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julibf · 30 days ago

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JON WAS PROMISED TO SANSA PART 2

Ok, now lets go to the books chapters. Again, we are trying this theory that Jon Snow may be the Prince that was Promised to Sansa.

People may think that I am crazy but if you re read the books all over again, paying attention to a small detail, you may start believing this theory too. As I was reading the books again, I started noticing that every single time Sansa’s receives a marriage proposal, the next chapter that follows is a JON SNOW chapter. I know that this theory has been talked about several times and we all believe the chapters to be a big foreshadow of Jon and Sansa romance, but what if the idea of the chapters is to tell the reader that Jon and Sansa ALREADY have a betrothal? what if the author is trying to tells us that those two characters are already promised to each other?????

That would be a twist!!!!!!

Right from the beginning we have King Robert arriving at Winterfell and visiting Lyanna Stark tomb in the crypts, there he offers a marriage alliance between House Baratheon and House Stark, with the marriage of Sansa and his son Joffrey Baratheon. This is the only chapter that Sansa will receive a marriage proposal not directly, in this chapter is Ned Stark that receives the proposal since Sansa is only 11 years old in the beginning of the story and her father is her guardian, after that, since Sansa will lose her parents and protectors, the proposals will happen directly to her.

A GAME OF THRONES CHAPTER 4 AND 5

Chapter 4, Eddard I

"Come south with me, and I'll teach you how to laugh again," the king promised. "You helped me win this damnable throne, now help me hold it. We were meant to rule together. If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done." This offer did surprise him. "Sansa is only eleven." Robert waved an impatient hand. "Old enough for betrothal. The marriage can wait a few years." The king smiled. "Now stand up and say yes, curse you." "Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Your Grace," Ned answered. He hesitated. "These honors are all so unexpected. May I have some time to consider? I need to tell my wife …""Yes, yes, of course, tell Catelyn, sleep on it if you must." The king reached down, clasped Ned by the hand, and pulled him roughly to his feet. "Just don't keep me waiting too long. I am not the most patient of men."…… For a moment Eddard Stark was filled with a terrible sense of foreboding. This was his place, here in the north. He looked at the stone figures all around them, breathed deep in the chill silence of the crypt. He could feel the eyes of the dead. They were all listening, he knew. And winter was coming.

What if the dead were watching Ned break his promise made to his sister and are sensing the Doom of House Stark?? This proposal is immediately followed by Jon Snow first chapter in the books.

Followed by JON I

BTW, in this chapter we have Jon getting completely drunk in the feast. Word in the castle have traveled and everyone knows Sansa has been betrothed to Joffrey. I always assumed that Jon was so upset in the feast, not because he was seating far way from the rest of the family, but because he heard of the news of the betrothal between Sansa and Prince Joffrey.

He had sated his curiosity about the visitors when they made their entrance. The procession had passed not a foot from the place he had been given on the bench, and Jon had gotten a good long look at them all…… His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.

Jon is jealous, again, in a first glance we may think that he is jealous because he is a bastard and can not be part of such important ceremony, but what if he is jealous because he can not be sited right next to Sansa???A few moments later, Benjen Stark comes to talk to Jon and that’s when Jon ask Benjen to go to the wall and take the Black…

A STORM OF SWORDS CHAPTERS 6 AND 7

Now those two chapters are quite interesting, because both are surrounded by SONGS, in Sansa’s chapters, we have the singer singing THE BEAR AND THE MAIDEN FAIR while Sansa is being introduced to the leader of House Tyrell, Lady Olenna also know as the QUEEN OF THORNS, while in Jon’s chapters, we have a singer playing The Dornishman's Wife while Jon is introduced to the leader of the Freefolk, Mance Rayder THE KING BEYOND THE WALL (who just happens to be the singer) Sansa is taken to meet the Tyrells by Ser Loras, someone she clearly desires, Jon is taken by Ygritte, someone who desires him. In both chapters Jon and Sansa are asked to tell the truth and their lives are in danger, Sansa feels like if she tells the truth and the information falls into the Lannisters ears she could be punished and killed and Jon knows that if Mance doesn’t believe what he says, his life is at risk. Sansa tells the truth, Jon lies.

In the end of this chapter Sansa receives a marriage proposal by the Tyrells, while on Jon chapter, Bael the Bard is mentioned in relation to Jon’s sisters. Once again, by the end of the chapter Sansa will receive a marriage proposal followed by a Jon Snow chapter.

Sansa I

The Tyrells invite Sansa for supper and during the meeting they make a marriage proposal to Sansa, while the dinner is happening the musicians play the song THE BEAR AND THE MAIDEN FAIR very loud. George really want you to notice this song in this chapter. You may as well wonder where this song comes from, and it seems that Ser Duncan The Tall first heard this song at the Ashford Tourney (yes, that same Tourney that foreshadows the marriage between Sansa and a Targaryen prince)

"I want you to tell me the truth about this royal boy," said Lady Olenna abruptly. "This Joffrey." Sansa's fingers tightened round her spoon. The truth? I can't. Don't ask it, please, I can't. "I . . . I . . . I . . ." " The old woman turned back to Sansa. "Are you frightened, child? No need for that, we're only women here. Tell me the truth, no harm will come to you." "My father always told the truth." Sansa spoke quietly, but even so, it was hard to get the words out. "Lord Eddard, yes, he had that reputation, but they named him traitor and took his head off even so." The old woman's eyes bore into her, sharp and bright as the points of swords. "Joffrey," Sansa said. "Joffrey did that. He promised me he would be merciful, and cut my father's head off. He said that was mercy, and he took me up on the walls and made me look at it. The head. He wanted me to weep, but . . ." She stopped abruptly, and covered her mouth. I've said too much, oh gods be good, they'll know, they'll hear, someone will tell on me. "Go on." It was Margaery who urged. Joffrey's own queen-to-be. Sansa did not know how much she had heard."I can't." What if she tells him, what if she tells? He'll kill me for certain then, or give me to Ser Ilyn. "I never meant . . . my father was a traitor, my brother as well, I have the traitor's blood, please, don't make me say more.""Calm yourself, child," the Queen of Thorns commanded. "She's terrified, Grandmother, just look at her."

That’s when Lady Olenna calls for a Song to cover up the conversation between them.

Sansa felt as though her heart had lodged in her throat. The Queen of Thorns was so close she could smell the old woman's sour breath. Her gaunt thin fingers were pinching her wrist. To her other side, Margaery was listening as well. A shiver went through her. "A monster," she whispered, so tremulously she could scarcely hear her own voice. "Joffrey is a monster. He lied about the butcher's boy and made Father kill my wolf. When I displease him, he has the Kingsguard beat me. He's evil and cruel, my lady, it's so. And the queen as well." Lady Olenna Tyrell and her granddaughter exchanged a look. "Ah," said the old woman, "that's a pity."

Finally, the Tyrells, once they have their truth about Joffrey, move to their next goal. The marriage alliance.

Lady Olenna frowned. "I see no need to give him a choice. Of course, he has no hint of our true purpose." "HE SMELLED THE SCENT ON THE SUMMER AIR!" Sansa wrinkled her brow. "Our true purpose, my lady?" "HE SNIFFED AND ROARED AND SMELLED IT THERE! HONEY ON THE SUMMER AIR!" "To see you safely wed, child," the old woman said, as Butterbumps bellowed out the old, old song, "to my grandson."(A Storm of Swords - Sansa I)

Next chapter of the book is JON I

In this chapter Jon is brought before Mance Rayder, since Rattleshirt doesn’t trust him. In the King’s tent, Jon mistakes Styr for Mance Rayder. But it is the gray-haired man playing the lute who is the King-Beyond-the-Wall. Rattleshirt reveals his misgivings about Jon to the king, but Mance wishes to speak with Jon alone.

The tent was hot and smoky. Baskets of burning peat stood in all four corners, filling the air with a dim reddish light. More skins carpeted the ground. Jon felt utterly alone as he stood there in his blacks, awaiting the pleasure of the turncloak who called himself King-beyond-the-Wall. When his eyes had adjusted to the smoky red gloom, he saw six people, none of whom paid him any mind. A dark young man and a pretty blonde woman were sharing a horn of mead. A pregnant woman stood over a brazier cooking a brace of hens, while a grey-haired man in a tattered cloak of black and red sat crosslegged on a pillow, playing a lute and singing: The Dornishman's wife was as fair as the sun, and her kisses were warmer than spring. But the Dornishman's blade was made of black steel, and its kiss was a terrible thing.

If the show is correct, Jon is Dornish, since he was born in the Tower of Joy and if he marries Sansa she would literally be the Dornishman’s wife. I also like how the song compares the woman to the sun, which brings back to Jon thinking of Sansa as radiant.

While Jon and Mance continue to talk, the King beyond the wall tells Jon that he remembers him from his visits of Winterfell, he tells Jon that he was also present at the Feast for King Robert that happened at the beginning of the novel, that’s when Jon mentions Bael the Bard back to Jon Snow story!!!

" The night your father feasted Robert, I sat in the back of his hall on a bench with the other freeriders, listening to Orland of Oldtown play the high harp and sing of dead kings beneath the sea. I betook of your lord father's meat and mead, had a look at Kingslayer and Imp . . . and made passing note of Lord Eddard's children and the wolf pups that ran at their heels." "Bael the Bard," said Jon, remembering the tale that Ygritte had told him in the Frostfangs, the night he'd almost killed her. "Would that I were. I will not deny that Bael's exploit inspired mine own . . . but I did not steal either of your sisters that I recall. Bael wrote his own songs, and lived them. I only sing the songs that better men have made. More mead?"

Now this is the first time in the story, that the idea of one of the Stark sisters be stolen by a freefolk is introduced. Not only George brings back Bael to Jon’s chapter, he starts to associate the story with Jon’s sisters. Based on the end of the tv show, Jon will be the King beyond the Wall, who and Sansa will be the last Stark maiden in Winterfell.

By the end, just like Sansa, Jon is asked to tell the truth. Mance Rayder ask Jon why he deserted the Nights Watch. Of course, we all know that opposite of Sansa, Jon doesn’t tell the truth, he lies to Mance about being resentful of the Starks.

"He gestured at the board between them, the broken bread and chicken bones. "Here you are the guest, and safe from harm at my hands . . . this night, at least. So tell me truly, Jon Snow. Are you a craven who turned your cloak from fear, or is there another reason that brings you to my tent?" Guest right or no, Jon Snow knew he walked on rotten ice here. One false step and he might plunge through, into water cold enough to stop his heart. Weigh every word before you speak it, he told himself. He took a long draught of mead to buy time for his answer. When he set the horn aside he said, "Tell me why you turned your cloak, and I'll tell you why I turned mine." …….. "And did you see where I was seated, Mance?" He leaned forward. "Did you see where they put the bastard?" Mance Rayder looked at Jon's face for a long moment. "I think we had best find you a new cloak," the king said, holding out his hand.

A STORM OF SWORDS CHAPTERS 68 AND 69

SANSA VI

Now we have Sansa arriving at the Vale, scaping from Kings Landing. She arrives at the Vale with the help of Littlefinger. As soon as she is introduced to Lady Lysa she receives a marriage proposal to marry her cousin Lord Robert Arryn. The proposal doesn’t bring much joy to Sansa that laments that marrying for love may never happen to her.

Lysa waved a hand negligently. "Not for many years. You are too young to be a mother. One day you shall want children, though. Just as you will want to marry." "I . . . I am married, my lady." "Yes, but soon a widow. Be glad the Imp preferred his whores. It would not be fitting for my son to take that dwarf's leavings, but as he never touched you . . . How would you like to marry your cousin, the Lord Robert?" The thought made Sansa weary. All she knew of Robert Arryn was that he was a little boy, and sickly. It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love.

NEXT CHAPTER????? Once again, JON SNOW!!!

I knew it the moment I saw this line next to jon’s chapter that George was planning this marriage. That’s why I never believe that Jon and Sansa would have a political marriage, this union would be for love.

A STORM OF SWORDS CHAPTER 79 AND 80

Now, on this one, their roles are inverted. Now is Jon who will receive a marriage proposal and of course, it will be followed by a Sansa chapter. Again, it's like the author is trying to tell us that those two are already promised to each other and can not accept anyone else.

JON XII

We start the chapter with Jon practicing sword fighting with Iron Emmet and he can not stop thinking about King Stannis Baratheon offer to legitimize him and make Jon not only a Stark but also the Lord of Winterfell. During his practice with Emmet he remembers another fighting practice many years ago at Winterfell….

Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne." That morning he called it first. "I'm Lord of Winterfell!" he cried, as he had a hundred times before. Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, "You can't be Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born. My lady mother says you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell." I thought I had forgotten that. Jon could taste blood in his mouth, from the blow he'd taken. (A Storm of Swords - Jon XII)

Jon thinks of rebuilding Winterfell, just like Sansa in the next chapter will literally rebuilt the castle in the snow.

Lord of Winterfell. I could be the Lord of Winterfell. My father's heir….. It was short walk to the bathhouse, where he took a cold plunge to wash the sweat off and soaked in a hot stone tub. The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it. Surely his father would have wanted that, and Robb as well. They would never have wanted the castle left in ruins.

A interesting detail is that, the offer to be legitimized by Stannis comes with a demand. Jon needs to marry Val. Stannis wants the union of a Stark with a wildling princess, to unite the Freefolk with the North (but what if in the end we get a Wildling King marrying a Stark Queen?)

"Good," King Stannis said, "for the surest way to seal a new alliance is with a marriage. I mean to wed my Lord of Winterfell to this wildling princess." Perhaps Jon had ridden with the free folk too long; he could not help but laugh. "Your Grace," he said, "captive or no, if you think you can just give Val to me, I fear you have a deal to learn about wildling women. Whoever weds her had best be prepared to climb in her tower window and carry her off at swordpoint . . ." (A Storm of Swords - Jon XI)

Ygritte wanted me to be a wildling. Stannis wants me to be the Lord of Winterfell. But what do I want? The sun crept down the sky to dip behind the Wall where it curved through the western hills. Jon watched as that towering expanse of ice took on the reds and pinks of sunset. Would I sooner be hanged for a turncloak by Lord Janos, or forswear my vows, marry Val, and become the Lord of Winterfell? It seemed an easy choice when he thought of it in those terms . . . though if Ygritte had still been alive, it might have been even easier. Val was a stranger to him. She was not hard on the eyes, certainly, and she had been sister to Mance Rayder's queen, but still . . . I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We'd find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

Jon is now thinking as a wildling and realizing that he needs to steal Val if he wants the marriage to be valid. Which is why I have no doubt that he is stealing Sansa in the end of the books, this storyline is foreshadow in his chapters numerous of times. But the marriage with Val doesn’t make Jon very happy, he doesn’t love her and hardly know her. Just like Sansa, Jon would like to marry someone he loves, and not have a marriage just for a political alliance. But the truth is that he does longs for a family, for Winterfell, he dreams to one day be a true Stark.

Red eyes, Jon realized, but not like Melisandre's. He had a weirwood's eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. And he alone of all the direwolves was white. Six pups they'd found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow. He had his answer then.

Finally Ghost comes back to Jon and he has his answer right there. The wolf brings back the memory when they all found the puppies. Jon belongs to the old Gods like his wolf and he cant turn his back to his old golds. I always assumed Bran sent Ghost to help Jon make his decision.

As he walked toward the armory, Jon chanced to look up and saw Val standing in her tower window. I'm sorry, he thought. I'm not the man to steal you out of there.

So we this chapter Jon Snow was forced to make a decision and turn down not only Winterffell but also the marriage alliance with Val, the wildling princess. He decides he wont be the one stealing her, but he did show a desire for love, family and Winterfell. Next Chapter we are going to have Sansa being “kissed by the Snow” and those kisses are going to rekindle her childhood dreams….

SANSA VII

She had last seen snow the day she'd left Winterfell. That was a lighter fall than this, she remembered. Robb had melting flakes in his hair when he hugged me, and the snowball Arya tried to make kept coming apart in her hands. It hurt to remember how happy she had been that morning. Hullen had helped her mount, and she'd ridden out with the snowflakes swirling around her, off to see the great wide world. I thought my song was beginning that day, but it was almost done….. Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks. …. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams.

Sigh, I will never get over this little foreshadow. The poetry, the romantism, the idea of dreams. This little paragraph will always be one of my favorites written lines in this entire novel. The idea that a new lover can enchant Sansa and bring back all her childhood dreams after all the pain and sorrow that she went through. And again, the dream involves Winterfell….

When Sansa opened her eyes again, she was on her knees. She did not remember falling. It seemed to her that the sky was a lighter shade of grey. Dawn, she thought. Another day. Another new day. It was the old days she hungered for. Prayed for. But who could she pray to? The garden had been meant for a godswood once, she knew, but the soil was too thin and stony for a weirwood to take root. A godswood without gods, as empty as me.

And then she goes to work, once she starts playing with the snow she wonders what she would like to build…

The snow fell and the castle rose. Two walls ankle-high, the inner taller than the outer. Towers and turrets, keeps and stairs, a round kitchen, a square armory, the stables along the inside of the west wall. It was only a castle when she began, but before very long Sansa knew it was Winterfell. She found twigs and fallen branches beneath the snow and broke off the ends to make the trees for the godswood.

For the gravestones in the lichyard she used bits of bark. Soon her gloves and her boots were crusty white, her hands were tingling, and her feet were soaked and cold, but she did not care. The castle was all that mattered. Some things were hard to remember, but most came back to her easily, as if she had been there only yesterday. The Library Tower, with thesteep stonework stair twisting about its exterior. The gatehouse, two huge bulwarks, the arched gate between them, crenellations all along the top . . .

Again, in the past chapter we had Jon dreaming on rebuilding Winterfell, having a family, marrying for love. In the follow chapter we have Sansa literally rebulding Winterfell with the help of “Snow”. She longs for her old days, the days of her childhood. This for me was always one of the strongest foreshadows of their romance and future.

So thats it. I can not wait to see more chapters in the future, if we ever get to see THE WINDS OF WINTER. Some may ask, but what about Sansa marriage to Tyrion???? well, that was not a proposal, Sansa was just forced into that marriage, just like Jon was forced into consummating his relationship with Ygritte. I shall write about Jon and Sansa parallels in the future too, it's insane how similar their storylines are.

#jon x sansa #jonsa #sansa stark #jon and sansa #jonsa is endgame #actually jonsa

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theharrowing · 2 years ago

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An Ghealach

Field Linguist Jimin Park travels to a remote island called An Ghealach off the coast of Ireland to research and document an endangered language, just in time for the community’s Beltane festivities. What he encounters is both horrifying and mesmerizing beyond his wildest dreams.

🌑 Jimin x Female Reader 🌒 word count: 9k 🌓 speculative horror, gore, major character death, dub con, smut, nsfw, 21+ 🌔 warnings: 🕊 dead dove! creepy folk horror themes (shapeshifting, human sacrifice), unable to tell dreams from reality, gore (mention of entrails, mention of bleeding someone dry, cutting palm and drinking/smearing blood), dubious consent (use of magic to put into a trance & coerce), angst, infidelity (mention of an engagement), smut (voyeurism & exhibitionism, oral & vaginal sex, a bit of ass eating, rough sex, holding of throat, blood licking, a little biting, forest sex, a need to be cum inside of), nickname "pet", major character cloning & off-screen death. 🌕 note: hello, and welcome to my fun little Beltane horror fic! appearance of reader in this fic shifts, and is therefore described. sometimes she has pale skin, other times dark, purposefully left vague aside from hair and occasionally eye detail. this story is a bit rushed because of yoongi concert week and final exams happening in the same month; i had a lot of ideas, but the time just kept creeping up and up and up, and here we are, at the end of May!

🌖 i also made a lot of shit up in terms of the magic, left a lot of shit vague, and did not worry much about whether things make any sense, so...go into this with a grain of salt; this is not meant to reflect any real Beltane rites or rituals, even if certain things (like the maypole) sound familiar. it is also not meant to depict a real place or a real dialect of a language. the Gaelic words are meant to feel wrong and strange because this place is wrong and strange. (a friend of mine who is Irish & a linguist helped me with the words; i promise you, the intent is to feel wrong.) enjoy!

🌗 mc goes by the name Rí; Jimin's pov appears in italic paragraphs

🌘 written for A Spring Offering Collab! check out the other works! 🌑 beta read by @neoneunnajimin 🌒posted may. 2023 | read on ao3

Cross his heart, hope to die Hang his entrails, bleed him dry

He is Here. He is here. Heard, have you? He is here.

The women of the island chirp and coo at one another, heads tilted inward, as if sharing a profound secret. Their voices are low but lilted with excitement, and the language in which they whisper is old – nearly extinct.

Your footfalls crunch through grass that has hardly seen rain – unseasonably dry, despite the air holding onto a thick, shrouding dampness. Soon, the sun will stay risen for more than eight hours, and, if this summer is bountiful, the clouds will open up and shower your island with abundance.

Seen the man, have you? They whisper, unused to men from outside the confines of the island; unused to skin darker than porcelain. No outsider has stepped foot permanently on this land since your father had, all those years ago; only mysterious strangers who last as long as the holiday allows.

Strange, his name is. They whisper. And the sun, his skin shines with deep hints of its rays.

"Girls," you call in a tongue that whisps through your lips, wind fluttering between delicate petals, ancient. "Our manners, let us not forget."

"Our manners, Rí," the women respond in a chorus, pulling their expressions straight, only to begin giggling the moment they think you are no longer listening.

Bright orange hair falls in tight curls to your shoulders, which are exposed to the sunlight. You wear a white long-sleeve chemise that rests mid-bicep and is tied loosely in the front over perky cleavage. Your emerald green bodice sits under-breast and opens to a long emerald skirt that falls to your bare feet over a hoop skirt made of layers of cloth.

Your girls are dressed much more simply in white chemise dresses and underpants. Some wear modest green or burgundy bodice dresses, and some wear plain white or black cloth shoes.

The propellers on the white aquatic plane whirr as you approach, and you hear two male voices speaking loudly over its engine. One man, dressed head-to-toe in a white pilot uniform, docks with the help of four of your women, and he exits the small aircraft.

After a pause, another man appears wearing a tan blazer over a white tee that is tucked into fitted blue jeans, with a black leather belt and black boots. Around his neck, a white kerchief is tied, and his hair is coiffed delicately off his forehead, casting a beautiful wave of silvery-blond that hardly blows in the winds coming from the sea. He looks as if he is dressed for a weekend getaway to somewhere far more exotic than here, and you find it absolutely adorable. He is more petit than you anticipated – average height and slender – but what stands out the most is the man's face.

Even from this distance, the man is breathtaking. His full lips pout as he straightens himself out, and he seems surprised and apologetic when the girls begin to assist with his things, pulling suitcases from the plane.

At his shocked expression and attempts to communicate with precious creatures who do not speak a common tongue, you make your way forward, holding your many skirts in hand so your feet do not trip. As soon as you approach and begin to shout to the girls to be careful, the man's eyes lift, lips part, and you watch the moment he notices you, deeply breathing in and holding it while you speak.

"Girls, girls," you call in the ancient tongue, "handle gently."

As his things are brought to the pier, the man begins to organize them. Everything is on wheels, and he must deem a certain suitcase more important than the others, taking it by its extending handle and dragging it to dry land first. There is a short set of steps between the path and the pier, and you walk down and reach a hand out to offer help.

"Thank you," the man mutters, seemingly uncertain whether you are one of the many who do not speak English.

"You must be Jimin Park," you say, reaching for the handle and watching as recognition and relief paint his pretty features.

Up close, Jimin is a thing out of fairytales. Wide, dark eyes glance curiously at the landscape, and each curve of his face is soft and delicate, despite his profile being sharp lines. An anomaly of beauty, carved with careful hands.

Jimin guesses at your name and you nod, flashing a sweet, welcoming smile – you had been the one corresponding with him before his arrival. He must relax, because as you begin to tug for his suitcase to lift it up the three short wooden steps, his hold loosens, and he eventually allows you to take it, only letting his gaze linger a moment before he turns to grab more of his things.

You help him with his belongings – four black cases in total – and each of you take two to wheel down the dirt path past the open field, along the edge of the woods that peeks out into the village, to the inn that sits ahead, to the left. Although your home is in the woods, you have prepared a room in the inn, sharing a wall with Jimin.

The village is quaint. There are a few homes at the far end of the walk, along a stretch of foothills. A town hall rests between the homes and the inn, and there is a small store room holding onto all imported wares, farmed goods, and hunted items. To the right is all forest until the cliffs open up to the vast ocean, and on the other side of the wood, village elders live out their days, never minding what you and girls do on this side, so long as their bellies stay full and hearths stay ablaze.

"Have you lived here your entire life?" Jimin asks slowly, annunciating each word with precision. There is a hint of his own accent giving the English a very pretty lilt.

"Nearly," you respond, eyes slowly wandering from the inn, sweeping the small hints of village that come into view, landing on the forest. "My parents arrived when I was little, but my mother was born here. The island is in my blood."

"And you are the only person here who speaks English?" Jimin asks, voice a bit shaky and hesitant.

As you turn to gauge his expression, you find hints of anxiety. You wonder if Jimin is not the kind of person who likes to seek the help of others; if, perhaps, you will have to be assertive in offering assistance with everything he may need.

"I am," you respond with a smile, "which means you and I are going to become quite well acquainted, Jimin Park."

Over dinner on the first night, Jimin opens up about growing up in South Korea and attending university both at home, and in the United States. As girls come to fill your plates with more cured meats, he notices that they call you Rí.

Jimin is an inquisitive fellow, whose pretty dark eyes are wide and curious – and somewhat glossy after two cups of honey wine – and you smile with feigned shyness, nodding your head demurely when he asks you about the nickname.

"It means king," you tell him with a grin.

"Ah," Jimin responds with a growing smile of his own. "So are you their king?"

With a chuckle, you shrug and say, "I suppose I am. We have elders but they live on another part of the island. I'm the one who takes care of the girls."

"And the hunting and farming?" Jimin asks.

"Much of our bounty is from the autumn equinox," you admit shyly, vaguely. "We had an abundant winter."

"Wow," Jimin responds curiously. "Good weather last year?"

It was luck that two cops came snooping around the island just before Samhain; their blood was the perfect offering to the old gods. With their entrails strung up, dangling from the trees, and slowly drip-draining into the grass below, the skies shined favorably through the cold season, and wild animals practically skittered and galloped happily into your traps.

"Yes," you respond simply, smiling fondly at the memory of the two transmuted squirrels who were sent home in the men's stead with nothing to report on but normal goings-on, on the island.

Magic of that caliber works best on the holidays, when the passages are open and the power from the other side covers your island like a rich fog, sparking it to life with intrinsic energy. A shame you used that power to create two men of the law, but the last thing your little homestead needs is more blue-capped guards snooping around for their missing men.

With the perfect specimen for this year's festival sitting beside you, your excitement shimmers, vibrating under your skin and making the air around you feel charged. You had hoped that, being as young as he is, you would be sent someone without a spouse, making it easier to fall under your spell – buying you a little time before having to clone the poor guy and send him back.

A shame that this season's sacrifice not only comes with a gold engagement band around his finger, but is so dreadfully pretty that you almost lament the thought of watching the light drain from his eyes.

But the land is hungry, and feed, she must.

“Cross his heart, hope to die. Hang his entrails…will he have pretty entrails, do you think?” you sing-song, lifting a handsome red squirrel in both hands, holding it eye-level to inspect. It had come to your window at the stroke of midnight, cheery and pliant.

An offering from the land.

A host.

“What a shame I can’t just keep him for myself,” you muse, considering the fact that you were able to transmute two men before. “Perhaps I will have to make a second clone, this time. Can you bring me a friend?”

The sound of thumping is what wakes Jimin up. At first, he thinks it may be a tree branch tap, tap, tapping against the window. But as sleep falls away to wakefulness, he realizes the sound must be coming from the other side of the wall.

Your wall.

Falling asleep was difficult, in the first place. Something about the island, and especially the inn, feels incredibly ominous, like there is a presence looming just out of the peripheral, never fully seen. And the scent that you carry – spiced cloves and fresh bouquet of wildflowers – lingered in the air, filling his head with thoughts of you.

Now, as he blinks through the darkness, he wonders if he had slept a wink, at all.

Jimin rolls over, attempting to ignore the sounds in favor of getting more sleep, noticing in his brief moment of wakefulness that it is still pitch black outside. But then he hears it…humming…low and inviting, causing all the little hairs on his arms to stand at attention.

Somewhat mindlessly, Jimin pushes the thick quilted blanket away and climbs out of bed, heavy-lidded and barely aware of his surroundings in the mostly-empty room. Golden lantern light glows in through the window, allowing him to see ahead of him just enough to make a clear path toward the sound.

In his dreamy haze, Jimin imagines voices whispering – beckoning him forward. Come to me, they say, tangling and slipping over one another, mostly incomprehensible flits of lips, teeth, and tongue, spoken too softly to truly be fully heard.

Jimin places his hands against the wall, presses his ear against the wood, and listens. The humming continues, muffled delicately by the layers that separate it from him. Is it Rí, he wonders.

As he continues to listen, his eyelids flutter closed. The thumping sound is rhythmic and soft, and the humming has shifted into something more sensual. Moaning, perhaps? Whimpering, even? He feels entranced by it and presses harder against the wall, feeling the cool wood against his cheek gradually heat, until his breath huffs out sticky-warm against it.

Come to me, Jimin, he is certain he hears in a voice that can only be yours. Don't be shy.

He feels drunk and loose-limbed, rubbery and pliant, and he sways his hips to the inviting song, dragging his blunt fingernails over the wall. The humming – the moaning – it intensifies, drawing his breath ragged, forcing small sounds of his own to come falling past his lips. His body feels electric – charged with a current that runs ultraviolet through his bloodstream, desperate for more, picking up hints of spiced clove and musky floral notes.

With a crescendo of whimpers, the thumping quickens and abruptly ends, and Jimin gasps, waking from his stupor, stumbling listlessly from the wall and wiping drool from his face. His head feels hazy as he blinks and turns, taking in the dark room and wondering what kind of dream he was just having.

In the quietude of the night, he stands still and listens. Had he imagined hearing something before? Was it all a dream? Only the scent of the trees below his cracked-open window fills the space, but he inhales deeply in search of something more.

Silence settles, heavy but somehow light, and he sighs, runs a hand through his damp silver-blond hair, and returns to the bed, trying his best to ignore the ache in his pants – hard and neglected.

"Not tonight," he whispers, scolding himself. Not over the thought of you. Not when he has someone waiting for him back home.

"Sleep well?" you ask at the sight of Jimin exiting the inn.

He wears a black tee tucked into black fitted jeans, with his black belt and shiny black leather boots, and you smile to yourself, both over the simplicity of it all, and from how much he stands out in a place like this.

Although denim is not frowned upon in the village, and is worn often by the elders on the other side of the island, the girls love to dress up in renaissance-reminiscent clothing and make believe that every day is a fairytale. After all, on An Ghealach, it can be.

You are modestly outfitted in a white chemise dress that is cinched at the waist, with an undershirt to hold your breasts in place, and simple cloth white shoes. Your straight, black hair falls waist-length, braided intricately away from your face, letting the sun hit your deep-golden skin.

"I slept alright," he responds, voice rough from disuse.

Jimin smiles softly, and you check for any glimmer that he has noticed the shifting of your appearance, of the outside of the inn, of the stone path that stretches around the forest edge. When Jimin smiles and asks if there is anything he can do to help set up for Beltane, seemingly unaware, you nod and lead the way.

"All there is to do today is prepare the land, which the girls have under control," you inform. "We can discuss phonemes in the meantime, if you have your equipment handy.”

With a wide smile, Jimin pulls a small recording device and notebook from his back pocket and holds them up. "Always prepared."

You chuckle and mutter, "Perfect," continuing along the path to the field where the girls are cutting the grass with old, metal devices on wheels, and gathering all the prettiest weeds and wildflowers to fashion into crowns.

Jimin makes good company, curious and open-minded without asking too much. You can see in the way he watches the girls that there is so much he would like to know – can read each question that flits over his eyes, only to be blinked away. Where did they come from? Why do none of them speak English? Where are the men? These are questions that just hang for brief seconds at the tip of his tongue but that he never works up the courage to ask.

Perhaps he knows it is best not to know. Perhaps some part of him is aware of the horrors that might lurk behind the corner of posing one question too many.

The two of you spend the day discussing vowels, consonants, and syntax. His grasp on modern dialects of Irish Gaelic is enough that he instantly begins to draw similarities between those and the older language spoken on the island.

And as the sun moves from burning hot overhead to sinking beneath the horizon, moving your studies into the inn's tavern, you find yourself scooting close on the bench while offering more honey wine to your eager, beautiful guest.

Jimin has never sleepwalked before. In fact, he tends to lay so still that often, his neck and limbs are sore the next morning, popping as he stretches in an attempt to get the blood flowing adequately.

So when he opens his eyes to find himself standing barefoot in the woods, hands outstretched toward the trunk of a tree, he yelps and jumps backward, nearly fumbling to his butt.

“What the fuck,” Jimin mutters to himself as he glances around, eyes becoming more alert.

The woods are nearly pitch dark, save for the bright glow of the waxing gibbous moon shining through the trees. What luck, he thinks, that the clouds are scarce tonight.

Although there is no foreseeable path, the ground appears mostly clear of thick brush. Jimin turns and makes his way out, careful not to step too hard, gently shuffling his bare feet outward with each step, avoiding sticks and rocks as best as he can.

Fear simmers just below Jimin’s skin. He attempts not to spiral, telling himself that he could not have possibly walked far. His blue flannel pajamas are warm, but thin enough that the chilly night air would likely have woken him quickly. And so, onward he presses.

A flickering yellow flame glows through trees ahead, just to the left, and Jimin lets out a deep sigh of relief as he changes course. Although he is pleased to be making his way back to civilization, his new worry is being disruptive as he walks back through the old, creaky inn. He does not want to disturb Rí, who he imagines must be asleep at this hour.

Despite the island being mostly covered in dense forest, the night is surprisingly quiet. Eerily so. Even in the daytime, insects and rodents are lively to the point of seeming cacophonous. How is it possible for everything to be so…still?

The sound of a particularly loud stick snapping – not underfoot but ahead – has Jimin tensing and freezing with fear. He holds his breath while his shoulders raise to his ears, trying his hardest not to be detected, until smoked clove hits his senses, and—

“Jimin!” you call softly, certain that his fear has spiked nearby, radiating like heavy, bright fumes between the birch trees.

And then you hear it, a soft, delicate voice, calling a tentative, “Rí?”

Ah, so the pretty thing is just ahead, and your plan to at least get him into the woods has worked without a hitch. You wonder what it was that snapped him out of his trance too soon. Next time, you think to yourself. You still have one more night to get him into the passage of his own volition.

“What are you doing out here?” you ask, feigning worry and exasperation.

“Ah—“ Jimin begins, voice sounding somewhat closer. “I don’t know. I must have been sleepwalking.”

“Is that something you do often?” you ask, holding the lamp higher.

Jimin’s pretty face comes into view, peeking from between a thin birch that separates you, and you smile wide and welcome, taking in the blend of fear and affection that wafts from his pores and surrounds you.

“No,” he responds softly, eyes wide and curious. “Never.”

“Strange,” you mutter, momentarily stuck in time and space from him standing so close to someone so dreadfully beautiful.

“Yeah,” he says soft as a whisper, blinking heavily before standing straight and rounding the tree.

You also straighten out and take two steps backward to give him room. When Jimin appears before you, your eyes drop to his bare feet, and you frown, making a mental note for the next time.

With skin shades darker and hair shorter than earlier, you wonder if Jimin catches onto the new appearance. But his face gives nothing away. So the spell is just as strong, even if he broke the call of the other side just before entering the passage. Interesting.

“How did you find me out here?” Jimin asks as you turn and lead the way back to the inn, searching the shifted dirt path for a believable excuse.

You slowly lead the way toward the inn, and Jimin quickly falls into step beside you. When you walked outside to follow your guest just moments ago, you had left doors open and lights on intentionally, and you raise a hand to point in the general direction of the building.

“I came out of my room and your bedroom door was wide open," you say. "The front door, as well. So I grabbed a lantern and ran outside; I figured you could not have gone too far.”

“Oh,” he responds, already sounding ashamed even from one syllable. “I’m so sorry.”

With an insistent shake of your head, you say, “Not at all. I am just glad I found you.”

“What if an animal, or—“ Jimin begins, but you cut him off.

“There is nothing on this island that we fear. Closed doors are only such to keep the cool air out where it belongs. In the temperate months, doors and windows are left wide open.”

You are the witch of the wood, after all. Nothing that lives and breathes on this isle exhibits an ounce of free will if you wish it otherwise. Which reminds you… Slowly, you will the creatures of the night to stir – a scurry here and a dance of wings there – gentle enough to keep Jimin from noticing.

Except he does notice. You can practically feel each hair on his body stand at attention the moment a squirrel is heard clawing up a tree, and you take a step just a little too far to the right, bumping into him softly with the hope of providing a bit of a distraction.

"S-sorry," Jimin mutters, rubbing his hands on his blue pajamas. He seems nervous. Cute.

"Lost my balance," you respond, shaking your head with a gentle chuckle. "It is past bedtime, I am afraid."

"Sorry again for the trouble," Jimin says as you reach the inn, passing through the threshold and stopping just at the foot of the stairs.

You turn to Jimin and give a soft, sympathetic gaze.

"It is no trouble at all," you mutter sweetly, smile saccharine. "I'm just glad I was able to find you."

Jimin hums, nods, and says, "It won't happen again," with a light bow of his head, then makes his way up the stairs, dirt-dusted feet falling quietly on each step until he is down the hallway, past your room, and closing his door softly behind him.

The look of wonderment on Jimin's face really is something. As you walk through the small town, past the stretch of woods in which you found him last night, he keeps turning his gaze back to the trees. Is he wondering what it is he was doing there when he woke up from sleepwalking? Is he curious what drew him to that spot?

You watch his micro-expressions as his brows knit and he wets his lower lip with just the tip of his tongue. He had been mid-sentence before, trailing off the moment you approached the spot through which he emerged.

Jimin's gaze drifts to you, and he seems shy suddenly, cracking a soft smile while blush rises to his cheeks. Once you pass the wooded area and come up to the opening of the field, he seems a little more present.

"Sorry," he mutters, and you continue to study him, noticing how his shyness seems to steadily build the more you watch him.

"Has something caught your eye?" you ask, glancing over your shoulder toward the line of trees.

A dark mist pulsates between the slender, white and brown trunks and branches, beckoning with tendrils that billow out and evaporate – yearning for the pretty man with the soft smile. Soon, you want to tell it. Be patient.

"Ah," Jimin mutters, scratching the back of his head with his face scrunched as if searching for a memory. "I guess I feel a little strange about sleepwalking last night. How did I end up in the woods, of all places?"

You hum in understanding and say, "The wood calls to us all, I suppose."

Without giving Jimin much time to dwell on your words, you hold out your hand and point him to where, in the center of the open field, some of the girls are setting up a maypole, and others are building a tall triangle of logs in the center of a stone circle.

Jimin takes out his small recording device and field notebook, and you begin to describe the scene before you in a mix of English and the ancient tongue, carrying your studies through the evening and into the early night.

In the woods again.

Jimin stares down at his hands covered in dirt and wonders how he has managed to sleepwalk two nights in a row. He stands with his shoulders slumped forward, bent slightly at the knee with an arm outstretched as if he was reaching for something before waking up. In front of him is the u-shaped opening between two thick tree trunks. Or is it the same tree? Jimin cannot quite tell – too difficult to parse in the dark – and he tucks the information away to ask Rí about later.

He would be freaked out, only the smell of the wood – rich, earthy, and damp, with the sweet, musky smell of blooming flowers – feels calming now that he is confident that he can find his way back. He takes a deep breath and resists the urge to wipe his hands on his pajama pants.

The walk back to the inn is short, and although there is no path where he is, a golden lantern glow flickering past the thin birch trunks guides him. As twigs snap underfoot, he notes that he took the time to put his sneakers on before sleepwalking, relieved to not be barefoot again.

Jimin thinks he can hear faint sounds of voices – whispering, or, perhaps, chattering. Maybe singing. The island inhabitants certainly are an interesting bunch. He supposes that being far from modern civilization and with minimal technology would make people behave a little strangely. With Rí being the exception.

Something about you seems…different. And not just because of your appearance. There is an aura about you that feels almost otherworldly. Perhaps in the way you carry yourself. Jimin finds himself intrigued by you...he wants to know more…

"Right there," you sigh in a tongue as rich and ancient as the soil, tilting your head back to reveal more of your neck, switching to English. "Feels so good, little pet. Don't stop."

His kisses are tentative and shaky, but he grips onto your hips with purpose, pressing his chest firmly against your back to hold you steady. Golden lantern light flickers through the curtains, one long, bright glow of a lamp that hangs just below your window, signaling that your friend is awake and that he has not entered the passage.

The woods are calm tonight, seeing Jimin swiftly return to tilled earth without interference. It is only a matter of time before he breaks through the forest edge, and you huff impatiently. Tomorrow is your last shot; you will need to beckon him with a blood ritual.

You reach for the ties on your chemise and begin to pull them open, but your pet takes over, raising his hands to deftly do the work while his lips and teeth drag over your neck, sending a small but steady tingle of arousal through you as the sticky-sweet huffs of breath warm your skin. With the top undone, his hands freeze in place, and you yank the fabric open, exposing your breasts as they fall past the thin white material.

"Touch me," you sigh, needy. "Touch me the way he desires to."

On your command, his hands cup your breasts eagerly, fondling your nipples until the skin is pebbled and sensitive, making you hiss with pleasure. Your dress falls down one shoulder and he sinks his teeth gently into the skin, sending a flow of electricity through your body, exiting in the form of a moan.

You tremble and tilt your head further to the side, giving his mouth more room to explore while his hands fall lower, attempting to gently lift the cotton layers of skirt and farthingale hoops before impatiently taking handfuls of the garments and shoving them up, over your hips.

Clear of the woods, Jimin moseys along the path, in no rush to return to his room, enjoying the crisp but warm night air. Something about tonight feels ominous, and he tips his head toward the sky, noticing a bright moon shining back. Is it full, he wonders. It must be, given the way it glows past the thin sheets of cloud, illuminating his path even more so than the lantern light that hangs from the inn.

As he approaches the inn, Jimin glances up, noticing light coming from one of the windows on the second floor. He wonders if it is the room you stay in, and what you might be doing awake at this hour.

Gravel and dirt crunch underfoot, quiet and calming as he walks down the path. Shadows seem to dance over the window above, and Jimin finds himself gazing upward. Briefly, he thinks he sees the appearance of palms pressing into the window, halting his steps. But the glass is frosted, and he cannot clearly see through.

Shame travels up Jimin's neck as he gets his bearings, realizing he had been trying to peer through someone's window. He shakes his head and takes in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool night air as he presses forward.

Voices continue to chatter and sing, but Jimin does not see where they are coming from. Rather, the sounds seem to be lifting and floating with the wind, settling around him on all sides only to slip away into the night. Despite feeling fully awake mere moments ago, shivering against a chilly gust that blows his hair into his eyes, there is a heavy sense of drowsiness that begins to tug at him, pulling him forward, as if willing his feet to take each new step, craving his bed.

The man behind you grips your hips tightly, then sinks to his knees, sliding his hands down to your ass as he lowers. He grabs firmly and spreads you, causing you to fumble forward and place both hands against the glass. Below, Jimin glances upward, attention caught by the movement. You wonder what he would think if he saw you like this – breasts exposed and mouth parted with surprise.

Perhaps it is the way eagerness and curiosity emit from Jimin, or how your own excitement from being touched has mewls and gasps falling from your lips, but the man digs his tongue eagerly into your ass, slurping and sucking over your hole, sending a steady wave pleasure and arousal coursing through you.

"That's it, pet," you whimper, nails scraping down the glass as you get your bearings. "Don't stop."

The man attempts to bend you further, tongue trailing down to your cunt, in search of your clit, but bending more would be too precarious, especially with the layers of material gathered, making it tough to move. He shuffles back instead and takes you by the hips to spin you roughly, causing you to yelp as you attempt to get your bearings and not fall over.

When you look down at the man – the imposter that was spawned from the flesh and blood of a mature red squirrel, crafted perfectly to look just like him – you gasp.

His plump lips are slick, glistening, and soft, reddened by the dim lamplight, and his short, silver-blond hair is a mess as he stares up with an eagerness that has you burning with desire. Ordinarily, you keep the clone for a bit; play with them a little until you have to wash their memories of you and send them home. But staring down at an imitation of Jimin just makes you want him – the real deal.

“Please,” you mutter, breathy and aroused. “Don’t hold back.”

The imposture rakes his blunt fingernails up your thighs, sending a shiver through you that escapes with a gasp, and he leans forward, eagerly lapping over your cunt with his tongue. It feels charged and galvanic – a hum that vibrates in your bloodstream on a low but steady frequency.

As your head lolls back you hear a gentle footfall on the bottom step.

Jimin finds it odd that your light is on at this hour. He hopes that somehow his absence from the inn has not awakened you again, and he does his best to tiptoe up to the landing.

It is soft, but he hears what sounds like a moan coming from your room, and he freezes, foot suspended in air just before your doorway, which is cracked open two enticing inches. A sliver of golden light casts a streak against the otherwise dark hallway, and Jimin feels a pull to it, eager to have just a tiny peek.

A whimper of the words please don't stop has the hairs on his arms standing tall.

Come to me, Jimin, he thinks he hears the voice say lowly, inside his head. Don't be shy.

Jimin wills his feet to move – exerts all the force he can muster into taking three more steps ahead. And then he stops in the light that shines from within, and he looks.

Surely, he must be dreaming. There is no other way to explain how he is standing in the doorway to your room, watching as a man who has his exact same hair and body type devours you. Your legs are spread, one ankle over his shoulder, toes outstretched as you hold him close, and your bare breasts heave as you pant softly and beg him not to stop.

Since this must be a dream, he allows himself to watch. As your fingernails dig into the wooden edge of whatever the look-alike has you pressed against, you unravel from his mouth. His sounds are lewd and wet, slurping and humming in a low tenor that Jimin recognizes as his own, and arousal stirs between Jimin's legs. He grants himself permission to touch, just this once, gently grasping onto his erection and squeezing it over his pants.

Since this must be a dream, he allows himself to whimper from the warmth of his palm, eyelids flitting from pleasure as he listens to the man who looks just like him eat you out. He wonders what you must taste like – wonders if you would let him crawl in there on his hands and knees and try for himself.

The man stands, turns his head slightly to the side, and wipes his hand over his mouth, leaving a trail of slick behind. The jaw, the nose, the shape of the brow – he is a spitting image of Jimin. How Jimin is in two places at once, he does not know, but he keeps his eye on the man who undresses in a flash, displaying his own tattoos exactly where he remembers them, flexing familiar taut muscle that he has spent years building and maintaining.

When you wrap your leg around his hip and pull him close, your eyes find Jimin, gazing over his look-alike's shoulder, and he gasps, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. You shift before his eyes, hair turning black and then orange and then blonde, and he begins to question how you are supposed to look; he cannot remember your hair, nor eyes, nor skin, but nothing he sees now feels incorrect.

"That's it, Jimin," you moan, eyes trained on him, looking over the look-alike's shoulder, and causing his aching cock to twitch in his pants. "Don't stop."

Jimin squeezes his eyes closed tight, and when he wakes up suddenly in his bed, he gasps for air, covered in sweat. The heat from what he presumes had to be a dream covers him like a blanket, and he cannot stop himself from relieving the ache between his legs.

Guilt and shame do nothing to stave off just how hard he cums thinking about you.

"Just this once," he tells himself, whispered softly like a prayer. "Just this once."

Today, you have returned to the long, orange curls, with piercing green eyes. Shadow and light morph your skin tone with each passing step, as the full strength of the island's magic fills you from the crown of your head to the tips of your fingers and toes. When Whitman waxed poetic about the body electric, could this have been his meaning? Certainly not.

Beltane begins today.

Around the maypole, you and Jimin will dance, with a belly full of cured meats and a heady concoction of honey wine laced with blood and a generous dash of magic. But first, you must greet your sleepy guest, and you tiptoe to his bedroom door dressed only in a thin, white chemise dress with light blue embroidered hems, and rap your knuckles three times against the stained wood.

"Just a moment," Jimin mutters from the other side, sounding sleep deprived.

What must he have dreamt about after stumbling like a lust-sick zombie back to his bed to the sight and sound of his clone fucking you breathless? Did he come to in a cold sweat, gasping for air? Did he touch himself thinking of you?

When Jimin opens his door, he is dressed in a loose-fitting white cotton shirt hanging over matching cotton pants. Along each hem is an embroidered design of light blue rounded flourishes that match those on your dress, and on his feet are plain white shoes. You offered the clothing to him last night, to be worn for today's festivities, and you are pleased to find him outfitted in the attire.

His silver-blond hair is somewhat disheveled, and he has a hint of bags under his pretty, deep brown eyes. As he takes in your appearance, his petal-soft lips part, and you watch as his eyes linger here and there, as if tracing the faint outline of a memory, for split, fleeting moments.

"Good morning, sunshine," you tease, adding, "May the fires of Beltane light your path," with a gentle bow of your head.

When you glance up once more, Jimin is still staring, curious eyes glowing with a new spark that seems entranced and somewhat foggy. Here but also not. You allow him to stare until he begins to blink and shake his head, and then he smiles softly and returns your greeting with a hint of blush darkening his cheeks.

"Merry Beltane, Rí," he says with a slight bow to his head. "May the fires of Beltane light your path."

At the breakfast table, down in the decorated inn tavern, Jimin laments having no pockets for his recorder and field notebook. "What if there are things I want to make note of?" he pouts so cutely beside you.

"Today is a day for celebration," you insist, dropping a generous serving of spiced honey into his tea and scraping the wooden spoon against the porcelain just enough to make Jimin stir where he sits.

"For celebration," he responds in a tired, malleable haze.

Lust and curiosity pour from Jimin, covering him in a rich cloud. Each time you speak, his body shifts ever so slightly closer, gaze lingering on your lips and throat, flitting down to your breasts. Shameless, the way he does not seem to care that you take notice.

"My dear, did you sleep poorly last night?" you ask, trying not to tease, pretending not to notice the way his cheeks darken further and he heavy-blinks again and again.

"I had a dream I woke up in the woods again," Jimin responds, slowly reaching for his tea and raising it to his lips. His eyes flutter closed as he breathes in the sweetened chamomile and spice. "And then…you were there."

"In the woods?" you ask, tilting your head with feigned curiosity.

Jimin shakes his head. "In the inn. Your door was cracked open and I walked by. I saw you—"

Pulled from his trance just enough to mind his tongue, Jimin cracks a soft smile and lets out a breathy chuckle.

"My dreams have never quite been so lucid before," he continues after a quiet moment.

You hum in response and mutter, "Perhaps the magic of the wood is calling to you."

Jimin nods, slow and shallow movements, brows knitting a hair before he concedes to the notion. "Perhaps."

Jimin certainly is an eager man.

Eager to drink from the wineskins and learn all the steps to the harvest dance and dangle colorful ribbons from nearby trees. Eager to join the girls around the maypole and cast his wishes and fears and desires into the tall bonfire which licks at the stars above.

At nightfall, under the glow of the full moon, you slice open the palm of your hand with a stone dagger and allow droplets of blood to fall into his cup of magic-imbued wine. Jimin sits unaware, eyes glazed over as he watches nude bodies jump over the dying fire. You lick over your wound, tasting brassy warmth, and pass him his cup, which he grabs automatically to sip from.

"Enjoying yourself?" you ask, leaning close.

Jimin hums in response, downs his cup, and turns to you with wide, ever-eager eyes, hair sticking out on the sides from beneath a daisy crown.

"What have you done to me?" he mutters after a long moment, and you giggle in reply.

"What do you mean?" you ask, watching as his eyes travel to your lips and back up.

"I feel…" he begins, eyes widening as he gazes at the celebratory scene before him, then back at you again. "I don't know. High?"

Jimin searches your features, which shift in the flickering flame light, and he shakes his head lightly. "How do I feel so high?"

"Blood ritual," you respond with a grin, noticing as Jimin's face and scent alternate between fear, acceptance, and confusion – unsure where to land.

"Blood ritual?" he asks, tilting his head to the side like a confused puppy.

With a nod, you lift your hand and begin to stand from the wooden bench, beckoning Jimin to follow you with your index finger. Blood trickles down from your palm to your wrist, tickling the skin.

"Your hand," Jimin mutters as he stands in a rush, stepping forward to inspect your wound.

"Follow me," you sing-song, taking large strides into the wood as the dripping red begins to stain your sleeve.

"Rí," Jimin mutters sadly, following dutifully with his eyes trained to your wrist, reaching out with limbs that are just slightly too slow to grasp. "you're hurt."

As your footfalls snap twigs and the world around you darkens under the cover of trees and long rainbow ribbons, you press yourself against a thick trunk and reach your uninjured hand out to grab onto Jimin's wrist and pull him close.

"Rí," Jimin pouts, "I can't—"

With a whispered, "Shh," you reach up and smear your spilled blood over Jimin's lips and chin, pulling a surprised gasp from his lungs.

"You're mine now," you say, and Jimin nods as he lunges forward, slotting a knee between your thighs as his hands lift to your chin to draw you close.

Jimin's lips are pillow-soft and tangy-sweet with blood and wine mingling deliciously. He moans as you open your mouth for him, and he eagerly licks inside, tasting and taking like a man starved.

Blood smears across his neck and into his hair as you pull him close, and he gasps and moans between your lips as his hands begin to untie your modest cloth dress and push it down past your arms, past your hips, to the forest floor.

"Need you," Jimin growls as his fingertips press harshly into hips and, waist and he lifts one of your legs to rest over his hip.

He shoves his pants down and in one swift movement, spears you on his hard cock, stretching you with a pleasure-pain that has you sobbing into the night. Jimin fucks you in a rough tangle of balanced limbs, skin slapping desperately against skin, and you clench around him, working yourself up as pleasure unfurls in rich tendrils through your bloodstream.

Once he cums inside you, there will be no going back. He will belong to you – to the land – and the passage to the other side will open up and swallow him whole.

But his hips still before he reaches his orgasm, and he pulls out and drops to his knees, making you whimper in confusion before clawing at the tree for stability from pleasure the moment he tastes you. Your eager pet was good at mimicking just how greedy and talented Jimin's mouth is, but pales in comparison to the real thing. Jimin hums and moans as his tongue laps at your cunt, devouring you while his fingertips sink into your soft flesh.

How can you sacrifice something so remarkable? Will the lands forgive you if you keep this one, just this once?

Pleasure builds and breaks suddenly, and you cum on Jimin's tongue, gasping and sobbing into the cool night air as the trees flutter and rejoice all around you. The air is effervescent, filled with power, engulfing and billowing around you, reaching its greedy fingers for your sacrifice as you ride your high, trembling on his soft, kiss-swollen lips.

When Jimin stands, covered in a pink smear of blood and your slick release, he yanks his borrowed white shirt over his head and throws it to the ground. You pull him into a kiss, sucking his tongue into your mouth until only faint traces of your essence remain.

"Please," you whine as you spin and grip onto the tree, rubbing your ass against his throbbing cock. "Please, Jimin."

Never have you needed to be filled with the seed of a sacrifice so badly; never has the oxygen coursing through your bloodstream shimmered opalescent for someone like it does tonight.

Jimin lines himself up with your entrance and wraps one hand around your throat, sinking himself in slowly while manicured fingernails dig into your hip. The pleasure is white-hot intense, quaking through you as you tilt your hips backward, desperate to feel full.

"So tight," he groans as he pulls out and snaps his hips forward. "Been wanting you so bad."

You moan as Jimin slowly pulls out and roughly thrusts in, asking, "Yeah?" when you find that no other words are able to form.

"Feels like I'm going fucking crazy," Jimin groans, slowly pulling back and roughly snapping forward, back and forward, back and forward. "These woods…the blood…what are you doing to me?"

Before you can respond, Jimin's grip on your throat tightens, and he fucks you at a rough, quick pace, forcing air to punch from your lungs as arousal and pleasure ebb and ebb endlessly.

You scratch at the tree, ripping away chunks of bark while you lean your head against your wrists and try not to collapse under the treacherous, horrifying weight of euphoria as Jimin thrusts hard and deep, filling the night with the sounds of skin against skin and feral, animalistic grunts.

The hand on your hip reaches down between your legs, and as the pads of Jimin's fingers swirl deliciously over your clit, he growls, "Cum for me" into your ear.

Your walls pulsate and squeeze, and you follow his command, building and building your pleasure until you can no longer hold back, allowing the floodgates to burst as you cum once more.

"Fuck, that's it," Jimin moans with a drag of his lips and teeth over your shoulder and neck. "Feels so good. So fucking good. I'm so close."

"Cum inside me," you beg, desperate, squeezing around him with every last ounce of willpower you have.

As if having a sudden moment of clarity pulling him from your spell, Jimin quietly mutters, "Wait…I can't," against your shoulder, dropping his hand from around your throat.

"You must," you beg, petulance rising as Jimin's hips begin to slow and his whimpers die.

"What are we…" Jimin mutters softly, "I shouldn't be doing this."

With an exasperated huff, you pull away from Jimin, letting his cock slide out, then spin, resting your back against the tree once more. Jimin's eyes are wide and afraid as he takes you in, and he begins to glance around as if searching for a way out.

You reach the hand that remains covered in blood and drag it over one of your shoulders, scraping tiny pieces of tree bark against your skin as you tilt your head and say, "Have a taste."

Drawn by the scent of your blood, still under its spell, Jimin leans in close and drags his lips over your skin, chest lightly grazing over your hard nipples, and he hums as it fully takes over his senses once more. Jimin's fingers grip roughly at your hips, and you lift your leg, wrapping it around his hips and pulling him forward as you reach for his hard, slick cock and guide it back inside you.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding him close while you adjust once more to the stretch – your pussy feeling used and sore. Jimin licks over your skin and begins to move his hips, and when he straightens out and fixes you with his dark gaze, he appears equal parts entranced with bliss, and afraid.

Jimin's eyes are somewhat absent of their full glaze when he thrusts forward, and you watch as slivers of doubt cast over his features. Although your magic is strong, the will of a man can be difficult to break, even on a holiday such as this, when the ritual is strongest.

But as you squeeze around him and let your scent of spiced clove and musky wildflowers fill the air, Jimin's pupils blow wide, and he leans forward, dragging his lips and teeth once more over your bloodstained skin.

As he sets a steady pace and chases his high, Jimin begins to suck and nip at your skin, huffing moans and groans while holding your ass firmly in two hands. Your body is tired and sore, back scratched, and hair matted from rough tree bark, but the pleasure overpowers, building like the clouds of an impending storm, thick and foreboding.

Cross his heart…

"Close," Jimin whimpers, and you tighten your leg around him, keeping him from pulling out as his hips thrust and quake unevenly.

"Come for me, Jimin," you command, sinking your fingernails into his shoulder while your other hand tugs at his soft, silvery hair and holds him close.

Hope to die…

Jimin mouths at your shoulder and neck, digging nails into your hips so hard you wonder if the skin might break. And then, with a desperate, almost pained groan, Jimin's hips still and then shake, and he fills you with his release.

Tendrils of fog wrap around each of Jimin's limbs, dancing over his throat, as the passage opens up and begins to swallow the two of you whole. Once he is on the other side, he can be prepared for sacrifice, and in the light of the morning sun, this land can drink of his blood.

Hang his entrails…

"Good boy," you mutter softly, as Jimin's teeth clamp down weakly, and he sobs through his orgasm, pressing his body into you as it convulses and quakes. "You've done so well."

"What—" Jimin mutters into your skin, then moans deeply as his cock continues to pulse and drain. "I can't s-s-stop."

"Shhh," you whisper softly, stroking blood-slicked silver-blond hair and pulling him close.

Jimin shivers as the smoke dissipates, skin sweat-sheened and shining in the bright moonlight, and you run your palms up and down his back. His body begins to give out, and he leans his weight into you, dropping slowly to the ground. Around you, the voices of the others – the inhabitants of this side – whisper, sing, and chant. As you assist Jimin to lay on the forest floor, exhausted from his journey to the other side, you kneel and then drape yourself over his chest, playing softly with his hair as you fall fast asleep.

Bleed him dry…

Dawn breaks as you stand tippy-toe, dangling dripping tissue and sinew from branch to low branch like a holiday garland.

"Pretty entrails, indeed," you beam as you take a step back, covered in dripping blood, to admire your work.

"Merry Beltane, Rí," Jimin's rich tenor greets you, just before two strong, warm arms wrap around your bare waist and pull you into a back-hug, skin against skin.

"Merry Beltane, pretty," you respond, turning your head to the side just enough to greet him with a soft, chaste kiss.

Upstairs, in the inn, a copy of the man sleeps soundly. Today is his last day on the island before his research is concluded, and you pull your nude, love-struck Jimin past the edge of the forest, where you will leave him with one last kiss before shifting the wood to appear normal and free of bloodied guts.

You bow your head to the land and thank it for the bountiful summer you will undoubtedly receive, then turn your head to the rising sun, and beg it with eyes closed to allow you to be greedy and keep a pet, just this once. At least until the long days shift to long nights, and, on the precipice of Lughnasadh or Samhain, a new eager stranger comes along.

comments & reblogs are the lifeblood of this site! and likes are nice, too! thank you so much for reading!!!

tags: no tag list for dead dove oneshots.

#jimin x reader #jimin smut #jimin horror #jimin angst #jimin scenarios #jimin fanfic #a spring offering collab #fic: an ghealach

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estrellota · 6 months ago

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RIP Crystal Palace Surname Von Hoverkraft you would have loved History of Man by Maisie Peters.

(to anyone who hasn’t heard the song, I highly recommend giving it a listen and then coming back and buckling up bc I have some Thoughts)

History of Man is a breakup song and also about, to quote Maisie herself, the generations of women “who never got to tell their own story, who had their narrative taken away from them by a man who did not deserve the pen he stole.” Sound familiar?

DBDA is a show about, among other things, the ways toxic masculinity visits harm on those who exist in proximity to it (aka everyone). Crystal puts it best when she tells Edwin and Charles “Well I guess all three of us lost our lives to boys who went too far”.

In The Case of the Two Dead Dragons, Brad and Hunter don’t just hurt Shelby and Maren, they rewrite their stories, turning themselves into victimized heroes and the girls into villains. They do terrible things to Shelby and Maren and then blame the girls for both deserving said things and for reacting/retaliating to them. This mirrors how David treats Crystal.

Throughout the show, when Crystal is (super understandably) angry about David possessing her and stealing her memories, David often retorts that Crystal asked for it/had it coming, as though being a Mean Girl somehow warrants demonic possession and literal identity theft (spoiler alert: it doesn’t). But Crystal feels and expresses a tremendous amount of guilt for having allowed David in anyways.

Now, on to lyric analysis:

The song begins by establishing that heartbreak (and the people who inflict it, boys who go too far) have existed since the dawn of time. They existed when Jericho (the first city) was founded and when Edwin was sacrificed to Hell and when Charles was pelted by rocks and when Crystal was possessed. The show points out that these stories are mirrors of each other, connecting our beloved detectives through the trauma they’ve endured (yay!).

Regarding Crystal specifically: David burnt the bridge to Crystal’s past, depriving her of what was sacred (herself).

This is the chorus and it is SO Crystal Coded!!!

As a psychic, Crystal has definitely seen things “in the poems and the sands”. Line 2 reminds me of her conversation with the Washer Woman and her desperate attempt to use something from Tragic Mick’s to get David out of her head. She’s trying so hard to rewrite (recall) her past and rewrite (change) her future. But she can’t.

She begs David for her memories back, but all he wants is her power. She’s in this mess in the first place because she genuinely loved David, and he doesn’t care. Why? It’s the history of man. Men like David (abusers) have always existed, it’s human history. But also, it’s the History of Man. Men like David have always held power, so they’ve gotten to shape the narrative, making the story about them and forcing people like Crystal (women) (and also queer ppl and pocs but for the purposes of this song, women) into the margins.

Ok so I see verse 2 as Crystal addressing David directly, dragging him for his complete lack of remorse over betraying/using/hurting her.

Samson and Delilah are biblical characters. Samson was this super strong man, and Delilah was his lover who betrayed him by cutting off his hair, thus weakening him. Delilah is generally painted as a treacherous seductress, but here the singer is commiserating with her. I think David would relate himself to Samson in this story. He genuinely believes he has a right to Crystal’s power and blames her for taking it back, making him weaker. When speaking to Crystal, he says things like “how dare you” and asks whether he “gets to be a god again”. But Crystal was right to make David weaker. He should have never gotten his grubby little hands on her power to begin with.

We’re in the home stretch now — the bridge and final chorus. I’m going to go line by line.

Line 1: This line is such a perfect fit. David stole Crystal’s youth (her time and memories) and promised heaven, trying to convince her that she needed him to save her at several points throughout the story (ex. in the Devlin attic)

Line 2: The Trojan War was a legendary conflict in Greek mythology waged by the Greeks on the city of Troy after Paris of Troy took (stole) Helen from her husband, the king of Sparta. Helen had no say in her kidnapping, and yet she was blamed for the bloody war it sparked. Similarly, Crystal is blamed for her possession and amnesia. David argues repeatedly that she invited him in, that she’s a terrible person, that she belongs to him. But also (and this is no shade to the boys don’t come for me I still love them to death) Edwin especially is super judgmental about it. While the boys quickly accept that Crystal knowing that David was a demon doesn’t make her at fault for what he did to her, I still think that initial perceptual shift is important for narrative and thematic purposes, especially since Crystal’s arc is a metaphor for toxic relationships.

Lines 3-6: Crystal is addressing David again. David is definitely threatened by the power Crystal wields, but for most of the narrative, she’s haunted by him. She hates him, but she can’t get him out of her head. He’s her great obsession.

Finally, I want to focus on the last two lines of the song, “So you'll lose me, the best you'll ever have / It's the history, the history of man”.

Because the conclusion of this story — and this is the most important part — is that Crystal wins. She gets her powers back, she gets her self back, and she buries David. In the end, David loses Crystal, the best he’ll ever have. All three of our detectives — Edwin, Charles, and Crystal — win because they get out, they escape, they break the cycle. In real life, winning probably doesn’t look like burying your demon ex under a tree in your head or throwing a Molotov cocktail at your best mate’s demon, but that’s what fiction is for. To tell us that for all that terrible men have always existed, so too have the people who beat them.

It’s the history of man.

#all this to say if anyone wants to edit crystal to history of man and tag me I’ll give them a little kiss and/or firm handshake #dead boy detectives #crystal palace #crystal palace surname von hoverkraft #maisie peters #history of man #mine

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coochiequeens · 2 months ago

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Good News for women in literature

CNN —

The 2024 Nobel Prize in literature has been awarded to Han Kang, a South Korean author, for her “intense poetic prose that confronts historical traumas and exposes the fragility of human life.”

Han, 53, began her career with a group of poems in a South Korean magazine, before making her prose debut in 1995 with a short story collection.

She later began writing longer prose works, most notably “The Vegetarian,” one of her first books to be translated into English. The novel, which won the Man Booker International Prize in 2016, charts a young woman’s attempt to live a more “plant-like” existence after suffering macabre nightmares about human cruelty.

Han is the first South Korean author to win the literature prize, and just the 18th woman out of the 117 prizes awarded since 1901. The prize, announced in Sweden on Thursday, carries a cash award of 11 million Swedish kronor ($1 million).

In a statement posted to Facebook on Thursday, South Korean President Yoon Suk Yeol described Han’s win as “a great achievement in the history of Korean literature” and a “national occasion.” He added: “Han has turned the painful scars of our modern history into great literature.”

Much of Han’s work poses the question, voiced by a character in her 2019 novel “Europa,” whose protagonist is wracked by nightmares: “If you were able to live as you desire, what would you do with your life?”

Although many of Han’s protagonists are women, her prose works are often narrated from the perspective of men.

“Before my wife turned vegetarian, I’d always thought of her as completely unremarkable in every way,” her novel “The Vegetarian” begins. “However, if there wasn’t any special attraction, nor did any particular drawbacks present themselves, and therefore there was no reason for the two of us not to get married.”

A selection of Han Kang's books on display at the Swedish Academy in Stockholm. Jessica Gow/AP

Originally written and published in Korean, “The Vegetarian” was translated by Deborah Smith, who was 28 at the time. Smith, by her own admission, was “monolingual until the age of 21,” and only chose to pursue Korean due to a lack of English-Korean translators.

The Swedish Academy lauded Han’s work for her “unique awareness of the connections between body and soul, the living and the dead.” Through her “poetic and experimental style,” the Academy said, Han “has become an innovator in contemporary prose.”

Anna-Karin Palm, a member of the Nobel Committee for literature, said readers unfamiliar with Han’s work should begin with “Human Acts,” a 2014 novel reflecting on the 1980 Gwangju Uprising, when more than 100 civilians were killed during pro-democracy demonstrations led by students in the South Korean city.

“Human Acts” shows how “the living and the dead are always intertwined and how these kinds of traumas stay in a population for generations,” Palm said at Thursday’s announcement ceremony.

But Han’s “intense, lyrical” writing almost acts as consolation in the face of this historical violence, Palm added. “Her very tender, precise prose in itself almost becomes a counterforce to the brutal noisiness of power,” she said.

Han’s novels rocketed up South Korea’s bestseller lists following the announcement. As of Friday morning, her books occupied all of the top 10 spots in popular online retailer Yes24’s chart for Korean titles. The bookseller told CNN over the phone that three of them — “Human Acts,” “The Vegetarian” and “I Do Not Bid Farewell” — had racked up combined sales of 70,000 units during the 14 hours immediately following the news.

At the Seoul flagship of bookstore chain Kyobo Book Centre, shoppers welcomed Han’s win. “I’m very proud of her,” high-school teacher Choi Ji-hye told CNN, adding that she had been “shocked” to hear the news.

For engineering student Kim Jee-heon, meanwhile, the announcement sparked a newfound interest in the author’s work. “This is my first time hearing about her, but… I was really amazed to hear that a Korean woman writer had won the prize, so I came here to look for her books.”

Elsewhere, several high-profile figures paid tribute to the novelist via social media, including musicians RM and V, members of the K-pop group BTS. “I read ‘Human Acts’ in the army,” the latter wrote on Instagram Stories. “Congratulations!”

Before the announcement, Ellen Mattson, another member of the committee, detailed how the judging panel sets about selecting each year’s literature laureate.

“We start with a very long list of around 220 names,” Mattson said. “Then we have to navigate through this enormous mass of names – and there we need the help of experts from different parts of the world.”

Eventually, the committee reaches a collection of “about 20 names,” which is then narrowed down to a shortlist of five authors. “That’s where the real work starts,” Mattson said.

Each committee member then has to “read everything by these five writers” as they begin to home in on a single winner.

Announcing the award, Mats Malm, permanent secretary of the Swedish Academy, said Han was “having an ordinary day” and had “just finished supper with her son” when he phoned to congratulate her.

“She wasn’t really prepared for this, but we have begun to discuss preparations for December,” he said. The Nobel Prize award ceremony takes place in Stockholm on December 10, the anniversary of Alfred Nobel’s death in 1896.

#Nobel prize for literature #Han Kang #Books by women #The Vegetarian #Europa #Human Acts #the 1980 Gwangju Uprising #I Do Not Bid Farewell

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fictionstudent · 3 months ago

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"Rashomon" is such a messed up film, I loved it

I don’t usually see classic films—or anything made in the nineties. For some reason, their bad cinematography had always irked me, and their camera angles disgust me to this very day.

In the last couple decades, technology has advanced at a fast rate. And you can really see that if you’ve seen these classics. They just have a different vibe to them. And as someone who consumes a lot of latest cinema—and anime—it’s actually really tough for me to accustom myself to the cinema of that time.

But, you know what, my university doesn’t care. They made me watch Rashomon, a film by the legendary Akira Kurosawa.

For those of you who don’t know who Akira is: firstly, shame on you. Secondly, he’s one of the most influential Japanese directors who is known on an international level. His films were brimming with professional creativity and they really influence many directors. In fact, he’s the sort of director whose films are studied in film-schools.

I knew the director and what sort of a legend he was, so I was really excited for the film. But considering his last film was in ninety-three—and Rashomon, by the way, released in nineteen-fifty—I was kinda… expecting myself to not like it…

I loved it.

So much that I can’t stop myself from writing this blog and yapping about its themes and plotline and characters and direction and all that technical stuff.

***

#01 - Plot

You know how we start reviews here, lol. So, the movie Rashomon follows a priest and a woodcutter contemplating in a shrine, under the rain. A commoner arrives, all drenched up, and begins making fire and drying himself and his clothes as he tries to make small-talk with those guys. He noticed it—the two men were genuinely worried about something. So he simply asked what the case was.

The woodcutter starts yapping about how bad the humanity is, how evil is spreading all over our tongues. He told the man the story is more horrific than war, famines, murders. The story is about how he, in the middle of the forest, witnessed a samurai’s hat, a woman’s hat, an amulet, a bunch of cut ropes, and… a dead body.

He did the obvious—inform the authorities. And what happens next is… quite absurd. So absurd that I can’t explain it here. And I don’t even want to. Just know that there are different characters—a bandit, a woman, a samurai. And all tell their side of the story about how the death of the samurai took place.

And their accounts vary too differently from each other. The bandit talks of his valor, the samurai of his despair, and the woman of her innocence.

But here’s the catch—the accounts don’t match with each other. All of them have different stories to tell. And then—spoiler alert—the woodcutter tells how he himself had lied; he had seen the whole scene unfolding, but refused to tell to the court. His account seemed to be the most trusted one, but since he had his reasons to not reveal this story to the court, you can never be too sure.

In fact, the film is known for this—you never know the truth about what actually happened. You just hear from the characters—and they won’t tell you the truth. They have their motives to lie. Rashomon Effect, a screenwriting technique where an incident is shown by different characters’ differing—and even contradictor—perspectives is loosely based on this film.

The writing of the film is done masterfully, especially in terms of the plot. And the setting justifies it—the story is based on a couple centuries ago, so you can't really know the truth if the people are not lying, because the technology isn’t so advanced yet.

***

#02 - Characters

The characters are absurd. Some of them are even screwed in their minds. And no, I’m not joking.

The bandit just cared about his image. He told the court how he lured the woman into his charms—which seems highly unlikely—and how he didn't even need to kill her man. And he told her how, after dishonoring her, he cut the ropes of the man and went for a fair fight for the woman and defeated him. The guy was just flexing shit he didn't do.

The woman, on the other hand, knew what happened with her was not acceptable. She knew that society wouldn't see her as a victim. She knew she’d get side-eyed. So she tried to convince the court of her innocence. She cried crocodile-tears. She begged for mercy. For forgiveness. And she tried to appear as innocent as she probably could.

The samurai… Imma talk about him later. But yeah, as the woman had predicted, he said he didn't see the bandit as the convict, but rather believed that his wife was at fault.

These guys are messed up in their heads. The bandit was too dumb and full of himself that he just flexed his physical and mental muscles. As is later revealed, the woman was at fault too, and she used her wits to get her husband killed. And then she ran away. And the samurai’s whole belief system was all around the place.

These characters so obviously symbolize different sorts of evils that are present in society. And the different reasons we lie. We lie because of these three reasons—we don't understand the truth, we wanna hide what we did, and we wanna make an image for ourselves. The samurai, the woman, the bandit.

***

#03 - Themes

The story tackles a number of themes, the most obvious being what’s truth and what’s lie. And, on a deeper level, why do we even lie.

The film is an example of… those kinda films where characters are really screwed up, the story is really screwed up, and all the stuff that happens needs to be psychoanalyzed. Like Chainsaw Man. Or something like that. I hope you kinda get what I’m trying to say. This sort of story may not be realistic, but it seems to explore the darker sides of humanity and is based on simply complex characters who are screwed in the head.

The film answers a pretty important question—why we lie. There are different characters, different perspectives on the murder, and none of them seem true. Every one of these characters seems to be lying one way or the other. Even the most unbiased, trusted account—that of woodcutter’s—could be false, since it’s revealed how he had his own reasons to lie.

You don't know the truth. Not even in the end. You don't know who to believe and who not to—that’s what the film has taught you.

All these characters had different sort of motives to lie. The bandit tried to show what kinda womanizer he was and how clever his plan was. He tried to do the impossible, get what he knew he couldn’t get, and still came out victorious.

The woman, on the other hand, tried to convince the court how she did nothing wrong—in fact, wrong was done on her. She even tells the court how sinful she felt, and then tries taking her own life because of it.

The samurai, who had died, was contacted through a spirit-medium. He told the court of the despair he felt, the sense of shame he was drenched in, and the loss he faced after the incident. He said how he saw the real face of her wife that day, which depressed him so much that he killed himself. For the sake of the plot, let’s say all that spirit-medium stuff was real.

Everyone had a reason to lie. Everyone wanted to show themselves in a particular way—the bandit wanted to show how clever he was, the woman wanted to show how innocent she was, and the samurai wanted to show how depressed he was. The woman put all the blame on the situation, the bandit on himself, and the samurai, oddly enough, on his wife.

Another theme I saw being well-approached was that of patriarchy. I mean, the story is set in Japan centuries ago. There were a lot of talks on the honor of a woman. The samurai didn't see how his wife was raped, he believed it was his wife’s fault. From his account, you can’t say he hated the bandit—the rapist—one bit. But he despised his wife. He told the court how his wife switched sides, even though the woodcutter’s account says how her wife freed him after being raped and begged him to kill the bandit. But the samurai refused to fight him for a ruined woman.

Those are not my words, for the record.

Also, the woman then, quite shrewdly enough, attacked their male-egos and made them fight a duel. Where the bandit killed the samurai. And she ran away from the place after that.

The samurai’s story tells us how messed up his patriarchal beliefs are. And how the woman quite easily made him fight for her just with a simple you’re-not-a-real-man-if argument.

And, according to the woodcutter, they didn't even know how to use swords—something that none of the two guys ever told the court. Rather, they were busy telling how quite bravely they fought.

So, on a thematic level, the movie is quite well-thought. I still believe there must be a lot of themes that I’ve completely missed—that’s how dense this story is.

***

Conclusion

Watch the film. I didn't want to, but I’ve given you a lot of spoilers. And because of this alternating between what to hide and what not to, I did a pretty messy job. So I want you guys to watch the film. And then come back here again, on this blog.

And yeah, I hope you guys have a good time reading it. I yapped too much, but I wanted to yap more, lol.

#film analysis #film review #movie review #movie recommendation #review #criticism #media analysis #akira kurosawa #japanese cinema #cinema

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zurajanaizurakoda · 1 year ago

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Political Lessons are Only Important if you can Hold Your Listener's Attention.

By the time I get the invite for another AO3 account, I think the whole Ginzura thing is going to pass over. This was originally a later part in a more angsty story, but it started getting in entirely the wrong tone and it really needs to separate. Katsura is playing the straight man (Not literally straight, haha) for most of the fic, so it may seem a little a little out of character. This takes place after The Very Final, and has a lot of feelings I have about the couple. Particularly Gin starting the Zura thing as a crush. Feedback and likes would be most appreciated, since I'm not putting these anywhere else right now.

Political Lessons are Only Important if you can Hold Your Listener's Attention.

Explicit. Mild angst, mostly sex, multiple orgasms, failed attempts to get Gintoki to understand anything about politics. Attempted humor. Very bottom Katsura, mentioned use of toys.

It had been many years since they had been reunited, and a few years since they’d had time as just Zura and Gin-san. So much had changed once again that it was hard to know where to pick up, but when a little bird told him that the recently deceased Prime Minister Had gotten an apartment in Kabukicho, he figured it was time for a long overdue meeting. As usual, he came in through the window.

“You’re later than expected, Gintoki. I was beginning to think I’d have to come and make a formal request for services.” Katsura remarked without looking up. He was unpacking boxes calmly and precisely, as was his nature. He set down his current box and gave Gintoki his attention.

“It’s not like you broadcasted you were available. I came when I heard. You’ve been a busy man, Mr. Prime Minister, it’s hard to get a hold of you. You probably had butlers for your butlers. You probably had a separate secretary to handle your prostate. Do the widows go for men in suits?”

Katsura was silent for a minute. “When you have servants, it’s harder to hide your toys. I missed living alone.”

“Toys, eh?” Gintoki asked. “Wait, toys? Like Gin-san? You’ve still got old Gin-san?”

“Why would I get rid of Gin-san? Gin-san is my favorite.” Katsura replied with no hint of embarrassment. The Gin-san in question was a blue vibrator that Gintoki had personally chosen, the one he had declared closest to his own dick. “What about you? Find any good whorehouses out in the sticks?”

Gintoki rubbed the back of his head. “You know I didn’t. I’m sure your Gin-san’s been having a better time than this Gin-san has. I’d like to see what your Gin-san’s been seeing.”

Katsura sighed, leaning back against the counter. “You could see what Gin-san sees any time you want. You just haven’t been showing up. I was beginning to think you’d reneged on our gentleman’s agreement.”

“No, it’s nothing like that, I just…” he swallowed. “This Gin-san didn’t know what to say. It’s been a while, Zura. How are you doing? Now that the world’s… not ending.”

“I’m doing well.” Katsura replied simply.

“But, are you really?”

“What reason do you have to believe otherwise?”

“Well, for start, you were assassinated.” He leaned in. “Seriously, don’t ever pull shit like that again. When I saw the news… Shit, Zura, you know, of all the people in the world who could seriously take you out, that bastard Takasugi…”

“It’s not nice to speak ill of the dead.”

Gintoki reached over and grabbed his chin. “I’ll speak how I want. Did he hurt you? Did he really pull a blade on you?”

“He asked about you.” Katsura replied, pulling away from the loose grip. “It seems he knew something was amiss between us. I think he was trying to wish us happiness. Our relationship was complicated, Gintoki. You weren’t the only one who knew him all his life.”

“And then, in the elevator, when you fell…” he continued. “I know your skull’s too thick to die from a fall like that, but seeing you…”

“It seems all you do is worry about me, Gintoki.”

Gintoki watched him. “I was going to bury Takasugi’s pipe out at school. I think he would have wanted that.”

“That sounds nice.”

“I assume you’ll be buried at your family plot.”

“And where will you be buried, Gintoki?”

“I haven’t decided. Flush me down the toilet.” he grumbled. “But listen, are you okay?”

“You keep asking that.”

“Because I worry. We haven’t checked in on each other in a while. A lot of shit went down.”

“If I recall, we were at the epicenter of making shit go down.” Katsura replied. “Did you have a real reason to visit, or did you just want to question my coping skills?”

“You cope like a master, Zura. You cope in ways I don’t understand.” he leaned in and took Katsura by the chin again. “But there was definitely a lot of shit. I know I haven’t processed it all. I doubt you have.”

Katsura pulled back. “I fulfilled my duties as a disciple of Shouyou. I took down the bakufu. I wrote a fucking constitution while you were gone, Gintoki. Stop treating me like I’m still that useless kid lying on the ground waiting for you to rescue me.”

“Shit, Zura-”

“It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura!”

“You only do that when you’re upset.”

“I’m upset because you won’t let up on my fucking ass!”

Gintoki slammed a hand on the counter. “First off, don’t say ‘fucking’ and ‘ass’ in the same sentence. You know how long it’s been. And second, damn it,” he faltered. “It’s just, with everything, you…”

Katsura crossed his arms. “Fucking ass. Fuck me in the ass.”

“Stop that.”

“There’s a secret meaning there if you look hard.” Katsura replied archly. “I’m implying you should fuck me in the ass.”

“What the fuck, Zura.”

“I think even you can get this one if you try, Gintoki. Think hard about your dick and what you like to do with it.”

“Fine! Fine! You win, Zura. I’m fucking worried about you. I’m worried about myself. The whole fucking world collapsed twice in two years and I don’t know what to do. You fucking built a country while I was gone. I killed Takasugi. I watched Sensei die. You blew up the terminal-”

“Takasugi blew up the terminal. I just helped.”

“-Whatever. It just all happened, Zura. Everything happened. All the things ever. I don’t know how I can go back.”

“Is that the problem?” Katsura asked quietly. “Did things change between us?” he hung back against the countertop, eyes mostly obscured by his long hair.

“No! No, no, no!” Gintoki waved his hands around frantically. “I mean, unless you wanted them to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Katsura asked quietly. “Well, you know, with your growing up and saving the world, and my still being a worthless Odd Jobber, and the fact that I almost got you roped into the destruction of the planet, I thought maybe old Gin-san was more of a bad memory than anything else.”

Katsura pulled his bangs back and squinted at Gintoki with suspicion. “How’s that again?”

“I mean, what even is a Prime Minister? Were you like the Shogun? Could you order people’s heads off?”

“What?” Katsura balked.

“I mean, could you just walk back in there, say the whole assassination thing was a bust, you wanted your job back, and go order Hijikata’s head off?”

“I feel like we’re having two very different conversations here. Are you breaking up with me, or are you asking me the basics of the government you live under?”

“See?! You said breaking up! I never said jack shit about breaking up!” Gin yelled. “And how the fuck should I know how the government works?! You know how it was back in the war. Give me a sword, point me at shit that needs killing! What else did I need? You were the one that kept up in politics.”

“I had the power to order Okita to kill himself, but not to make it happen. I had the power to write a constitution. Do you know what that is, Gintoki?”

“Is it like a bushido for the country or something?” Gintoki scratched his head. “And anyway, breaking up! I never said it, you did. Are you breaking up with me?”

“I’ve spent the last several minutes trying to solicit you for sex.” Katsura reminded him. “Remember? The ass? The fucking? Can you remember that far back?”

“Don’t talk like that! It’s been like two fucking years! Jerking it out in the sticks with the bugs. Do you have any idea how blue these balls have been?”

Katsura leaned in close, taking his face in both hands. “Then maybe… and try to stay with me this time, Gintoki, maybe we should have sex.”

“We should! We totally should!” Gintoki grabbed him by the wrist, then stopped like he’d been hit with something. “Wait, wait!”

“What is it?” Katsura asked, his voice tired.

“We need to talk first! About the world, and about you, and me, and whether or not we broke up when I went looking for Sensei.”

“Perhaps we should have spoken about this when it happened.” Katsura answered with his usual serenity.

“We did! Except, we never got anywhere. We had sex a few times, and then I left.”

“I remember that, Gintoki. I got champagne for the occasion. Don’t think I didn’t know you were leaving.”

“I was… I wasn’t a good boyfriend.”

“Were you my boyfriend, Gintoki? That’s news to me.” Katsura sighed. “And I suppose I knew saving the world was important too.”

“I named your dildo! That’s not something you do with just anyone!” Gintoki protested. “But, I left. I had no idea if I was ever coming back. And…” he stopped like he was gathering courage. “You didn’t have to wait for me.”

“I didn’t wait for you, Gintoki. I overthrew the government.”

“But you stayed with Gin-san?”

“I have a few others, but yes.” Katsura replied, averting his eyes. “If you’re asking if I was faithful to you, then yes I was. We didn’t make a formal agreement, but I’ve found that my attraction runs to very specific tastes these days.”

“I was faithful, too.” Gin said. “I didn’t even think about the weather girl.”

“I’m flattered.”

“But I guess, what I’m asking, Zura, is…” Gintoki looked seriously distraught, like he was about to ask the most important question of his lifetime. “Can we… Keep doing that?”

Katsura stared him down. “So this, all of this, all the flustered yelling and the angst, all the going around in circles, was because you wanted to ask if I could continue to be your boyfriend which I didn’t even know I already was?”

“I think so.” Gintoki looked like he wasn’t clear himself. His hands were clenching to the point of white knuckles.

“Then, yes, Gintoki. I’d very much like to be your boyfriend.” Katsura replied. “It’s honestly what I was hoping for from this conversation.”

“Then we can forget saving the world or destroying it, and you can just be my Zura? I’ll be your Gin-san? The one without batteries?”

“I would like that very much.”

Gintoki stepped forward and took him in his arms. Katsura melted into the embrace, letting his head fall into the curve of Gintoki’s shoulder.

“Just like this?” Gin said redundantly to the room.

“Like this.” Katsura agreed quietly.

“It feels wrong somehow.”

“Normal people call this a normal relationship.”

“Hell, Zura, what do I know about normal relationships? What do you know about normal relationships? Have you ever been on a date, Zura?”

“Not particularly.”

“Me neither. Not a real one. Can I date you, Zura? Like a real date, at a restaurant? Are you still wanted by the Shinsengumi?”

“I’m not really sure.” Katsura replied idly. “I’ll text the princess about it.”

“You can text the princess? Zura, Kagura texts the princess. What are you doing with her number?”

“A politician needs their connections, Gintoki. I could have texted you, if you weren’t too stupid for a phone.”

There was a low growl in Gintoki’s throat. “Sexy photos? Racy ones? With panties and shit?”

“Not on your life. A politician’s phone is their lifeline.”

“But you’re not a politician anymore, you’re a boyfriend.”

“We can discuss it later.”

“I’d like that.” Gin replied, settling into the embrace. “Hey, Zura?” he finally asked.

“Yes, Gintoki?”

“Can we do the sex stuff? Like tonight? Now, maybe?”

“I wish I’d thought to say that.” Katsura deadpanned. “No, not now.”

“Eh?! But you said-”

“We can’t do it now because I haven’t unpacked the lube yet.” Katsura pulled out of his embrace, hair trailing after him as he shifted things around. He opened a box and hummed with satisfaction. “Here we go,” he said, pulling out a few things with a flair of his wrist. “Lube. Condoms.” His hand fished back into the box. “Gin-san, if you’d like to get reacquainted. He’s currently out of batteries. He’s had a tough time.” Making direct eye contact with Gintoki, he kissed the head lovingly, then returned it to the box. “Later, perhaps. Here, Gintoki,” he placed the bottle of lube and pack of condoms ceremoniously in Gintoki’s hands. “Now we are ready to do the sex stuff.”

Gin whimpered. He looked like a dog with a treat on his nose, waiting for the right command. Wordlessly, he began to shuffle forward, running gracelessly into Katsura and pushing him back with his body. “What is this? What’s happening here?” Katsura asked, flustered. “Did you forget how to have sex? Was it really that rough out there?” His back hit the counter behind him. “Gintoki-!”

Suddenly Gintoki’s arms wrapped around him, lifting him onto the counter. Katsura squeaked. “Gintoki-!”

Gintoki’s lips came down hard on his. Rough and needy, pressing Katsura’s head back into the wall behind the counter. Hips rocked against his, and Gintoki was already hard, had probably hard for the entire conversation. Good. Katsura wasn’t that far behind. He moaned into the kiss, pushing back more from urgency than from some fighting instinct, and wrapped his arms around Gintoki’s strong shoulders. “Is this how they do it out in the sticks?” he asked, voice low and sultry. “Fuck men up against the nearest surface, no questions asked?” They kissed again.

“Yeah, anywhere and everywhere. No reason. We’re like animals, out there in the sticks. We know how our men like it out there, you know.” He tipped Katsura’s head back into another kiss.

“And how do your men like it out there, Gintoki?” Katsura prompted, tilting his hips so Gintoki could rut properly against his ass.

“You know… Up the ass… and stuff.” Either his ability to think clearly or his ability for dirty talk was quickly running out, and Katsura didn’t care to figure out which. He was silent, kissing back, rocking with Gintoki’s movements, just letting the other man thrust against him like a horny teenager. They were a far cry from teenagers, but maybe, like Gintoki had said, they were just broken idiots with no idea how proper relationships worked. It wasn’t like he’d been drawn to the perm-haired bastard for his slick seduction techniques. It was this, that warmth, that understanding shared between them. Gintoki’s hands gripping him like he was afraid he’d disappear. Gintoki was probably as afraid as he had been that these nights were over, he thought, and felt his heart contract painfully.

Gintoki pulled back. “Hey, Prime Minister. They got beds in your palace, or wherever you live?”

“Huge bed. Could sleep ten men, probably. I would have liked to have shown you.” Katsura muttered. “There’s a twin bed down the hall. On the left.” There wasn’t much to the apartment, it’s not like Gintoki could miss it. Gintoki lifted him up, and despite himself, Katsura felt a little giddy, wrapping his legs more firmly around Gintoki’s hips. They were both strong men, could easily support each other and more if necessary, but still, being treated like this sometimes was nice.

“Okay, shit.” Gintoki stumbled, righting himself against the counter. “Right. Which way was Right?”

“Left, Gintoki.”

“Shut up. Didn’t I say old Gin-san’s got this covered? Left, then, here we go.” He stumbled again, adjusted Katsura higher on his hips. “Lube. That’s important. There we go.” he grabbed it off the counter and turned. “Left. Left, right?”

“Left.” This was getting ridiculous, was threatening to kill the mood, but Gintoki surged forward, knocking over a chair and a few carefully sorted boxes as he crashed towards the alleged bed. Katsura gritted his teeth and felt deep feelings for the rampaging idiot.

“Left.” Gintoki finally repeated, dropping him on the bed unceremoniously. “There’s your bed, your majesty. Your honor. What do you call a prime minister?”

“Your Zura.” Katsura purred, drawing his legs together and looking up at Gintoki with impossibly soft eyes.

“My Zura.” Gintoki affirmed. “That’s good. I like my Zura. Even in Western beds, I like my Zura.” He began to mount the bed.

“It’s a bed, Gintoki.” Katsura soothed, lowering himself to allow Gintoki to climb back onto him. “I’m sure you can figure this out.”

“Shut up. Didn’t I tell you your Gin-san’s got this? It’s a bed. I’ll show it who’s the fucking boss.” Arms wrapped around him. “Shit, yeah. That’s the good stuff. Why are you still wearing clothes?”

“Because no one took them off.”

“Shut up. You think I don’t know that?” Suddenly, Gintoki kneeled up on the bed, undid his belt and his sash, threw off his kimono, and then quickly pulled his shirt over his head. “There you go, you do the same.”

Katsura smiled and demurely shouldered himself out of his kimono, letting it pool behind him. He was an easy fix. “Better?”

“Fuck, yeah.” Gintoki breathed, forgetting himself and just leering. “That’s my Zura. That’s what Gin-san likes.” he trailed fingers along a fresh scar from the assault on the terminal. “You got roughed up.” he observed. “Anything internal? No broken ribs? Anything Gin-san’s got to look out for?”

“Clean bill of health, Gintoki.” Katsura assured him. “And you?”

“Gin-san’s good to go, don’t worry about Gin-san.” His fingers lingered on the mark, a thought coming to mind. “Any of these from Takasugi?”

“Let that go. It was a sham. I’m fine.”

“Good, that’s good. If that bastard had really come for you, I would have fucking killed him. Forget the fucking terminal. Forget fucking Senei. Nothing’s worth that.” his hand trailed down and grabbed Katsura’s hip. “Shit. I..” his eyes softened for a moment, like he was on the verge of more, but he stopped. “Nothing’s worth that.” he finally repeated, lowering himself down to kiss his partner.

Katsura could have pointed out that Gintoki had in fact killed Takasugi, but this wasn’t really the time. Something in the almost-confession made his heart weak. He accepted the kiss, whimpering softly. Gintoki was fumbling with his pants, pulling them aside, getting the boxers out of the way, all while continuing the steady kisses. Gintoki leaned in close, grinding his hips, and Katsura could feel the hard member separated just by the thin barrier of his own boxers. He shuddered. “I think I need this face down in the pillows.” he announced quickly.

“What? No!” Gintoki protested. “I want to see my Zura! Do you know how long it’s been? Zura makes the best faces when he’s getting fucked.”

“Face down in the pillows, Gintoki.” Katsura repeated firmly. “I have neighbors.”

Gintoki looked conflicted. He loved the look of Zura getting fucked, but he also loved the sound of it, and Katsura’s almost-admission that he was going to get loud was going straight to his dick. “I just have to keep your mouth occupied, then? Even old Gin-san can handle that, I think.”

Katsura hesitated. “Gintoki…”

“Please.” Gintoki pressed. “Back in the woods, I wasn’t risking ticks on my dick for a back.”

“It’s still my back.”

“Please,” more earnestly. “Let me have this.”

Katsura finally relented. “Fine then, Gin-san gets his way, as usual.” he spread his legs in submission, lifting his hips slightly.

“Fuck yeah, shit yeah.” Gintoki closed his legs again and slid his boxers off. Katsura’s legs fell back open against the bed, and Gintoki shuddered. “Holy shit, I’ve missed this.”

“Good to know.”

“I’ve missed you. Missed my Zura.” he continued, leaving a trail of kisses down his lover’s exposed neck as he fumbled below them. “Missed….” he groaned. “Condoms are hard, you know?”

Katsura’s eyes fluttered open in frustration. “Do you need help?”

“No, I’ve got this, Gin-san’s got this.” More fumbling, and he actually had to get back up on his knees for a second, but then he flopped back down. “There. Gin-san without batteries is ready. Let’s get you ready.”

Two fingers entered him, and Katsura threw his head back, moaning louder than necessary. “Too much?” Gin asked. “I really want to get to this, Zura. Shit, it was too much, wasn’t it?” the fingers left.

Katsura pulled him tight, kissing his stupid face. “Not too much,” he hissed, “Just warn a person next time, will you?”

“Can do. Fingers up your ass coming right up, Zura. Try to relax.” the fingers pushed back in again, and Katsura hid his face in his own shoulder.

“Shit yeah, that’s the good stuff,” Gintoki breathed, fucking him a little rougher than necessary, watching his face intently. “This is what Gin-san in the woods wanted.” There was a pause for more lube, and then three fingers were in him, filling him up. This time there was a full cry.

“My mouth, you idiot, you were supposed to be taking care of that, weren’t you?!” he hissed. Gin looked back like he was in a daze.

“Oh, right, mouth. On it, Zura.” Lips closed on his, and the fingers bent, looking for something inside Katsura knew from experience he’d never find on his own.

“That’s enough.” he hissed.

“You sure? I don’t want to-”

“Fucking get up here, Gintoki.” Katsura snarled. Gintoki followed obediently.

“Mmmm…” Gintoki grinned, taking one last look at his partner. “You look perfect, Zura.”

“Fucking ask me if I care how I fucking look right now.” Katsura was biting against the noises he wanted to make. “Get in me, you fucking idiot.”

And then Gintoki was inside him, and this time it was a full scream but he didn’t have it in him to be mad.

“Good scream, right? We like good screams.” Gintoki muttered into his neck, holding still.

“Good scream. Keep going.”

“Good scream,” Gintoki repeated, relieved, snapping his hips. “Good screams are good.”

“My… my mouth.” Katsura gasped between thrusts. “What good are you if you can’t do what you’re told?” Katsura didn’t expect an answer, they both knew exactly what Gintoki was good for. Lips closed on his again, tongue searching his mouth, and he let loose with the noises he’d been keeping inside, knowing the mouth did little to muffle them. He broke the kiss, arching, whining, keening. “Gintoki!”

“Zura…” Gintoki purred.

“Gintoki!” His hands clamped onto Gintoki’s shoulders, nails leaving marks. Gintoki’s dick found what his fingers never could, and Katsura’s vision blacked out for a second. Gintoki’s pace was hard and steady as a machine, pushing Katsura up the bed and then dragging him back down with each thrust. The bed was hitting the wall, was creaking in protest. Katsura screamed again, turned his head and bit the pillow. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to be with a real person, one that could manhandle him a little when he wanted it, and the fact that the person manhandling him was his precious idiot perm head made it perfect. The pillowcase tore in his teeth. Gintoki did his job like a fucking champ, Katsura knew he couldn’t last long at this rate.

“Should. Touch you?” Gintoki mumbled with the lips that should have been muffling him.

Katsura keened. “You… know what I like.” It didn’t take much, not for him, and when Gintoki wrapped his hand around the other man’s dick it was relatively light, gentle strokes that didn’t match the punishing thrusts.

“Zura…” Gintoki whined. “Shit, Zura…”

“Gin… Gintoki.” It was perfect, he wished the amanto had invented some device for preserving memories so he could pull this one out when he was lonely and his space duck and his servants weren’t around. “God, Gintoki. I’m, I- I’m-!”

That was the only warning before he convulsed, whole body going rigid, back arching violently. Gintoki had to hold on to not get bucked, but Gintoki took that in stride too. He knew how it went. Katsura screamed as he released onto his own chest, Gintoki’s chest, the bed. He felt like it had been years since he’d had a proper orgasm. Maybe it had. Definitely it had.

Gintoki was still thrusting, he knew how this worked, knew Katsura would ask him to stop if he needed to, but it didn’t take long. Gintoki really did love his partner’s orgasm faces. Gintoki shuddered, stuttered his hips, and made a few soft curses, a far cry from Katsura’s showy climax, but no less intense. He collapsed onto the other man.

“An’ that’s… how we do it… out in the sticks.” he mumbled, sounding proud of himself. Katsura hoped he wouldn’t pull out quickly, and thankfully he didn’t, just letting them rest like that as they both caught their breath and rode off the little aftershocks. Gintoki stroked Katsura’s hair, lovingly trying to comb it back into place with his fingers. “Your highness. Emperor. Shogun-sama.”

Katsura sighed. “Prime minister.” he reminded lovingly. “Former prime minister.”

“Your majesty.” Gintoki chuckled with false reverence, and maybe just a touch of the real thing. “My Zura.”

“Your Zura.” Katsura agreed. He ran his hand loosely through Gintoki’s hair.

“Hey, Zura?”

“Yes, Gintoki?”

He looked up. “Was I a good boyfriend?”

‘I don’t think it’s the sort of thing you decide on the basis of twenty minutes, but yes. You’ve been a very good boyfriend tonight.”

“That’s good, that’s good.” Gintoki said amiably. “Hey, Zura?”

“Yes, Gintoki?”

“Back during the war, with the blood and the dirt and the shitty spit lube, back when we were stupid teenagers fighting a stupid ass war?” He was silent for several seconds, as if deciding something. “I think I loved you back then. I probably should have told you that, back then.”

Katsura felt his heart tremble dangerously. “I see.” he said quietly. “And now?”

“I think I still do.” Gintoki admitted.

Katsura was silent. “I…” he finally tried. “I…”

“Don’t force yourself, Zura. I haven’t been a good boyfriend for very long. I don’t need any of the bells and whistles. I just wanted to let you know. Before the world ends again.” He smoothed Katsura’s hair again. “You were always a good kid, brighter than the rest of us lazy saps. Cute as a button, too. I always thought… I always thought you deserved better than the shit life threw at you.” He sighed. “I always wanted to tell you that.”

Katsura closed his eyes and searched for words to respond to the open sharing. There was nothing, nothing he could force into words. Well, there was one thing…

“Takasugi thought you were a bottom.”

“What?”

“He thought you liked it in the ass, and he thought I liked to give it to you in the ass.”

“When did this come up? When he was assassinating you? You had me worried out of my mind and you were discussing Gin-san’s ass?”

“Yes.” Katsura replied, his voice affectionate. “He thought you needed some, said it was making you whiny.”

Gintoki huffed, looking away. “I could be, you know.” he said as if it was a point of personal pride. “You never asked.”

Katsura sighed. “Maybe some time.” He allowed. “For now, I’m thinking round two should be face down in the pillow.”

Gintoki tensed. “Are we talking about round two already?”

“Are you up for it?”

“Yeah! Yeah, yeah, yeah.” he shifted, finally pulling out. They both groaned. “I can go in ten… give me five minutes.

Katsura chuckled. “I’d suck your dick if it hadn’t been in my ass.”

Gintoki froze. “There was a condom in the way.” he ventured. “Not technically touching your ass.”

“Not good enough.”

“You can’t just say things like that!” Gintoki protested. “Do you know how long it’s been since I got head? Do you know how long it’s been since you offered?”

“Years, I’d wager.” Katsura said blandly. “It’s all been years.”

“But I can get a blow job, right? You’ll take a rain check on that? Maybe get nice and sultry between my legs, maybe wear some panties?”

“What’s with you and panties?”

“What’s with you and girl’s clothes?”

“They’re disguises.” Katsura pointed out. “Prime ministers don’t need those sorts of disguises. I don’t have any panties right now.”

“But we can get you some! Nice, lacy things, with the ribbons in the back?” Forget five minutes, Gin was getting hard again. “You know what I miss, of all things? The monk costume. You still got that?”

“I can check.” Katsura replied. “I liked the space captain.”

“I know you liked the space captain, you always liked the space captain.” Gintoki huffed. “The flight attendant?”

“No flight attendant. That one you tore, remember?”

“Shit, I did.” Gintoki pondered for a moment. “We could have saved that one. I liked that one. What about the prime minister getup? I’m sure you’ve still got that.”

“Do you want the mustache too?”

“Nah.” Gintoki’s hand wandered up Katsura’s thigh. “Maybe for round two you can ride me? That’s a fucking sight.”

“Face down in the pillow, Gintoki.”

Gintoki swore blandly. “The neighbors have already heard what they’re going to hear.” he protested. Katsura was silent. “Fine, then. Can I at least pull your hair? You know I won’t do it too rough.”

Katsura made eye contact with him. “Please do.”

Gintoki’s fingers clamped roughly on his hip, gathering the loose hair off the bed and winding it around his fist until he got a moan. “Maybe for round three you can ride me.”

—

It was the end of round two, and Gintoki knew from experience that Katsura was done. He was loose and sloppy and sweat soaked, nuzzling into the pillow as he hummed in satisfaction. Gintoki had pulled the condom off at the end and made a mess all over the other man’s back, and Katsura hadn’t minded. The sight of him covered in semen, both of theirs, was enough to turn Gintoki’s stomach, but there was no round three happening tonight. That was fine. They weren’t kids anymore. He traced lazy patterns on Katsura’s back, trying to make a heart of the fluids.

“Don’t you have to get home, Gintoki?” Katsura mumbled, exhausted. “Won’t your kids be worried about you?”

“Let them think Gin-san’s been out drinking,” he said dismissively. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“About your drinking?” Katsura asked. “It’s stupid. You should give it up. What do you even forget?” he turned to look at Gintoki. “If you ever throw up in my hair again, you’ll never get head so long as you live.”

“No, not that. You see, Kagura’s kicked me out of the bedroom, says it’s hers now.”

“Leader is growing into a young woman.” Katsura admonished sleepilly. “You should have given her a room a long time ago.”

“There’s only the one room, you know.”

“So sleep in the closet.”

“You think I can fit there?!” Gintoki snapped. “Look, I still want the place for the Yoruzuya, but I was thinking, maybe it’s time to get my own place. An apartment near the joint.” He paused. “I was thinking, maybe if we were real boyfriends, we could get one together.”

It was quite an admission, but Katsura took it in stride. “As a couple? What would your kids think about that?”

“They’re old enough to understand. They could use a mother anyway.”

“I’m not a mother.”

Gintoki nudged him with his leg. “Come on, you know you love them.”

“They’re good kids.” Katsura admitted. “What about Elizabeth?”

“Elizabeth isn’t living with us.” Gintoki countered. “Elizabeth doesn’t live with you, does she? There’s only one bed.”

“Elizabeth prefers futons. She’ll sleep in the living area.”

“She was never there when we were getting busy.”

“Elizabeth is familiar with the proverbial sock on the bedroom door. She gave us our space. She’s a lady.”

Gintoki faltered. “You know she has a penis, right? I’ve seen it.”

“You’re sounding very intolerant right now.” Katsura pouted. “Elizabeth is Elizabeth. She is just as she needs to be.”

“We’ll put a pin in the space duck for now then.” Gintoki conceded.

“Elizabeth is too big for a pin.” Katsura pressed.

“You don’t want her living where we fuck, do you? That’s a lot of sock-on-the-door scenarios. That’s asking her to stay out every single night!” He grabbed Katsura by the hip and pulled him in. “You think that’s fair to Elizabeth?”

“Maybe she can stay at the Yorozuya then.” Katsura conceded, letting a hand trail on Gintoki’s chest. “It may take her a while to get used to you again. She was less forgiving than I was when you left.”

“I think our mascots might have a problem with that.” Gintoki grumbled. “Listen, this is getting very unsexy. I was asking if you’d live with your boyfriend.”

Katsura looked him up and down. “Men can get married now, you know.”

“What?”

“A man can marry another man. It’s in the constitution.” He yawned. “I put it in there myself. Women too. It’s very modern.” He stretched a little. “I promised the girls at the bar. Zurako never forgets a promise.”

Gintoki let the thought sink in. Shit, husbands? They’d been something confusing for so long. “That’s too much to think about.”

Katsura yawned again and turned on his side. “It really is.”

“Husbands? Gin-san and Zura?”

“If we were married, I’d think it would have to be Gin-san and Kotarou.”

Gin’s eyes widened. “Gin-san and Taro?”

“No, you ruined it, you fucking ruined it.” Katsura pushed him off.

“Taro-kun?”

“We’re not doing this again, Gintoki, you’re not fucking my name up again.”

“But Taro-kun-”

A leg swept the bed and literally kicked him out. “Sleep on the floor, you bastard.”

“But Zura…” Gin protested.

“It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura!”

“Oh, we’re back to that again?”

“It was always Katsura, you giant asshole!”

“You can be anyone’s Katsura, but you’re my Zura!”

“Cut it out, Kintoki!”

Gin did a fake wince. “That’s low.”

“It’s exactly the same thing!”

“It’s not!” Gin protested. “Sakamoto doesn’t remember my name! I make a conscious decision to call you Zura.”

“Well cut it out!”

“Zura! Hey, Zura! You can’t back down now, you’ve lost too much ground! Zura! You called yourself my Zura, it’s official!”

“I’m reneging.” Katsura replied, rolling over to face the wall.. “I’m not your Zura. I don’t have a sofa. Sleep on the floor or the table. Go back to your damn kids.”

“Katsura-sama! Lord Shogun!” Gintoki tried.

“Shut up.”

“It was because I had a crush on you!” Gintoki blurted out. “But then Takasugi started using it so it couldn’t be a pet name. He ruined it for me!”

Katsura rolled back over. “You were flirting with me?”

“Katsura-sama!”

“God, can’t you pull hair like a normal kid?”

“I did! Remember?”

“I hated that too!” Katsura spat. “Damn it, how the hell did I end up with you?!”

“You’re not really kicking me out of bed, Katsura-sama! We’re boyfriends now! It’s official!”

“Just shut up and get in, then!” Katsura relented.

Gintoki hauled himself off the floor and slid into bed next to the other man. “Only, Katsura-sama?”

“What the hell is it, Gintoki?”

“I know you were done for the night, but then we got worked up, and…”

“I’m not doing anything for you!” Katsura growled. “Go to sleep.”

“Only, Katsura-sama,” a hand snaked around his hip to palm his crotch. “You’ve got an erection.”

“Ignore it.”

“But I think if we just…” The fingers began to work him slowly as Gintoki slowly rolled his hips against Katsura’s back. The bastard also had an erection, which was lazily tracking against Katsura’s already-slick ass.

“If you put that thing in, we’re through.”

“I know, I wasn’t suggesting that, but…” The thrusts were coming quicker, now, in time with the stroking of his dick, and teeth worried his shoulder. “Gintoki…”

There was a bite on his neck. “Gintoki!” He was awake now, and damn it, the heat in his stomach was burning steadily. The shallow thrusts rocked him into Gintoki’s hand, and the labored breath in the silent room spurred him on. “You’re incorrigible…”

“Mmmm, Katsura-sama, do you know how you feel? Your body is perfect, I’m going to cum just like this, just from rutting your ass, because you’re the best fucking lay I’ve ever had and you smell like sex and you look like- God!” his free hand gripped Katsura’s hip to pull him back, grinding harder into him, and Katsura realized he was grinding back and he wanted to be fucking furious but he couldn’t be because it was just so good.

“Gintoki!” he gasped, hand joining Gintoki’s to stroke himself. “Gintoki!”

“Zuuuura…” Gintoki groaned, and Katsura could swear he felt the shit-eating grin against his shoulder when he wasn’t corrected.

“Gintoki, you…” he panted, grinding and keening. “You… I!” His head snapped back into Gintoki’s shoulder and he moaned loudly.

Gintoki kept working him, rough and dirty. “Cum for me, Zura.” he commanded, his voice deep and commanding. He jerked Katsura’s head back and planted a strong kiss on Katsura’s mouth.

To his surprise, that did it. Katsura clenched his legs, curling up into a ball as best he could as he came again. He wasn’t surprised when he felt the wet against his back of Gintoki finishing. “You jerk.” he panted, letting himself be kissed as the stroking slowed and then stopped. “You damn jerk.”

“Just like I thought, you had another little one in there.” Gintoki announced, clearly pleased with himself. “Now you can rest, can’t you?”

Katsura searched for a retort and found there was nothing there. He felt exhausted, the best kind of exhausted, and Gintoki’s arms felt perfect around him. He was asleep before he knew it.

“That’s my Zura.” Gintoki purred, sitting slightly to move them into a better position. He tugged Katsura’s arm back so he would be resting on the pillow, only for Katsura’s head to roll back so they were facing each other.

Zura’s eyes were wide open and blurry, drool already dripping from the side of his mouth. He snored lightly.

“Shit, Zura, you still sleep with your eyes open?” Gin asked. “That’s creepy! The worst! Hey, Zura, wake up, you’ve got to move, you’ve got to face the wall or something so I can sleep. There’s no way I can fall asleep with you staring at me, Zura, we’ve got to get you an eye mask or something.”

Katsura continued snoring peacefully, wide eyes staring at nothing.

“Oi, Zura, come on! Wake up! Don’t do this to me Zura! Gin-san needs his sleep too, Gin san gave you a great night, doesn’t he deserve some sleep too? Oi, Zura? Zuuuraaa!”

#katsura kotarou #ginzura #sakata gintoki #gintama

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mollyringle · 11 months ago

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Tears in LOTR

Here's another super-geeky text-and-film analysis I gathered on LOTR in 2004. This time I searched on when the characters are in tears.

Since everyone's been talking so much about how ROTK makes them cry, and since I've been impressed at the ability of the actors to get all weepy themselves, I thought I'd do a search in the actual book and catalog all the times the characters are in tears. Here is the full list of quotations, from searches on the words "tears," "weep," and "wept." ("Cry" is only used as "shout," in Tolkien, it seems.) The full list of tears in the book is here - tumblr won't let me post something so long. So have a look there if you want. Then: Conclusions from the book: 1) Sam is in tears quite a lot. 2) So is Gollum. 3) So are hobbits in general. 4) Faramir and Theoden are popular guys, judging from the amount of tears they inspire. Now, compare to the tears in the films: FOTR: Sam looks close to tears when Frodo is stabbed at Weathertop. Arwen lets a tear fall on Frodo while rescuing him. Bilbo cries a bit after he nearly attacks Frodo in Rivendell. Sam looks close to tears while letting Bill go outside Moria. Gimli grieves on the tomb of Balin. Sam looks close to tears when Frodo gets attacked by the cave troll. Sam, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin cry after Gandalf's fall. Boromir weeps a little after attacking Frodo. A tear falls down Aragorn's face after Boromir's death. Frodo and Sam weep on each other in the boat. TTT: Children and mothers being attacked by Orcs weep. Eowyn cries over her cousin's death. Eowyn sheds tears of joy when Theoden recovers. Eowyn gets tears in her eyes when thinking Aragorn is dead. Eowyn gets tears in her eyes when Aragorn returns alive. Theoden weeps over his son's grave. Arwen sheds tears when Elrond tells her Aragorn will die. Frodo has tears in his eyes when Gollum brings him the rabbits. Gollum curls up crying when Faramir captures him. Grima sheds a tear upon seeing Saruman's army. Women, children, and men weep at being separated in Helm's Deep. Merry seems to have tears in his eyes when getting frustrated by the Ents. Sam gives his speech toward the end in tears. Frodo is very nearly weeping during Sam's speech. ROTK: Smeagol weeps during his transformation into Gollum. Merry gets tears in his eyes when parting from Pippin. Arwen sheds a few tears at the vision of her son. Denethor appears to have tears in his eyes when grieving for Boromir. Faramir gets choked up when Denethor turns him away. Sam weeps when Frodo tells him to go home. Pippin seems about to cry at the end of his song. Arwen sheds a tear in Aragorn's dream. Eowyn seems about to weep when Aragorn turns her down. Denethor seems about to weep when thinking Faramir is dead. Frodo seems about to weep when realizing Gollum has trapped him in Shelob's lair. Frodo has tears in his eyes when telling Gollum he has to destroy the Ring "for both our sakes." Sam weeps over Frodo after the Shelob incident. Citizens are crying during the attack on Minas Tirith. Eowyn weeps over Theoden on the battlefield. Sam begins weeping when describing spring-in-the-Shire to Frodo, and pretty much keeps it up till the time of the Eagle rescue. Frodo joins Sam in weeping "at the end of all things." Merry, Pippin, and Sam (and all fifty million viewers) weep at the Grey Havens. Did I miss any? My main conclusion of note is that they seem to have made the women a lot weepier in the movie versions. Overall, though, the pattern of tears is pretty similar between book canon and movie canon. This suggests to me that, as we already knew, they preserved the emotional heart of the story quite well for the films, whatever other changes they made.

#lotr #lord of the rings #tears

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lunagb · 1 year ago

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A Plague of Sleet and Rot (ASoIaF x The Walking Dead fanfic)

BOOK 2 - A Road of Snow and Grime

CHAPTER 3: Sanctuary

Masterlist

Relationships: Daryl Dixon x Carol, Rick Grimes x Lori Grimes, Carl Grimes & Sophia, and basically a friendship tag with Jon Snow & Everyone else [except Shane].

Summary: A month has passed since Jon Snow awakened on a highway outside of Atlanta and joined Rick Grimes and his fellow survivors. His memories of his death have returned and our alien world is beginning to make a bit of sense. Ever since the loss of the CDC, surviving in the apocalypse has been a daily struggle. The group is on thin ice. Supplies are dwindling. Hope is fading. The dead are walking. And their only chance for life may be a run-down farm, an old man and his daughters.

Chapter Summary: As the group settles in for their first night on the farm, Jon worries what effect Carl and Sophia's injuries have had on their morale.

Time Frame: Farm Arc - TV Variant Adjacent

Featured Characters: Jon Snow, Ghost, Mormont's Raven, Rick Grimes, Carl Grimes, Lori Grimes, Daryl Dixon, Carol, Sophia, Dale, Glenn Rhee, Andrea, T-Dog, Edwin Jenner, Shane Walsh, Beth Greene, Maggie Greene, Hershel Greene

Warnings: gore, vivid descriptions of dead bodies, child mutilation

[Art above is a piece by Art.of.Azrael. You can support them here: https://linktr.ee/Art.of.Azrael ]

Any notes are appreciated!

Laughter and lavender sweetened the air. The group and their newfound companions sat around Dale’s plastic long-table. They dined on rich onion, radish and potato stew. Drank clean, cool water from cups of glass. Laughed of a better past and hope for a better future. Ghost skulked behind the stools, hunting fallen scraps. While the raven circled above, cawing for, “Stew!”

For the first time in three weeks, food filled their bellies to bursting. Water quenched their dry mouths. Soap banished their perpetual stink. All the results of Hershel’s charity. All which Jon appreciated. Smiles, genuine smiles, not feigned fragile hope, warmed the faces of his companions. So, he went along with it. He ate. He drank. He even joined in a spot of laughter from time to time. Dale headed most of the laughter, supported in earnest by T-Dog. The two men shouted japes across the table, spurring on the laughter. Andrea sat at Dale’s side, smiling at his stories and laughing at his jokes. Sometimes, their eyes met and for half a heartbeat, Andrea blushed like a maid. Dale beamed like a green boy. Shane sat opposite Dale, T-Dog and Andrea, at the table’s other head, smiling but silent. Jenner sat beside him, too focused on trying to eat with a stitched mouth to join in on the laughter. Hershel and his daughters sat across from Jon, Glenn and Daryl. Hershel smiled courteous smiles when Dale and T-Dog brought upon a gale of laughter. Otherwise, the old man kept a Lord’s face. Maggie and Glenn made unsubtle eyes at each other across the table. While Beth made much the same eyes at Jon. Jon kept his grimaces to himself. Daryl did not. Nor did he eat, or smile. He hadn’t even washed. He bore a scowl into his bowl. Each of the raven’s shrieks for “Stew!” caused his scowl to twitch.

They’d set up their tents in a huddle around the table, off in Hersehl’s field. Only the rusted fence of scarp protected them. Jon kept his eye on it, that and the house. Rick, Lori and Carol had not joined them. Jon knew why. They all knew why. Rick too weak. Lori too fearful. Carol too tired. Carl and Sophia’s injuries hung over all, Jon knew. He felt it in the air. Saw it as eyes chanced a glance towards the house. Heard it during the rare silent lull among the chorus of laughter and chatter. Death loiters in their minds. Daryl wore the truth on his rugged, lined face for all to see.

“She might wake up before she passes,” Jenner had told Jon on the highway, at most a few hours ago. It felt a lifetime ago.

A lie. A kind lie. Sophia hadn’t opened her eyes and Jon suspected that she never would again. Hershel knew it too, Jon knew. When he’d bandaged her stump, after saving Carl’s life, he’d consoled Carol with sweet words but hollow eyes. The sort of eyes a commander gazes upon a dying soldier with. Eyes that bricked up tears, only to release them during the sleepless night to come. Jon had put on those eyes before. He imagined he’d have to do so again.

Dale’s voice cut above the chatter. “To our gracious host!” He thrust his glass up high.

“And his miracle hands!” T-dog added, standing and raising his glass.

They all joined them; Andrea, Glenn, Jenner, and even Shane. Maggie and Beth joined into, smiling; broad and shy respectively. Jon raised his glass and forced a smile. Daryl scowled. Hershel hesitated. He shook his head and waved his hand.

“Ain’t nothin’ gracious about helpin’ those in need,” he said.

“Especially when you owe us,” Daryl said. Venom soured his voice. He glared at Maggie.

The smiles vanished around the table like night fires snuffed at first light. Silence festered.

“Owe!” The raven cawed.

Maggie’s broad grin retreated into pursed lips and downcast eyes as Daryl’s glare bore into her.

“Daryl!” Dale exclaimed, aghast. “Hershel, I apologise for him. I assure you, no one blames you or your daughters for the accident with Carl.”

“Fuck you, old man!” Daryl erupted from his stool.

Andrea erupted from hers. “Say that again!”

Daryl’s nostrils flared. “Fuck! You! Y’all are fuckin’ lyin’ to yourselves!” Daryl flipped his bowl of stew. Onion, radish, potato and broth splattered the blue plastic of the table.

Andrea stepped towards him, fists balled but Dale caught her arm. Her fists unclenched. She huffed and turned from him. Daryl whipped a glare of disdain around the table and marched off to nowhere in particular. Cawing, the raven landed in the spilled stew and gobbled it up greedily.

Dale cleared his throat. Pink flush warmed his wrinkled cheeks. “Hershel, I’m sorry. He’s just… upset is all.”

“No, no. It’s alright,” Hershel said. “He’s upset. It’s only natural.” He glanced at Maggie. A hint of a frown flashed across his lips. “Forgiveness takes time. If any of y’all need to console with the Lord, I have a bible on my nightstand. Feel free to ask for it. While your children heal, what’s mine is yours.”

“Heal!” The raven cackled. “Heal, heal, heal!”

Everyone’s glasses lowered. Glances shot around the table, accompanied by frowns.

“And after?” Jon asked for them.

Hershel’s eyes hollowed. “We’ll discuss y’all livin’ here later. No offence, but right now, y’all are strangers.”

Dale smiled. “Best we familiarise ourselves then.” He raised his glass. “To becoming friends.”

The others raised their glasses. “To becoming friends,” they echoed, Jon among them.

The raven gobbled down a chunk of potato and flapped its wings. “Friends! Friends! Friends!”

Glasses clinked and chatter resumed but not for a moment did death stop its loitering.

*** Dusk gave way to twilight, the group prepared for the first proper rest in weeks and Jon stood before Beth’s bedroom door, hesitant to enter. Death awaited him. The beginning, at least. You can do this. You must do this. Face what you have done, for the sake of what remains of your honour, you meagre bastard boy. Jon seized the door handle and took a long, deep breath. A coolness flowed through his veins. He opened the door.

“Carol? It’s Jon. May I enter?”

A wisp responded. “Yes…”

Jon entered the pink room. Atop a bed of pink blankets lay Sophia. With flesh pale and taught, she looked half a corpse already. An IV bag and blood bag fed her arm through plastic tubes, for all the good it did. Pillows suspended her feet. Bandages covered her stump. Carol sat by her side on a hard wooden chair, hunched and withered. She should have never given the blood, plenty could have done it in her place, Jenner had said as much. But she’d hear nothing of it. Grease matted her short mess of brown and grey hair. Heavy bags hung beneath her eyes, dark and swollen. Sophia’s bear sat on a nightstand, pink and fluffy. A row of neat stitches cut across its chest where Longclaw had pierced it. An uneaten bowl of stew accompanied the bear.

“If you’ve come to apologise, don’t bother. I don’t blame you.” Carol kept her eyes on Sophia as she spoke a little above a whisper.

Jon ought to have been relieved. Yet, his gaze avoided Carol’s all the same. Stupidly, he felt a boy all over again, standing before Lady Stark at Bran’s bedside.

“You should eat. Especially after-”

“Come do what you’ve come to do. Then leave me alone.”

“Aye… As you wish.”

Jon composed himself. Ice hardened his pounding heart. He marched to Sophia’s bedside, knelt and took in her face. A head of lazy, blonde curls had turned to straw. Cheeks once rosy and round, sunk into her face. Eyes so often fearful and downcast gazed unblinking and hollow at the ceiling. Lips so often void of smiles, drew a dried, flaky line across her face. A raspy wheeze whistled from her nose in long, delicate breaths. Jon resolved to remember every detail. A new face among a horde.

“Are you done?” Carol asked, stern and curt.

“No…” The time had come. “Carol, I-”

“What did I tell you about apologising?”

“Sophia will turn when if she dies. We’re all infected. Jenner said as much.”

Carol’s gaze found him, cold and unflinching. “Oh. Okay. Thank you.” She drew her knife from her belt and placed it on the nightstand.

“Carol…” Jon touched her knee. “You understand what I’ve told you, yes?”

Carol brushed his hand away. “What’s there to not understand?”

Jon considered the woman. The look on her face echoed some strange familiarity. Dull, expressionless and vacant. It did not belong to any one face, but many, Jon realised. The look that had followed stalked him all his life. T’was a look that spoke of duty and tears unwept. His father had looked at him in such a way when he bid him farewell for The Wall, so soon after Bran had fallen from the tower. Quorin Halfhand, as he commanded Jon to slay him. Ygritte, as she died in his arms.

“Her brain must be destroyed as soon as she passes. It would serve to have someone watch over her with you, in case she passes while you sleep.”

A limp smile tugged at the corners of Carol’s mouth. “I won’t sleep. Not until she does.”

Jon believed her. A foolish thing to do. But, he did so anyway, at once. “I believe, I may have misjudged you.”

“Maybe. How do you judge me now?”

“Strong enough that I do not need to you like you are some witless child.”

For a brief, pleasant moment, a smile graced Carol, a proper one. “Thank you.”

“I apologise for myself and Rick. Glenn and Jenner wanted to tell you. We kept the truth from you. A truly misguided thing to do. You should have been told the moment Sophia’s life came into doubt.”

“What did I say about apologising?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to grant me that one.”

“No. I think you owe me now.”

“What would you have of me?”

Silver glinted the corners of Carol’s eyes. She scrubbed it away. “Bring Daryl here.” Her voice wavered. “Ma-Make him say goodbye. Before he loses his chance.” She ran her hand through Sophia’s tangle of straw. “It’s what she would have wanted.”

“Aye. Of course. On one condition.”

Carol raised an eyebrow.

“Eat your stew,” Jon said. “I don’t care if it’s cold.”

“Fair enough.” A hint of light crept its way into Carol’s voice. She scooped up a chunk of boiled radish and popped it in her mouth.

***

Many stops and conversations awaited Jon that night. There was much to discuss after a day of such loss. Two children lay grievously injured, one sure to die, the other clung to life by a thread. It troubled the group, all of them. Jon could see it, no matter how much some tried to hide. He intended to find out how bad the damage to morale was. The first of his stops after Carol was Rick and Lori.

Jon found the door to Carl’s room open ajar. Inside, Rick sat by Carl’s bedside alone. Hunched, pale and weathered, Rick held his son’s hand. An empty chair stood beside him. Carl looked as healthy as the day Jon had met him. As if Rick’s life force had been siphoned into him. I suppose it has, in a sense. A tangle of brown hair flowed past Carl’s eyes, like a pair of parted, greasy curtains. Flush pinked his cheeks. A cream glow warmed his skin. Closed, sleeping eyes stared at the ceiling. His shirt had been removed, exposing a wide, white bandage that stretched from one side of his belly to the other. Intertwined tubes of clear, IV water and red, blood ran from his arm to their bags suspended on a coat rack. Carl’s hat sat on a nightstand. Its golden star twinkled beneath the strange, electric lights of this world. Alongside it were two empty bowls.

Rick greeted Jon with half-open, vacant eyes. “Jon.” He nodded.

“Rick.” Jon stood at Rick’s flank and watched Carl. “He seems to be getting better.”

“That’s what Hershel keeps tellin’ me.” Rick squeezed Carl’s hand.

“Where’s Lori?”

“Toilet. Just missed her, I’m afraid.”

“No matter, what I have to discuss is perhaps best suited to a private conversation.”

Rick nodded. He clutched his chin, partially covering his mouth. “I was hopin’ to talk to you too. Tomorrow. But, we can do it now. Shut the door.”

Jon shut the door. “I’ve-”

“Hold on. Sit.” Rick patted the chair beside him. “I hate lookin’ up at people when they talk to me. Bring your eyes to my level.”

Jon preferred to kneel before a man like Rick, but he followed the command and sat.

“Alright. You were sayin’?”

Jon nodded. “I’ve told Carol the truth.”

Rick’s nose wrinkled. “What? Why? I thought we agreed to wait. Hell, waitin’ was your idea in the first place.”

“I’ll be plain. This may well be Sophia’s last night. If not, tomorrow night. Carol won’t leave that room any easier than you will this one. I’d rather we deal with one corpse instead of two.”

“But, Hershel said she’s strong. I heard him.”

“Aye, as did I. But I saw his eyes too. His words were sweet, nothing more. The man hasn’t the heart to tell a mother, a widow no less, that there’s no hope for her only daughter.”

“No. You can’t know for sure she’ll die. Back before all this, I read a news story about a rail worker bein’ hit by a train. It cut him in half but they saved him. Sure, he had to live in a wheelchair, but he lived. What’s an arm compared to that?”

“You aren’t naive enough to truly believe that. Think about what you said. That was then. This is now. You haven’t seen her, not in a while anyway. She looks practically a corpse already.”

Rick sighed and held his head in his free hand. “Okay… yeah. How’d Carol take it?”

“Better than expected. She believes herself capable of doing what must be done when the time comes. Still, it’d be best if someone waited with her. I’ll retrieve Daryl from wherever he went. I trust you heard about his tantrum at dinner?”

Rick chuckled. “I heard it happen. His voice carries.”

Jon smiled. “Aye, it does. A useful thing when it counts.”

Rick lifted his head. His brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. “Alright. We tell them tomorrow. They should know before we have to explain a stab wound in Sophia’s head.”

“Aye, as you command. I’ll let Glenn and Jenner know. I plan on visiting them anyway once we’re done. The others too. We’ve suffered quite a bit recently. Best make sure they’re all keeping their wits about them.”

Rick clicked his tongue and dodged Jon’s eyes to look at Carl. “You shouldn’t have to. It should be my burden.”

“Aye, it’d be better if you did it. But it wouldn’t serve to have you collapse in front of everyone. If they are losing their wits, seeing their leader collapse will only worsen things. And besides, the first thing Carl will want to see when he wakes is your’s and Lori’s faces. Stay here. Let me handle things for now.”

Rick scoffed. “Leader. Don’t know why you all think I am. You, Glenn and Jenner, make plenty of decisions. Even Dale and Lori from time to time. And Daryl doesn’t do anything unless he wants to anyway.”

“Aye, all true. But they call you a leader all the same. They want you to lead. So, you’ll put your head down and get on with it. For their sakes.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You’ll know. Now, tell me. How goes Lori? What does she make of Carl, Sophia and this place?”

Rick pursed his lips. “It scared the hell out of her. All of it. But… she’ll be fine. She’ll put on her strong face and soldier through it. Always has.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yeah. It’s how she acted before when our marriage-” Rick shook his head and waved his hand. “Doesn’t matter. I just know she can be strong when it counts.”

“Aye, okay. I’ll take your word on it. She’s well suited for this world. Harder days than this will come and we must be prepared to do what is required of us.”

Rick’s face darkened. He stared at Carl and clutched his hand. His foot tapped a fast, erratic rhythm. “Jon.” He spoke in a curt, sharp voice.

“Aye?”

“You told me you’ve killed before.”

“I did.”

Rick sighed. His foot stopped tapping. He let go of Carl’s hand and ran his own through his hair. “Why? How many of them? Did you have a good reason?”

Ice coursed through Jon’s veins, clenching every muscle. “Those answers depend on whether you think me mad.”

“You’re no crazier than the rest of us.”

“But do you believe me? About Westeros?”

Rick paused. He stared at the ground for a handful of heartbeats before meeting Jon’s eyes.

“If you’d have asked me before all this- shoot, if you’d asked me before the CDC, I’d have said no. But, I watched you break blast-proof glass. I’ve seen the way Ghost behaves, the way he seems to understand you as no dog should. I’ve seen the wounds on your chest, the one over your heart. And that damn bird. No way you just happened upon a talking crow that knows your full name by coincidence. So, fuck it, yeah I believe you. Everything you’ve told me and anything you tell me goin’ forward.”

Jon sat tall. “I’ve killed countless. Men, women and children. I’ve been to war. I commanded men to kill. Every man or boy or woman who died by my command, I count. So, hundreds most like. They all blur together into a nameless, faceless mass. But there are five I remember clearly. Four men. One woman. My first kill was a freefolk man named Orell. He attacked me so I killed him to save myself and my brothers of the Night’s Watch. After him, a ranger of the Night’s Watch named Quorin Half-hand commanded me to kill him so I might convince the enemy that I’d turned traitor, to avoid my own death. I did as he commanded. The man who watched me kill Quorin was my next kill, The Lord of Bones or, Rattleshirt. I did not kill him for sometime, however. I killed him years later, so that a better man may live. A man named Mance Rayder was to be executed in retribution for laying siege to The Wall. But I had further uses for the man, so I swapped him and Rattleshirt, and allowed Rattleshirt to be burned alive in his place. The last man to be killed by me was a man named Janos Slynt. He undermined by authority as Lord Commander multiple times, openly questioned my command and aimed to sew derision and discord amongst my men. So, following the traditions of the First Men, I beheaded him with Longclaw for all to see.”

“The woman…” Jon swallowed his grief. His voice trembled despite himself. “The woman was named Ygritte. We were lovers. She a freefolk warrior, me a crow of the Night’s Watch. A match for songs and fables. It was a boy’s love. But that didn’t make it any less real. To speak truly, I do not know who slew her. But she died in a battle of my creation; a battle I fought in; on the opposite side. So, it may as well have been my arrow that found her. She died in my arms. Of all the faces I’ve seen pass into the cold embrace, hers is one I shall never forget for however many of my namedays remain.”

“And now, in this world of yours, I have killed two more. I ran Longclaw through the back of a man called Dan to save Jenner’s life as well as my own. And I killed Sophia trying to save her.”

A haze lifted from Jon’s eyes as he finished speaking. He noticed tears on his cheeks. The folly of boys. He wiped them away and forbid any more from appearing.

“Jesus…” Rick stared at him. Eyes wide. Mouth agape.

“I lived during the long night’s twilight years. Such hardships are to be expect-”

Rick seized Jon’s hand with both of his. He squeezed and bore a moist, determined stare into Jon.

“What are you doing?”

“Jon, as long as I’m around, you’re never gonna have to do anything like that again? Understand?”

“Fool. You can’t promise that.”

“I can and do. You ain’t got parents to protect you, so I will.”

“I don’t need a new father. Let go of me. Has the transfusion taken your wits?”

Wetness trickled down Jon’s cheeks. Perplexed, he wrenched his hand free and wiped the tears away. But new tears replaced the old. Jon wiped them away too, but the stupid, stubborn things kept coming anyway. He tried to speak but his voice caught in his throat. Fire burned in his chest.

“I-I’m a man grown. I don’t need a new-” He choked.

“No. Fuck.” Rick buried his forehead into his palm. “That ain’t what I meant… I ain’t tryin’ to be your dad. You’re too old for that. Just know, that the things you went through, no kid should ever have to go through. If you ever need to talk about it, or whatever, I’m here.”

Jon scrubbed his boyish tears away with his sleeve. “Y-Your world’s sensibilities are different to mine. My life was hardly any crueller than any others. Plenty had it worse than I. I’m highborn. I grew up in a castle. A master of arms trained me. A maester taught me sums and history and all sorts. I went to bed every night warm and with a full belly. That’s more than most could boast.”

“Yeah sure, still doesn’t change the fact you fought in a war, and killed four men and your girlfriend before you finished puberty.”

“Boys half my age saw their entire families killed in the War of The Five Kings. And she wasn’t-”

Rick waved his hand. “Don’t care. Shit you went through was fucked up too. It ain’t a fuckin’ competition.”

Jon stood, without command to do so. He’d had enough of all the folly. “I have much to do tonight. I wish Carl well.” Before Rick could respond, Jon marched out of the room.

The door slammed behind him. An accident but Jon didn’t feel ashamed for a moment. Shame only reared its head as he caught his reflection in the widow of the front door. His boyish tears smudged little river tracks down his cheeks and puffed his eyes, giving him Ghost’s gaze.

“Fool,” he muttered to himself as he marched up the stairs for the bathroom.

He needed a strong face for tonight. The others needed a man to shoulder their fear, not a snivelling, puffy-eyed boy. Jon flung open the bathroom door. A scream greeted him. Lori gawked at him from the toilet. Her trousers pooled around her ankles as she held some strange stick between her legs. Jon’s face flushed.

“Sorry!” He slammed the door shut and stepped away from it.

Fire seared his chest, his heart thundered and he felt a bigger fool than ever. The faint flushing of a toilet penetrated through the door. Followed by the streaming of running water. The door opened.

Jon couldn’t meet her eyes. “I apologise. I had no intention of-”

“Quiet,” she hissed.

Jon met her gaze. She looked worried, rather than furious. Lori looked left and right down the hall before grabbing Jon’s wrist.

“Come in. Quickly.”

“What? No.”

“Just do it,” she snapped.

Jon stepped into the bathroom at once. Lori shut the door and pressed her back to it.

“You can’t tell Rick,” she said.

“Have you lost your mind? Can’t tell him what?”

Lori looked as confused as Jon felt. “The pregnancy test.” She pointed to the sink.

On the sink’s counter, sat the strange stick Lori had had between her legs. More strange medicine, Jon assumed.

“You’re with child?”

Lori’s face dropped. Her shoulders slumped. She kneaded the bridge of her nose. “You don’t know what that is, do you?”

“I have an idea now. That stick tells you if you’re with child? How?”

Lori sighed. “I don’t know. Just does. Please don’t tell Rick. You’ve kept my secrets before. I’m asking you to do it again.”

“I didn’t agree to keep your secret. I agreed to let you tell Rick yourself. Which you still haven’t.”

“I’m getting around to it. There hasn’t exactly been a good opportunity.”

“I suppose not, aye… who’s child is it?”

Lori pursed her lips and avoided Jon’s eyes. “The morning sickness started a few days after the CDC.”

“I see. Why the test then? You should have a bump… I think.”

“I just needed to be certain.” Lori placed her hand over her stomach. “You won’t tell, will you?”

“No. It’s not my place. That’s your burden.”

“I know.” Lori met Jon’s eyes and smiled. “Thanks.”

“Tell him now.”

“Wha-”

“Best your words tell the truth than your body.” Jon gestured to her stomach. “And it should be the whole truth. He deserves as much.”

Silver welled in the corner of Lori’s eyes. She wiped it away, only for more to replace it. “Damn it,” she whimpered. “Why do you have to be right about everything?”

Jon offered his hand. “Come. I’ll escort you.”

Lori nodded, sniffled and took his hand. Together, they made their way downstairs. With each step, Lori’s grip tightened until her grip turned to steel. They stood before the door of Carl’s room.

“He’s gonna kill him,” Lori said.

“Not in his condition, he won’t. And even if he could. I wouldn’t let him.”

Lori nodded, took a deep breath and put on a strong face. She let go of Jon’s hand, stood tall and opened the door. Jon closed the door behind her and lingered outside. Even great men weren’t prone to taking such news well. Rick wouldn’t hurt his wife. But still, Jon prepared himself to break them apart. Faint murmurs seeped through the door. Jon tensed and gripped the door handle. Two murmurs conversed. One soft. One deep. After a few faint exchanges, a silent pause loitered. The deep murmur spoke. The soft responded. Another pause; longer than the last. Silence gave way to soft sobbing. The deep voice murmured. Jon heard the gentle smack of a kiss, followed by faint, tearful laughter.

*** “A horse? What do you need a horse for, son?” Hershel asked. The old man raised a white eyebrow at him across the kitchen bench. One by one, he packed away the bowls and cutlery of that night’s feast into various draws.

“A night patrol. I won’t have our people sleeping outside without some kind of watch,” Jon said.

Hershel nodded. A smile warmed his wrinkled face. “Alright, fair enough. Maggie’ll help you get set up. She’s out on the porch, last I saw.”

“You have my thanks.” Jon turned to take his leave.

“Son, hold on.”

Jon faced Hershel again. “Yes?”

“If you encounter any of them, you’ll treat them with respect, won’t you?”

“Aye, I respect them. We all do. We lived among them for a month. Without that respect, we wouldn’t be here.”

Hershel grinned. “Glad to hear.” He rounded the counter, stood before Jon and analysed him with a look. “You and your people… I think you’re good people. Sorry if I came off as harsh or… unwelcoming before. Just can’t be too careful nowadays. Seems like the moment this sickness spread across the world, morals went out the window. I’m happy to see you people are an exception.”

Jon hid his scepticism behind a face as calm as still water. The words spoken, Jon trusted came from a true place. But no matter how genuine the old man was, he reeked of weakness. Jon nodded and offered a handshake. “It’s a good thing we found each other in all of this.”

Hershel accepted the handshake. “It is.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a small, plastic object that looked vaguely like a musical instrument. “If any wanderers get over the fence, blow on this. Okay? We’ll come help you deal with the situation.”

Jon took the plastic thing and gave it a light blow. A sharp, high-pitched whistle screamed out of it. “I appreciate it, but I assure you I’m more than capable-”

“I insist. This is my land. Any poor souls who wander onto it are my responsibility.”

“Aye… as you wish.” Hershel’s tone unnerved Jon.

“Oh, also. Don’t stay up all night. Have someone switch with you eventually. A boy your age needs a proper night’s sleep.”

“Aye.” Jon snapped on his heels and headed outside before the old man felt the need to swaddle him and tuck him in too.

Outside, darkness veiled all. Fields of black and grey rolled off into the distance to meet the looming forest, a wall of shadow sentinels. A campfire twinkled on a field of black, like a fallen, orange star. The shadows it cast played queer tricks with Jon’s eyes. They danced upon the camp, turning the tents into far-off mountains and the vehicles into peaceful, slumbering giants. The fence of rusted scrap hid among the dark, only visible if one were to squint; a thin black line. Jon squinted and watched for shambling shadows. He saw none, but Glenn’s words rang in his head. Threats are everywhere. Then, another voice whispered. The night is dark and full of terrors. Jon wondered if Mellisandra was still alive. If Sam was still alive. If anyone was still alive.

He shook his head at once. Stop that. You know better. Jon pushed the thoughts away and looked about the porch for Maggie. A single lantern hung from a rafter, dousing the empty, white porch in a golden light. Jon stood alone, relieved. He’d rather not have to talk to the woman. She struck him as rather incompetent, headstrong without any true skill to back it up.

Instead, a far more welcome companion joined Jon. Ghost, silent even on the uneven boards of the rickety stairs, joined Jon’s side and nuzzled his waist. The direwolf smelt of lavender soap. The lantern light gifted him a golden coat and speckled his red eyes with flakes of gold. They gazed up at him, unreadable, the way Jon liked them.

“Come, boy. We’ve got tonight’s watch.” Jon scratched Ghost behind the ears, getting a wag out of his tail.

“Watch!” screeched an unwelcome companion.

The raven fluttered into the rafters and hung from the lantern, upside down, like some sort of feathered bat. It stared at Jon with its pale, scarred eye.

“Bah, shoo. Do you have nothing better to do than pester me?”

“Corn!”

“Appears not.” Jon sighed. “Fine. Come along, if you must. Let’s see if we can’t find you some corn.”

“Corn! Corn!” The raven let go of the lantern, dropped, opened its wings and fluttered onto Jon’s shoulder. The creature had lost some weight without the comforts of the wall. But still, the large bird weighed on Jon’s shoulder enough to be irritating. Bloody, hawk in raven’s clothing, I swear.

As Jon crossed the gravel lot to head for the stables, he watched the moon. It hung above the barn atop its hill as a slither; a pale, crescent dagger. The barn afforded Jon an inkling of hope. Spacious and tall, it’d make for decent housing. Even if it meant sharing with farm animals. Sleeping among cow shit sounded far better than sleeping out in the open, like a buffet for corpses. The raven stared at it too. It muttered nonsense words.

“Quiet, you. We’ll find your corn, I promise.”

“Sick,” it muttered.

Jon ignored the creature and pressed on to the stables. A golden light spilled out of the stables, casting shadows upon the gravel. As Jon drew near, faint sounds wafted through the air. A woman’s giggles danced with a man’s laughter. Jon made his way down the corridor of pens, past the weathered donkey and stocky workhorse. The giggles turned to moans and the wet slapping of flesh. Jon froze. His cheeks flushed. What are you doing? Get a move on. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Jon pinpointed the source. The sounds of fucking spilled out of the vacant pen beside Nessy’s, blocking Jon’s path. Jon grimaced. He could turn back and take the workhorse, but a brave horse would be best to confront the dead. For all he knew, the workhorse would throw him at the mere scent of rot, not to mention how it would react to Ghost. Bloody hell. Jon bored his eyes into the ground and hurried past the empty pen.

Moans turned to screams. “Jon?!” Glenn shouted.

Jon stopped. He needed to talk to Glenn, to tell him of tomorrow’s plans. Taking care to not let his eyes wander, Jon met Glenn’s eyes. Glenn and Maggie scrambled to cover themselves with whatever clothes were nearest.

“Sorry. Can I borrow you for a second?”

“Can it wait?” Glenn asked, panting.

“No.”

“Dude… come on…” Glenn’s eyes glanced at Maggie.

“Dude!” the raven cackled.

“N-No, it’s okay. It must be important. Besides…” A sultry tone coloured Maggie’s voice. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

Glenn sighed. “Fine. But this better be life and death shit, man.”

“I’ll give you some privacy to dress,” Jon said.

He made his way to Nessy’s pen with flushed cheeks. Nessy greeted him with a snort and a flick of his tail.

“Nice to see you again too.”

Ghost eyed Nessy. Nessy eyed Ghost. Even warhorses, broken and hardened for the heat of battle reared at the mere sight of Ghost. Nessy only snorted and turned his snout up.

“Corn!” The raven flew from Jon’s shoulder and landed on an open bag of fodder. It pecked at the dried straw greedily.

A short wait later, Glenn emerged from the empty pen, dressed in unbuttoned jeans and a little more. Lantern light played golden games on his bare chest’s olive skin and wispy, black hairs. “This better be important, dude,” he grumbled.

“Rick and I have agreed that we tell the truth tomorrow.”

“Shit. Really?”

“Aye.”

Glenn clutched his chin and nodded. “Alright. Good. I reckon we do it first thing, around the table. That way everyone knows at the same time, and we can answer any questions right away.”

“Aye, and quell any sort of panic.”

“Yeah, that too. So… this place is it then, right? Rick thinks we’ve found a new home?”

“Rick believes so, yes. But that isn’t the only reason for telling the truth. He and I agree that it’s better they find out from us than have Sophia’s death explain it for us.”

Glenn’s eyes widened. “Sophia’s dead?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Not yet? Come on, man. Have a little hope. She’s got proper medicine now, and two doctors to take care of her.”

“Have you seen her? She’s practically a corpse already.”

“Yeah, I saw. I know it looks bad but I’m not giving up on her.”

“You’re only setting yourself up for greater grief.”

“Maybe… but so be it.”

“So be it then. I can’t chastise hope. Foolish as it may be.”

Glenn chuckled. “Yeah, okay. Whatever you say, dude.”

They shared a merry laugh. Glenn smirked and punched his arm.

“If you ever interrupt me like that again, we won’t be laughing, dumbass,” he said, grinning.

Jon chuckled. “Sorry. It wasn’t exactly pleasant for me, either.”

“Bullshit. Did you see her?” Glenn whistled. “I didn’t think I’d ever meet a girl that hot again, dude. And guess what?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “She came onto me!”

“I’m afraid I kept my eyes above the shoulders, but good for you.”

“You boys done?” Maggie poked her head out of the pen.

“Aye, my apologies. I’ll let you get on with it. Keep your clothes on for a bit, will you? I’m taking Nessy out for a patrol.”

“Wait, hold on.” Maggie stepped out; wearing only a half-buttoned shirt and her undergarments. “I wanted to talk to you, actually.”

Jon averted his eyes from her immodesty. Glenn laughed and smirked at him. Maggie stood before him, unashamed.

“I wanted to apologise,” she said. “For Carl.”

“No need. Your hospitality has more than-”

“Just let me do this, kid. Geez. I suck at this shit. Let me practice on you so I don’t fuck it up with Rick and Lori. Okay? Look, when I saw the… the… uh, corpse and the kid so close I just didn’t think. I pointed and shot like it was a reflex, you know? Like when your hand touches somethin’ hot and you just gotta pull away? That’s what it was like. You get me? God, I’m ramblin’. Look, I just wanted to say I didn’t mean to hurt him. And I feel like a complete idiot for shooting… it… through the stomach of all places. I completely forgot what it was I was shootin’ in the moment, you know? If I hadn’t, the bullet would’ve passed right over Carl. So that’s on me.”

“It! It! It!” the raven cawed.

Jon blinked at her. “Aye… you’re forgiven.”

Maggie clenched her jaw. “Thanks, but I gotta do more to earn that. I’ll talk to my dad about lettin’ y’all stay here. Among other things… We need people like you if we’re gonna rebuild what we’ve lost.”

Jon nodded. “I appreciate it.”

Maggie spat on the palm of her hand and stuck it out to Jon. “Let’s shake on it.”

“Let’s not.”

“Nope, you’re shakin’. Spit shake it sacred. An unbreakable oath.”

Jon sighed, spat on his hand and shook hers. She squeezed his hand tight. He squeezed back. Once they finished, he wiped his hand on his jeans.

“Alright.” Maggie grinned and grabbed Glenn’s arm. “Come on you.”

She dragged him back towards the empty pen. Glenn laughed, seized her waist, flung her over his shoulder and carried her, earning a squeal of a laugh.

Jon saddled Nessy and thought about Glenn’s stance on Sophia’s death. He’d expected grief, despair, and even anger but not hope. A little whisper of doubt plagued his mind.

“Mayhaps, I have misjudged these people once again,” he whispered to no one in particular.

“May-Haps!” The raven cawed.

*** Jon left Glenn and Maggie to their fucking and trotted off into the field a top Nessy, towards the camp. Ghost padded alongside, silent like always. Nessy marched alongside Ghost undeterred. As if Ghost were nothing more than an everyday hound.

Jon stroked his mane. “You would have felt right at home on the wall.”

“Wall!” The raven shot overhead towards the distant night fire; a black arrow on a star-spangled sky.

It’d been weeks since they’d lit a night fire. Its orange twinkling filled Jon with queer nostalgia. The trip from the stables to the camp took longer than Jon would have liked. Dale had insisted they set up a fair distance away, to afford their hosts some privacy. Jon had been alone in his disagreement, so the camp had been lain in the centre of a field, rather than in the gravel lot. Jon counted the minutes from the stable to the camp. Seven, if his counting rhythm had stayed steady. Far too long.

Jon rode Nessy through their camp. A short trip through a corridor of tents and vehicles. The wall of tents and the wall of vehicles sat on either side of Dale’s plastic long-table. Jon manoeuvred Nessy alongside the table, pressing right up against the RV. Atop, Jon spotted Shane. He watched the treeline of looming, shadow sentinels from his plastic hair.

At the end of the long table, Jon found the fire pit. Dale, Andrea, T-Dog and Jenner sat around it, chatting and roasting nuts. The raven hopped around their feet, eyeing the nuts like a hapless beggar.

The grime of travel had vanished. Dale’s hair was white as snow, Andrea’s shiny and golden, T-Dog’s black like dragon glass and Jenner’s a pale cream. The beards of tangled hair once sported by the men were gone in favour of smooth, hairless chins. Except for Dale, who had trimmed his down to a fine, silver stubble. T-Dog and Dale sat across from one another, japing across the crackling flames. Andrea basked in the warmth, clinging to Dale’s arm, half-asleep. Jenner sat in silence, focusing on mashing chestnuts into a paste with the hilt of his knife. Nessy’s approach drew all four pairs of eyes on him.

Dale laughed. “Bit late for riding, isn’t it, Jon?”

“Aye that it would be. I’m heading off for patrol.”

“We’ve got Shane for that, man.” T-Dog grinned and patted his log seat. “Come join us! Fire’s nice and toasty, and these chestnuts are lookin’ mighty fine. I think.”

“Shane can only watch so much at once. We’re open from all sides out here and that fence isn’t sturdy enough to trust our lives too.”

Andrea nodded. “Makes sense. I’ll take the second shift.”

“Can you ride?” Jon asked.

Andrea shrugged. “Can’t be that hard.”

T-Dog scoffed. “Can’t be that hard. You seein’ the same horse I am? Look at him, he hates you already.”

Nessy snorted. The muscles in his neck turned to steel. Jon stroked the stallion’s neck and the muscles softened. “Aye, he’s not new rider material, I’m afraid.”

“Whatever, I’ll just go on foot then,” Andrea said.

“Or maybe, just let Shane. He’s already keeping watch anyway.” Dale placed a hand on Andrea’s knee.

Andrea smirked at him. “Please, you just don’t want me to leave in the middle of the night.”

Dale rubbed the back of his head and laughed. “Yeah, guilty.”

“Don’t worry, old man. You’ll have plenty of me before I leave.” Andrea planted a kiss on Dale’s cheek.

T-Dog bellowed a belly laugh and clapped his hands. “Can’t argue with that, man!”

“No.” Dale took Andrea’s hands into his. His eyes softened. “No I can’t.”

Andrea and Dale shared a smile and a kiss. T-Dog turned his grin on Jenner.

“How’d the old guy find a girl before us? Huh?” He asked, laughing.

Jenner responded with a glare. He pulled his stick from the fire, placed more chestnuts in a bowl, poured some water onto them and mashed them into a paste with the hilt of his knife. A bandage covered his cheek. A white square, spanning from jaw to cheekbone, secured by tape.

“How do we fare tonight?” Jon asked.

Dale tore his eyes away from Andrea to beam at Jon. “Never been better. Look at this place. About as close as we’ve got to heaven nowadays.”

“Yeah, man,” T-Dog said. “We can really make something here. You know? We can finally put all this shit behind us and start rebuilding.”

“Couldn’t put it better myself,” Dale said.

Jon nodded and watched the other two. Andrea smiled a tight, thin smile and stared at her feet. Jenner mashed his paste with a scowl.

“I’ve checked on Carl. Seems like he’ll make a recovery,” Jon said. Best to ease into the hard talks.

“Kid’s tough,” Andrea said.

“Gotta be, after the things he’s seen.” A rare scowl darkened T-Dog’s face. “So fucked up man… those kids’ll never get these years back.”

“One of many tragedies.” Dale pulled his chestnuts from the fire and began cracking the shells. “But, better days are ahead. For us and the kids.” Dale found Jon’s eyes again. “I’ve been meaning to ask. How are you coping, son? We’ve been so preoccupied with the kids’ injuries we never stopped to check in on you.”

T-Dog’s chin dipped. Andrea raised her head. Even Jenner stopped what he was doing to stare.

“Fuck.” T-Dog whispered. “True. Sorry, Jon. I didn’t even think- I mean you had to-”

“I’m fine. I did all I could to save her. That’s all I can ask for.” Jon’s burned hand ached.

Dale and T-Dog smiled meek, sullen smiles. Andrea frowned.

“Whatever happens, know it wasn’t your fault,” she said.

“I know,” Jon lied. For their sake.

Dale laughed an awkward laugh. “Come now, you’re talking like Sophia’s gonna die. You heard Hershel, she’ll pull through.”

“I know sweetheart…” Andrea smiled a thin smile and kissed Dale’s cheek. “I heard him. I mean, if Daryl or Carol or Sophia hold it against him, that he shouldn’t feel bad.”

“Oh.” Dale held Andrea’s hand and smiled at Jon. “I’m sure they won’t. Well, Daryl might. But he isn’t exactly friendly, to begin with. Never has been. Him or his brother.”

Jon gave him a nod and smiled. “Aye, I’m sure you’re right.” He glanced at T-Dog. They had gone quiet. Shadows veiled his face as he stared at the ground. Best to keep an eye on him.

Jenner clutched his cheek. “Jon-” He winced. “Can we speak alone?”

“Aye.”

Jon dismounted and led Jenner away to the tents. Ghost padded after them. Nessy wandered off to graze. The raven remained to beg by the fire. The others resumed their chatter.

Jon ducked inside Jenner’s tent. An empty space with a blue, plastic floor and a huddle of scavenged blankets to sleep on. They had no lights so the night’s dark consumed all. A silhouette that must belong to Jenner slipped through the tent’s flap after him and sat down. Ghost sat outside, guarding them on his haunches.

“Before we speak, you should know. We’re revealing the truth tomorrow,” Jon said, a little above a whisper. “Rick and I believe the time is right. Glenn agrees.”

“About time.” Jenner clutched his cheek as he spoke. His wound muffled and gurgled his words. “Have you told Carol?”

“Aye… I made that decision alone.”

“And?”

“Better than expected. Far better. She has a certain strength to her, that one. She accepted the truth at face value.”

“Not unexpected at all, actually.”

“We’ll see.”

“We will.”

A tension lingered between them.

“What did you want to speak about?” Jon asked.

“The walker. It planned out an ambush. Used a weapon. Reacted to your attacks. The dead can’t do that.”

“No… they can’t.”

“Yet, it was dead.”

“Undoubtedly. Surely you have some idea. This is your area of expertise after all.”

“Only a hypothesis… nothing concrete.”

“It’ll have to do.”

“Alright, well, Candice had this theory of a third mutation wave. The final step in the wildfire virus’s conquest. Essentially, once it got settled into the second wave and established a strong presence of roaming hosts, the virus would start to reactivate the strongest neural pathways of the brain. If true, hypothetically speaking, the virus could perform more complex tasks that its host performed on a day to day basis. Stuff that’d been committed to instinct. Our walker was a cop, right? It’d track that fighting with a baton and recognising potential attacks from an assailant would be drilled into their memory through training.”

Jon understood enough of what Jenner said to follow. “I saw walkers climb ladders and use rubble to bash windows. And Rick told me about a child walker he met at the start of all this carrying a toy bear around as well as one that tried to open a door. Could that be the third wave as well?”

“Yeah, definitely. First-wave and second-wave walkers can only roam or lurk, nothing more.” Jenner winced and smiled. “I guess Candice was right.”

“It appears so. Did she come up with a name for these variants?”

“Just that, actually. Variants. A proper name was still pending.”

“Variants it is then. Best we inform the others of their existence tomorrow, along with the truth about the virus.”

“Agreed.”

Jon gummed his lips. “Also… Rick believes me.”

Jenner’s stern gaze brightened. He winced as a grin spread across his face. “All of it?” He clutched his cheek.

“Aye. All of it. At least, he says so. He wanted to know about the people I’ve killed. I suppose he wanted to make sure I wasn’t a crazed killer. So, I told him about Orell and Quorin and Rattleshirt and Janos Slynt and…”

“Ygritte?”

Jon nodded.

“How’d he take it?”

“Foolishly. He tried to comfort me like he thought to be my father. I was all quite… uncomfortable.”

“I’d call that a pretty reasonable response, Jon.”

“Aye, you would. A queer lot, the pair of you.” Jon shook his head and waved his hand. “Let’s talk no more of it. I just thought you’d like to know you have someone to discuss your notes with.”

Jenner’s smile faded. “Thanks.”

*** Jon left Nessy to graze and climbed the RV’s ladder. Ghost waited on his haunches at the ladder’s base and gazed at the dagger moon with lazy red eyes. Atop the RV, Jon found Shane in his plastic chair with an empty, scoped rifle in his lap. A thorough wash had returned the cream to his skin. And the curls to his head of black hair, pitch like a starless night sky. And although the wash rid him of a sour stench, it did naught for his sour face. A perpetual scowl honed in on the distant, looming, black sentinels of the forest. He paid Jon no mind as he set foot atop the RV.

With one hand on Longclaw’s pommel, Jon stood beside Shane and stared out into the forest. “We need to discuss what transpired today.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to discuss.”

“There is. You’re trying to turn Rick’s people against him.”

“I ain’t tryin’ to do shit. Just told it like it is, that’s all. Rick’s the leader. Leaders take the blame.”

“Don’t take me for a fool, Shane. What you covet is plain for all to see.”

Shane’s grip tightened around his rifle. “Jon, get the fuck away from me.”

Jon stood between Shane and his view of the forest. “You ought to regard me with kindness.”

“Yeah, and why the fuck is that, kid?”

“Because I’m here. Talking to you. While the others pretend as if you don’t exist.”

Shane’s scowl wavered. The grip on his rifle loosened.

Jon squeezed Longclaw’s direwolf pommel. “After everything you’ve done, you ought to have been exiled or executed. Don’t think for a moment we didn’t discuss it. I argued against it. Because for all your faults, you’re strong. We need strong men in times like these. So, for your own sake, don’t make me regret that decision. Keep your head down and do your part.”

A thin smile spread across Shane’s lips. “So, you didn’t kill me. That meant to make us friends now? You wanna braid dandelions into each other’s hair or somethin’?”

“Even if these people did turn against Rick, they’d never turn to you next. Not after what you’ve done.”

“No… they wouldn’t.” Shane thumbed the hilt of his rifle. “You’d be next. Wouldn’t you?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“I can. Fuck, look at yourself, kid. The cloak. The sword. The wolf. You’d have to be fuckin’ retarded to not listen to what you have to say.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re listening then?”

“Yeah, yeah. I am. Fuck. I ain’t dumb. I see how things are. Before, the things I said about Rick, that shit was just heat of the moment. You know? The kid’d just lost an arm. Daryl and the dog were at each other’s throats. Things looked like they were fallin’ apart and no one was doin’ shit about it. I got emotional. Can you blame me? You ain’t gotta worry about me, Jon. I’ll just stay out of the way, where I can’t bother people by beein’ seen. Swear it on those I’ve lost.” Shane put his hand over his heart, over his golden, sheriff's star.

“Aye… okay. Good.”

Shane offered Jon his hand. “Thanks for the second chance, man. I owe you. For real.”

Jon shook his hand. “You can pay back the favour by staying true to your word.”

“Deal.”

Jon nodded. “Aye, okay. I’ll leave you be, then. Enjoy tonight’s peace for however long it lasts.”

“You too, man.”

Jon crossed the RV’s roof and approached the ladder. But before descending, he looked over his shoulder at Shane. “Shane, if you’re lying to me, I’ll execute you myself.”

“Yup, heard the threat the first time.” Shane waved to him over his shoulder.

Jon watched Shane for a moment before descending the RV’s ladder. Below, he found Ghost waiting patiently. Jon smiled.

“Good boy.” He ruffled the direwolf’s ears.

Ghost’s tail went to wagging and he caught Jon’s hand in his teeth. He nipped. Jon tugged. The wolf tugged back, gently. If Ghost so chose, he could take Jon’s arm off with little trouble. His mouth could fit Jon’s whole head. It made his hand seem that of a child’s between his teeth. But, Ghost only nipped and tugged; hard enough to make it fun but never enough to cause harm. Jon chuckled and pet him again. Ghost let go and together they went to find Nessy. Nessy hadn’t wandered far and when Jon mounted him, he made no fuss.

With Ghost in tow, Jon headed off for his last stop before he began that night’s patrol. On the other side of the field, the lonely, pointed silhouette of a tent sat nestled among black and grey grass. White light flickered within the tent, dim and pale, like a heavenly beacon.

Jon trotted Nessy across the field to Daryl’s tent. Ghost skulked after him through the grass. The raven glided overhead, casting a winged silhouette against Georgia’s night sky. A night sky like no other. The Westerosi night sky housed thousands of twinkling pale eyes and countless constellations. Jon knew all the important ones by heart.

The crone’s lantern, the galley, the ghost, the ice dragon, the cradle, the moonmaid, the shadowcat, the sow, the horned lord and the sword of the morning. Seven wanderers patrolled the night’s sky, each sacred to the southern faith of the seven gods. Jon hadn’t bothered to learn their names. Nor should he. Even if the seven were real, they were lies, the same as the old gods. No afterlife awaited them. Only the cold embrace. Yet, Jon knew the name of one of the wanderers all the same. The red wanderer. Ygritte had told him its true name. The thief. Oftentimes, when hardships saught to test Jon’s command on the wall, he watched the sky for the thief. The little red dot filled him with a queer peace.

But that’s all there was in the Westerosi sky; wanderers and stars and the moon or the occasional comet. Georgia’s night sky sported a band of celestial clouds that slashed the sky. Like a heavenly wound that bled starlight. No matter how many nights Jon had spent beneath it, it never failed to amaze him. Jenner called it the Sagittarius Arm, named after the word for “archer” in the dead tongue of Latin. But Jon preferred to call it “the wound”, for that’s what it looked like. He basked in its yellow and blue light all the way to Daryl’s camp. The majesty of the wound gifted Jon pause. He pondered his approach towards convincing Daryl. Direct, plain and calm, Jon decided as he arrived.

“Daryl? May I enter?” Jon asked as he dismounted.

A grunt responded. Jon had heard enough of such grunts to recognise it as a “yes”. He left Nessy to graze outside and ducked inside the tent. Ghost sat guard on his haunches. The raven followed Jon inside. Daryl sat cross-legged in the corner of the tent, whittling crossbow bolts from sticks under the light of a torch held between his teeth. His hair, the colour of mud, hung over his eyes, greasy and tangled. Dirt, sweat and all manner of unwashed filth smudged his skin and stained his clothes. The light played queer tricks on his face, enlarging his already prominent eye bags and bunny lines. He regarded Jon with a curt glance, never once pausing his whittling.

“Can I trouble you to free your mouth so we make speak?” Jon asked.

“Speak! Speak!” the raven cried, strutting about the tent’s blue, plastic floor.

Daryl spat out the torch and scowled. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“I might ask you the same.”

“What’s it look like?”

“Hiding.”

Daryl’s upper lip curled. “Fuck you.”

“Carol needs you. Yet, here you sit.”

Daryl scoffed. “Yeah? She tell you that?”

“Aye, she did, actually.”

Daryl stopped whittling and avoided Jon’s eyes.

“I’ll ask you again,” Jon said. “What are you doing out here?”

“She don’t need me. A miracle’s what she needs.”

Jon sighed. “Daryl… only three people could ever get Sophia to smile. Her mother, Carl and you. Why you of all people, I have no idea. But the fact remains that she liked you nonetheless. Only one of the three people that that girl cared anything for is by her side. Carl’s got an excuse. Where’s yours?”

“Kid… you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

Flames danced in Jon’s chest. “Listen, go say goodbye before she dies and you lose the chance.”

Daryl threw down his bolts and pointed his knife at Jon. “And who’s fault is that?! Huh?! They were yours to watch over and you let her run!”

“Run! Run! Run!” the raven cried.

Jon took a deep breath, ran his fingers through his hair and dulled the flames in his chest. Cool, calm washed over him.

“Daryl, we’re all infected.”

“The fuck you talkin’ ‘bout now?”

“It isn’t the dead’s bite that turns us into them, it’s death itself. If- When Sophia dies, she’ll turn and if Carol’s up there alone she’ll have to put her down.”

Shadows played games upon Daryl’s face as his rugged features dropped. “What- What makes you think that?”

“Jenner confirmed it to me. I told Rick. Rick told Glenn. And together we decided to keep it from you all. A mistake, I’m starting to realise. I apologise for that. And more. For Ghost’s attack. For letting Sophia run. For allowing the dead to bite her…” Accursed tears invaded Jon’s cheeks again. He scrubbed it away and forbade any more to well. “The blame for her death falls squarely on my shoulders. That’s my burden to carry. So, let me carry it, pack up your stuff and go say your goodbyes.”

The torchlight glistened in Daryl’s, silhouetted eyes. He wiped his hand over his face. “God dammit,” he muttered. He set down his knife. “Thanks, man. Sorry for hittin’ you. I shouldn’t have.”

“No, you should’ve. I deserved it.”

“No, god dammit, you didn’t. Fuck… there ain’t never no reason to hit a kid. Fuckin’ never. I’m an asshole for hittin’ you and a total piece of shit for pullin’ that fuckin’ knife.”

“I’m no child. I can take a hit.”

“Yes, you fuckin’ are. Shithead. That beard don’t fool me.”

“Shit! Head!” the raven cawed.

Shadows danced upon Daryl’s lips as a smile crept across them. “You better hide that bird next time we run out of food. He’s first on the menu.”

Jon chuckled. “You’re more than welcome to him.”

Daryl’s grin broadened as he let loose a belly laugh. He squeezed Jon’s shoulder. Jon squeezed his back and laughed with him. The raven cawed as if to protest.

“Can I trouble you with one more request?” Jon asked once his laughter died down.

“Sure.” Daryl tripped on the last of his laughter. “What is it?”

“Well, two, actually. Don’t tell anyone about the true nature of the virus. We’ve planned to let everyone know at the same time tomorrow around breakfast.”

“Not even Carol?”

“Carol knows.”

Daryl nodded. “Alright. Sure thing. What else?”

“Take a bloody shower. You smell like sour milk.”

Daryl smirked and clutched the back of his head. “Fine.”

*** Once Daryl set off for the house, crossbow slung over his shoulder, Jon finally began his patrol. Nessy trotted him around the perimeter of rusted, scrap sheets. Ghost padded ahead, a fair distance away, stalking imaginary prey through the wheat stalks and long grass. The raven rested on Jon’s shoulder, queerly silent. The patrol started parallel to the house’s front door. Jon counted the minutes until he arrived there again. A trip around the perimeter took thirty minutes, more or less, at trotting speed.

Landmarks inside and outside the fence were few and far between. Outside, black and grey fields of wheat and grass rolled over boundless hills, void of anything else. But inside, the barn loomed overall atop its hill on the western side of the property. When Jon passed it, Ghost drew closer and glued his red-eyed gaze on it while the raven muttered under its breath. It was of a great size and a perfect distance from the farmhouse. Quite suitable for more permanent housing than their camp in the field. Better to sleep among hay and dung, than sleep open to the dead. To the east, a giant oak mirrored the barn’s height. Tall and broad, like an oaken drum tower. As Jon passed it, Ghost skulked off to relieve himself on it while the raven fluttered into its canopy to strut along its branches. If it’s bark were white and its leaves red and hand-shaped, it’d make a fine heart tree for a gods wood.

Darkness hindered Jon’s ability to see all that far but as far as he could tell, all was peaceful. But as Jon finished his first lap, Glenn’s words rang in his head. Threats are everywhere. He set off on another lap. The second of many. Hopefully all peaceful.

However, no sooner than Nessy had taken two steps, did a shadow dart from one of the house’s second-story windows. Nimble as a cat, it darted across a lower roof, leapt onto the gravel and bolted out into the field, making for the towering oak. At once, Jon dug his heels in and snapped Nessy’s reins. Nessy whinnied and galloped for the tree, cutting a line as-the-raven-flies through fields of wheat and tall grass. Ghost raced alongside, silent and sure-footed, while the raven cackled from Jon’s shoulder. The shadow darted behind the tree, out of sight. As Jon drew near, he unsheathed Longclaw and drew in a breath. He opened his mouth to bellow a warning to the would be intruder. But a high, sweet melody gave him pause. A woman’s voice wafted through the air. A Georgian accent twanged the song’s vowels and silenced its Rs.

“By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond Where me and my true love will never meet again On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond”

Atop Nessy, Jon rounded the tree and found Beth knelt before the tree. The moonlight glimmered in her golden hair, tied taught behind her head. Two wooden crosses stuck out of the ground at the tree’s base. “Beth?” He asked, sheathing Longclaw.

“Oh!” Beth started, cutting of her singing. Her eyes, wide and blue, snapped to Jon. The fear vanished. She smiled. “Oh, hello Jon. What are you doing out here?”

“I might ask you the same. You shouldn’t be out here alone. It’s not safe.”

“Well, I asked first and that is my horse you’re sitting on, so…”

“My apologies. If I’d known, I’d have asked you directly. But the fact still remains that you shouldn’t be out here.”

“Why? We’ve got the fence. Plus, you’re out here.”

“It’s too low and too shoddy. I’m unwilling to entrust the lives of the others to it. And, I’m not alone. I have Ghost.”

Beth shrugged. “Well, the fence done a good job so far.” Her eyes found Ghost by Nessy’s side. “So his name is Ghost? What made you choose that?”

“How about we discuss his name back at the house?”

“You can protect me, can’t you?”

“I can but-”

“Then we’re just as safe here.”

Jon sighed. He had no time for children’s games. “He’s named Ghost because he never makes a sound. And because his fur is white.”

“Makes sense. How about your bird? What’s its name?”

“It doesn’t have on. It isn’t a pet.” A pest more like.

“That ain’t right. It’s gotta have a name.”

“Daryl likes to call it Little Bastard.”

Beth furrowed her brow. “That’s not nice. He’s only a bird. What’d he do to deserve that?”

“Nice!” the raven cawed. It eyed them from its perch on a low branch.

“Be a nuisance.”

“Well, if he ain’t your pet. Why’s he follow you around?”

Jon stiffed. He racked his mind for a lie. He decided on a half truth. “He belonged to a friend. A man called Mormont. He raised ravens. This one was his favourite. I found it out on the road a few weeks ago, eating the flesh from a dead man’s face. I assume Mormont died, or let the birds go. Either way, the raven recognised me and has been following me ever since.”

“Then he definitely deserves a name. To honour your friend.”

Jon sighed and said the first name that came to mind. “Bloodbeak. Because of how I found him.”

Beth curled her lip. “That’s a horrible name.”

“Blood! Beak!” the raven flapped its wings. “Blood! Beak! Blood! Beak! Blood! Beak!”

Jon smirked. “He seems to like it.”

Beth tried to keep her frown but a giggle broke her resolve. “Okay, well if he likes it, Bloodbeak it is then.” She held out her hand to Ghost.

Ghost padded to her, passed her hand and nuzzled her face. Giggling, Beth ruffled his fur, sending Ghost’s tail to wagging.

“Are you ready to go back now?”

Beth glanced at the crosses. Her smiled faded and her shoulders drooped. “Not yet… I haven’t prayed for Nan and Pa yet.”

Jon shifted in his saddle. “Your grandparents?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry for your loss. We’ve all lost people. You’re not alone.”

“Oh… no, they died before all of… this. Tonight marks two years since their passin’. My family’s been pretty unscathed by everythin’, truth be told. Thank the Lord.”

“Is that what that song was? A prayer?”

Beth raised an eyebrow. “No, it’s Loch Lomond. Nan used to sing it to me. Her Nan used to sing it her, back in her old country. It’s about two Scottish rebels held prisoner by the English. One’s to be executed. One’s to set free. You haven’t heard of it before? Aren’t you Scottish?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t. I… didn’t grow up there.”

Beth shrugged. “Neither did I. But, whatever. It ain’t important.” Beth’s eyes drifted away. Flush warmed her cheeks. “I-I’d like if you prayed with me.”

“Sorry, I don’t worship any gods.”

“Oh. Well, would you care to just sit with me then? I could use the company. These past weeks have been quite lonesome. Don’t get me wrong I love my family, but they’re grown. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see someone my own age again.”

“Your own age? How old do you think I am?”

“Seventeen? Jenner told me so. How old do you think I am?”

Jon found himself flushed. “Oh… well…”

Beth laughed. “Just messin’ with you. I know how I look. I get it from mom. She has a baby face too. But no, I’m seventeen. Like you.”

Jon’s nose wrinkled. “Has? I haven’t seen your mother around.”

“Well, yeah. She’s in the barn. Most of my family are. The farm hands and the neighbours too. Even Mayor Lewis. We found him not to long before you arrived. Wandered right up the fence.”

“What? Do you speak of the dead?”

“Dead? No. They’re still alive. I’m talkin’ about the sick ones. You know, the whole reason we’re in this mess to begin with? I’ll show you if you like.”

“Aye, I think you best.”

Beth’s face brightened and she got to her feet. “Great! Oh, you better leave Nessy here. He’s brave, but he refuses to get close to the barn.” Beth shrugged. “Guess even he’s afraid to get sick.”

“Sick!” the raven cackled.

“Aye… I imagine he is.”

Jon tied Nessy’s leading rope around the oak’s trunk and followed the mad girl across the fields. As they approached the hilltop-barn, the dagger-moon ducked out of sight behind its peaked roof, casting them in a moon-light shadow.

Shadows veiled Beth’s features as she looked over her shoulder at Jon. “Keep quiet,” she whispered. “Sound gets them all riled up.”

Jon nodded. He tightened his grip on Longclaw’s pommel. Ghost skulked beside him, red eyes locked on the barn. The raven glided overhead, muttering to itself. Beth led them around the barn to its back. It’s red, wooden walls loomed high over Jon’s head. Jon checked for cracks, gaps or any breaches. The walls were solid from ground to roof. Jon listened closely, ever so closely. Faint shuffling feet and gurgled breathing nagged Jon from beyond the walls. Behind the barn a ladder leaned against the wall, leading to a square, man-sized opening. Beth stopped before the ladder. Moonlight glimmered off her pale skin and golden hair as she faced Jon with a smile.

“Mom’ll like you.” Her face flushed. “I mean… I hope.”

Jon motioned for Ghost to sit. He sat guard by the ladder’s base, staring at Beth. The raven perched atop the ladder and stared inside the barn, muttering endlessly. Slow and steady, so as to keep noise to a minimum, Jon climbed the ladder until he got a look through the square-hole. Below, huddled in a lazy clump, a small army of corpses shuffled to and fro. Death’s rotten stench festered in the air.

#fanfic #fanfiction #ao3fic #ffn.net #asoiaf fanfic #jon snow #rick grimes #the walking dead #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #games of thrones fanfiction #daryl dixon #beth greene #daryl x carol #jon snow fanfiction #rick grimes fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfiction

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floraltypes · 3 years ago

Note

lots of innocent and not so innocent touches

With Dwayne Pride if you wright for him if you don't just Gibbs please <3

who - leroy jethro gibbs x reader

an - i’m sorry! i haven’t seen ncis new orleans, so i probably couldn’t write dwayne very well … hope this is okay, for some reason i had trouble writing it :/

please continue to send in asks !!

unedited :/

Blankets surrounded your body, your leg ontop of another while light snores left your mouth. Hair was messed up and a hand was slowly moving to stroke your cheek. The curtains allowed peaks of the sunlight to peak through in your bedroom. A man lying beside you in his sweatpants and old tee.

The grey haired, older, man kept his eyes on your peacefully sleeping face, truly enjoying whatever dream you were imagining. He made no move to remove your leg from the top of his, but did make a move to place his fingers above your face, lightly pushing some stray baby hairs away.

A part of him silently cursed to himself, wishing that he had learned how to work his phone better, then being able to snap a photo of this calming moment for his own purposes.

Gibbs wouldn’t admit it to you, but these moments were more important to him than working on a boat, or the thrill after finally catching a bastard. There was something so domestic, so calming, with these times spent together. Time for him to think to himself, and also have the one he loves so much be so close.

Time to think about the past, and wonder how he got lucky enough for it to land here. Though, he may have lost a lot, and they would never be forgotten, he was grateful for another opportunity at pure happiness.

But his time to enjoy the peacefulness soon ended with a ring of a cellphone, causing you to stir a bit in your sleep. You eventually opened your eyes, staring up at the man who now had the hand that was formally on your face, resting on your chest.

“What’s that?” You questioned, trying to sit up and rub your eyes. “Can you get it?”

“It’s your cellphone,” He answered, missing the warmth of your leg, now having it be moved to lay on the mattress itself.

“Mmk,” You mumbled, reaching over to your side table and grabbing it. Flipping the screen up, you moved it to your ear. “L/n,” You tried to make your morning voice sound more as your own.

“If it isn’t little Y/n!” A cheerful voice spoke loudly on the other line. “Ya miss me?”

“No. What do you need?” You rolled your eyes, getting off of the bed, Gibbs eyes traveling your body as you walked to your dresser, picking out a outfit. “Mhm, okay,” You nodded to yourself. “I’ll be there, text me the address. Oh. Never mind then. Bye.”

Gibbs got out of the bed, going to stand beside you. He silently observed as you rolled your eyes once again, opening another drawer, he snaked his arms around your waist and pulled you into his chest, a small kiss on the inside of your neck.

“Who’s that?”

“A old coworker.” You opened your underwear drawer, picking a pair for the day.

“Purple,” Gibbs commented, as you dropped the blue pair back into the others, reaching for the one he chose.

“Gosh, it’s like we really are married,” You laughed to yourself, looking back at his straight face. “Sorry, you would know too much about that. But that’s not my point, there is a dead marine there and that means we’ve got work.”

“You didn’t seem to happy to hear from him,” Gibbs unwrapped his arms as you moved to your closet, picking out a dress shirt.

“I wasn’t. He’s annoying and almost cost me my job at the time. But, it’s our job, we have to go, so grab your clothes in the bottom drawers,” You turned around and pointed at the dresser that held some of his items, now finding what you needed and beginning to change.

———————-

“If you are all interested to know… I spent the morning watching a old TV show airing about a classic comedic couple who travels the world with their adopted son,” Tony announced to no one in particular, sitting at his desk as the others sat at theirs.

Ziva had her arms crossed, leaning back in her chair a bit. McGee sat in his, rubbing his eyes and looking down at his phone.

“What did you do this morning, McGee?” Ziva looked over to McGee, watching as his eyebrows furrowed.

“Trying to work on my new writing.. but for my character, uh, Miranda, I need a good backstory for her, people are really grasping onto her character from the former story. I’ve read some things saying they think she’ll get with Gibbs, I mean Libbs!”

“Interesting,” Ziva tsked. “I read the story and your Miranda character, who is obviously Y/n, and I don’t see it.”

“You know nothing about romance, Ziva,” Tony waltzed over, his own coffee in hand and his face near hers. “I think no one expects you to think about who would get together. But, no, I don’t see Gibbs getting with someone like L/n who is very, you know-”

“I’m what, DiNozzo?” You walked in, moving straight to your desk as you placed your bag down.

“Amazing! I meant, you’re so great that someone like Gib-” Tony looked at Ziva’s eyes widen. “He’s right behind me, isn’t he?”

“Someone like me, now what’s that, DiNozzo?” Gibbs questioned.

“Uh-” Gibbs smacked the back of DiNozzos head, moving over to his own desk.

“Dead sailor, body is already getting examined by Ducky and some visitors are coming to drop off some of the evidence.” Gibbs informed everyone.

“They think this sailor had something to do with a past robbery and murder, a cold case,” You clarified.

“L/n!” A guy smiled widely, another girl following in pursuit behind him as he walked to you with his arms wide open. “It’s been too long,” He quickly hugged you, tightening his grip around your shoulders and moving his hands to cup your face. “You still look as beautiful as ever!”

“Y/n, is that your boyfriend?” Ziva inquired.

“He looks a little out of her leagu-” You shot DiNozzo a look. “Or not?”

“Ah no,” The man laughed. “Old coworkers, that is Lila and I’m Carson, nice to meet you guys.”

“If your old coworkers, you must have a ton of embarrassing stories about Y/n!” DiNozzo beamed, moving closer to Carson.

“Uh, a few,” He responded. “We only worked together for a year or two, some, but not a ton.”

“Some will do.”

“DiNozzo, we aren’t here to make friends we are here to solve a murder,” Gibbs shot him a look and hit the back of his head.

“Right, sorry, boss.” DiNozzo put his head down like a sad puppy dog and made his way back to his desk. The two visitors looked at the scene that had just happened oddly.

“We brought all of our evidence, not much, but something,” Lila announced, placing the box on the table now and taking some of it out. “Should we get started?”

“I’ll show you to Abby, she is our forensic analysts and will probably want to take a look at this stuff for herself,” McGee told Lila, putting the evidence back in the box and letting her grab it, soon walking towards the elevator.

“You think I could check out the body?” Carson asked you. “It might be good to see what he looked like more and talk with your doctor.”

“That makes sense, I’ll show you to him,” You smiled at your old coworker and took another way to Ducky’s area.

The both of you chatted on the way down, catching up with how things differ since you worked there and a bit about your new workplace here.

“I really thought you would be Jeremy, the one who called me. I was a bit worried,” You laughed, walking into Autopsy with Carson as Ducky moved near you.

“Hello, dear, who’s this?” Ducky questioned, Jimmy moved near his boss.

“Hey, Ducky, this is Carson. Carson, this is Doctor Mallard. He is a old coworker of mine, Ducky,” You told the older man. “That’s Jimmy, he is Ducky’s assistant.”

Ducky began to explain how the man had died, pointing out various things on the body and even putting in a few past experiences of his own into the conversation.

Soon the four of you had heard the doors open, turning around to catch the view of your boyfriend entering into the room and moving to stand right in between you and Carson.

“I just want to hear some of the explanation myself, you can continue, Ducky,” Gibbs commented, all of your eyes turning back onto Ducky who was back to talking.

You felt a warm, larger hand travel to the middle of your back, a thumb softly pressing into the fabric that covered your skin. You turned your head slightly to make eye contact with Gibbs, but he just continued to stare forward ignoring it.

It was like a goosebump went up your spine, yet it wasn’t not encouraged. It was a bit of a energetic feeling, so you rejoiced in the innocent touch, a sign he was there.

Eventually, Ducky was done with his long explanation and you were back to heading upstairs with Carson and Gibbs to do more research regarding the deadman and cold case.

“So, Y/n, I was thinking we could go out to lunch or something soon to really catch up, outside of work,” Carson mentioned while you three were on the elevator ride up.

You were surprised at his somewhat boldness to announce this in front of your boss (and boyfriend), but he was always a very open person, kind and open.

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” You replied.

“We are busy most afternoons.” Gibbs added. “So, if you plan it at some ridiculous time don’t expect my agent to be able to make it.”

The doors soon chimed open and Carson quickly left, making a bee line straight to Lila. Gibbs let you leave first, placing another palm against your back to secretly lead you back to where the desks were, even though you knew where you were going.

———————

The rest of the day was spent with much more working diligently. You all had made some progress but not enough, and you could tell it was really getting to Gibbs. He dismissed everyone and told them to come back in the early hours in the morning.

Gibbs had told you that he was going to stay and work on this some more, so you told him you would stay as well and order some food. Once Carson had heard that, he decided that he would do the same.

A hour later, three burgers arrive and you hand them out to the two other men, soon taking a bite into yours. A bit of the condiment had spewed onto the corners of your mouth, but your hunger caught up with you, continuing to avoid the feeling for a moment and just eat.

Carson caught the look of your messiness, breaking off into a small laugh, and you joining, him then making a joke about how this used to be a regular for you. Gibbs got up from his seat with a napkin and bent over a bit to wipe it away from your mouth.

It was certainly a small gesture, but had caught you and Carson off guard, the both of you quieting. You just stared back at him while he continued to eat with a pride grin on his lips, looking over the papers.

It seemed like a blessing from the sky when Gibbs had finally connected the pieces. Everyone was called back in to look over what he found and to excite a plan on how to continue. You all were able to get the murderer into custody and with old evidence and Ducky’s help you were able to identify he was the killer. With Abby’s help you were able to put him at the scene where your old coworkers cold case took place.

It was a relieving feeling that the case was solved and over. It was easy to tell that your current coworkers were also happy with the fact that your old ones were leaving for good. Having unfamiliar people in a familiar place is always a weird feeling for everyone.

You watched as everyone packed up their things to head home from the tiring few days of work. Standing up, you grabbed your bag and moved to Gibbs desk, chatting with him until Carson came over.

“It was nice working with you again,” He commented, you turned around to face him.

“It was. We make a good team.”

“We really do. I was wondering about that, uh, date?”

“Hm,” That had slipped your mind, and almost did once more when you felt a brush of a hand against your bottom, turning around to make eyes at your boyfriend. “Sorry, I actually have a boyfriend. But if you mean the lunch date to catch up, then I’d love to.”

“The second one,” He nodded, his cheeks brightening a bit at the dejection but also confirmation.

“Great,” You grinned, writing down your phone number and handing it to him. “Talk soon, bye.”

“Goodbye.”

You watched as Carson entered the elevator and soon disappeared, the office area looking very empty with the lights darkened a bit and only you and Gibbs being in the area.

“Glad he’s gone,” Gibbs laughed.

“I figured,” You laughed alongside with him. “I could tell by your touchiness at work, are you trying to let everyone know?”

“If I was, I would do something bolder. Didn’t Ducky ever tell you I used to be like DiNozzo?”

“Yeah, that would be a interesting time to see.”

“I think if I was that same man, we might’ve had sex right o-”

“Let’s get home, now,” You both soon left the workplace, hand in hand, laughing along at stories of the younger Gibbs and his flirty persona.

#gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs #leroy x reader #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #ncis fanfiction #ncis fic #ncis x reader #ncis #ncis reader insert #gibbs x y/n #gibbs x you #gibbs #anthony dinozzo #ducky mallard #abby sciuto #timothy mcgee #ziva david #jimmy palmer

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spockandawe · 4 years ago

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Okay, I think I found what I really wanted to root out with Wen Kexing and Zhou Zishu and the physicality of their book relationship.

Because I will argue for days that Wen Kexing is terribly touch-starved, especially at the beginning of the book. For eight years, as the Valley Master, he’s only allowed Gu Xiang within a meter of him. They have a fairly casual relationship, but they straddle an awkward line between family and master/servant, and as the Ghost Valley Master? Everyone in Ghost Valley, including Gu Xiang, is at least a little frightened of him. He’s affection-starved as much as he is touch-starved, and having one person who cares more than she’s frightened isn’t really enough to overcome that degree of isolation. When a servant woman is combing his hair and accidentally hits a snag, she begs for her life, and his first reaction is to ask if someone forced her to wait on him. He’s been the Valley Master since he was a very young adult, and he’s been in Ghost Valley since he was a child.

And it’s so interesting to me that a lot of cnovels really emphasize that when the leads are in a relationship, it’s their first relationship, and they never wanted anyone else, but Wen Kexing (and jing beiyuan in lord seventh, which is an interesting parallel) really directly subvert that. Gu Xiang almost immediately remarks that Wen Kexing spends plenty of nights with male courtesans, and partway through the book, Wen Kexing uses a handkerchief from a famous courtesan to treat Zhou Zishu’s injury. He left the valley and entered the human world, and immediately threw himself into the arms of other men.

And Zhou Zishu, I would say, is also touch starved and affection starved, but is coping differently from Wen Kexing. No matter how strained and/or political his relationships with the Emperor and the government are, and even though he took charge of the Four Seasons Manor at... fifteen, iirc, he did have at least one close, affectionate (for a zhou zishu value of affectionate), trusting relationship, with Liang Jiuxiao. And where Wen Kexing starts the book with a comfortable relationship with Gu Xiang, Zhou Zishu starts the book knowing that his shidi is dead, and in Lord Seventh, we see the ways that he failed and/or “failed” Liang Jiuxiao, with Jiang Xue, and with staying at his post during the final battle instead of rushing off and trying to find his shidi, and it working out... not well. And I think it’s fascinating that unlike Wen Kexing, when he leaves Tian Chuang to reenter the human world, he’s content to be almost completely solitary, and focuses his attention on seeing the sights and drinking good wine.

A really interesting parallel to me is in the Ye Baiyi extra, where he mentions that it’s only human nature to crave food and sex, and he’s too old to care about sex, so food it is. Because that’s not a thought he ever shares with the other characters, but it’s very interesting to me that in the novel, in that first burst of enjoying their freedom, Wen Kexing is so focused on physical intimacy, first with courtesans, and then with Zhou Zishu, while Zhou Zishu is much more focused on physical pleasure must less dependent on other humans, like sightseeing and wine.

But once Wen Kexing and Zhou Zishu are in action together, and once Wen Kexing definitively gets invested in Zhou Zishu, the physical progression of the relationship is really interesting to me. Wen Kexing gets very handsy and very forward, very quickly. Zhou Zishu tends to either endure or push him away, depending on the situation, but compared to something like, say, svsss, there’s much less ‘but i’m not gay though’ and much more generalized irritation until he (much more slowly) gets invested in return.

And I probably would have brushed it away except for that one scene where they were about to do it, and get interrupted by the Scorpion King. First, this line, which makes it absolutely clear that as much as Zhou Zishu had given up on living a long, normal human life, Wen Kexing was in exactly the same position. Now, seeing Zhou Zishu potentially get a new lease on life, he’s forced to reckon with the idea that it might be possible for him to live on in the same way, which casts a whole new light on how casually he slept around with courtesans and propositioned Zhou Zishu earlier in the story, versus where he stands now.

They were both lone wolves who had been caught in hunters’ traps, struggling with all of their strength to free themselves to no avail, and thus, were willing to gnaw their own legs off without mercy.

[Wen Kexing] hadn’t been able to help following him, from watching him. Then a revelation had dawned— He’d realized, for the first time, that if Zhou Zishu could live like this, was it also a possible for him to live like this?

And then when Wen Kexing starts to catch a fresh round of feelings, Zhou Zishu’s response says volumes about his prior reactions whenever Wen Kexing got forward with him.

“A-Xu, sleep with me once. This way, we’ll keep each other in our hearts. You won’t die so easily then, and neither will I. What do you think?”

He said it jokingly, yet Zhou Zishu did not reply, only looked at him oddly. A while later, he finally asked, “Are you truly sincere about this?”

Wen Kexing laughed, his body tilting towards Zhou Zishu. He spoke, nearly against Zhou Zishu’s lips, “Can’t you tell if I’m sincere or not?”

Stunned, Zhou Zishu paused, then said in a low voice, “I… truly can’t tell. I haven’t experienced many instances of sincerity over the course of my life, and can’t identify it. Are you?”

Wen Kexing's fingers drifted up his shoulder, and tugged his hair loose. Dark hair cascaded down, making the tough man before his eyes look a few degrees more fragile in an instant. He dropped his cheeky grin, and in a soft voice, filled with momentous certainty, said, "I am."

Wen Kexing is most starved for touch, while Zhou Zishu is most starved for sincerity. Zhou Zishu was up to his neck in court politics in Lord Seventh, where a major focus of the story is about how sure, the Crown Prince may be deeply in love, but he’s the future Emperor, and ultimately, his feelings land way down the priority list. Up until this point in the story, with Wen Kexing waxing eloquent about how pretty Zhou Zishu must be, and calling it ‘mariticide’ when Zhou Zishu hits him, and being like ‘no no let’s hear the man out’ when the Scorpion King wants them to put on a sexy show for him, Zhou Zishu hasn’t been able to tell whether Wen Kexing means it.

I love me a story where the leads are terrible communicators and it causes them much Suffering, but this is a really tasty variant that I don’t feel like I see that often. Their hungers are so similar, but just disjoint enough that they can’t understand each other’s reservations. For a soulmates story like this, it’s just the right kind of tension to make the relationship work extra well for me. They’re in sync about this, as they are about so many things, with just enough of an offset that they’re both left ever so slightly uncertain, and it isn’t until they trust each other enough to ask a question as plain as ‘are you truly sincere about this?’ that they’re finally able to close the gap and reach that understanding with each other.

#wenzhou #wen kexing #zhou zishu #faraway wanderers #meta

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mediaevalmusereads · 2 years ago

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Witches. By Brenda Lozano (translated by Heather Cleary). Catapult, 2022.

Rating: 4/5 stars

Genre: literary fiction, Latin American literature

Part of a Series? No

Summary: Paloma is dead. But before she was murdered, before she was even Paloma, she was a traditional healer named Gaspar. Before she was murdered, she taught her cousin Feliciana the secrets of the ceremonies known as veladas, and about the Language and the Book that unlock their secrets.

Sent to report on Paloma's murder, Zoe meets Feliciana in the mountain village of San Felipe. There, the two women's lives twist around each other in a danse macabre. Feliciana tells Zoe the story of her struggle to become an accepted healer in her community, and Zoe begins to understand the hidden history of her own experience as a woman, finding her way in a hostile environment shaped by and for men.

Weaving together two parallel narratives that mirror and refract one another, this extraordinary novel envisions the healer as storyteller and the writer as healer, and offers a generous and nuanced understanding of a world that can be at turns violent and exultant, cruel and full of hope.

***Full review under the cut.***

Content Warnings: sexual assault, underage marriage, domestic violence, blood, violence, queerphobia

Overview: I came across this book at my local library, and since the premise sounded interesting, I decided to give it a go on a whim. Overall, I was very impressed by this book; it clearly has a deliberate style and structure, and the depth of character was enthralling. While I do wish more had been done with Muxe culture and the ending had come together a bit more cleanly, this is a strong novel and I look forward to reading more by the author.

Writing: The events of this book are narrated by two distinct voices: that of Feliciana (the healer in San Felipe) and Zoe (the journalist). Lozano (and Cleary) do a very good job of making each perspective feel like a unique voice; Zoe’s perspective is neatly organized with a tight sentence structure, while Feliciana’s tends to be more stream-of-consciousness, with phrases repeated over and over again that make it feel more oral. As a result, it was fairly easy to tell the two apart and I was never confused as to who was narrating (though to be honest, there were times where I felt that Feliciana’s voice became a tad bit repetitive, and the long sentences with so many commas took some getting used to).

Lozano (and Cleary) also has a talent for describing the world around them in ways that feel immersive, and I liked the way each character revealed something about their inner lives through the struggles they faced. For example, Zoe talks at length about her band and about how her mother watched documentaries after the death of Zoe’s father, and I was engrossed by Zoe’s recounting of her sister’s rebellious attitude and obsession with art. Feliciana also provides lush descriptions, and I particularly liked the way she describes her healing powers as a “Language” that comes from a “Book."

Plot: The plot of this book mainly involves our two POV characters - Zoe and Feliciana - as they recount stories from their lives. The exchange is loosely centered on the death of Feliciana’s cousin, Paloma; Paloma has been murdered, and Zoe takes the opportunity to interview Feliciana, who has become a famous healer.

Despite opening with a murder, this book isn’t a mystery. There is no journalistic expose that helps track down the killer, no surprise revelation that all of Feliciana’s powers are real. Instead, this book is a series of vignettes in which the two women tell stories about their lives, and it becomes more and more clear as the book continues that they have been brought together for a reason.

What I liked about this book most was the deep dive into shamanistic practice (the book's term). Feliciana has profound healing abilities that would probably be considered supernatural, but because of the world Lozano builds up, the “magic” seems quite at home. I especially liked the way healing was the mechanism for Feliciana to explore topics such as family, gender, and community, and it was interesting to read about her connection with her cousin, Paloma.

On the flip side, however, I can see how this book might not be for everyone. It’s not so much a plot-driven story as it is character-driven, and it falls more squarely in the realm of literary fiction than any speculative genre. It also might not be satisfactory that Paloma doesn't really get any kind of justice, so if you dont want to read about the death of a queer person, I'd skip this read. Besides all that, whether or not you like this book will probably depend on how interested you are in its characters and their lives. I personally found them fascinating, so I was invested.

Characters: Feliciana, the healer, is a fascinating POV character because she embodies so many different facets of life in San Felipe. Not only do her tales weave together past and present, but she also unites Christianity and shamanism, male and female, and body and mind in ways I found captivating. Because she is illiterate and doesn’t speak the language of the “government,” her perspective reads like an indigenous one, containing traces of the effects of colonization while still struggling to keep her local culture and practices alive. I’m not qualified to comment on whether or not Lozano portrays such culture well, nor do I have the background to say many intelligent things about Latin American literature, but as a White reader, I found Feliciana compelling.

Zoe, the journalist, is a bit easier to connect to if you don’t have a background in indigenous or even Mexican culture. Raised in the city, Zoe serves as a kind of outsider’s perspective, but her stories are not so alien that it’s impossible to see how they fit in with Feliciana’s. Her dedication to hard work (both in school and in her job) is admirable, and her care for her sister mirrors Feliciana’s love for her own family. I also really enjoyed that her perspective contained traces of the magical realism that is so pervasive in Feliciana’s world; Zoe’s mother has an almost otherworldly intuition, and I liked that it fit so seamlessly into the urban world.

Paloma, Feliciana’s cousin, is not a POV character, but has a strong presence in the novel. As the healer who taught Feliciana all that she knows, I loved that Paloma was Muxe (what we might categorize as queer, third gender, or trans in the English-speaking world) and served as a nexus for all kinds of discussion about gender and identity. Occasionally, I did find myself wishing that we could have learned more about Paloma and Muxe culture, but as the book stands, I think having her as a prominent supporting character was a good choice.

Other characters were well-developed and fully-realized, and I found myself caring a lot about Zoe’s family, Feliciana’s sister, etc. There aren’t really characters I felt I disliked, though there are characters who do terrible things (such as Feliciana’s husband). All of them served their purpose and enriched the story more than they distracted from it.

TL;DR: Witches is a fascinating story about two women whose lives explore themes of gender, belief, family, and culture. More literary fiction than a mystery or thriller, this book is skillfully written and is, at its heart, optimistic about human connection.

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lottiethroughthelookingglass · 4 years ago

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15x20 Coda

Can’t believe it’s the year of our Lord 2020 and I’m writing Supernatural fix it fics at 3am.... This truly is the bad place. Anyway here’s what happened immediately after the credits rolled on whatever that was...

“Sam and Dean stood, arms around each other looking out towards the vista. Heaven. Their heaven. United again, after everythi-“

“-Is he for real?”

“That’s what was saved on my computer. Supernatural – Final Draft.”

“This is bullshit.”

Becky shrugged, taking her laptop back from Sam as his face twitched uncomfortably.

“Who did I even marry? Like, it wasn’t even Eileen?”

“I don’t know man but you named your kid after me. I’m holding you to that one.”

“I don’t even want kids. Our lives are crazy. Why would I do that to a kid?”

“Well I’m just glad Chuck didn’t get to go ahead with that one.” Becky said, sitting back down with her laptop, “I mean all of his drafts were honestly terrible but that one… I mean it didn’t even make sense considering your character arcs. Dean literally died like he thought he would at the beginning of the series and Sam, grows old with a random woman and doesn’t do anything with his life and not even mentioning Cas even though he was right there in heaven-“

Becky looked up to find Sam and Dean staring at her.

“I’m sorry, not that you guys are just characters or anything. But just, when I came back and I found that I was really worried you’d actually died in barn because you fell on a nail.”

“Yeah well I will be avoiding all barns from now on.”

Thunk. The three of them looked up to where Cas had knocked over a Funko Pop Sam.

“Sorry,” Cas readjusted Funko Sam so he could go back to back to fighting Funko Crowley.

There was an awkward moment of silence as the group processed the revelation of Chuck’s ending. Becky sipped her tea as Cas sat back down next to Dean. Dean looked over to him, their eyes met briefly and they shared a small smile.

“Did I never even ask about Cas?” Sam shook his head breaking the silence. “Like, you come back from fighting Billie and say he’s dead and I just… never question it?”

��Well, none of you seemed very upset about my death in that story.” He turned back to Dean, “You were far more concerned with the pie and the dog.”

“To be fair that was probably the only thing that felt right there – pie is more important.”

Cas rolled his eyes and picked up another biscuit from the tray Becky had brought them. Ever since becoming human again he’d picked up a real sweet tooth. Dean was silently waiting for when Sam would start having a go at him too about healthy diets.

Like hell I’m going because of a rusty nail in a barn, Dean thought, I’m getting killed by a heart attack and Cas’s gonna die of diabetes. Sammy’ll still get to outlive us both though.

“It’d be nice to think Jack is doing that with heaven though.” Sam said, “You know, rebuilding things, making it actually good.”

“I guess we’ll have to see when we get there. Which will not be soon, we fought for a bit of peace and I’m intending to actually enjoy mine.”

“We can just ask him next time he’s home.” Cas added.

Dean shook his head stifling a laugh with his hand, “Can you imagine if we’d made him God I mean- He’s three for crying out loud. He made me buy him a Marvellous Marvin the Talking Teddy three months ago.”

“You bought him that?”

“Wait so Jack didn’t become God?”

“God no, no he’s not God.” Dean plucked the biscuit Cas had just picked up out of his hand and started to eat it, “I mean he is up in heaven, but he’s just helping Michael get things running again with all the angels back from the Empty.”

“I’m confused, so you didn’t kill Chuck?”

“Noash fukind matr-“

“Chuck’s gone, but he’s not dead.” Sam interrupted the garbled explanation Dean was trying to make through a mouthful of cookie. “We found a way to umm- bind him I guess? In his own mind so he didn’t even know it was happening. Rowena and I did the spell and Dean set the trap.”

“I was still as useless as in Chuck’s version.” Cas clarified taking another biscuit to make up for his stolen one.

“Hey, if you hadn’t saved me from Billie we’d all have been toast. You were key.”

“Wait so Chuck’s not human and he’s not dead?”

“No- God I can’t believe he made himself human. I can’t believe we made him human and then said that was a punishment – sorry, no he’s kind of in a uhhh…”

“Alternate universe.” Sam added, “but one just for him. It’s more like an alternative plane of reality inside his own mind where he can write whatever stories he wants and think they’re real but they’re not. They can’t hurt anyone.”

“But he’s God so…. They might be real? He could be making them real.”

Sam twisted his mouth thinking, it was something he’d considered but didn’t want to dwell on.

“Well it’s not us.” Dean declared, “And honestly, if he makes another world with other Sams and Deans and Cas’s and Jacks then they’ll defeat him some other way. Like Inception, but with God!” He grinned at his reference even as the rest of the room ignored him.

Becky leant back in her armchair letting out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad you guys are ok. You too Cas, he was really adamant about killing you off.”

“Dean was very adamant about bringing me back.” Cas looked over to Dean, a soft smile and look of adoration of his face.

Dean blushed, trying to cover it up with a cough. “Yeah well, I had some stuff to say.”

Becky grinned, taking a sip of her tea as Sam suddenly started to find the wallpaper very interesting.

“So, what are you guys going to do know?” Becky asked after the moment had become sufficiently awkward. “I mean no Chuck, no apocalypse, no world to save. Are you going to keep hunting, or…?”

Sam, Dean and Cas looked at each other.

“I don’t know,” Sam said.

“Honestly, I’m thinking Chuck had it right with the pie festival.”

Becky and Sam laughed at that.

Cas took another biscuit

***

Dean closed the boot of the Impala with a soft thud. Becky had given each of them one of her dioramas she sold on Etsy. It was always a bit weird being reminded that their life was a story that some people liked to collect stuff from for fun but he had to admit the miniature scale replica of Baby she’d given him was awesome.

Sam stood at the door giving Becky a hug and thanking her for the lunch. She hadn’t quite explained to the rest of the family who these three strange large men were that were randomly joining them for lunch beyond “They’re just some Supernatural fans I know from the internet.” Her husband had spent the entire time struggling to believe that lie even moreso after Cas had slightly traumatised one of the kids with an in-depth description of the dangers of invasive wasps to honey bee colonies.

Dean wandered over to where Cas stood beside Sam and Becky.

“Thanks again for checking on us Becky.” Dean said, accepting the hug she gave him.

“Of course, I always knew you’d beat him but it’s good to know for sure.”

“Sure is.” Dean took a step back, “Well I guess we’ll be seeing you?”

“Next Supernatural convention?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Even if there’s a ghost?”

“You do know we’re not the only hunters in America.”

Becky bit her lip.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she paused, “it’s just, this is exactly how I would have written it.”

Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise, Dean brows knitted as Cas tilted his head.

“I don’t- not that you had to go through all that. Just that now you can actually take a break. Be normal, do your laundry-“

“-Sam and Dean have always done their laundry. That’s how they clean their clothes.” Cas piped up in confusion.

“-Be happy. Get to actually enjoy living in the world you saved. Have free will and be at peace.”

Dean chuckled, “I mean I’m personally good with never doing my laundry. But you’re right, it’s weird but good.”

“We’ll stay in touch Becky.” Sam said.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

They waved their goodbyes and walked back over to the Impala. Dean got in behind the wheel, Sam in shotgun and Cas in the back.

Turning the key the Impala revved to life. The radio began to sing, the opening chords to Kansas’s Carry on Wayward Song filling the car.

Dean slammed the radio off.

“God, I think Chuck has forever ruined that song for me.”

Sam laughed, in the back Cas even let out a chuckle as he leant his head against the window ready for the long drive home.

It wasn’t their heaven. Not yet anyway. And that made it so much more.

#spn fic #spn spoilers #supernatural coda #destiel #destiel fic #deancas #spn #supernatural #spn 15x20 #as you can see i'm not impressed #also becky's gonna be real mad when she gets back from being thanos snapped and runs into sam ten years later at the mall #only to find out that dean died ages ago from a rusty barn nail #that will be her villain origin story #my fic

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transsexualhamlet · 3 years ago

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Dead Apple Is A Hot Mess: The Analysis

Essays:

-Dead Apple Only Really Makes Sense If You Assume It's Just Dazai, Shibusawa, and Fyodor's Elaborate Honeymoon

-Half All Other Inconsistencies Can Be Explained By Dazai Making Up Excuses To Shove Chuuya At His Crotch

-I Think Fyodor's Ability Is Actually 10 Times Weirder Than We Thought

-Ranpo Solved The Backrooms While This Shit Was Going On

Plus, everything else batshit crazy stupid about dead apple (affectionate)

Subtitle subtitle: me overanalyzing the movie equivalent of "girls just wanna have fun" played over a slasher film

this is all word vomit at this point

Prefacing this with holy shit of course I mean this all jokingly, obviously this is not what the writers meant, but they certainly left enough plot holes that my stupid idea actually fills them pretty consistently, so I'm taking it and fucking running.

I've been wanting to make a post like "how little sense dead apple makes as a cohesive story and how genuinely every time I think about it I'm just more confused" for a while, but since I finally finished reading the light novel, now I can say with certainty that yeah no, I'm not just stupid, it just literally does not make any logical sense unless you conclude that these flamboyant war criminals were all just in love with each other and their entire three-way backstabbing apocalypse deal was all a predetermined game that they planned out for their honeymoon or something. Yes, I am really saying that I think they just dressed up and played pretend as terrorists and decided that half the gifted population of Yokohama was a sacrifice they were willing to make.

Even then, it really doesn't account for half of the bullshit in the movie, but taking it that way honest to god explains about 80% of the inconsistencies, as ridiculous as it sounds.

@akutagawasslur and I have been talking about it and came up with a few sort of outlandish theories that try to actually make sense of the plot, but again, most of this is just gonna be me pointing out plot holes and continuity errors and narrative stupidity that I have no way of understanding, and that even assuming a ton of things, it still feels like this meme

Let me preface this with the fact that I love dead apple, it's an amazing movie and very pretty and I'm so glad it exists and it gave us 1. soukoku sex scene /j, 2. dazai with fancy hair, and 3. shibusawa our transfem icon /hj. But also, it just objectively sucks ass. I'm sure people have talked about this before, I just. Also have thoughts on the subject of how insanely poorly thought out the entire concept was.

(Giant fucking essay under the cut I feel like one of those youtubers who criticizes anime for fun but when I call everything gay it's a compliment)

_____________________________________________________

OK FIRST, DEAD APPLE TRIO GAY,

Before I even get into the plot of the movie, I'd like to for a minute direct you to the fact that there's no way any of these men are straight to begin with, no matter what they have to do with each other.

It's something really funny about anime in general, the way that they inadvertently make all the men fruity af for interesting character designs because straight guys are just so incredibly bland looking. It might seem normal when looking at an anime dude, but if you saw a dude irl wearing long braided hair, long, manicured nails, eyeliner, Arm Warmers, clothes he sewed himself, jewelry, and a Cape, there is no doubt in ANYONE'S mind that that's not a cishet man.

Dead Apple is just in general a very confusing movie. The light novel doesn't really help that much either, even if you've already watched it several times. I've heard that the stage play has just, a different plot altogether, but we're not even getting into that. And if someone has to put in that much effort to understand the plot of an anime movie, I don't think that's a good sign. The light novel definitely does go more into the plot, but that's kind of weird, since it's an adaption of the movie and not the other way around? They're kind of inconsistent, and they also have different translations. Honestly, after reading it, I have more questions than answers.

First off, I want to point out how entirely vague Dazai, Fyodor, and Shibusawa's motives all were in this movie. Even though the movie does eventually state what in general all of their motives supposedly are, the explanations given not only Do Not Explain their actions in ANY WAY, but also come off themselves as blatant misinformation.

I feel like the writers tried so hard to have their mind games seem death note level complex that they just ended up creating massive fucking plot holes that bring all of their motives into question.

To begin with, we have Dazai. After spending an ungodly amount of time on it, I think I kind of understand what the writers intended for him to come off as. It's a little hard because they wait to reveal that Dazai didn't actually just wholeheartedly want everyone to die for a little bit too fucking long, in my opinion, and even when they did it... it didn't work, it just took away an understandable though awful motive and failed to repace it with anything good.

So you have Dazai at the start of the movie clearly having a Moment Moment on a grave going hey bestie gonna go try out a new method of fucking killing myself, and atsushi's like, ok, be back for dinner. Dazai then reveals that he thinks Everyone Should Commit Suicide Actually and it's pretty in character to be perfectly honest. Yeah sure, of course he does. Seems like his brand of mental illness. Ango is like Dazai this is a bit much even for you you Literally Invited Terrorists To Have A Good Time but dazai's like Bestie Im Just Having A Bad Day and meets up with his matching gay villains like this was planned all along, which undoubtedly it was.

Yeah, seems like a pretty understandable motive. Depressed man convinced into thinking Apocalypse Sexy by two homosexuals. I can forgive that.

But then like three quarters through the movie, after they've had a whole ass arc about how much they're depressed and want everyone to die including themselves but they have to lounge around being emo first, Dazai is suddenly like No Actually I Was Faking It Definitely To Save Yokohama Of Course Because That's Me, Mr. Morals. And as much as I'm glad Dazai did in fact give a miniscule shit about Chuuya and Atsushi and like the entire city, I... honestly don't believe it. Not just because I wouldn't trust Dazai as far as I could throw him, but because the way they try to clear his name just isn't comprehensive enough, and I have to say it would not hold up in a court of law. (I'm amazed that it took as long as it did for Dazai to get thrown in fucking prison as it did, lol)

So sure, the movie then tells us that he invited them into the city because, I guess, they were going to do it anyway? That doesn't even make any sense. If Shibusawa was already targeting Yokohama, Dazai wouldn't need to fucking invite him. We never got any clarification on what Dazai actually did to get Shibusawa's trust in the slightest. How did he help with the plan? How was he cooperating with Shibusawa? What did he say or do that made the guy trust him? No clarification on that at all.

So that is left as a mystery, and now onto the other side- what did Dazai actually do to HELP the city? How was anything he did helping save them? Of course, he was working with Fyodor and he was going to nullify the fog with his skill, right? Fucking wrong, actually- Dazai knew the whole goddamn time that wasn't going to work. He knew he was going to be betrayed and stabbed, he could pinpoint it so well that he knew what poison that Shibusawa would use, and he knew that what Fyodor was telling him about the room and the skill was a lie. He was fully aware that being in that tower with those two would not help anyone. So then why was he there to begin with?

So Dazai gets stabbed, fucking dies, and is somehow beamed up into a fucking dragon because of Fyodor killing Shibusawa and like, resurrecting him again with his own ability. This part still doesn't even make sense to me in the slightest, and the fact that Whatever They Did Here also applied to Verlaine and Rimbaud in the Lore doesn't actually clarify much.

The only reason that this works is the fact that Dazai is genuinely dead. Not passed out, not in the process of dying- no, he's straight up passed away. His ability yeeted. It doesn't work during that time Because he's Dead, or well, that's what the light novel said anyway.

Then Chuuya punches the dragon and somehow gets to Dazai and punches him...... and then... dazai fucking.... comes back to life...... because he had a pill in his mouth......... and then boom his ability comes back on and saves Chuuya. Correct me if I'm wrong, but how the fuck did that help anyone in the slightest, not to even get into the absurdity of the plat yet? Chuuya wouldnt have even needed to use corruption if Dazai hadn't gotten himself turned into a goddamn dragon.

I don't believe the fog even went away at all until Atsushi smashed in Shibusawa's skull, so Dazai's ability wasn't getting rid of the fog in the slightest, even after the whole Dragon Event. And Dazai being there didn't change the outcome of Atsushi's battle, since Shibusawa got where he was with Atsushi entirely because of what Fyodor himself wanted. That same outcome would have happened whether Dazai was there or not.

Even if there was something Dazai did to help that I somehow managed to miss, gee fucking whiz, Dazai, you sure did take your sweet fucking time getting to it. Remember all those crystals that appeared in Shibusawa's collection during this shit??? You know??? The people that fucking died in the fog???? Because you let them in?? He wasn't being particularly helpful, if anything, what he did only got Fyodor farther along in his plans and Shibusawa exactly what he wanted.

The writers attempt to present Dazai as having in the end chosen the good side, but in all fucking honesty, what they came across showing us through his actions is that he let hundreds of ability users die because he wanted to have a fun time. Bitch was not trying to save the city. He didn't care if it was saved at all, he left that completely up to three teenagers who had about a 20% chance of surviving and all fucking hated each other. And why, because he realized that Shibusawa would eventually target Yokohama? God, maybe he could have fucking called Ango or something and gotten the actual qualified government on it, or even got the whole detective agency to fight Shibusawa before he came. Surely that would have fucking worked fine, or at least had fewer casualties. If all they needed to do was have Atsushi beat the shit out of him and Dazai was fully aware of this, I don't think he really has an argument as to saying he was doing this for good.

He never even tries to say it was to save anyone. Atsushi just, decides that's what he was doing. Dazai even tells him he's wrong.

(In my opinion, I do think he cared about the city, I do think he wants to fulfill Oda's wish, but from what I've seen, he's just... not really trying as hard as he could be. I think he was playing both sides on this one, you know? If Atsushi makes it through, then boom, well, city saved, let's move on. If Shibusawa succeeds, well then everyone dies, whatever, you know, he's hot. This can't really be proven by anything, I just think it's what makes the most sense considering the plot)

So then the question is, what the hell WAS he doing? What were ANY of them doing, if they all predicted perfectly what the outcome was going to be from the beginning?

The only answer I can give is that they're fucking depressed homosexuals and they wanted to have a little morbid fun. Genuinely, if someone can give me a better reason for what is canonically being depicted in this movie I'd LOVE to hear it.

To show you why I feel that interpreting these three as queer, polyamorous, and currently having crazy gay sex, I'd just like to point out a few things.

First of all, when you think about it, the entire stunt these gayasses pulled must have taken an absurd amount of unnecessary preparations and planning. Just to begin with, neither Shibusawa nor Fyodor live in Yokohama, but the second they're there, they already have the fanciest, most emo, obviously Supervillain Hideout piece of real estate in Yokohama. It's not like that place was just sitting around with no one owning it, one of them had to BUY THE PLACE from whoever like. Owned this goth mansion.

I mean, we don't even have time to get into what the hell this building was doing in Yokohama to begin with, because it's like.... in the 15 arc. it's just. A building that exists right at the edge of the Arahabaki crater town. That's GOTTA be plot relevant, but somehow it just. Isn't. It irritates me to no end.

And then before they moved in, someone had to move an entire, crystal collection in there (I've heard that it's actually part of Shibusawa's ability like Anne's room but I'm not sure how true that is so I'm leaving that as a question i guess)

Not only did they probably have to ship 2000 crystals into this place but Shibusawa also BOUGHT THREE CUSTOM MATCHING FANCY CHAIRS and SET A TABLE WITH FRUIT AND HIS FUCKING SKULL and LITERALLY TAILORED MATCHING WHITE OUTFITS for these motherfuckers TO WEAR LITERALLY ONCE. LIKE. HE KNEW HE WAS GOING TO S T A B DAZAI HE DIDNT PLAN ON REUSING THE DUDE'S COAT AND YET HE FUCKING SEWED IT HIMSELF.

I'm just. I'm SORRY, this is NOT something you do with your Work Associates. Just. Objectively. This is Not a coworkers relationship we've got going on here, and neither is this something that straight men do.

And even without the embellishments that can be excused as animators wanting to be Aesthetic and Extra without realizing that any higher thinking would deem these bitches as Fruits, the three of them didn't really have any excuses to be together in that tower in the first place, none that they could voice out loud, at least, if they weren't like, fucking.

There seemed to be no plot relevant reason for them to have a tower to stay in. If Draconia was a manifestation of Shibusawa's ability, they didn't have to purchase a building to store it in. And if Dazai and Fyodor didn't need to stay up there to stay away from the effects of the fog (another major thing I'll get to) why did they even meet up to begin with? God, I know you movie makers only have so much you can fit in, but this is pretty basic stuff.

Neither Fyodor or Dazai needed to be around Shibusawa at all for the plan they had pretended to agree on to work.

Fyodor had been aligned with Shibusawa because he was giving the dude inside information on the city. That really,,, has no relevancy to the actual event, even if Fyodor helped him get into the city or something, which wasn't really touched upon. He certainly didn't have any official excuse to hang around other than to watch.

And what did Dazai even do at all? What did he do to get into the cool kids club?? All Dazai did was propose the idea, according to canon... just. Contacted the dude and said hey bro wanna Destroy My City For Funsies? Sounds good, I'm not suspicious at all. Anyway mind if I hang out in your house while you do it? Cool? No reason, I just wanted to watch.

Because Fyodor and Dazai both Somehow are randomly immune to the fog, it's not like they needed protection of any sort. They're just...... there.

Like, that just doesn't hold up. What were they there to do other than have gay sex??? Of course, all three of them have ulterior motives that make it necessary for them to be in the same place, as well as separate different alliances within the alliance that are also lies.

Fyodor agreed to help Dazai touchie the crystals in order to stop the fog, but they both knew it was a lie.

Shibusawa agreed with Fyodor to kill Dazai because they knew he wanted to betray them, but at least Fyodor knew that was a lie.

Dazai on his own really didn't have any clear motive, as I can tell. He seemed to have known touching the crystals wouldn't fix shit, and he seemed to have known Atsushi was the only real determining factor in the outcome, so I'm not sure what he was trying to achieve there other than having a grand old time.

And Fyodor..... well, he says he wanted to kill both Dazai and Shibusawa so he could take the fog to spread out and go across the entire earth, but. No he didn't.

Legitimately. No he did not. He was in Yokohama to look for the book, yet he plays this whole "I'm going to kill everyone right now with my Secret Evil Plan" card and is so incredibly unsurprised when that doesn't end up happening that it doesn't even feel like he meant it to begin with. He tells us this grand plan over the span of TEN YEARS where he gets Shibusawa killed and resurrected and amnesia'd and killed again and then resurrected and killed again. But even though he's spent that much of his life invested in this, when it doesn't work out, literally, he doesn't care???? He fucks off and laughs the second his entire plan falls apart, and this isn't how he we've seen him act when he's been actually bested by Dazai. (yknow, he was clearly very amused when it happened in the third season, like he probably got off on it, but he was still incredibly inconvenienced by the fact. Yknow.)

He also... was in the tower when it fucking. Exploded. And then showed up utterly unscathed in season three. Like. Sure, ok, horror movie physics. He just comes back. But genuinely he must have known beforehand a general idea of what was going to happen even though he apparently "hadn't considered that"? Because otherwise he would like. Not be alive sorry Fyodor getting crushed by a giant building kind of isn't survivable.

Bestie really spend ten years investing in a night of fun.

So genuinely, I don't think it makes sense at all unless the three of them had to some degree agreed on all this beforehand. Because if they were genuinely trying to fight against each other, and they each all had their own comprehensive spiderweb of plans and lies, and they're all really that smart, what would they say to each other when they were all together that any of them would believe? Even if they all knew the others were lying to them and they had to go along to get what they wanted, that wouldn't fix the problem, because what are they lying to say? What would their front be when they have no plot relevant reason to lounge around in a tower together listening to classical music and getting drunk?

If you just accept that they were there to paint each others nails and have crazy gay sex, that pretty much clears that all up. I mean. Why do they need a tower? Gay sex tower. Why do they need to be together? They're gay. Why does Dazai say "i knew your Special Knife would deal me a Nasty Blow" while moaning? I hate the gays. /j (they took that out of the novel and it makes me laugh like. they knew how awful that sounded)

The thing is though, because like I said earlier with how it all ended up playing out, it seemed almost scripted between the three of them. (haha, this is a movie.) But even if you assume these three are in a queer polyamorous relationship as a FRONT, because they're just That Extra, that doesn't really work either.

The way Dazai reacted to their betrayal, the way Fyodor reacted to Dazai's backup plan, the way Shibusawa reacted to Fyodor's plan- none of them seemed unhappy with it, none of them seemed surprised at the fact they were being betrayed, just the specific way in which it happened.

So that's really the only reasonable explanation of what they were doing dhfgdfhgfjfdl. All of them had to have gotten together at least months beforehand and set this up, the way it went. In the end, Fyodor and Dazai just wanted to give Shibusawa a good time before he got to be too much of a problem for their own motives. (dazai's being, existing in yokohama and finding a good way to either die or live, and fyodor's being to find a book in yokohama to murder everyone in his Own Way(??)) Shibusawa genuinely did want to destroy the city tbh I don't think anyone's doubting that, and to some extent, Dazai wanted to see the city Not Destroyed, but Fyodor's utter lack of actual motive here kind of breaks a scenario where they all went into it for that reason.

The only normal reason why I'd believe Fyodor inserted himself into this plan was because he'd have a chance to kill Dazai. Seriously, I still can't see what was wrong with going along with Shibusawa... isn't "i can help all ability users Fucking Die" literally just what Fyodor wants? He can still get the book afterwards too, assumedly once all the competition is gone it would be significantly easier.

The only reason I can give is that it was a fake piece of entertainment for their amusement.

Again at this point it's all just a funny idea, but genuinely, nothing contradicts this, and it certainly would make a lot of things make sense. So get this:

Dazai knows Shibusawa is going to be some level of threat to Yokohama no matter what he does, so he brings together the three of them and goes, hey you know what would be fun? We have a little bet. A little game of among us if you will. So here's the deal. One night, three of us, two knives, one murder. We let you into Yokohama to start up your funny apocalypse thing you wanted to do, and I'll get this cool tower and we'll have a good time. We all get drunk, put on some atmospheric music.... Now here's the catch, MY role is I'm going to try to STOP the fog from killing everyone. Shibusawa, YOU have to try to stop ME from stopping YOU, and FYODOR, you're here because, idk, we like you and you want to kill us, I don't know, surprise us, come up with something insane, and the two of us will have to figure out what YOU'RE doing without spoiling it! We have a few months to all come up with our own plans and try to figure everyone else's out. Let's make this as insane as possible guys. We all have plenty of reasons to benefit from the other being dead, so, Winner gets to homoerotically murder the loser, but we're all suicidal here anyway, so it's really a win win situation no matter how you look at it. Does that sound good? And of course they both say yes and they start making plans and it's like, half a year before this thing happens.

It really means that they had to have all been in on every level of betrayal and decided to go in on it anyway, they had to agree to this stuff and then planned it all in their heads so some of it would be a surprise.

_____________________________________________________

ANYWAY MORE DUMB INCONSISTENCIES THAT I COULDN'T BE BOTHERED TO ACTUALLY PUT INTO A COHERENT ORDER

There's a significant amount of other things about this candy colored piece of nonsense though, specifically just, how absolutely batshit stupid the storyline itself is.

Like, Dazai, straight up fucking died. He passed away!! He, unalived, if you will!! He got stabbed by a poison knife and died! His ability stopped working and separated from his body which specifically said in the narrative would only happen if he Actually Died!

But then??????? Chuuya slaps him?????? And there's a pill in his mouth that he's somehow kept there for the whole night???? And he just!! Resurrects from the goddamn dead!

Yeah, I know it's supposed to be like that because blah blah snow white but SNOW WHITE IS THE MOST ILLOGICAL FAIRY TALE EVER and to convert that to anime is just. Wow the anti death pill that heals Stab Wounds, great job. It didn't even actually get swallowed by dazai, when Chuuya punched him! The pill CAME OUT OF HIS MOUTH. It popped ! Outside of his mouth! So he didn't swallow it either!

What the fuck happened then? Chuuya simply slapped him right out of hell. Man climbed back up eeby deeby screaming. I swear to fucking god.

It seemed that the pill which exploded several feet from his mouth also healed his stab wound, considering that the knife fucking disappeared from Dazai's back, along with all the blood.

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ON THE WORKINGS OF ABILITIES- another batshit theory

Ok, so, the whole workings of the fog regarding different abilities and stuff is also rather inconsistent.

It's stated Chuuya's ability works even in the fog because it's artificial, which makes fine sense if you've read stormbringer, yeah. But ok. If Chuuya doesn't need protection from the fog, then why when Dazai and Chuuya fall to the ground, Dazai is like "oh no you have to stay touching me because the fog isn't gone yet!!" DAZAI HE WAS FINE BEFORE YOU JUST WANT AN EXCUSE TO GO HOLD STILL GIRLIE *SHOVES YOU AGAINST MY CROTCH*

Also, why is atsushi's ability super fucking powerful? We still have not solved this. Still no one goddamn knows. He is an ability but he's also the antithesis of all abilities.... why did this have to be Atsushi, he's literally a fucking tiger? It actually makes no sense. If I was gonna choose someone to be the "antithesis of all abilities" it would be Dazai? I feel like that makes significantly more sense to be dazai here like seriously what's more "antithesis of all abilities" than an ACTUAL ABILITY THAT NULLIFIES ABILITIES? And it would have like. Actually made the movie make sense then. But no??

It's not only that that makes no sense, the whole premise of Shibusawa himself existing and the way the fog works is also, paradoxical in nature. It makes a little sense with stormbringer and the idea of these singularities, but. I'm sorry, if Dazai's ability doesn't work when he's dead, or like, apparently "really really close to dead but also Totally Fine after getting punched" according to 55 minutes logic (like. hi) then Shibusawa's ability can't work after his death either.

How shibusawa's ability works is that it separates someone from their ability, and when the original person dies, the ability becomes a crystal. Not like. A sentient ghost who forgets it died with a skull completely separate from his body. Like. Show me where that makes sense.

Fyodor's ability somehow makes even less sense. Ofc, we don't know a lot about his ability, and that's somewhat of the point. But like, without dead apple Existing, no one would question what Fyodor's ability was. Oh yeah, crime and punishment, he kills people that he judges guilty with a touch of his hand, ok. The specifics are a little hazy, maybe he controls the blood, maybe he controls the soul, maybe both. But you watch this goddamn fucking movie and somehow, his ability is its own singularity as well as Dazai's and Shibusawa's, and that is why they're all immune to the fog?

The question here then is... what is the singularity? What is the paradox of his ability, how are "crime" and "punishment" different yet something that would completely cancel each other out and make the fog not work?

Well. I have an idea. It is. Certainly not to be taken super seriously, but I think it would clear up a bit of what's going on in this shit show.

Personally, I think that Fyodor controls life- that he has the ability to resurrect people as well as kill them. Resurrecting is the "crime", killing is the "punishment". They go hand in hand, they cancel each other out, they tie into Fyodor's whole religious metaphor junk.

Ok, that makes sense right? Shibusawa issue solved, weird semantics with ability singularities and Shibusawa being like. The remnant of an ability just continuing to exist after death for no fucking particular reason solved. Dazai literally dying fr and then coming back to life with the most stupid reasoning ever solved.

Also, per my last essay, they're gay. So that's why he'd ressurect them over and over again.

Again, this is a very non-serious answer, however it does make a lot of sense somehow.

__________________________________________________

The Aftermath TM (or lack thereof)

One of the funniest things about this movie is how nonsensical the whole premise of its existence within the bsd canonical universe is. They shoved it in the middle of season 2 and 3, but it was released after season three, so things got weird.

First of all, since season three was written first, obviously Fyodor's real introduction comes in season three. This is all fine and dandy out of universe (except if you watch it in chronological order and then you're just like? They're introducing this russian dude in dead apple as if I know who he is already? When this is... clearly his first appearance in Yokohama.) But in universe, after the events of dead apple, these people would know who Fyodor was already.

So, Dazai never informed anyone of Fyodor's existence or involvement in dead apple. Ok. Of course he wouldn't. They want to keep their relationship private. Alright.

Even though it happens canonically and chronologically before season three, it's only ever mentioned in season 3 literally twice (introducing fyodor as "that guy from the shibusawa incident" and just. literally. Dazai eating an apple when he sees Fyodor in the alley. Which is so subtext-ey as to barely even count.) But other than that it seems to be an event that like... just... no one talks about. At all. We don't know the aftermath of this event and it makes no sense how thing could have gone back to normal after this.

So yeah, that means he didn't open up and explain what happened. No one seemed to question Dazai's motives at all.

Ango knew Dazai was working with Shibusawa and presumably got kind of fucked up by them, yet. We get nothing about that. He never denied working with them, and yet, he just goes back to the ADA and no one fucking wonders whY THE SHIT HE DID THAT? They're literally like oh wow. Well that happened. I don't know what Dazai did and he doesn't care to tell us. Anyway haha don't do it again and you're fine lol

Second of all... literally 90% of the city FUCKING POPPED OUT OF EXISTENCE FOR A DAY. That is not a thing that can go unnoticed.

Imagine you're fucking? Just a normal dude in Yokohama. And you just. Don't exist for a bit. Or maybe you were hanging out in the backrooms and thought it was a dream or something. But imagine you pop back where you were and a whole calendar day has passed. There's crashed cars everywhere, evidence of many battles and lots of destroyed buildings, half of downtown is destroyed, that Weird Ass Tower fell down, there are at least a hundred Fucking Dead Bodies killed by mysterious means just, fucking, hanging out in really ridiculous places... and almost nobody remembers what happened.

This wasn't just a few people who disappeared, this was EVERYBODY. Are they just gonna pop back in their cars? Or the spot where they had disappeared? And just go? This is fine where did all these corpses come from? Half the buildings have been leveled by Dragon Shaped Footprints ah godzilla moment lol

How did they cover this up? How could Ango And The Government possibly fucking manage to contain something this size? Yokohama would look like it had just been through the fucking owari no seraph catastrophe. And yet. Somehow this isnt a problem.

Even the ability users seemed not to really bring this up at all after. Yknow. Ok. They treat it like a fever dream and never mention it again because that's what it was.

I think something that sums this up perfectly is the part at the end where the fourth wall kinda breaks a little and the writers apologize for all of their motives and actions being a hot mess. Tsujimura is like "hey ango lol... What TM" and Ango just turns around like "yeah you wouldn't understand... dazai and fyodor and shibusawa are just... you can't understand them... they're a lot like joker from the movie joker."

essay complete go about your days and contemplate my word vomit 👍

#rowan screams into the void #rowan's hyperfixation essays #bungou stray dogs #I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS ENTIRE THING #but it is. somewhat bsd analysis

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zuko-always-lies · 3 years ago

Text

Unpopular Opinion: Zuko’s treatment of Mai is deeply toxic.

Mai is a character who is often maligned in the fandom, with it even occasionally being claimed that she was “abusive” toward Zuko. Any objective analysis of Mai’s behavior in her relationship with Zuko will instead find that she was, in fact, a shockingly good romantic partner, generally treating Zuko very well and being loyal to him far beyond reasonable expectation. Claims that Mai behaved toxically toward Zuko seem to be instead founded in misogynistic expectations that women be perfect caretakers for the men in their lives.

That is not to say that the Zuko-Mai relationship isn’t still deeply toxic. However, its toxicity stems from the manner which Zuko badly mistreats Mai, often in ways which devalue her. Much more under the cut.

Our story begins in the first half of Book 3. The vast majority of episodes there don’t show anything particularly toxic going on in the relationship. The most you can say is that they suggest that Zuko tends to dump his problems on others and doesn’t have best understanding of his girlfriend.

However, inevitably we must turn to “The Beach,” the episode which, by far, gets the most into the Zuko-Mai relationship. To say that Zuko doesn’t behave well toward Mai in this episode would be an understatement. I don’t speak here of Zuko’s unsuccessful attempts to please Mai early in the episode, but instead how badly he starts treating her beginning at the party:

Ruon Jian: Hey, first ones here, huh? Zuko: (cut to shot of Zuko and Mai walking side by side) Pft. He thinks he's so great. (to Mai) Well, what do you think of him? (they stop walking) Mai: I don't have any opinion about him. I hardly know him. Zuko: You like him, don't you? (Mai sighs and walks away, as Zuko looks angrily in the direction of Ruon Jian. The camera zooms in on Ruon Jian)

And

(Cut to shot of Ruon Jian leaning over Mai. Zuko rushes toward them angrily and pushes Ruon Jian away from her. Cut to shot of Ruon Jian straightening his hair.) Ruon Jian: Whoa. What are you doing? Zuko: (close-up shot of Zuko, angry) Stop talking to my girlfriend! Ruon Jian: (Ruon Jian approaches Zuko) Relax, it's just a party. (Zuko pushes Ruon Jian hard, sending him flying across the room, breaking a giant vase.) Mai: (Mai stands up and grabs Zuko's shoulder. He turns towards her.) Zuko, what is wrong with you?! Zuko: What's wrong with me?! Mai: (angrily) Your temper's out of control. You blow up over every little thing. You're so impatient and hot-headed and angry. Zuko: Well, at least I feel something...as opposed to you. You have no passion for anything. (raising his arms is the air) You're just a big "blah". Mai: (turning away from him) It's over, Zuko. We're done.

And:

(Zuko follows her and the camera pans down to the handprint, left alone on the porch. Cut to wide view of the camera panning down Ember Island Beach. Zuko and Azula are walking side by side toward Mai and Ty Lee. Close shot of Zuko looking toward Mai and then looking away. Close shot of Mai looking angry and a bit sad.) Mai: Hey... (Interrupted) Zuko: (close shot of Zuko) Where's your new boyfriend? (Mai turns away angrily. Zuko comes and sits next to her) Are you cold? (he puts his arm around her, but she slaps it away)

Zuko is acting in a massively controlling fashion toward Mai, motivated by his violent and rage-filled jealously. She literally can’t talk to a boy without Zuko flying into a jealous rage, trying to separate her from the person she’s talking to, and accusing her of emotional infidelity. In real life, this is considered a warning sign for an abusive relationship(although I don’t think Zuko has crossed the line into abusive yet).

“The Beach” also gives us this:

Mai: Oh, well, I'm sorry I can't be as high-strung and crazy as the rest of you. (Cut to over-head shot of the four teens. Zuko walks closer to the fire and Mai.) Zuko: I'm sorry, too. I wish you would be high-strung and crazy for once, (Close shot of Mai looking away and Zuko standing over her) instead of keeping all your feelings bottled up inside. She just called your aura dingy. Are you gonna take that?

Zuko tries to provoke Mai into having a fight with her best friend Ty Lee just so he can watch her express strong emotions. Zuko very much wants to Mai to be and act like someone she’s not, which has its own issues.

Overall, Zuko treats Mai quite poorly in “The Beach.” The episode ends with this:

Mai: I know one thing I care about... (Cut to shot of Mai smiling at Zuko) I care about you. (Mai and Zuko kiss. Azula claps, causing them to separate and turn toward Azula. The camera pans left to include her.)

Mai forgives Zuko and accepts him back without him acknowledging his behavior was wrong, apologizing for it, or giving her any guarantee that he will treat her better in the future. That’s unfortunate, as Zuko soon ends up treating her far, far worse than he ever did in this episode.

Zuko’s disregard for Mai cumulates with the manner he commits treason on the Day of Black Sun. Let us start our understanding of what he did wrong from the beginning. Breaking up with Mai via a letter which didn’t give her a real explanation was a real asshole move, but it’s not at the core of what he did wrong. For that, we need to turn to this conversation from “The Headband”:

Zuko: Can't you see we're busy? (He and Mai resume their "business".) Azula: (not to be put off) Oh, Mai... Ty Lee needs your help untangling her braid. Mai: (complaisantly) Sounds pretty serious. (She gets up and leaves. Walking past Azula, towards the camera, she shoots the princess a quick, poisonous glance behind her back.) Azula: So...I hear you've been to visit your Uncle Fatso in the prison tower. Zuko: (standing, incensed) That guard told you. Azula: (smugly) No, you did. Just now. Zuko: (sitting back down) Okay, you caught me. What is it that you want, Azula? Azula: (solicitiously) Actually, nothing. Believe it or not, I'm looking out for you. If people find out you've been to see Uncle, they'll think you're plotting with him. Just be careful, dum-dum.

Zuko has proven his loyalty to the Fire Nation beyond doubt, yet Azula is still very worried that him spending time with Iroh will get him accused of treason, because having a close association with traitors puts oneself under almost automatic suspicion of treason.

“Day of Black Sun, Part II”:

Zuko: First of all, in Ba Sing Se, it was Azula who took down the Avatar, not me. Fire Lord Ozai: Why would she lie to me about that? Zuko: Because the Avatar is not dead. He survived. Fire Lord Ozai: (alarmed) What?!

Zuko deliberately throws Azula under the bus, hurting her and reducing her status with Ozai as much possible while effectively accusing her of deliberately committing treason. He also deliberately pisses off Ozai as much as possible.

So where does this leave us? Mai is Zuko’s known girlfriend and extremely close associate. Automatically, the suspicion of knowing of Zuko’s treason ahead of time or being involved falls upon her. She’s in grave risk of being imprisoned, tortured, or executed, especially since Ozai seems not the type to be strictly concerned with ensuring those he punishes are guilty beyond reasonable doubt. The Fire Nation seems like a society which might have collective punishment(as historical East Asian societies, Nazi Germany, and the Stalinist Soviet Union did), and Mai might be under risk from that direction. Finally, Ozai might hurt her simply as way of retaliating against Zuko.

Normally Azula would almost certainly be able to protect her friend, even under these trying circumstances, given Azula’s prestige and accomplishments. However, Zuko has deliberately undermined Azula as much as possible and effectively accused her of committing treason herself, dramatically reducing the probability that she will be able to protect Mai. In fact, Mai stands risk of being accused of being involved in Azula’s effort to “conceal the fact that the Avatar survived,” given Mai’s close association with Azula and her close involvement in the events where the Avatar “died.” She’s thus under danger from two different directions.

“But Zuko had to betray his father and become good through aiding Team Avatar.” Yes, it’s a good thing he did so. But Zuko had other options than the course he adopted. He could have avoided confronting Ozai at all and instead focused on rescuing Iroh(interesting AU idea right here). He could have confronted Ozai but not thrown Azula under the bus, and that alone would have vastly reduced the risk to Mai(and also made Zuko out to be a better person, because deliberately throwing your younger sister under the bus and then abandoning her to the mercy of your abusive father is not a good look). Zuko could have killed Ozai right then and there during the eclipse. He even could have tried to lead Team Avatar to the bunker and tried to end the war right then and there.

“Zuko didn’t understand that he was placing Mai in danger.” Quite possible, but Zuko being so self-centered that he is unable of understanding that his actions can have negative effects on other people is a mark against him, not for him.

Now we turn to the Zuko’s behavior toward Mai in the rest of the third season. Let us start with “The Boiling Rock, Part 1”:

Sokka: (emphatically) I think your Uncle would be proud of you. Leaving your home to come help us, that's hard. Zuko: It wasn't that hard. Sokka: (Cut to a side view of the basket) Really? You didn't leave behind anyone you cared about? Zuko: Well I did have a girlfriend. Mai. Sokka: (He goes closer to Zuko with a surprised look on his face) That gloomy girl who sighs a lot? Zuko: (Cut back to show Zuko grinning goofily) Yeah. (his face turns serious) Everyone in the Fire Nation thinks I'm a traitor. I couldn't drag her into it. Sokka: (Cut back to Sokka who leans back on the basket) My first girlfriend turned into the Moon. Zuko: (looks up) That's rough buddy

There are two things to unpack here. First, Zuko claims he “couldn’t drag her into it,” yet he already did, as I’ve illustrated above. Second, Zuko seems to expect that Mai would have followed him into treason if he asked her, that she would be willing to betray her nation, ideology, family, and friends just for the sake of her love for him. That’s an insane and pretty toxic expectation for Zuko to have for her relationship with him, especially since he wouldn’t do the same for her.

We also get more confirmation that Zuko doesn’t care at all about Ty Lee or Azula.

I don’t have a lot to say about the Zuko-Mai conversation during Boiling Rock, Part 2. The only things I would like to note are that Zuko is not very sorry for what he did, not very empathetic toward Mai’s pain, and doesn’t give Mai a real apology for his actions.

Of course, Mai proceeds to save Zuko’s life through committing treason in front of dozens of witnesses at Boiling Rock, something which places her own life in serous jeopardy. How does Zuko react to this?

Zuko: (Cut to a shocked Zuko) It's Mai. Azula: (Cut to a furious Azula) What is she doing?! (Cut to the backs of Azula and Ty Lee as Ty Lee shrugs and makes a "I don't know" noise. Cut to the gondola as it reaches the outer part of the crater. Cut to the inside of the entrance tower as the door opens and Suki rushes out followed by Sokka, Zuko, Hakoda and Chit Sang. Hakoda turns towards Chit Sang and points to the inside of the gondola. Chit Sang proceeds to throw the warden back in.) Hakoda: (Cut to the back of Hakoda's head looking at the warden lying on the floor) Sorry Warden, your record is officially broken. (Hakoda walks off screen while the warden continues to struggle on the floor. Cut to a front shot of the group as they run up a rocky incline.) Suki: Well, we made it out. Now what? Sokka: (Sokka stops and looks back at Zuko who pauses in his tracks, thinking) Zuko, what are you doing? Zuko: My sister was on that island. Sokka: Yeah and she's probably right behind us. So let's not stop. Zuko: What I mean is she must have come here somehow. (He runs to the edge of the rocks and looks down) There. (Cut to an area looking up at the edge of the cliff) That's our way out of here. (Camera pans down to reveal a Fire Nation zeppelin docked at the shore.

Zuko says Mai’s name once and then abandons her (to die?) with zero hesitation. This is probably objectively the correct decision. It would probably be extremely difficult and dangerous if not outright impossible to save Mai. The prison-break crew do have access to an airship, but it’s difficult to fly an airship over the lake’s thermals.

Yet that’s not my point. Zuko abandons Mai with zero hesitation, with zero anguish, with zero angst. He doesn’t even to seem consider the possibility that he should save her. Something tells me if Iroh had just saved Zuko’s life under identical circumstances and then was in imminent risk of harm, Zuko would act very differently, that Sokka, Suki, and Hakoda would have to drag him off that island.

Zuko’s complete disregard for Mai continues for the rest the series. Remember this exchange from “The Cave of Two Lovers”?

Zuko: (losing his patience) We're not taking any more chances with these plants! We need to get help. Iroh: But where are we going to go? We're enemies of the Earth Kingdom, and fugitives from the Fire Nation. Zuko: (musingly) If the Earth Kingdom, discovers us, they'll have us killed. Iroh: But if the Fire Nation discovers us, we'll be turned over to Azula.

Zuko considers being captured by Azula a worse fate than death!

But do we see Zuko worry once about Mai’s fate? Do we see angst about what might have happened to her? Do we see him make any effort to even discover her fate, much less rescue her?

No. In fact, Zuko launches a sophisticated operation to infiltrate a Fire Nation information center so that he can gain intelligence in order to help Katara murder someone so that she’ll like him, but he doesn’t even consider doing the same to find out about Mai’s fate so that he could potentially rescue her. Zuko doesn’t even mention Mai once after Boiling Rock until the very end of the series finale, even though she sacrificed herself to save him. Remember this exchange(“Sozin’s Comet, Part 3”):

Zuko: Sorry, but you're not going to become Fire Lord today. (jumps off Appa) I am. Azula: (laughs) You're hilarious. Katara: (standing beside Zuko) And you're going down. (The fire sage motions to crown Azula, but she raises her hand, signalling him to stop.) Azula: Wait. You want to be Fire Lord Fine. Let's settle this. Just you and me, brother. The showdown that was always meant to be. Agni Kai! Zuko: You're on. (Katara turns to Zuko, surprised. Cut to a close up of Azula's lips as the curls into a smile. Cut back to Katara and Zuko.) Katara: What are you doing? She's playing you. She knows she can't take us both so she is trying to separate us. Zuko: I know. But I can take her this time. Katara: But even you admitted to your Uncle that you would need help facing Azula. Zuko: There's something off about her, I can't explain it but she's slipping. And this way, no one else has to get hurt. (Fade to a shot of the courtyard from the side. The camera pans from Zuko kneeling on the right end to Azula kneeling on the left end. Cut to a shot of Zuko rising and turning around, then cut to a shot of Azula rising. Each can be seen behind the other. Cut to a shot of Azula from the front turning and removing the Fire Lord robes.) Azula: I'm sorry it has to end this way, brother. Zuko: (in his stance) No, you're not.

Notice something? Zuko doesn’t demand to know what happened to Mai! It’s almost like he forgot she existed!

Now we turn to the final infamous exchange(“Sozin’s Comet, Part 4”):

Mai:(off screen) You need some help with that? (He looks up surprised and moves aside to reveal Mai leaning against the doorway. Cut to a close up of Mai as she walks towards Zuko.) Zuko: (Cut to a delighted Zuko) Mai! (Walks off screen) You're ok. (Cut to an area behind Mai's back as Zuko opens his arms out in a hug) They let you out of prison? (Mai walks behind Zuko and lifts up his empty robe sleeve.) Mai: My uncle (Zuko puts his arms through the sleeve) pulled some strings, (she proceeds to fasten his robe) and it doesn't hurt when the new Fire Lord is your boyfriend. (She walks in front of Zuko and places a hand on his chest) Zuko: So does this mean you don't hate me anymore? Mai: (she blushes) I think it means... (Cut to a close up of the couple) I actually (places a hand on Zuko's cheek) kind of like you. (They lean in for a kiss and part a fewseconds later, looking into each other's eyes happily) But don't ever (She jabs a finger into Zuko's shoulder and Zuko's eye traces the movement of her finger) break up (She lifts her finger into the air and Zuko's eyes still follows it) with me again. (She jabs her finger into Zuko's shoulder one last time and Zuko smiles goofily. They embrace and the camera zooms out slowly.

Zuko seems surprised to learn that Mai is OK, almost like he made no effort to find out her fate once he took charge of the Fire Nation. And indeed, his first acts as leader of the Fire Nation were not to find out what happened to her or, if he actually knew, to get her released from prison. Mai only got released from prison when her uncle and his connections got sufficiently confident that Zuko had been completely accepted as the new leader to release a massive traitor completely on their own initiative. This was quite possibly weeks after Azula-Zuko Agni Kai, yet he made no apparent effort to get her released. It’s almost like Zuko completely forgot about Mai, even though she sacrificed herself to save him.

And, of course, Zuko doesn’t accept responsibility for any of the awful ways he treated Mai, much less apologize to her or offer any guarantee he will behave better in the future. Mai still forgives him anyways, just like she did in “The Beach,” only for Zuko to continue to screw her over. There is something deeply depressing here, as there’s every reason to believe that Zuko will screw over Mai over, devalue her, and disregard her well-being, desires, and interests again the moment it’s convenient for him to do so. He certainly has not recognized that his toxic behavior here is something he needs to stop doing. Ironically, the comics get this right by having Zuko try to use his power as Firelord to order Mai to stay his girlfriend.

Ultimately, Zuko loves Mai and cares about her deeply, yet he still treats her as a tool and acts like she exists to serve him. It reminds me how show! canon Ozai genuinely loved show! canon Ursa, but still used her as a tool and threw her away. Honestly, I doubt 16-year-old Zuko is really ready for any romantic relationship at all, given his often toxic behavior, his trauma, and the incredibly stressful position he’s placed in at the end of the series.

#Azula #Zuko #Mai #Ty Lee #Dangerous Ladies #Ozai #Zuko meta #ATLA meta #meta #Unpopular opinion

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