upon hearing her words.

“So please… let me stay with you.”

“… Do what you want.” Despite sounded so detached, she knew that she had won him over, as she noticed his face turning a light pink from embarrassment.

“And… another thing.” When he said nothing, she continued. “Please allow me to continue our previously-interrupted sleeping arrangement.”

“And why would you think I would allow you to do that?” despite the smirk on his lips, his tone had been playful.

“Don’t you agree that we both sleep better that way?” she asked him, smiling. “And as you have said… you need a heat source. The winter in Hamamatsu is becoming particularly this time of year, and I do need a heat source to keep my warm as well.”

He sighed dramatically. “Such a demanding retainer. I should put you in your place once I’m done dealing with Sakai.”

“If you say so, Ieyasu-sama.” As she watched his retreating back in search of the older man who had interrupted them, Sanae found herself smiling once more, glad that despite the pain and the misunderstandings, she and Ieyasu-sama’s relationship had turned out to be better than she expected.

Despite everything she went through, she was thankful that the incident had led them to become closer… and that it gave her a chance to let her feelings known to the man who had done everything possible to keep her alive.

As long as he would allow her, she would stay by his side and support him in whatever way she can.

For now, she would have to wait until he was back so that he could treat her injury… and they could probably continue where they left off before Sakai-sama had interrupted them.

My apologies if it took too long and if it dragged on and on.

Honestly, I had so many ideas for this fic, but decided to settle for the one that I think would fit both Ieyasu’s and Ieyasu’s MC’s personalities.

I am a bit satisfied with what I wrote, and I am kind of getting the hang of the Japanese honorifics, as I have been playing KoiRan nonstop ever since the ‘comeback event’ featuring Ieyasu and MC’s First Night together. Hopefully, I can keep on writing, and I hope my writing would become more consistent.

Again, thank you for reading all the way to the end. I hope you enjoyed it!

[coraliviaith]

Jane the Virgin- Chapter Eighty-Four

The eighty-fourth episode of Jane the Virgin focuses on the ongoing plot thread of Jane’s presumed-dead husband Michael (now “Jason”) returning, as well as side plots revolving around Rogelio’s television pilot, and a parenting dispute between Jane and Petra. Jason has decided to try and win back his “wife,” despite her previous rejections. He eventually persuades her into a fishing date in exchange for signing their divorce papers. Meanwhile, Jane’s father Rogelio discovers that his co-star, River Fields, is being paid more than him and grows upset, creating tension on the set of The Passions of Steve and Brenda. Jane and Petra argue over how to get their children to stop fighting, when the real root of the problem is revealed to be Petra’s insecurities in Jane not confiding in her.

One of the most interesting points in the episode appears in the conflict between Rogelio and River. When it is first revealed to Rogelio that his co-star is receiving twice the pay that he is, he grows childishly angry and disruptive on set, eventually leading to an intervention from his wife, Xiomara. Xo admits she finds it emboldening that a woman in Hollywood is “winning the fight for gender parity”—receiving such pay for doing the same work as men, and River echoes this sentiment when Rogelio confronts her, remaining firm that she is the “bigger name” and has worked very hard to get to this point in her career. Not everything is about Rogelio. But Rogelio later confides in Xiomara that he has done research that reveals pay parity also affects people of color. This is a rather serious moment for his character, as though he is often portrayed as a stereotypically dramatic and flamboyant Latinx man, here he speaks quite soberly. He makes the point that the telenovela is his passion project and his culture—he has been trying to bring it to American audiences for years, but as a Latino he feels that he and his work are undervalued by the White Hollywood mainstream. This brings to light the interesting point that while River is a woman working in a historically sexist industry (of which the show rightly critiques), she has the privilege of being a white American. Rogelio on the other hand, was initially a Mexican television actor and does not have this race advantage to aid him in his dream of being a crossover star. The commentary on racial issues in America is furthered in the next scene, where Jane is seen silently reacting to a web article about immigration titled “Trump tells ICE, ‘Deport the Illegals.’ Massive Family Reunification Failure—with a look of utter disbelief painted across her face. Suffice to say, with family being one of the most important things to Jane and with her being descended from Venezuelan immigrants, it makes sense that she would not be a fan of how the Trump administration was handling border control.

It is later seen that River was informed of Rogelio’s viewpoint and she apologizes, vowing to help him as they fight for pay parity together. In the end, Rogelio discovers River only told him this to achieve “woke points” and further her own public image, by featuring on covers of Latinx magazines as a declared ally to Latinx people. It is an interesting commentary on white savior behavior and performative activism, as Rogelio does not seem offended by this (in fact he looks rather impressed by her play), but seeing as he has consistently been portrayed as a man that takes career very seriously, it makes sense that a high profile actress doing a bit of self-serving would not surprise him.

Throughout the show, the strong bonds between the three Villanueva women (Jane, her mother, and grandmother) are portrayed as the heart of the story. Whether from Xiomara, who takes pride in her sexuality, or Abuela who remains firm, yet not unrelenting in her deep-rooted Catholic beliefs of saving oneself for marriage, they represent how there is not just one right way to be a woman and the only one in charge of how you want to present yourself and live your life—is you. In this episode in particular, there is another strong relationship between women on display, in the form of Jane and Petra. Petra has been a major supporting character since the first episode, and though her behavior as ally or antagonist has fluctuated over the course of the seasons, she has solidly found her way into Jane’s inner circle. Though apparently not as solidly as she had hoped, as in this episode she grows upset, believing Jane does not like or trust her enough to discuss sensitive issues. Jane assures her that this is not the case and likens them to sisters—something she never had growing up— and Petra awkwardly agrees. Fans in the past have been quick to see potential romantic undertones to Petra’s relationship with Jane, and connected her backstory of isolation, a controlling parent, and desperate need to be accepted and loved to themes found in traditionally queer narratives. Thus the previous season’s reveal that Petra is bisexual was not all that hard to believe. The show gave her a female love interest in the form of Jane Ramos (better known as “JR”-- her first name partially an homage to the connection fans found between Petra and protagonist Jane), but they have since broken up. In her heart-to-heart with Main Jane, Petra confesses that she still loves JR and wishes to talk to her again. Though there is something to be said about the show’s treatment of sapphic characters in the past (as with the villainization of Luisa and Rose…), in this instance the relationship is portrayed in a positive and casual light, as Jane happily suggests that Petra “accidentally” butt-dial her old flame to strike up a conversation. There is no judgment from any of Petra’s friends and family surrounding her choice of lover and they seem to support and encourage her.

Another moment that seems worth mentioning is the brief incident where Petra’s daughter, Anna, is fighting with her brother, Mateo. He hits his sister and she very vehemently declares, “Do not touch my body!” Petra immediately praises her for this, making it clear that she taught the child to “defend herself” (which is important in terms of Petra’s character, as she suffered multiple abusive relationships in the past). It is nice to see a portrayal of boundaries and consent in everyday life being taught at a young age. In this day and age it is imperative that more people understand that it is okay to say no and to reject physical touch if they are uncomfortable, and equally important to respect others who say no. Perhaps it is a lesson that Jason could use as well. This is in the same episode where he continues to pursue Jane, who is already in a loving relationship and has turned him down multiple times. Jane eventually agrees, partly to get the divorce papers, but also because she feels obligated to help the man she once loved. Petra advises her that she does not owe him anything—Jason is a perfect stranger to her now—and all Jane should do is what she feels is right, in order to protect herself and her family. So many times women are expected to push their feelings aside for the sake of being caretakers or support systems to a man, so seeing Jane put her foot down and send Jason away at the end of the episode feels a special kind of empowering.

- Admin Faith

Works Cited:

“Chapter Eighty-Four.” Jane the Virgin, written by Valentina L. Garza and Deidre Shaw, directed by Brad Silberling, CBS and Warner Brothers, 2019.

Swartz, Anna. “The showrunner of ‘Jane the Virgin’ on women’s sexuality, words you can’t say and Petra’s coming out.” Mic, www.mic.com/articles/188051/the-showrunner-of-jane-the-virgin-on-womens-sexuality-words-you-cant-say-and-petras-coming-out. Accessed 18 November 2020.

[mikawa-province]

26.Tending an injury ^^

Hello Anon. My apologies for [yet again] taking so long in fulfilling your request.

26. Tending an injury (from here)

Link for mobile user

He should have been used to it by now,hearing the whimpers and the tears that would sometimes stain his kimono, and the way her fingers wouldlatch on to the front of his robes as she tried to sleep off the pain.

But he hadn’t, couldn’t get used to it, even after getting into this… habit of allowing her to lie on top of himso that she could rest and heal properly.

Not when she was suffering for theconsequences of his inability to protect those around him.

Guilt had been eating him up ever since shehad been struck down by an assassin who had been tasked to kill him. At thattime, they were both walking around the area of Hamamatsu Castle, as she had announcedto him earlier that day that she had been unable to find the herb he waslooking for. Annoyed that he had to go out in the cold just so he couldproperly show the stupid kitchen wench what the herb in question looked like,he had been rather hostile and curt towards her the whole time they were makingtheir way to the fields. It had only been a few seconds of him turning his backto grab the plant when, upon turning to show to her the herb, she had fallen onhim. His initial reaction was to sneer and taunt her for being a weakling whohad fainted because she was unable to stand the winter chill… until his eyesgazed upon the back of her light pink kimono, which was slowly turning into adark crimson.

He could not remember what happened next,other than what Sakai had told him when everything had somewhat calmed down.

How he had been too stunned to move at thattime, and how it had been Hattori Hanzou who had subdued the man and the otherassassins in the area when they took advantage of him being too shocked to move.

How his retainers had been unable to pryhis hands away from her when theothers have arrived, as he had actually managed to put enough pressure on thewound to temporarily stop the bleeding, despite him in a daze.

How he had taken it upon himself to bringher to his room and had decided on his own that there would be no need for adoctor, as he would do the work himself, to the horror and amazement of hisretainers.

When she started bleeding again as soon ashe had laid her down on his futon, heused linen bandages and bound it tightly around her torso to cease the bloodflow. He had seen horrific wounds on soldiers, but seeing half of her back rawand open from a diagonal sword wound had made him feeling light-headed.

The attack was meant for him, yet she tookthe blow and was suffering for it.

Seeing her lying unconscious left himfeeling strangely desolate over the fact that a woman had protected him.

Probably in a desperate bid to make surethat she would not suffer in his failure to keep her safe, he cleaned her woundafter a few days of binding it. Ieyasu then took it upon himself to stitch herwound shut to lessen the chances of it getting infected. He had seen a numberof men dying from both blood loss and infected wounds, and he refused to standby and watch her die.

Three days later, she was whimpering in hersleep for her father not to leave her side and for Death to claim her already.

The instant he heard about it, he felt asif someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him.

The voice in his head had mocked him fordoing more harm than good to her, andthat he might as well end her misery by letting her die.

The wound he had stitched shut in anattempt to avoid infection had, ironically, become infected in a matter of days.While she was delirious from fever, he had been attempting to lower her temperaturewith a sponge bath. During that time as well, when he was about to replace thebandages, he had noticed that the wound he had treated a few days ago hadturned into an angry red. Wasting no time, he regularly cleaned the infected woundwith water that he had drawn from the well and changed the bandages.

He had been having thoughts of her dyingever since she got wounded, but the possibility of it becoming a realitybecause of his foolish decision to stitch up the wound—

Despite the bleak situation, he foundhimself laughing.

How could he have ever thought that he hadit in him to save her?

He was slowly killing her with his ownhands, and right now, it seemed merciful to end her life once and for all,instead of prolonging her suffering.

No doubt, the voice in his head told him, thiswas her way of blaming him for putting her in the current state she was in, andthat she would rather end her suffering than be stuck with him for the rest ofher life.

Youwill notleave me.

If, after all this, she still wanted toleave the clan because of his failures, so be it.

Right now, she was still his retainer, andhe was still her lord; he will not allow Death to take her from him thateasily.

It had been a task more exhausting than allof the campaigns he had participated in combined. As he did not want anyone involved in the task of nursingher back to health, mostly because of guilt, he took it upon himself to drawbuckets of cold water from the well, completely drench a clean strip of linen,and use it to wipe down her feverish body. When the water was not cold enoughto his liking, he would proceed to get more water from the well, ignoring thewinter chill, and do the same thing over and over again.

At one point, Sakai had told him to getsome rest, only for him to glare at his most senior retainer.

“Don’ttell me what to do, old man.”

SakaiTadatsugu only smiled. “Right now, you have done wonders for her, milord, butyou must rest—”

“No.”came the curt reply.

“Itwould not do well for the lord of the clan to get sick, and you have hardlyeaten anything.” Sakai gave him a worried look. “I know Sanae is… not in thecondition to serve you meals, but I am sure she will not be happy when shefinds out that you have forgotten to eat because of her.”

Trust the old man to say that words thatwould make him feel even guiltier.

In the end, he had reluctantly allowed Sakaito ask the servants in the castle to prepare a meal for him and bring it up tohis room. After the tray was placed in front of him, Ieyasu forced himself to eatthe food and downing it with hot tea that nearly burnt his mouth and histongue.

If he was going to take care of her untilher wounds healed, he would need all the nourishment and strength he could get.He could not feel the hunger right now, but he knew that it was better to satethe hunger before it distracted him from what he was doing.

He would make sure that Death wouldabsolute have no chance of taking her away from his side.

He would not allow it.

After an exhausting week of keeping herwound clean and her temperature down, her fever finally broke, and the firstthing she did as soon as she opened her eyes was to flash him an exhausted smileand call out his name.

He stopped himself from propping her upfrom the bedding and holding her in his arms, knowing that her kindness wassomething that he did not deserve. “… You’re finally awake.” He said, his tonesounding similar to a man who could not be bothered.

Her smile faltered for a split second uponhearing his harsh tone, and the Lord of Mikawa ignored the stab of regret thatmade its way to his chest, reminding himself that he was the one at fault as to why she was confined to the bedding. Whileher wound was not infected anymore and her body temperature was back to the wayit was, she should not push herself.

“I… guess I am, Ieyasu-sama.”

She sounded so forlorn that he took it as asign to leave; it was obvious that he was making her feel uncomfortable withhis presence. “Don’t move around too much if you want to heal quickly,” was allhe said before leaving the room.

That night, he had single-handedly prepareda meal that he was sure would tempt her appetite. To his relief, she had the strengthto prop herself up and eat… until for her to stop midway and put the tray down.

“… What’s wrong now?” he managed to ask afterhe struggled to form the words to ask her why she had suddenly stopped eating.“Was the food that unappetizing?”

She gave him an apologetic smile. “The foodis good…” she gave a wistful glance at the tray that she had left on the floor.“It’s just…” at this, she pressed a hand to her mouth.

“What now?”

“Ieyasu-sama…” she took a deep breath. “Canyou please bring me to the toilet?”

Puzzled at her request, he took her to thetoilet anyway; he had barely managed to bring her in time just before she threwup everything she had eaten.

While she had assured him that she wasprobably not well enough to keep down the food he had made, in his mind, it didnot seem that way to him. She could have simply told him a lie, as she was toopolite to outwardly reject him, and that she was actually disgusted with thefood she had eaten.

Countless times before, he had rejected themeals she had prepared him without so much as a reason why, and recently startedto reluctantly eat the meals she had prepared, if only to shut her up. He ateher food with an impassive look on his face as not to give her any hint withjust how satisfied he was, and would proceed to critique and pinpoint everysingle thing that was wrong with it.

In her case, she ate his cooking withoutcomplaint, but when she had put down the tray and heaved it all out of hersystem… she might as well have slapped him on the face.

As he had been sleep-deprived for the pastfew days, he had actually forgotten the fact that sick people would not be ableto eat properly, and that they needed something light and nutritious to helpthem regain their appetite.

How could he have missed that?

Seemslike I’m the one killing her now, he thoughtbitterly as he took the uneaten tray of food after helping her back to herbedding. Just before she had lied back down on her side as not to disrupt thehealing of her wound, he had asked her if she wanted to eat something else,only for her to shake her head.

“I’m not hungry right now, Ieyasu-sama.I’ll just go to sleep.” Her response was neutral, and yet, it alarmed himenough that it took a minute for him to calm his nerves.

She was rejecting him, and he didn’t likeit.

Not one bit.

The him before the incident would have beenglad that she would stop annoying him and getting all clingy because she wantedhis opinion on her cooking, but now… feelings that he never knew he had were hittinghim in full force that it was difficult for him to comprehend what washappening.

She hated his cooking… hated it so muchthat she threw it all up in the hopes of making it look like she had noappetite.

It made no sense for him to be feeling sodown over it, and yet…

Clenching his fists, he took the tray ofuneaten food and left the room once more, unable to comprehend why he wasfeeling so dejected.

On the third week of her confinement, hefound her crying silently on the bedding, though as soon as he had made hispresence known, she had hastily wiped her tears before forcing a smile on herface.

“Ieyasu-sama.” Just before she could attemptto get up, sit on her calves, and bow at him, he stopped her by holding out ahand.

“Don’t bother, can’t stand to see youlooking so pathetic and in pain.” Inwardly, he winced at his choice of words,but knew that he was deserving of all her hatred.

She nearly lost her life because of him.

“Understood. Forgive me for being unableto…” she winced as she shifted slightly on the bedding, trying to adjust herposition.

“As I’ve said, don’t force yourself.” Hereminded her, and she nodded slowly. “As long as you don’t move too much,you’ll be fine.”

“… Yes, but it’s so hard to sleep…” shesighed heavily, her lips curving downward into a frown. “You keep telling menot to lie on my side too much… but I’ve always been a side sleeper so—”

He masked the feeling of dread with asarcastic smile. “Aww, are you asking me to cuddle and hold you tight while yousleep?”

Ieyasu meant for his statement to be simplythat, albeit a sarcastic one. And yet, he found himself saying out loud, “Butif you insist, wench, I will allow you to be selfish just this once and I will allow you to lie on top of me and holdyou while we both sleep. After all, you did save my life, and because of you,my quest to unify this country will continue.”

Upon seeing her puzzled look, he chuckled.“I am giving you the option to opt out—”

“I couldn’t possibly impose, Ieyasu-sama.You’ve… you’ve made so much effort to accommodate me. Please, just let me—”before he could even lost his nerve and run away from his own challenge, he foundhimself sitting down on her bedding and lying down next to her. “W-w-w-whatare you—”

“It’s too cold, and I need a heat source.You’re perfect as a warm body that I can hold while I sleep.”

“W-w-wha—”

“I will not repeat myself.” He hissed ather, his tone angry, in order to mask his embarrassment at the boldness of whathe had suggested. Even after saying those words, he still felt self-consciousand overwhelmed; for those words to easily slip out of his lips as if it werenothing serious, it shocked him.

To add more to his shock, wordlessly, shehad not-so-gracefully climbed on top of him, her hands grasping his shoulders inorder to get herself to lie on him. Much to his private relief, she did notlook uncomfortable at the… peculiarsleeping arrangement that he suggested; on the contrary, she sighed when sheproceeded to place her head on his chest, making him blush at the ratherintimate contact.

It was a good thing that with her positionright now, as she would be unable to see him blushing like a child whose firstlove had confessed her feelings for him.

When she started adjusting herself into amore comfortable position, her hips pressing against his own, he felt his eyeswiden in surprise before hissing, “Stop moving so much!”

"S-sorry.” She mumbled.“T-trying to find a… c-comfy—”

”… Yes, and you’re making me uncomfortable with what you’re doing.“ Hesaid blandly, hoping that she wouldn’t notice that a part of him was slowly becomingstiff.

The kitchen wench, however, really did notlet anything go unnoticed. ”… Is that a dagger I feel on my hip?“

“I’ll stab you with it if you don’t shutup.” He hissed angrily, making her jolt from the coldness of his tone. While hedid not want to scare her, the wench was really testing both his patience andhis self-control.

… Andhe was afraid of what he was capable of doing when his mind gets clouded withlust.

“M-my apologies, Ieyasu-sama. I shall haveto settle for this position then.”

When she placed the top of her head on thecrook of his neck and sighed deeply, he took it as his cue to blow out the candleand settle in for the night.

The first one to take note of their suddenchange in sleeping arrangements was, surprisingly, Sakakibara Yasumasa.

One afternoon, just after he had managed toget her to eat some porridge mixed with sleeping draught to help her rest,Sakakibara had opened the sliding doors to the room to hand over a letter.Amongst the clan, only a handful of people knew that it was her who wasinjured, and that he was taking care of her. The rest, on the other hand, hadassumed it was the other way around.

Sakakibara had also thought it was theother way around.

Which was why, upon opening the slidingdoors and seeing his lord looking rather nonchalant with the wench sleeping onhis chest, even the snarkiest general of the Tokugawa army was rendered speechlessat what he had just seen.

“… The last thing I expected would be thewench in the same room as you.”

Ieyasu shrugged one shoulder. “What do youwant, Sakakibara? I assume you’re not here to see my condition and report aboutit to Sakai.”

With him currently taking care of Sanaeuntil she was well enough to go back to her duties both as his retainer and hispersonal chef, he had tasked Sakai to take over for him during war councilmeetings in the guise of being injured and recovering from the ‘wound’ hereceived. With Sakakibara now running around the castle to hand him a letter,he figured that his most senior retainer was too busy to do it himself.

“The rumors are true then.” Yasumasaremarked. “It’s her who’s actually injured, and not you.”

“She was exactly where she shouldn’t havebeen, which is why she got cut down instead of me.” Another shrug. “It’s a painto go through finding another chef, so I figured I might as well try and saveher.”

“I see.” Sakakibara’s tone, however,sounded like he was not convinced with the explanation.

As if to make his point, he gave out anexaggerated sigh. “Idiots who can’t even protect themselves getting hurt andplacing the burden on others… can’t believe this is happening to me. I would’vebeen able to handle it without her.”

The lie had been so easy to say out loud.

While she was burning with fever andmuttering for Death to take her, Hanzou, sensing that his master was beatinghimself up over her condition, had told him time and again that the plan toassassinate him had been so carefully planned that the first strike that hadcut her down was not the only thing that his enemies had planned. If he hadactually survived the first one, there were four more who would chase him downand gut him open until he was dead.

Sanae, in Hanzou’s words, had been the‘collateral damage’ in an effort to keep him safe, which had angered him to noend.

She shouldn’t have protected him.

It was still difficult for him to accept thefact that she had done this out of the goodness of her own heart.

It was stupid of her to do so, and yet, hecouldn’t think of any other reason.

He handed back the letter to Yasumasa afterscanning the contents. “Tell Sakai I’ll see him tomorrow morning to discussthis with him.” With another bow, the male retainer left the room and closedthe doors.

She was angry at him, and he did not knowwhy.

Last night, she had wordlessly eaten theporridge he had prepared, and just when he was about to open his mouth to askher how her day went, she had thenerve to ask if it was possible for her to sleep in a separate bedding, whichdid not sit well with him.

… Not that he was desperate for her to liein his arms all the time, but he felt more at ease with the current sleepingarrangements. Ieyasu would know immediately if something had happened to her,and if she needed help, he would be able to spring into action.

While he was well-aware that she wasalready out of danger, with her wound finally closing up and her stitches wereto be removed the day after tomorrow (he had been persuaded by Sakai to atleast call for a proper doctor forthe stitches to be removed), he could not help but be worried that there wasstill a chance for her to succumb to a fever and die from whatever unknowninfection that was lying in wait.

When he arrogantly informed her that thesleeping arrangements could not be changed to cater to her whims, she had thenerve to actually walk out of his room, a first for her since she had beenconfined, and made her way back to her room to sleep in her own bedding.

As for him, he had no choice but to try andkeep himself warm, despite the fact that he had two layers of woolen blanketsto fight off the chill. Suffice to say, he did not sleep well at all lastnight, and had been in an awful mood the moment he chose to get up from bed andpreside over the war council. It had only been yesterday since he was back toattending meetings, but he had managed to catch up on everything, all thanks toSakai.

With that out of the way, there was stillone aspect in his life that had to be fixed… and fast.

That afternoon, after he had been informedby Sakai that the doctor had arrived and had been led to his room where she and the doctor were waiting for him,the removal of the stitches began… along with the doctor admonishing him forwhat he had done in order to close up her wound.

“Should I actually be grateful that you vaguelyknew what you were doing? I don’t think so.” tsked the old man, who was also a personalfriend of Sakai. “You may have helped close the wound, but I wouldn’t besurprised if, at one point, the wound got infected and she had succumbed to afever.”

Still, he said nothing, neither confirmingnor denying the accusation, choosing instead of keep his expression neutral, asif he had no idea what the older man was talking about.

“… if there’s one thing you did right, youmanaged to keep her alive long enough for me to remove the stitching.”continued the doctor.

Thankfully, she had managed to interruptthe conversation and prevented the doctor from reprimanding him further fromhis recklessness. “W-will it scar though…?” she asked in a nervous tone.

“It already did.” The doctor lamented. “Butnot to worry; it’s not as bad as it looks. In time, it will fade.”

Trust the old man to point out that on herskin was proof of his inability to protect her from his shortcomings. From herupper back down to the middle of her torso was a thin, red line… and even if hewas sitting far away from her to give it a closer look, he could feel the dreadburning within him.

Though it may be hidden from his view, atthe back of his mind, he knew it would always be there to remind him that hewas too weak to prevent that attack from happening.

Right after the doctor was done removingthe threads, the old man had handed him a small can. “My lord, I will leave yousome salve. Apply it on her wound whenever there’s discomfort.” Upon hearingthe doctor’s advice, she actually had the nerve to glare at him, as if to tellhim that he had no business in getting involved with her any further, somethingthat he ignored.

“After applying to the wound, leave it todry on the skin for at least half an hour before getting dressed once more.” Henodded at her. “My lady, please take care and take it easy until you are fullyhealed. My lord, if you’ll excuse me.”

“I-I’m not a—” before she could evenprotest over being called by the wrong title, the doctor was out of the door.

As for him, he did not know whether to beamused or annoyed that the doctor has assumed that they were a couple.

If Sakai had anything to do with it, hewould definitely pull out all of the old man’s hair in one go.

“That old man is getting ahead of himself.”He muttered under his breath.

“Ieyasu-sama.”

He was too preoccupied with his thoughtsthat he did not notice her until she was standing in front of him. Immediately,he put on a mask of indifference, despite the fact that his heart was doingotherwise.

“Would you please hand over the salve? Iwill ask Umeko-san to apply it for me if the itchiness gets unbearable.” Sheheld out her hand.

“No.” he glared at her.

“And why not?” despite the calm response,he could see the anger etched on her face.

“Because other than the doctor, I am notallowing anyone else to see nor touch your wound until you’re fully healed.” Hestated.

“But Iam healed! Weren’t the stitches removed just now?” while he wanted tothrottle her for being so stubborn, he knew he could not do such.

Sometimes, her fighting spirit amused himto no end, but today was not one of those days. Why couldn’t she just listen tohim?

“You’re not the one who gets to decide ifyou’re healed or not.” He told her harshly.

The anger in her eyes said it all… and hewas actually afraid of what she would say until she simply sighed and shook herhead in resignation.

“Fine.”

Inwardly, he sighed in relief.

It was a hollow victory, but a victorynonetheless.

He had to figure out why she had become socold to him, or risk losing her.

Days later, just when he thought she wouldbe more accepting of her situation (he had managed to persuade her to stay inhis room until he deemed otherwise, one of the perks of being the lord of theclan), he found her with Toramatsu, the latter waiting for her while she was inthe middle of lowering her kimono toshow him the place where the medicine was supposed to be applied.

Ieyasu knew he had no right to get angryover it, as both of them had no hold over the other, but the fact that she hadactually called upon his page to help her apply the salve while he was busywith the meetings… it left him seething on the inside.

Did he not make it clear enough that only he could check upon her while she was onthe mend?

“Toramatsu.” Upon hearing his name, hispage turned around and bowed at him. “I’ll take it over from here.”

His page was out of the room even beforeshe could utter a word of protest.

Upon realizing that she was stuck with himuntil he applied the salve, she gave out a long-winded sigh and undid herclothing without blinking an eye, startling him. While he had endlessly mockedher by saying that he felt nothing over seeing her naked for the past fewweeks, it had been half-true.

With her slowly recovering from her injury,it had been a struggle for him to calm himself whenever she laid down on top ofhim. A part of him hurt, but he ignored it all, focusing instead on steadyinghis hold on her waist so that she wouldn’t strain her back and thought back oneverything that he considered repulsive in order for the erection to die down.She had caught him once in that state of need, on the very first night hebrought up their unusual sleeping arrangements, and despite downplaying it, hefound himself threatening to ‘stab her’, but not in the way she thought itwould be.

The need for him to bury himself in her…right now was not the time for such, nor would she be ready for it.

He sat across from her, ignoring the factthat she was exposing her upper half to him. “Did you just asked my page to putsalve on your back?” it had been difficult to keep the disbelief from hisvoice, but he couldn’t help it.

Not when she looked like she was eager toremove her clothing when Toramatsu was there, and how she looked like she wasfacing her doom when he entered the room.

She shrugged. “You were busy, and Toramatsuwas not.”

“You couldn’t be bothered to wait?” heasked, irritated.

“What’s it to you?” she asked hotly, hereyes flashing with anger. “You’re the one who told Sakakibara-sama that I’m aburden to you. You should’ve left me to die if I was such a pain to take careof.”

If it was possible to beat his old self forsaying the most asinine statements about her, he would do so in a heartbeat.Instead, he hid his hands inside his sleeves and clenched his fists, trying tocalm himself, even though her words were hitting close to home.

Her telling him point blank that he shouldhave let her die… he felt his façade breaking at her words.

How dare she say that?

“Besides, you said it yourself: you feelnothing when I’m half-naked in front of you, so what makes Toramatsu-kun anydiff—”

He had never been the type who was good atsaying what he felt; he either wrote it down, or he covered it up with the mostvicious statements he could think of, only for him to regret it midway.

This time around, he knew he couldn’t sayanything, as he did not trust himself to say the right things at thisparticularly critical time.

And so, he did what he thought was best inorder to calm his raging emotions and her angry outburst: he leaned forward andkissed her on the lips.

She struggled to get away from him atfirst, but he held on tight, not wanting her to get away until they were bothcalm and level-headed to talk. For now, all he wanted to do was hold her in herarms and reassure himself that she was alive, she was breathing, and that shewas most likely to slap him after he pulled away.

And so, he put some distance between them,buried his face on the crook of her neck and held her tight, unsure of how hewas going to proceed.

“Ieyasu-sama, am I… a burden to you?”

The hesitancy in her tone made him answerright away. “No, you are not.”

“Then why did you… why did you say thosethings to Sakakibara-sama?”

He was not surprised to know that she mayhave listened in on the conversation between him and one of his generals, butIeyasu figured that the sooner she knew the sentiment behind his words, thebetter it would be for the both of them.

She had to know sooner or later.

Pulling away from her momentarily, helooked into her eyes and said, “Because a failure like me had nearly gotten youkilled.”

Whatwas he saying?

Try as she might to make sense of hiswords, nothing came to her mind at all.

He had sounded so flippant and nonchalantduring the time he was talking to Sakakibara, even going as far as to tell theman who disliked her the most that she was a burden, and that he was onlykeeping her alive because he did not want to bother looking for a replacementchef.

Now, however…

“What are you saying?” she whispered. “I-Idon’t understand.”

“Why do youthink you’re in this state?” he gave out a cynical laugh. “It might as wellbeen me who had cut you down and killed you.”

“Ieyasu-sama, it was not your fault.” She began,feeling distressed over the fact that he was blaming himself for what hadhappened. “It was my choice to protect you, and not anyone else’s.”

When the desolate look on his facepersisted, she found herself speaking in an attempt to persuade him not toblame himself for what she thought, at that time, was the best thing to do. “Look,Ieyasu-sama, I’m simply just a chef. I’m not like the others who are of use toyou in the battlefield. If it had been Sakakibara-sama or Tadakatsu-sama whohad gotten hurt, that would have been the worst case scenario for the clan inthe midst of this war. They’re your strongest generals in the clan, right?Compared to them, and the rest of your retainers, I am replaceable. After all,you all managed to get everything together, even before I got here and—”

“… The hell did you just say?”

Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if what she hadsaid was the right thing to do.

The look of desolation had now beenreplaced by fury, and immediately, she had the urgency to run far, far awayfrom him.

“I—” it had been some time since she hadfelt some sort of fear towards the lord of the clan, but while before, she had fearedhim before because of his ruthlessness, now she feared him because she had noidea what she had done to anger him. “I-Ieyasu-sama—”

In a split second, she had found herself onher back, and while the impact had made her wince because of her wound, Sanaewas more concerned with the man who loomed over her. In order to keep her fromtrying to get up and run away from him, he pinned her down by her shoulders andlooked straight into her eyes.

What surprised her was when he demanded hernot to look at him as he buried his face on the side of her neck, she instantlyfelt hot tears on her shoulder.

The light-hearted teasing she had in mindto ease the tension between them failed to escape her lips as she heard himspeak once more.

“How dare you… do you really think so lowlyof yourself that you wanted to die? Or are you so disgusted with me that youwould rather die than be in my service?”

Whatis he saying…?

For his voice to tremble like that… shefelt as if she had done the gravest mistake in her life.

“‘Replaceable’? Is that how you seeyourself?” he laughed bitterly. “You were unconscious and burning with feverduring the time I was losing my mind, wondering about a ‘what if I didn’t tryand stitch that wound to keep it from getting infected’ scenario.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have done that stupidthing and let the wound repair itself… but I was so afraid of…” at this, shefelt him shake his head, as if dreading the scenario that his mind had came upwith. “But when you pulled through, I… I thought everything would turn outalright.

“For you to tell me that you are‘replaceable’, and that it was better that it was you who got cut down… how dare you say that to my face.”

The guilt was weighing him down, she wassure of it.

How many times had she seen him looking sogrim whenever he had to apply the salve on her back? She had dismissed it asthe face of someone who didn’t want to do a task so degrading, but now that hewas confessing everything to her…

Ieyasu-sama…

The burden that he alone had to shoulderbecause of the guilt… it hurt her.

“Crying on a woman’s shoulder…” anotherbitter laugh. “How low will I go this time?”

If she had to be honest, she was toostunned to even respond.

No one knew what had actually happened toher after she had been cut down, save for him. According to Sakai-sama andToramatsu-kun, Ieyasu-sama had been the one who single-handedly took care ofher from the very start. While she could hardly believe that he had been ableto do such, as the lord of the clan was a busy man, he himself had confirmedall of the doubts she had.

And the doctor… he did mention that it was Ieyasu-sama who had stitched her woundshut, and even reprimanded him about it.

For him to rely on no one… it was anamazing feat that only he could accomplish.

A soft snore on her right shoulder shouldnot have surprised her, and yet, it still did. It seemed like the exhaustionhas taken its toll on him, and Sanae figured that there would be no talking fortonight at least.

There was always tomorrow.

With his grip on her shoulders now loose,she had managed to grab the thick winter blanket that had been discarded besidethem, and was just about done draping it over her lord’s body when the slidingdoors opened, revealing Sakai Tadatsugu.

“Ieyasu-sama, pardon me but—” seeing Ieyasuslumped over her had made the senior retainer blush, especially since theirpositions right now did look rather… compromising. “M-My apologies, I-I willcome back in the morning…! G-good night, Sanae-dono!” after a quick bow,Sakai closed the doors, though she could have sworn that she saw a smile on theelderly man’s face.

As much as she wanted to ask for the olderman’s help in putting Ieyasu-sama in his bed, she knew she couldn’t. In themidst of their argument, the can of salve had been laid forgotten in thefrenzy, especially since he had pinned her down on the tatami. Aside from that, she had been topless the moment he had satacross from her in preparation of applying the salve… and was still toplessuntil now.

Feeling her cheeks flame at the thought ofexposing herself to her lord far longer than necessary, she tried to sleep offthe embarrassment.

Needless to say, she was unable to properly sleep at all.

The sun was shining early that wintermorning, and as much as she wanted to get up and start her day, she couldn’t.Tokugawa Ieyasu, lord of the clan, was still sleeping, and no matter how manytimes she tried to push him off, it had been impossible. Not only that, but shedidn’t have the heart to wake him up, especially since he was sleeping sosoundly.

Unconsciously, she began running herfingers through his hair, feeling its softness. While she was well aware thatIeyasu-sama never really liked being touched, just this once, she knew she hadto take advantage of the moment.

This was the man who blamed himself, allbecause she had gotten hurt.

This was the man who had confessed hisfears to her, all because he thought she wouldn’t make it.

This was the man who made time for her inorder for her to recover and regain her strength.

“… The hell are you doing?” came the groggyresponse on her right.

He was up and awake, and the first thingshe noticed was how puffy his eyes were, all because of the crying he did lastnight.

As if sensing where her eyes were aimed, heglared at her from where he laid as he used his arm to prop himself up. “Wherethe hell are you looking at?”

Goodmorning to you too, Ieyasu-sama, she said toherself, struggling not to laugh as he began an early-morning tirade about howrude it was of her to forget what he had said yesterday about not looking athim. Despite the puffiness, she still found him rather handsome.

So distracted was she over his looks, mostespecially his eyelashes, that when he asked her if she was listening, she hadactually gave him a blank look, irritating him further.

“I said, are you listening—”

Before she could stop herself, she sent aquick prayer for her own safety, sat up, and kissed him on the lips.

Even she had no idea what possessed her tokiss him all of a sudden; all she wanted to know was if he was as passionate asthe man who had kissed her yesterday, and to her own surprise, he responded toher kisses as he ran a hand on her back, his fingertips lightly tracing thescar. Immediately, she felt goosebumps on her skin at the innocent yet sensualtouch, but ignored it, concentrating instead on how to divest him of hisclothing so she could touch him as well.

In the course of their kissing, he hadactually managed to sit her on his lap, her legs folded underneath her on oneside as she sat between his legs. As he parted her mouth and began sucking hertongue, she found herself moaning at the new sensation, though it did notdistract her from yanking his top down his shoulders, making him shudder as thecold air touched his naked skin. Momentarily, he pulled away from her, hisbreathing heavy, as did hers.

“I—” before she could utter another word,he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her again, pulling her closer as hischest pressed against her naked breasts, making her moan at the contact.

“Ieyasu-sa—MA!!!”

Immediately, she felt him move his body inan attempt to cover her from whoever it was that interrupted them. With hisback now facing the person who had opened the sliding doors, she was bothembarrassed and horrified to find out that it had been Sakai-sama who hadbarged in.

… And she had actually forgotten what hesaid last night about visiting Ieyasu-sama in the morning.

Before she could contemplate on what sheshould say, Ieyasu-sama had beaten her to it.

“Sakai,get out.”

A loud bang was heard as the sliding doormade contact with the frame; Sanae figured that Sakai-sama had also beenembarrassed upon seeing them in a state of… half-undressed, which was why thedoor had been slammed shut and the old man had left without any words offarewell aimed at any of them.

“That old man… I’m gonna turn him bald thenext time I see him.” absent-mindedly, he slipped her kimono back on her body before fixing his own, murder evident inhis eyes.

“I-Ieyasu-sama, I don’t think—” when heturned to look at her, she felt her face flame. “I-I think you should leaveSakai-sama alone… h-he didn’t meant to, and I-I forgot to tell you that hewanted to speak to you last night, but you were sleeping already so—”

He raised an eyebrow at what she had toldhim. “Sakai visited last night? How dare he—” before she could try and reassurehim that there was no need for him to hunt down the elderly man, he was on hisfeet and exiting the door, but not before giving her a peck on the lips. “Don’tlet anyone in here. Wait for me to get back and I’ll put more salve on your back.”

She didn’t have the heart to tell him thatshe was no longer feeling any pain nor itch from her scar, but figured that ifhe wanted to be of help to her, she should just let him.

For now, she would just have to hope andpray that Ieyasu-sama wouldn’t be too harsh on his most loyal and most seniorretainer.

Sakai-sama,I’m so sorry… I’ll make you the best tea yet after this…!

“As long as you will allow me to stay byyour side… I will wait for you.”

She figured that what she said had startledhim, for his crimson-colored eyes widened in surprise upon hearing her words.

“So please… let me stay with you.”

“… Do what you want.” Despite sounded sodetached, she knew that she had won him over, as she noticed his face turning alight pink from embarrassment.

“And… another thing.” When he said nothing,she continued. “Please allow me to continue our previously-interrupted sleepingarrangement.”

“And why would you think I would allow youto do that?” despite the smirk on his lips, his tone had been playful.

“Don’t you agree that we both sleep betterthat way?” she asked him, smiling. “And as you have said… you need a heatsource. The winter in Hamamatsu is becoming particularly this time of year, andI do need a heat source to keep my warm as well.”

He sighed dramatically. “Such a demandingretainer. I should put you in your place once I’m done dealing with Sakai.”

“If you say so, Ieyasu-sama.” As shewatched his retreating back in search of the older man who had interruptedthem, Sanae found herself smiling once more, glad that despite the pain and themisunderstandings, she and Ieyasu-sama’s relationship had turned out to be betterthan she expected.

Despite everything she went through, shewas thankful that the incident had led them to become closer… and that it gaveher a chance to let her feelings known to the man who had done everythingpossible to keep her alive.

As long as he would allow her, she wouldstay by his side and support him in whatever way she can.

For now, she would have to wait until hewas back so that he could treat her injury… and they could probably continuewhere they left off before Sakai-sama had interrupted them.

My apologies if it took too long and if it dragged on and on.

Honestly, I had so many ideas for this fic, but decided to settle for the one that I think would fit both Ieyasu’s and Ieyasu’s MC’s personalities.

I am a bit satisfied with what I wrote, and I am kind of getting the hang of the Japanese honorifics, as I have been playing KoiRan nonstop ever since the ‘comeback event’ featuring Ieyasu and MC’s First Night together. Hopefully, I can keep on writing, and I hope my writing would become more consistent.

Again, thank you for reading all the way to the end. I hope you enjoyed it!

[ranwing]

Kadam Fic: Just Breathe (9/?)

Title: Just Breathe Series: Season Four Remix Pairing(s), Characters(s): Kadam, Kurt Hummel, Adam Crawford, Burt Hummel, Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez, Camen Tibideaux, Cassandra July, Blaine Anderson, Sam Evans, Adam’s Apples, Original Characters Rating: PG13 (Rating may change) Genre(s): canon divergence, major lol Klaine and Blaine. Parts: 9/?

Summary: Auditions mean new challenges for Kurt and those around him, forcing him to face both his past and his future.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight

On AO3

Rachel slowly came to awareness, feeling as wrung out as an old dishrag. She had slept fitfully at best, finding what little comfort she could in Kurt’s presence. He had stayed with her the entire night, holding her close and soothing her when the tears refused to be denied. When she finally fell asleep, the light was starting to peek through the windows.

She was alone, Kurt having apparently tucked her gently in when exhaustion finally overcame her. He left her safe, cocooned in her soft sheets and comforter, hopefully to get some real rest. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but she felt drained and the very last thing she wanted to bring herself to do was get up and face the world outside her curtain.

She was trying not to think about what had happened, but the pain in her chest refused to fade. It was a constant reminder of the humiliation she’d suffered. Being dismissed from the callback just broke something in her, and she couldn’t see the point of anything now. What good was being in NYADA and New York City now? What was the point of any of this if she couldn’t win a role that she was all but designed to play?

She felt hurt and numb all at once and didn’t know what she was going to do now. Everything that she had hinged her future on had fallen apart and now she felt completely lost. Staying in bed forever sounded like a perfectly reasonable option at the moment.

She eventually did have to acknowledge her body’s needs when her bladder started to complain, but the trip to the bathroom was slow and laborious. The light streaming in through her window was harsh and seemed to dull the colors around her. She almost felt like she was sleepwalking as she slowly made her way out of her sleeping area, her feet dragging as she forced herself to move.

Some soft noise from the kitchen warned that she wasn’t alone and she turned her head, dully noting Kurt’s boyfriend standing by the oven, humming absently to himself as he pulled out a steaming pan and set it on the stovetop.

Adam heard Rachel moving and turned to give her a kind smile. “Good morning, love,” he said gently. “I was just getting breakfast ready. Warm sticky buns.”

She stared at him, his words not making very much sense.

“They’ve got to cool a bit, so you’ve got time to freshen up,” he advised, pulling off the oven mitts. “Why don’t you take a shower while I put the kettle on? I’ll have everything ready when you’re done.”

Rachel felt herself nodding and found her way into the bathroom. Why was Kurt’s boyfriend making breakfast, she wondered dully as she turned on the shower. The warm water did little to clear her head, though her body did feel somewhat better after being cleaned. She combed out her wet hair and pulled on her bathrobe, finding some comfort in the plush fabric.

Adam had set up the table for her and was placing a pot of tea down. “This is a blend one of my girls swears by,” he promised. “Green tea with roses… she loves it when she’s feeling down about something.”

Rachel looked down at the table, seeing that Adam had used their “good” dishes; the mismatched china pieces that Kurt had been collecting at the Brooklyn Flea over the past few months. There was a bowl of cut up melon and the container of her soy yogurt. She felt confused, like nothing was really connecting.

“Where’s Kurt?” she heard herself asking, but it sounded strange; like she was hearing herself from under water. The absence of her friend from the loft and the presence of the British man left her deeply confused since Adam was never there without his boyfriend.

The young man put out honey and a plate of warm buns onto the table. “He had to go to the Vogue offices this morning for a few hours,” Adam explained. “And he has a meeting with Madam Tibideaux this afternoon. But he didn’t want to leave you alone so I offered to keep you company for a bit.”

His voice had a warm soothing quality that slowly began to reach though the haze wrapped about her brain. “One nice thing about being a senior is that I can ditch a class or two when I need to,” he explained cheerfully. “I always end up baking something for my friends after they’ve had a rough class or audition. I thought you could use it today.”

Mention of auditions brought tears to Rachel’s eyes and Adam quickly moved to wrap his arms about her.

“I know, sweetheart,” he said softly, enfolding her in a comforting embrace. She found herself clinging to him, her body shuddering with the ache of her failure. Everything hurt and she didn’t know what was going happen now.

His broad hands gently cupped her face and his thumbs brushed away the tears. The expression on his face was compassionate as he tried to reach through her pain. “I’m going to guess that you haven’t eaten anything since yesterday morning,” he surmised, knowing that eating would probably have been the last thing on her mind. When she tentatively nodded, he smiled.

“Then let’s get a little food into you,” he proposed, carefully lifting a warm bun with a pair of forks and placing it on her plate. “Now I’ve been told that that my sticky buns are especially good and just the kind of comfort food that you need right now.”

He picked up the teapot and poured her a steaming up, adding a liberal dose of honey. “Give it a try,” he urged.

Rachel looked at the pastry on her plate, glistening with syrup and nuts and heard her stomach grumble loudly at the prospect of something delicious. She felt herself reaching out to pick up the mouth-watering looking treat and took a careful bite. The taste of cinnamon and roasted pecans burst on her tongue and she heard herself sigh in appreciation.

Adam felt himself smile when he heard her moan and take another, more enthusiastic bite. She looked ravenous and the bun was soon done away with. “Another one?” he offered as she sipped at the sweetened tea. The sugar and carbohydrates, while not the most nutritionally positive thing he could have offered, seemed to have energized her a bit.

More importantly, he just wanted to make her feel better. When Kurt had called him the night before with confirmation that their worst expectations had been realized, he immediately gathered the things he’d need for baking and headed into Brooklyn first thing in the morning to help. It wasn’t anything that he wouldn’t have done for any of his Apples, or something that he hadn’t done on a fairly regular basis for his friends.

Rachel finished another roll, along with some fruit and yogurt and felt herself feeling better. At least physically, she did. She sat quietly and sipped at the fragrant tea while Adam wrapped up the leftover buns for later and cleaned up the kitchen.

She looked up at him, puttering about the kitchen and couldn’t help from wondering why he was doing this. It wasn’t as if they were particularly close. She liked him well enough and thought that he was wonderful for Kurt, but it wasn’t as if they were friends in their own right. Having him skip classes and go out of his way to bake her something just because she was feeling badly didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

Once Adam had wiped down the counters, he turned to Rachel with a bright smile. “There…can I make you anything else?” he asked. “Some more tea?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m fine,” she insisted. “I’m fine…”

Adam saw the tears starting to well up in her eyes and quickly moved in to help. He wrapped her up in his arms and helped move her to the couch where she could cry out her pain on his shoulder. He patted her back gently, muttering comforting sounds as he tried to soothe her. He knew that he couldn’t fix what was hurting her, but he knew that he could be a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to cry on. And maybe remind her that she’s not the only person to have gone through an experience like this.

After Rachel had cried herself out again, her breath coming in soft hiccups, Adam smoothed back her damp hair. “I know sweetheart…” he murmured, letting her take what comfort she could. “It’s going to be alright...”

“No it won’t,” she choked out, her heartbreak evident. “It’s all ruined…”

“Not it isn’t,” Adam insisted gently. “I’m not going to try to tell you not to let this bother you because I know that it won’t do any good. You’re hurting right now and it’s entirely understandable that you would be.

“Give yourself a little bit of time to mourn and get past the immediate hurt,” he advised. “That way when you get the notes from the producers, you’ll have a clearer head and be able to really look at their critique. You’ll move on and learn from this. I promise.”

Rachel’s breath came in hard into her lungs, and tears threatened to start anew. She didn’t want this to be something to learn and grow from. It wasn’t fair that she would have to use this as a “learning experience” while someone who could never have wanted the part or worked for it more than she had would be enjoying what should have been hers. Having Fanny stolen from her was not something that she was ever going to get over.

Adam could see the heartbroken expression on Rachel’s face that she was inconsolable and knew well enough that when she was in this state, reasoning with her just wasn’t going to work. But Kurt had warned him that feeding into her feelings of injustice would only prolong her depression. She needed comforting, to be sure, but she also needed honesty in how to handle what had happened.

The question was if she would actually listen to him. Adam thought that he knew Rachel fairly well by now, and he had seen how badly she could behave when she felt slighted, and that had been merely over Kurt not being acquiescent enough for her tastes. Now she was dealing with a real professional setback and he could understand how hurt she was.

“Rachel, you might not believe this but I do understand what you’re feeling right now,” he said carefully. He doubted that she would be receptive to his overtures, but he had to try. “I was still in middle school when a show was starting on the West End that I desperately wanted to be in. I loved the writer and this was supposed to be a wonderful production. All I could think about was being on stage and that this would be my big break.

“My parents drove me to London so I could audition and I thought for certain that I would get the part,” he explained quietly. “I didn’t even make it was the first round of consideration. They told me that I was too young and didn’t have the depth that they were looking for. Needless to say, I was completely crushed.”

He glanced at the young girl next to him and wondered if she was really listening to him. It was hard to tell with the way her head was hanging with her damp hair falling about her shoulders. He wondered if she truly was incapable of relating to anyone else when she was feeling slighted.

“I was lucky that the director gave me some good feedback, and that my parents got me to stop moping and really listen to it,” Adam insisted. “That’s what got me looking at conservatories, and what eventually lead me to NYADA. And I wouldn’t have gotten any of the roles that I’ve had in the past few years if I hadn’t listened.”

He gently laid his hand over Rachel’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You are an immensely talented young woman, and I have no doubt that one day you’ll be standing on a Broadway stage. But don’t let this wear you down so much. I know that this isn’t going to make you feel at all better, but you will get through this.”

He was right, Rachel thought morosely. It wasn’t making her feel better.

She turned her face to look at him, knowing that she looked horrible but didn’t care. “Thank you for trying,” she said as sincerely as she could manage. “But would you mind if I went inside to lie down? I’m really not feeling well.”

Adam knew that she was not in the right mind to really grasp what he was trying to tell her and that pushing the issue would only further enforce her feelings of deprivation. She would have to come to grips with this on her own time.

“Of course, love,” he assured her carefully. He offered her a warm smile, wanting to put her at least. “You go rest. I’ve got some schoolwork to take care of.”

She nodded, giving him a wan smile before disappearing behind her curtain again. Adam sighed, wishing that he could have given her a bit more reassurance, but he knew full well that this was something that she would have to learn for herself. He and Kurt could only support her and hope that she would find it within herself to move past this monumental disappointment.

In the meantime, he might as well get that assignment done for his Stage and Theater Management class.

* * *

Notifying Rachel’s teachers for the day that she wasn’t up to coming to class was easier than he would have thought, Kurt considered as he waited for Madam Tibideaux to call him into her office. Apparently at NYADA, the only justifications for an unplanned absence from class were the bubonic plague or a failed audition. Theater students were a best a temperamental lot and trying to get students who just missed out on a prime role to focus in class directly afterwards was a pretty pointless proposition.

He fought back a yawn, having not gotten any real sleep himself the night before. Rachel had been, understandably, inconsolable. She had clung to him, desperate for comfort and she had been so despondent that he could not bring himself to leave her alone. When she finally actually fell asleep, it was nearly dawn and Kurt had to face trying to muddle through his own day.

Thankfully the Vogue offices hadn’t been a total madhouse because he didn’t think that he could have handled that. Isabelle was out for most of the day visiting several fashion houses to get a sneak preview of the fall collections and left him several assignments to work on in her absence. There were edits to be made to some articles that would be posted in the next month’s edition, but that didn’t tax his brain too much. And thankfully Chase had noticed the dark circles under his eyes, keeping him plied with Starbucks all morning. A quick trip down to the makeup artists and a touch of concealer would let him get through the rest of the day looking a trace more alive.

He was a bit anxious about his meeting with the Dean, knowing that she would give him an unvarnished appraisal of his performances. Most of the student commentary had been complimentary of all the performances, but it was Madam Tibideaux’s assessment that was paramount. He had no doubt that she would have caught every mistake and would bring them to his attention. All part of the learning process, he told himself.

When her secretary told him that the Dean was ready for him, Kurt inhaled to steady his nerves and walked into her office with as much confidence as he could manage. The Dean was seated at her desk, the surface of which was covered with files that Kurt assumed were the applications for the student candidates. Tuning out the thought that Blaine’s application was somewhere in those piles, he waited for his teacher to address him.

“Have a seat, Mr. Hummel,” she ordered. “We have a lot to go over.”

That could be good or bad, Kurt thought as he took the seat. Madame Tibideaux’s critiques tended to be lengthy under the best of circumstances, but she never failed to point out things that he did right along with the aspects that she felt needed improvement. No matter how harsh her criticisms might be, he reminded himself, it wasn’t personal. It was all with the goal of making him a better performer.

She looked up at him, her face framed by her turban of gold and green silk brocade. “We’ve had a lot of positive response to the showcase,” she advised him. “The student applicants were very appreciative, and more than a little in awe of what you and the others showed what you were capable of. I do have to say that you all did quite a fine job in showing what NYADA stands for.”

Kurt felt a smile touch his face. “Thank you, Madam,” he said sincerely. That kind of praise meant a great deal to him.

“Well, however good the audience response was, this is still an opportunity for you to learn and grow and I don’t believe in wasting those opportunities,” she warned.

“Now as a whole, your performances showed all of the technical improvements that we’ve been working on this semester,” she assessed. “You seem to be much more comfortable with the lower end of your range, and you engaged your chest voice very confidently. Your voice was well supported and the tone is much richer. I was also pleased to see you showing off your vocal flexibility so adeptly.”

So far, so good, Kurt thought, not ashamed to admit to himself that he was relieved that the review was starting off on such a positive note. He’d been more concerned about her technical criticisms than he was about his artistic choices so to have her complimentary was a good sign.

“Let’s start with your solo,” Madam Tibideaux suggested as she cued up the video of his solo on her computer, turning the monitor so that Kurt could watch with her. “Overall, it was probably one of the best performances I’ve seen from you since Winter Showcase. Technically, it was very strong. Focusing on your lower and mid range worked extremely well with the material, and I didn’t pick up on any major weaknesses in your projection.”

“It’s something I’ve been working on,” Kurt admitted. “I’m not a natural belter so I’ve been practicing that a lot the past few weeks.”

She nodded approvingly. “Well, it clearly shows. Obviously, there is always room for improvement and I want to see you continuing to work on it. Listen to this point,” she requested, playing back a segment of the song.

Watching it, Kurt could see what she was indicating. “You could see me steeling up for the climax,” he said in bemusement. “Right there… I’m taking a deep breath so I could make sure that I got that note out. I’m practically telegraphing ‘big moment coming’.”

His teacher smiled, pleased that he saw his mistake. “I think that it’s more of a confidence issue than any real concern about you not being able to project that note,” Madam Tibideaux suggested. “As you said, belting doesn’t come naturally to you. But it’s important that you become as comfortable with it as you would be if it were natural. That will come with continued practice and development.”

Kurt nodded, knowing that it was a valid criticism and something he would have to work on.

“Now artistically, I can’t find anything to complain,” Madam Tibideaux informed him with a pleased smile. “That’s always been your strongest talent and you’ve continued to show growth. You had a wonderful grasp of the character and the emotion was clear but not contrived. You made some interesting choices, bringing a lot of focus to the character’s anger as you did his sadness. The emotions were complex and layered and that kept the song from being maudlin.

“I think, most importantly, you were able to get me to see you as the character and not just my student, so very good job on that.”

“Thank you, Madam,” Kurt said gratefully, feeling a sense of relief coming over him.

“Now… your duet with Ms. Khorey,” she pronounced, opening up the next video file.

Kurt braced himself, knowing that this was likely to be a more critical assessment.

The video ran for a bit and Kurt watched his duet play out, paying attention with a critical eye. He tried to tune out that he was watching himself and looking for mistakes. He was surprised at how much he liked what he was seeing. It was a beautiful song and his and Analisa’s voice matched really beautifully.

He seemed to have a good grasp on the character and thought that his performance was convincing enough, but he wondered what Madam Tibideaux had to think.

“I think that you probably surprised yourself with this one,” she said appraisingly, watching her student closely. “This ended up being everything that I wanted to see from you in a romantic duet and I’m glad to see that you rose to the challenge the way you did. I think you see now that it’s not outside your ability to play a straight romantic figure.”

He didn’t miss the amusement in her voice and felt himself chuckling in agreement. “I guess I just had to do it,” he surmised ruefully. “Analisa was a great partner. She really was easy to work with.”

His teacher seemed very pleased with that comment. “You two seemed very comfortable with one another and you both were pushing your boundaries. Like you, Ms. Khorey is facing her own challenges about what is expected of her as a performer. It was one of my reasons for pairing you up.”

Kurt remembered his previous conversation with Madam Tibideaux and what Analisa had told him. Realizing that he wasn’t alone in his concerns about being taken seriously made taking on that challenge a bit easier.

“Technically you were as sound as you were for your solo. You balanced your voice very well with Ms. Khorey’s and supported her very well. You worked together, which is something I always want to see given how competitive students are here.”

That was definitely something he could agree with. And it made sense why Rachel wasn’t assigned a duet, not with her habit of trying to outperform whoever she was singing with. It could be exciting to have that kind of energy to play off of, it wouldn’t work in the kind of performances they were asked to do. Not when they needed to play characters.

Madam Tibideaux sat back in her chair, studying the video a bit more. “You had a very good grasp of the character and there was a clear romantic chemistry between yourself and Ms. Khorey. I will make a bet that those who don’t know you personally would not have immediately guessed that you are gay based on that performance. And that, Mr. Hummel, is what being an actor is about. Making the audience believe that you are something that you are not.”

She played the rest of the video, letting him see the remainder of the performance. “The way you mixed your voice here… keeping the brightness that would play well with a young character but still add in the richness that you’ve been showing more confidently… that was lovely.”

She looked at him frankly. “The reality is that your voice will continue to mature for years so this now should be the baseline for how we measure what you’re capable of. You’re going to need to make a concerted effort in order to keep developing your voice. Even after you graduate, you need to continue with voice training because the voice you have now is not going to be the voice you’ll have in ten years. You have a developing instrument that will need constant training.”

Kurt nodded in understanding. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t expected to hear.

“Now for what we need to work on… your accent during the speaking part..”

Kurt felt himself wincing. He had a feeling that this would come up.

His teacher pursed her lips thoughtfully as she considered the issue. “You had a challenge, singing a role for a character with a distinct accent and so long as you were singing, it worked. It was focusing on style and cadence that you could work with the music on. But the speaking part… that sounded rather amateurish. And the same could be said for your rendition of the Emcee.”

He sighed, knowing that it wasn’t a criticism that he could argue with. It didn’t sound nearly as good as he’d been hoping for. “I can’t disagree with you on that,” he admitted. “It was a lot easier to fake the accent while I was singing.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I’ve heard much worse. And it’s not as if it’s something that can’t be fixed.” She closed the video and turned to him fully, her sharp eyes fixed on him. “Overall, you proved why you deserve to be a student here. And I hope that you will take from this greater confidence in what you are capable of as a performer. I think that you were not served well in your past performance experiences, but you’ve been seizing the opportunities you’ve found at NYADA. I understand that you are with an extracurricular chorus group.”

Knowing that she was referring to the Apples, Kurt nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Madam. I’ve been finding it interesting, because it allows me to experiment with material more than I am generally able to do in class. We tend to focus on popular music genres, but the way I see it, there are more shows using rock and pop music so getting comfortable with them just made sense. It also lets me work off stress by performing with friends.”

She nodded approvingly. “It’s a shame that more students don’t take advantage of opportunities like that. And I’ve been informed by your advisor that you’ve taken on a role this summer.”

“The Garrison Shakespeare Festival,” Kurt clarified proudly.

“I’m familiar with them. They’re a very reputable company,” she mused. “What role are you playing, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Kurt didn’t mind at all. “Ensemble for Macbeth and Don John in Much Ado About Nothing,” he said, unable to keep the pleased tone from his voice.

She cocked her head, impressed. “That’s an exceptional opportunity for you,” she informed him. “To have a chance to work with a professional company and see the staging of a production from start to finish. Besides it being a good line on your CV, I think you would do very well to observe and ask as many questions as you can and use it as an opportunity to continue your education. Especially if you plan to take more dramatics studies.”

Kurt nodded in agreement. “I was planning keeping a journal this summer, so I can document everything I learn and any questions that I have,” he proposed.

She nodded in approval. “That’s an excellent idea. You can very much use this job as a means to expand your knowledge base. I’m pleased that you’re thinking ahead.”

Madam Tibideaux picked up her pen and began to jot down some notes. “Now let’s discuss a bit about your future education. I’d like you to continue studying with Professor Collin as well as myself. You’ve benefited greatly and he’s vastly helped with your technical development. And I think you would do well to undertake more classical voice training, which I can work with you on. That will help strengthen your voice.

“I also think that you should strongly consider signing up for the Diction class next year. It’s a skill set that you’ll find invaluable for future roles. You’re a fairly good mimic, so I think you’ll do well there.”

Kurt nodded in agreement. “I definitely want to take that class. I just didn’t have time this semester because I’m playing catch up.”

“Well, you’ve certainly managed to do that,” she informed him. “You may have had a bit of a rocky path getting into NYADA, but you’ve certainly have embraced the opportunities that you had here. And you’ve shown that you are the kind who doesn’t give up easily. That kind of fortitude is going to be critical for you in coming years as you build your professional career. I’m very pleased to see that kind of strength and a total lack of any kind of sense of entitlement.

“I think you are starting to build your confidence as a performer as well,” she mused appraisingly. “You more than hold your own in comparison to your classmates and I believe you have the potential to continue to stand out as a performer. You are talented, but you also are willing to work very hard. That will continue to serve you well.”

The Dean closed her file and gave him a pleased smile. “You are a great credit to this school, Mr. Hummel. And I’m very glad that you didn’t give up after that first refusal. I think being at NYADA means a little bit more to you than most because you had to fight for your place here. You’re not taking it for granted.”

Kurt felt his heart swell a bit at her praise, feeling a bit speechless at her praise. He was so accustomed to being torn down and he’d been on the receiving end of her harsh criticisms before. But this august woman’s praise meant more to him than he could possibly express.

“Thank you, Madam,” he said sincerely, feeling his voice thick in his throat. “That means a tremendous deal to me.”

“Well, you’ve worked very hard and shown enormous growth,” Madam Tibideaux pointed out. “I don’t believe in praising where it’s not warranted, but you’ve earned my respect. And I trust that you won’t disappoint me by slacking off.

“I’ll make sure you get my written assessment by the end of next week,” she promised. “Once I’m done with the applicant evaluations.”

Kurt felt a brief temptation to ask for her thoughts regarding Blaine’s audition, but refrained from doing so. It would be highly inappropriate and in the end, he realized that it didn’t matter to him. He had moved on and grown well beyond his ex. Even if Blaine got admitted, he wouldn’t be in a position to hurt Kurt.

He thanked his teacher for her time and walked out of her office feeling uncommonly pleased with himself. He was looking forward to conferring with Analisa later about her own assessment, but in the meantime he needed to check up on Rachel. Once again, he was deeply grateful for Adam’s kindness in agreeing to keep her company.

Thankfully he was done for the day and could head home to relieve Adam. He very much hoped that Rachel will have gotten over the worst of her mope while he was out, but knowing her as well as he did he knew that was unlikely. She would be holding her pity party until someone dragged her out of it.

Adam greeted him at the door with a warm smile and a kiss. “I’ve got the kettle on,” he said, ushering Kurt back inside. “How did it all go?”

Kurt smiled brightly. “Really, really well. She was very complimentary about both performances. Of course, there were the things she wants me to keep working on, but it was a really good critique.”

“I’m glad,” Adam said, his blue eyes twinkling happily. “Not that I questioned that it wouldn’t be.”

Kurt glanced at the living area, seeing it empty. “Where’s Rachel?” he asked, lowering his voice a bit.

Adam sighed. “She went back into her room after breakfast. I got her to eat a bit, but she’s been keeping to herself all day. I offered her lunch, but she said that she wasn’t hungry.”

Kurt shook his head, having expected that. “She’s always bad when things don’t go her way,” he explained. “And I can’t imagine how disappointed she must be right now.”

“I can understand her being disappointed,” Adam granted. “But she’s going to need to shake herself out of it at some point. Is she going to be like this through her whole career? I don’t mean to be harsh, but it’s not as if this is the only time she’s likely to miss out on a role that she wants.”

Kurt knew that his boyfriend was right and let Adam pull him into a reassuring hug. He rested his head on Adam’s shoulder, taking comfort in his presence. “I know… I just don’t know how to make this better for her.”

“You can’t,” Adam reminded him bluntly. “I know that you want to help her, sweetheart, but you can’t protect her from professional disappointments. They’re going to happen, and she’s going to have to figure out how to handle them on her own.”

He reached to gently turn Kurt’s head to face him, looking intently into his lover’s eyes. “I’m not going to let you spend your life following after Rachel to protect her from any upsetting moment that comes her way. Not when you have your own career to focus on.”

Kurt huffed, wishing that he could find it in himself to argue with Adam. “She’s my friend,” he protested weakly.

Adam gently trailed his fingers down Kurt’s cheek, his eyes softening. “I know she is, darling. But you’re not going to do her any favors by coddling her. She has to find the strength to get through this.”

“So what should I do?” Kurt asked, knowing that he was going to be fighting his own instinct as much as hers in this.

“A little comfort and pampering is more than acceptable the first day,” Adam agreed. “I’ve certain done that for others and needed it myself at times. You let her cry it out and you offered your shoulder. But tomorrow morning she needs to get back up to speed. Otherwise the longer she takes to get her head back into the game, the harder it’s going to be. And if you get into the habit of trying to carry her, it’s never going to stop.”

Kurt wanted to argue with him, that Rachel wasn’t like that but he knew that Adam was right. Kurt couldn’t count the number of times when Rachel’s needs dominated his focus and it wasn’t going to be good for either of them. He’d held his ground after Midnight Madness and it had worked out for the better.

“I hate it when you’re right,” he grumped, giving Adam a perturbed pout.

Adam chuckled and kissed him. “It’ll be all right. She just will need a bit of a push.”

Kurt nodded and stepped out of Adam’s embrace, turning towards Rachel’s bedroom. The curtain was drawn shut and there was no sound of movement within, but Kurt suspected that Rachel would be sulking in bed.

“Hey Rach… we’re going to order Chinese in for dinner,” he called out. “I’ll order the General Tso’s tofu for you.” Hopefully one of her favorite dishes might tempt her out of her cocoon.

“I’m not hungry,” Rachel said wanly from behind her curtain. From the watery tone of her voice, Kurt suspected that she had been crying again.

He sighed, starting to get a bit tired of her dramatics. Adam was right. She needed to pull herself out of this.

“Adam said you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast,” he stated firmly. “And I know you didn’t eat much yesterday.”

He thought he heard her sniffle before she whined, “I don’t want anything.”

“Well, you have to eat something,” he insisted. Looking to Adam, he smiled thankfully at Adam’s supportive gaze. He was doing the right thing, he told himself.

“I’ll call you when dinner is here,” he advised his friend, looking through the takeout menus for their favorite Chinese place.

Adam came up behind Kurt and wrapped his arms around the younger man. “Why don’t you call in the order and we can go pick it up,” he suggested. “I could use with a touch of fresh air.”

“Mmmm… that sounds like a wonderful idea,” Kurt said agreeably. He would enjoy the walk and hopefully, Rachel would have a chance to mentally regroup a bit before they returned.

Otherwise, he feared how long it would take for her to pull herself out of his mood.

* * *

Rachel pushed herself away from the barre, grateful that class was finally winding down. The last thing that she had wanted to do was go to school and she had delayed it as much as possible. But she had dance that morning and Kurt reminded her firmly that there was no way that Ms. July would excuse her from another class. After he all but pulled her out of bed and shoved her towards the shower, admonishing her gently to get ready, he left for his own classes.

Rachel wanted to get right back to bed, but with Kurt at school and Santana at work, there was no one to shield her from the crush of isolation. While she hadn’t been especially responsive to their overtures, she did derive some comfort in their presence outside her curtain. Even when Kurt had to leave her the day before, his boyfriend came to watch out for her and the knowledge that she wasn’t totally alone was comforting.

But now they were all out and there was nothing outside Rachel’s curtain except a crushing silence that became too much to stand. She wandered about the loft, feeling completely alone and shattered and bereft of the kind of support that she very much needed. Staying in the suffocating confines of the loft became too much to bear and while going to school might be the very last thing she wanted to do, it was better than being so totally alone.

She had drifted through her dance class, hovering in the back and doing her best to avoid being noticed. She barely participated at all and felt like every glance in her direction was judgmental and every whispered comment was passing on the gossip about her failure. The one bright light was that Ms. July had so far restrained herself from tossing her usual cutting remarks and insults at Rachel’s direction during the entire class.

She hoped that she would be able to get to sneak into the changing room and make her escape before the other students could start questioning her. Edging towards the door, she could hear Ms. July’s brutal dismissal of her class and tried to slip past without her noticing.

“All right… that’s enough out of all of you,” Ms. July moaned dramatically. “None of you are going to get any better today and you’re wasting your time and mine. Please do me a favor and get some practice in so you all don’t completely embarrass me at your critiques, because I am not in the mood to explain why an entire class is on the verge of flunking.

“So get out of here,” she ordered. The sharp gaze zeroed in on her most besieged student and she snapped out, “Except Schwimmer… the rest of you, clear out!”

Rachel felt herself on the verge of tears again, not sure if she was going to be able to stand having her hated teacher ripping into her again. It just wasn’t fair. How much more was she supposed to take?

The older woman waited for the rest of the class to leave the dance studio, giving them a bit of privacy before she addressed Rachel.

“Look, Berry… I’m not going to give you a hard time,” she said with a bit of uncharacteristic sympathy. “I know that you had a rough audition so I’m going to cut you some slack this time. I know that it sucks to miss out on a part.”

Her eyes then hardened. “But just today. Next week, I want to see you back in class ready to work because I will not be so lenient. You can’t afford to backslide any further. Do you understand?”

Rachel mutely nodded, feeling her cheeks burning in humiliation that the teacher that seemed to hate her so much seemed sympathetic to her plight. Or worse, pitied her. She didn’t know what was worse; that Ms. July knew that she failed to get the part or that she seemed to feel sorry for Rachel.

Either way, she could barely stand to be in her presence another second. Once Ms. July nodded that she was free to leave, she retreated to the changing room where most of the other girls were freshening up for their next classes.

No one approached her, though she did notice a few glances in her direction. Everyone seemed to know, and it was pretty obvious that they were judging her. It was so hard to ignore them and not lash out. None of them had the guts to do what she had done, to put themselves out there for a lead on Broadway and they had no right to be critical of her. Whatever respect she had earned with her Winter Showcase win was completely extinguished.

She had to find a way to fix this. There was no way she could go back to just being another student. Another face in a crowd. All she needed was another chance to show them what she could do.

In the end, that was a bit more difficult than Rachel had expected. She hadn’t been able to locate any office for the director and her call to the theater was rebuffed, but a bit of internet searching and a few discrete phone calls to locate the office of the casting director. If she was lucky, Ms. Gilroy would still be there and if she wasn’t, Rachel was ready to camp out by her office for a brief window of opportunity to reach her.

Melynda Gilroy’s office was in a fairly unimpressive looking building not far from the theater district that required walking up two flights of stairs. But Rachel was determined and climbed up the staircase until she reached the non-descript door to the office. She paused outside the door, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. She needed to do this, she told herself. Ms. Gilroy seemed like a reasonable woman and all she needed to do was realize that they had made a mistake by cutting Rachel. It was obvious that she was absolutely perfect for the part. This should be easy.

The office door opened and a beautifully dressed young woman darted out, heading towards the bathroom at the end of the hall. This was her chance, Rachel realized as she peeked into the office. Through the open door, she recognized Ms. Gilroy from the auditions standing in her inner office, thumbing through some files and making quick notes. Somehow she appeared younger than Rachel remembered, but then Rachel had to acknowledge that she hadn’t paid that much attention to the appearances of the production team. She was dressed gorgeously in designer clothes and her ash blond hair styled in a neat bob; the kind of casual class that was hard to imitate since it seemed natural to her. On a board behind her, Rachel could see that the casting director had posted the headshots of the actresses that Rachel assumed made it through the callback. About thirty, Rachel guessed, realizing just how few actresses were still being considered.

She felt her stomach tighten uncomfortably, but it was now or never. She stepped into the office and Ms. Gilroy seemed to sense the presence of another person and called out to the woman that Rachel assumed was the woman she just saw run to the bathroom.

“Jenna!” Ms. Gilroy called out as she shoved a group of files into her tote. “Can you call Rupert and confirm that we’re meeting at Ma Péche?”

Rachel swallowed tightly again, trying to moisten her throat. She fought down her nervousness and cleared her throat. “Ms. Gilroy… I’m so sorry for intruding, but I need to speak with you,” she said as firmly as she could manage, pleased that she was able to keep the edgy tremble out of his voice.

The older woman looked up in surprise. “How did you get in here?” she demanded. “Jenna?”

Rachel gestured towards the door with her head “The door was open, and your assistant just ran out for a second,” she explained. She steeled herself and stepped forward. “I’m Rachel Berry.”

“Who?” Ms. Gilroy asked, her face set in an expression of confusion. “I’m sorry, but have we met?”

Rachel felt a twinge at the realization that she wasn’t immediately remembered. “I auditioned for Funny Girl,” she answered, unable to keep the hurt out of her voice that she hadn’t stood out in the casting team’s memory.

Ms. Gilroy’s eyes narrowed as she studied Rachel. “Now I remember. We just saw you at the callback this week.”

Rachel nearly sighed in relief that she was remembered now and nodded. “Yes. I needed to talk to you about the audition. I…”

“We did tell you that you’ll be getting our notes,” Ms. Gilroy reminded her.

“That’ not why I’m here,” Rachel insisted, trying not to sound overwrought. “I wanted to talk to you about reconsidering me. I don’t think that I got to show you my best and really need a chance to show you what I can do.”

The older woman’s lips drew into a disapproving frown at her demand. “This is very, very inappropriate,” she admonished flatly, towering over Rachel in her high heels and looking down at her disapprovingly. “And not at all how we do things.”

Rachel inhaled sharply at the reprimand, but couldn’t relent. “I understand, but I really think that you’re making a mistake.” She could feel the tears starting to well in her eyes and that hurt, panicked feeling was coming back.

There was a flurry as the casting director’s assistant returned and saw the intruder in their office. “I’m so sorry, Melynda! I had to run to the bathroom and didn’t see her come in.”

The director’s expression softened slightly at her assistant’s arrival. “It’s okay, Jenna. Do me a favor and call Rupert. Tell him I’ll be about ten minutes late.” She glanced at the intruder. “I just need a moment to take care of this.”

Her assistant nodded uncertainly, but left to do what her employer requested and closed the office door behind her. Once granted a modicum of privacy, Ms. Gilroy turned to her unexpected visitor. “Have a seat,” she requested, though there was an underlying sternness on her voice that made it more of an order.

“Ms. Gilroy, I’m really sorry about barging in like this, but I really need you to reconsider,” Rachel all but pleaded. “I’ve been working for this part my entire life! It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

The casting director didn’t answer immediately, sitting down at her desk and opening her laptop to search for the file she needed. “Let me find my notes on your audition. You said that your name was Berry, right?” She quickly found what she was looking for and took a moment to read her notes before giving Rachel her full attention.

“Ms. Berry… I do appreciate your enthusiasm for our production, but we put a lot of thought into who we want to continue considering,” she explained with equal firmness and sympathy. “Casting this role is something that we’ve put tremendous thought into. We’ve considered the backgrounds and experience of everyone auditioning, and paid close your performances in making our decision. I do understand that you’re disappointed, but…”

“No! You don’t understand!” Rachel insisted, feeling her eyes watering. “I’ve been waiting my entire life for this! I have been dreaming of playing Fanny since I was old enough to talk. This means everything to me.”

The casting director gave her sharp expression of disapproval. “Are you always in the habit of trying to argue your way into getting what you want? Because it’s a most unbecoming trait,” Ms. Gilroy said critically. “As well as being highly unprofessional.”

Rachel had the good sense to look a more than a little embarrassed at her criticism, but clearly wasn’t about to back down. With a resigned sigh that this discussion was likely to get very unpleasant, Ms. Gilroy folded her hands in front of her and gave the younger woman her full attention.

“I know you must feel like we’ve overlooked you,” she granted. “But rest assured that we considered this very carefully and there were several criteria that you simply did not measure up to.”

Rachel felt herself involuntarily flinch at the stern assessment that she had been lacking in some way and feared what she was about to be told.

“We had to take into consideration that you have never performed in a professional production in any capacity before. That left us with no real way of being able to judge if you would be able to handle not just the pressure of being in the lead role, but the responsibility,” Ms. Gilroy explained. “In this show, we needed to be confident that whoever we cast as Fanny will be capable of basically carrying the entire production. That is a tremendous responsibility. And when we have millions of investor dollars at stake with this production, you would have had to have proven yourself to be beyond exceptional to give us reason to want to take that kind of a risk.”

She gave the young woman a frank look. “To be blunt, we just didn’t see that.”

Rachel could only stare at her, completely bewildered. “I… I don’t understand,” she stammered, growing increasingly confused with what she was being told. “I worked so hard for this. There is no one who can play this part the way I can! I was born to be Fanny!”

“Because you think that you look and sound a bit like Barbra Streisand?” The older woman shook her head in disagreement. “That’s the last thing that we really wanted. And we told you that.

“We told you at the callback that we were looking for performers that are original and can make Fanny their own,” she explained in response to the perplexed expression on Rachel’s face. “Your physical appearance wasn’t a detriment until you started to sing and we saw that it was more than a casual reminder. What you gave us was a very nice facsimile of Streisand’s rendition. But in the end, it was a copy and if our audience wanted to see Barbra as Fanny, they could save a lot of money and watch her on Netflix at home.”

Rachel could feel the tears streaming down her cheeks, numb with the realization that there wasn’t any way that she could argue with what Ms. Gilroy was telling her. The trait that she had always considered to be her strongest selling point as a performer was the one that had destroyed her chances.

“But I’ve dreamed of playing this part for so long,” she protested weakly. “There’s no one who could possibly want it more than me, or work harder for you. Please…”

The casting director shook her head, her expression sympathetic but unwavering. “Somehow I don’t think that’s quiet true,” she corrected gently. “But even if it is, in the end, this is business decision. We need to make the best choice we can to give this show its best chance of being a success.”

Ms. Gilroy closed her laptop and gave Rachel a candid, appraising look. “Look, Rachel… you are a very talented young woman. But you are inexperienced and it showed in your audition. You’re still a student at NYADA, right?” she questioned.

Rachel nodded dumbly, unable to bring herself to speak.

Ms. Gilroy offered her a soft smile of reassurance. “I have no doubt that at some point that I will see you in a Broadway production. But you need time to continue learning and growing to become the kind of performer that we would need you to be. Take advantage of what NYADA has to offer,” she suggested. “Get some real experience under your belt. There are plenty of opportunities for a budding performer to take advantage of if you are serious about building a career.”

She stood up and offered Rachel her hand. Feeling completely disconnected from what was happening to her, Rachel felt herself taking it and accepting the gracious handshake.

“I really do wish you the best, Rachel, and I’m sure that we’ll see you again at other auditions,” Ms. Gilroy offered. “I’ll make sure that I put some suggestions for you in my notes when I send them and I hope to see you in the future.”

Her assistant escorted her out of the office, leaving Rachel with no way of trying to protest further. When the door was closed behind her, it was all Rachel could do not to break down in tears. None of this made any kind of sense and it was clear that whatever was in her future, Funny Girl would not be a part of it. Having that final door closed on her dream felt like her heart was torn from her chest, leaving an empty cavity that nothing would fill.

As she walked through the theater district, she struggled to understand how it all went so wrong. Seeing the theater marquees with the names of the famous no longer filled her with anticipation and hope. Now they were just reminders of what had been taken away from her and what she would never have.

She walked past Sardi’s, where Finn had taken her during their first trip to Nationals and she met one of her idols. She then made her way to the Gershwin Theater, where she and Kurt had stood on the stage and dreamed of their futures together. About her she saw the tourists and theater goers, waiting to be let in for the shows they wanted to see and hoping for a glimpse of a famous face. None of them seemed to notice Rachel drifting by like a ghost.

It felt like she was saying goodbye.

* * *

After a long day of classes, Kurt was exhausted and arrived back at the loft with a relieved sigh. He had so much studying to get done and for the millionth time, questioned the sanity of trying to manage the course load that he had taken on. Maybe he should have just done the summer session to catch up. But he’d done that, he wouldn’t have been able to do the Shakespeare festival. As difficult as the work load had been, he had pretty much caught up with the rest of the students and would have to take only one additional class in the fall semester, so he supposed it would be worth it in the end.

Thankfully he’d been able to manage the at times overwhelming amount of class work and practices, though it did feel like he was juggling flaming chainsaws at times. With finals and spring critiques coming up fast, he knew that his free time would be at an absolute minimum, and he hoped that he could keep his head above water without losing too much of his sanity in the process.

Admittedly, he hadn’t been overly surprised not to have seen Rachel around school at all during the day but he was disappointed. He guessed that she had gone somewhere to lick her wounds, but skipping all of her classes wasn’t going to help her. He sent her a text she was when she missed the free sing session, but got no answer. Nor was she at home when he arrived. He wasn’t sure if he should be worried or pissed off. Deciding that the best thing was to wait for her to come home on her own, he made himself a light snack and pulled out his theatrical history text and tried to get some studying done.

It was already getting dark when the loft door slid open and Rachel slipped quickly in. Kurt looked up from his text book, feeling more than a little relief that she finally resurfaced. “Rach, where were you?” he asked, not hiding his concern. “You missed all your classes this afternoon.”

She looked up at him with eyes that were rimmed with red and clearly from having been crying again recently. “I… I didn’t go,” she admitted softly. “My mind wasn’t into it and…” She paused, sighing sadly. “I wanted to see if maybe I could change their minds. About Funny Girl.”

Kurt stared at her, knowing that he shouldn’t be surprised. He couldn’t help from wondering if she would ever have it in her to actually accept criticism without fighting over it and shook his head in exasperation. “Rachel…”

Rachel didn’t miss the exasperation in his voice and inhaled deeply. “Well, it didn’t work,” she stated dully. “I saw the casting director and she made it clear that I wouldn’t be considered, so it’s over.”

He should have expected her to pull that kind of a stunt. This was always how Rachel did things; if denied something that she wanted, she would always try to argue or wheedle into getting her way. He had seen her do it a hundred times before, but this wasn’t for a glee club solo or admission into a school. This was for a professional role and he couldn’t imagine that her actions had been received well.

“You do realize just how unprofessional that was,” he stated, not bothering to try to hide his exasperation. “Rachel, these are people that you’re probably going end up auditioning for again in the future. Do you want to totally trash your reputation right from the start? Because that’s a good way of doing so.”

“It wasn’t like that!” Rachel snapped, giving into the anger that was starting to build in her.

“Then what was it like?” Kurt demanded. “You always do this. You think that just because you want something that you should get it no matter what anyone else thinks. Did you really think that pestering them was going to get you the part that they apparently decided you weren’t right for?”

“But that’s the point, Kurt,” Rachel insisted. She sat down on the couch and looked at him imploringly. “I was born to be Fanny, and they have some kind of nonsense about what they think Fanny should be and I needed to show them that they were wrong.”

Kurt felt himself shaking his head in exasperation, not sure of what he was going to say to her. Rachel always thought that she was right, and when she was denied something it was the fault of someone else. Never her own shortcomings or mistakes.

“So what did she tell you?” Kurt asked, his tone terse as he gave her the opening to explain herself. “Did she explain why they cut you?”

Rachel huffed when he did not immediately move to comfort her and Kurt could see her getting defensive. “She said some nonsense about being too much like Barbra and that wasn’t what they were looking for,” she complained. “It wasn’t like they gave me the chance to show them that I could play the part another way.”

“How? Like Liza? Or maybe Judy,” Kurt said critically. “You do have a habit of copying your idols when performing.”

She looked at him in shock that he would dare say such a thing. “Kurt! I thought you were my friend!” she wailed, tears welling in her eyes again. “How could you say that?”

Kurt sighed, knowing that this was going to be the start of yet another fight but it needed to be done. He looked at her frankly and stated, “Because it’s true.”

He didn’t miss the distraught expression on her face and tried to explain. “Look, Rachel… you know that I love you. And I think the world about your talent. But you’ve been doing this for a long time. It’s rare now that you sing as yourself. You don’t perform a role as Rachel Berry, but the way you think that Barbra or one of your other diva favorites would.”

“But Barbra is Fanny!” Rachel insisted. “Everyone knows Fanny from the way Barbra played her.”

Kurt nodded. “Except that they weren’t looking for another Barbra,” he pointed out. “They wanted to see how Rachel Barry would play Fanny. Not how Rachel would play Barbra playing Fanny. Don’t you get it?”

He saw her start to shudder and reached out to gently grasp her hand. “Look, honey… I know that you’re disappointed,” he granted as gently as he could. He knew that she really was hurting. “But this isn’t the end of the world. It’s one audition. I know that you really wanted this part, but maybe it’s for the better. You have so much to learn, and…”

“I am so tired of hearing that I should use this as a learning experience,” Rachel growled angrily. She shook off his hand and huddled in on herself. “I’ve been dreaming of this part my entire life!”

Kurt inhaled, keeping a rein on his temper. “It’s the only thing you can do at this point. Especially if you want to get cast the next time around,” he reminded her. “This is why we’re at NYADA. To become the best performers that we can be and the only way to learn is to use our mistakes. Otherwise we’ll just keep making them.”

“Kurt, I did everything I could to show them that I’m right for this part,” Rachel insisted. “I sang my heart out and showed them what I’m able to do. I was meant to be Fanny!”

“Obviously not,” he said calmly, knowing that disagreeing with her when she was in this state would only anger her but she needed to hear it. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten cut.”

Her head shot up, eyes wide as she stared at him in astonishment. “How could you say that?” she demanded, her tone getting harsh when she grasped what he was telling her. “You’re supposed to be my friend! I need you on my side!”

“I am, and I’d be a lousy friend if I didn’t try to tell you when you’re making a mistake,” he stated firmly. He knew that she would be resistant to what he was telling her, but she desperately needed to hear this. “Rachel, I love you but you can be the most stubborn person on the planet sometimes. You never liked being corrected, even when it’s for your own good. And you always try to get around being told no. This time it’s something that you can’t argue or bully your way into getting what you want. So either grow up and learn to use it to your advantage next time or this is just going to happen the next time you go for one of your dream roles.

“This is not the first audition where you won’t the part you want,” he warned. “We’re not in high school anymore. This is the big leagues now. They expect us to be professionals. Listen to what they’re telling you so you can do better next time.”

There was a blankness in Rachel’s eyes at first as his words stuck home, but then the spark of anger began to kindle. Kurt felt a sense of dread coming over him, knowing that she was looking to be reassured, and being told that she wasn’t perfect probably wasn’t a message that she was going to be entirely receptive to but she very much needed to hear it.

“You have no right to be critical about me,” she snapped, the anger now fully overtaking the depression she’d felt over her rejection. Tears began to stream down her face. “You have no idea what it’s like to have something you’ve wanted forever within your grasp only to have them snatch it away!”

Kurt snorted, not at all surprise that she would deflect in order to avoid looking inward. “You’re not serious, are you?” he asked derisively. “I mean, are you that blind to anything that doesn’t affect you directly? How many times did I get turned down for a solo or a lead that I wanted? What happened when I auditioned for NYADA and didn’t get in on my first try? Did I give up?”

He looked at her, entirely done with her self-pitying tantrum. After having to fight and repeatedly rally from failure in order to have what few successes he could claim so casually dismissed in order to appease her sense of injustice, he realized just how deep her delusions about her self-imagined destiny of stardom ran. There would be no reasoning with her hen she was this irrational, and he found himself angry over her petulance.

“Poor Rachel,” he said, not bothering to hid his mocking tone. “For once she doesn’t get something that she wants and can’t badger her way into getting it. So the world has to end because you didn’t get the part? Not going to happen.”

“I knew it,” Rachel snapped, jabbing her finger into his chest. “You wanted me to fail! Because you wanted to be the one on top for once. Now you can lord over me that you got a part while I’m left with nothing! That’s what you always wanted!”

Kurt shook his head ruefully, wondering if Rachel had totally snapped. She always lashed out and could be vicious when she was upset, but he was no longer in a mood to try to soothe her. Not after so many years of watching her throw herself about every time she was denied something that she wanted.

“Rachel, let’s get some truth time here,” he all but snarled. “Because I think your grasp on reality needs a bit of recalibration.”

She blinked in shock, taken aback by his refusal to back down.

“I didn’t think you’d get the part because I don’t think that you’re really ready for it. But I hoped that you would because I know how much you wanted it,” he admitted honestly. “But right now I’m kind of glad that you didn’t get it. Because if you’re this much of a spoiled brat under normal circumstances, I’d hate to see how much of a monster you’d be if you did get it.”

Rachel flinched as if he’d struck her, and he supposed that would have been preferable to her. Kurt had just thrown every one of her insecurities and flaws in her face without making the smallest effort to temper the blow. And for once, he was glad that he didn’t. After so many years of catering to her whims, he was tired. He was tired of acquiescing to her all the time, to try to make things better every time she suffered the least disappointments. How often did he put his own feelings on the backburner in order to deal with her latest dramas or feelings of persecution?

She stared at him, her eyes hard behind the shimmer of tears that were threatening again. “Well, you’re not going to have to worry about this anymore,” she insisted, drawing herself up with as much dignity as she could manage. “Because obviously I’m obviously a bother to you and it’s obvious that my Broadway dreams are futile.”

Kurt felt himself rolling his eyes at her melodrama. “And here you go. You’ve always got to go to the extreme. Rachel… I’m on your side here,” he reminded her. “There is no one who wants to support you more, but sometimes you make it so damned hard.”

He turned away from her, needing a moment to center himself so that their fight didn’t escalate any further. Rachel knew what buttons to push with him, and when she was in this mindset she was hard to reason with. He wanted to support her, but when she got into this unreasonable mindset, it was difficult to remember why he’d felt she was worth the effort.

“I can’t fix this for you,” he explained, trying to be gentle. He knew probably better than anyone else how Rachel’s mind worked and the way she lashed out when upset didn’t exactly surprise him. “You’re going to have to find it in yourself to move on from this, otherwise you’re right… your dreams will be over.”

Kurt did want to hug her and offer what comfort he could, but he knew that she wouldn’t appreciate it since he wasn’t telling her what she wanted to hear. And it wasn’t what she needed at the moment. “Don’t let this one disappointment stop you from chasing your dreams,” he urged as kindly as he could manage.

Rachel didn’t say anything in response, and Kurt knew that there was nothing he could tell her at this moment that would make her feel any better. He sighed, knowing that she would have to figure this out for herself.

“Look… I haven’t planned anything for dinner. Want to order something in? My treat,” he offered, hoping to make peace between them.

She blinked back tears, not answering at first. But after a long hesitation she finally nodded.

“Can we do pizza?” she asked softly. “The good kind?”

Kurt gave her a warm smile. Rachel requesting proper pizza with real cheese was a good sign that he might have gotten through to her. “You got it. Mushrooms and spinach?” he asked.

She nodded again, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Kurt… I’m sorry,” she said tearfully. “I didn’t mean…”

He nodded in understanding. “It’s okay,” he assured her. He held out his arms and let her fall into them for a reassuring cuddle.

Kurt knew that this was just a lull in the storm and until Rachel really came to grips with what happened and what she could do going forward, it was going to be tense. Hopefully it wouldn’t be much longer because he didn’t know how much more of this he could take.