#This is just offhanded theory spinning though

[revenantghost]

I know we talk a lot about how Knives doesn't seem to be as gentle or kind as his manga counterpart, how he's already a little dark and evil, which is how it seems to be. But this scene in particular makes me wonder if that's just what we're supposed to think. I already made a long post about the unreliable narration in Tristamp, and this scene always strikes me as proof that Knives is not exactly who we've seen him to be in the flashbacks. I think he's a lot more complex.

Because, now? Knives does think he's standing up to the bad guys, but he sure as hell doesn't care about making friends, much less keeping them. He only cares about owning people and hiding his fear and trauma under a strict layer of control.

And this kid? I don't think he's hit his breaking point yet. And I think we'll see more of that in upcoming seasons.

I don't think that now he would consider himself in the role of an angel how Rem means it here, and he's the one that suggests that term

If only Rem didn't let him read the ENTIRE BIBLE AT ONE YEARS OLD, NONE OF THESE PROBLEMS WOULD BE NEARLY AS BAD

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

In your ‘a general look at the death eaters’ post you said: “come 1998, Voldemort dies again (perhaps for real this time, who knows, Harry Potter seems to think so for whatever reason)“. Does that mean there is a possibility Tom is still alive?

@eggxeggxegg is referring to this post. Specifically to an offhand comment I make towards the end.

I mean, yes, yes there very much is, though that wasn't really what I was getting at there.

First, I suppose, what I meant in the context of that post.

The Death Eaters and the Resurrection of Tom Riddle

Because we get the story from Harry's perspective it's easy to forget what information most characters don't know. Dumbledore had been researching horcruxes for some time, but only told Harry the year before, and only sent him on the horcrux hunt in 1997 after his death.

Harry takes this very seriously and doesn't give details to anyone beyond Ron and Hermione (who also take this very seriously). Remus just knows Harry's on a super serial quest and wants to join (gets rejected) and later Neville is told KILL THE SNAKE and Neville goes "... sure, I can do that" and does so.

Most people don't know about the horcruxes and they certainly don't know all the details.

This is why, had Snape died (who did have all the information), Team Harry and Friends would have been fucked as they would never have figured out that Harry himself is a horcrux. Then you have immortal Tom.

Dumbledore's grand plan felt a lot like some of the evil schemes of the villains in the MCU: I'm supposed to find it very brilliant but he got very lucky on a number of occasions.

Regardless, the reason I'm saying all this, is we can assume the Death Eaters no next to nothing. They just know that Voldemort rose from the dead once (and it was not instantaneous) and that Voldemort at least claimed to be closer to immortality than anyone before him. They don't know how he did it, Regulus did, but Regulus is now dead so that's not much help to anyone.

Well, now, Voldemort's dead again.

First, there's the thought, that at least this time there were witnesses. Many people saw Voldemort's curse rebound, his body was likely burned and his ashes dumped in an unmarked grave. Voldemort is very dead. That... should be reassuring, but it's not.

The first time around, Voldemort simply disappeared and Godric's Hollow exploded. His ten year absence made it seem pretty likely he was dead, and everyone did relax a bit, but he could technically have survived and... done nothing for ten years. For no reason.

Given everything it's... not unlikely that somehow Voldemort resurrected himself. Given that he did it once, why shouldn't he be able to do it again?

Now, Harry, if asked, would argue that he knows he won't because he destroyed all the horcruxes (including himself... sort of). Ergo, no more resurrection, victory!

But the Death Eaters don't know that.

It took Voldemort nearly 15 years to resurrect last time. I imagine that for the rest of their lives, they anxiously wait for that other shoe to drop. Because it can't possibly be over.

Why Might It Not Be Over?

Did Harry get all the horcruxes? Were horcruxes the only method of immortality Tom Riddle pursued? Did Harry kill the horcrux in purgatory?

All of these answers are... unclear.

In the first case, Dumbledore spent decades spinning together theories of what might be a horcrux based on his understanding of Tom Riddle. He banks everything on Tom Riddle being extremely sentimental (and he appears to be very right on that), but he could be wrong.

Are all the horcruxes really in Britain? Did Tom only make six? We know he made one he didn't intend in Harry but when he said he wanted to divide his soul into seven pieces he was a teenager. There's a lot of time between then and 1998, that information could very well be extremely out of date/very incorrect. There could be others out there.

Tom Riddle spent a lot of time not being Voldemort, are we sure horcruxes was the only path to immortality he pursued? Dumbledore has few to no memories during this timeframe, none of Tom out of the country, we have no idea what Tom was up to.

And as for the Harry horcrux. We see him... leave this weird sobbing thing under a bench. Is it dead? Is it still in Harry? Who knows?

When the killing curse rebounded, Tom Riddle undoubtedly destroyed his wreck of a body (probably not hard given that thing was held together by duct tape and glue). We have no guarantees that he really died this time.

None.

Harry, of course, can't even bear to think such a thing as then Dumbledore was wrong. Harry sacrificed everything and Dumbledore was wrong.

So, Harry's going to be the first on the bandwagon next time around saying that Voldemort can't possibly have returned to life. See, Harry killed the horcruxes. HARRY KILLED THE HORCRUXES.

[yamayuandadu]

Circe by Madeline Miller: a review

As you might have noticed, a few of my most recent posts were more or less a liveblog of Madeline Miller’s novel Circe. However, as they hardly exhausted the subject, a proper review is also in order. You can find it under the “read more” button. All sorts of content warnings apply because this book takes a number of turns one in theory can expect from Greek mythology but which I’d hardly expect to come up in relation to Circe. I should note that this is my first contact with this author’s work. I am not familiar with Miller’s more famous, earlier novel Song of Achilles - I am not much of an Iliad aficionado, truth to be told. I read the poem itself when my literature class required it, but it left no strong impact on me, unlike, say, the Epic of Gilgamesh or, to stay within the theme of Greek mythology, Homeric Hymn to Demeter, works which I read at a similar point in my life on my own accord.

What motivated me to pick up this novel was the slim possibility that for once I’ll see my two favorite Greek gods in fiction, these being Hecate and Helios (in case you’re curious: #3 is Cybele but I suspect that unless some brave soul will attempt to adapt Nonnus’ Dionysiaca, she’ll forever be stuck with no popcultural presence outside Shin Megami Tensei). After all, it seemed reasonable to expect that Circe’s father will be involved considering their relationship, while rarely discussed in classical sources, seems remarkably close. Hesiod’s Catalogue of Women and Apollonius’ Argonautica describe Circe arriving on her island in her father’s solar chariot, while Ptolemy Hephaestion (as quoted by Photius) notes that Helios protected her home during the Gigantomachy. Helios, for all intents and purposes, seems like a decent dad (and, in Medea’s case, grandpa) in the source material even though his most notable children (and granddaughter) are pretty much all cackling sorcerers, not celebrated heroes. How does Miller’s Helios fare, compared to his mythical self? Not great, to put it lightly, as you’ll see later. As for Hecate… she’s not even in the book. Let me preface the core of the review by saying I don’t think reinterpreting myths, changing relations between figures, etc. is necessarily bad - ancient authors did it all the time, and modern adaptations will inevitably do so too, both to maintain internal coherence and perhaps to adjust the stories to a modern audience, much like ancient authors already did. I simply don’t think this book is successful at that. The purpose of the novel is ostensibly to elevate Circe above the status of a one-dimensional minor antagonist - but to accomplish this, the author mostly demonizes her family and a variety of other figures, so the net result is that there are more one dimensional female villains, not less. I expected the opposite, frankly. The initial section of the novel focuses on Circe’s relationship with her family, chiefly with her father. That’s largely uncharted territory in the source material - to my knowledge no ancient author seemed particularly interested in covering this period in her life. Blank pages of this sort are definitely worth filling. To begin with, Helios is characterized as abusive, neglectful and power-hungry. And also, for some reason, as Zeus’ main titan ally in the Titanomachy - a role which Hesiod attributes to Hecate… To be fair I do not think it’s Hesiod who serves as the primary inspiration here, as it’s hard to see any traces of his account - in which Zeus wins in no small part because he promises the lesser titans higher positions that they had under Cronus - in Miller’s version of events. Only Helios and Oceanus keep their share, and are presented as Zeus’ only titan allies (there’s a small plot hole as Selene appears in the novel and evidently still is the moon…) - contrary to just about any portrayal of the conflict, in which many titans actually side with Zeus and his siblings. Also, worth noting that in Hesiod’s version it’s not Oceanus himself who cements the pact with Zeus, it’s his daughter Styx - yes, -that- Styx. Missed opportunity to put more focus on female mythical figures - first of many in this work, despite many reviews praising it as “feminist.” Of course, it’s not all about Helios. We are quickly introduced to a variety of female characters as well (though, as I noted above, none of these traditionally connected to the Titanomachy despite it being a prominent aspect of the book’s background). They are all somewhat repetitive - to the point of being basically interchangeable. Circe’s mother is vain and cruel; so is Scylla. And Pasiphae. There’s no real indication of any hostility between Circe and any of her siblings in classical sources, as far as I am aware, but here it’s a central theme. The subplots pertaining to it bear an uncanny resemblance to these young adult novels in which the heroine, who is Not Like Other Girls, confronts the Chads and Stacies of the world, and I can’t shake off the feelings that it’s exactly what it is, though with superficial mythical flourish on top. I should note that Pasiphae gets a focus arc of sorts - which to my surprise somehow manages to be more sexist than the primary sources. A pretty famous tidbit repeated by many ancient authors is that Pasiphae cursed her husband Minos, regarded as unfaithful, to kill anyone else he’d have sex with with his… well, bodily fluids. Here she does it entirely  because she’s a debased sadist and not because unfaithfulness is something one can be justifiably mad about. You’d think it would be easy to put a sympathetic spin on this. But the book manages to top that in the very same chapter - can’t have Pasiphae without the Minotaur (sadly - I think virtually everything else about Pasiphae and Minos is more fun than that myth but alas) so in a brand new twist on this myth we learn that actually the infamous affair wasn’t a curse placed on Pasiphae by Poseidon or Aphrodite because of some transgression committed by Minos. She’s just wretched like that by nature. I’m frankly speechless, especially taking into account the book often goes out of its way to present deities in the worst light possible otherwise, and which as I noted reviews praise for its feminist approach - I’m not exactly sure if treating Pasiphae worse than Greek and Roman authors did counts as that.  I should note this is not the only instance of… weirdly enthusiastic references to carnal relations between gods and cattle in this book, as there’s also a weird offhand mention of Helios being the father of his own cows. This, as far as I can tell, is not present in any classical sources and truth to be told I am not a huge fan of this invention. I won’t try to think about the reason behind this addition to maintain my sanity. Pasiphae aside - the author expands on the vague backstory Circe has in classical texts which I’ve mentioned earlier. You’d expect that her island would be a gift from her father - after all many ancient sources state that he provided his children and grandchildren with extravagant gifts. However, since Helios bears little resemblance to his mythical self, Aeaea is instead a place of exile here, since Helios hates Circe and Zeus is afraid of witchcraft and demands such a solution (the same Zeus who, according to Hesiod, holds Hecate in high esteem and who appeared with her on coins reasonably commonly… but hey, licentia poetica, this idea isn’t necessarily bad in itself). Witchcraft is presented as an art exclusive to Helios’ children here - Hecate is nowhere to be found, it’s basically as if her every role in Greek mythology was surgically removed. A bit of a downer, especially since at least one text - I think Ovid’s Metarphoses? - Circe directly invokes Hecate during her confrontation with king Picus (Surprisingly absent here despite being a much more fitting antagonist for Circe than many of the characters presented as her adversaries in this novel…) Of course, we also learn about the origin of Circe’s signature spell according to ancient sources, changing people into animals. It actually takes the novel a longer while to get there, and the invented backstory boils down to Circe getting raped. Despite ancient Greek authors being rather keen on rape as plot device, to my knowledge this was never a part of any myth about Circe. Rather odd decision to put it lightly but I suppose at least there was no cattle involved this time, perhaps two times was enough for the author. Still, I can’t help but feel like much like many other ideas present in this book it seems a bit like the author’s intent is less elevating the Circe above the role of a one note witch antagonist, but rather punishing her for being that. The fact she keeps self loathing about her origin and about not being human doesn’t exactly help to shake off this feeling. This impression that the author isn’t really fond of Circe being a wacky witch only grows stronger when Odysseus enters the scene. There was already a bit of a problem before with Circe’s life revolving around love interests before - somewhat random ones at that (Dedalus during the Pasiphae arc and Hermes on and off - not sure what the inspiration for either of these was) - but it was less noticeable since it was ultimately in the background and the focus was the conflict between Circe and Helios, Pasiphae, etc. In the case of Odysseus it’s much more notable because these subplots cease to appear for a while. As a result of meeting him, Circe decides she wants to experience the joys of motherhood, which long story short eventually leads to the birth of Telegonus, who does exactly what he was famous for. The final arcs have a variety of truly baffling plot twists which didn’t really appeal to me, but which I suppose at least show a degree of creativity - better than just turning Helios’ attitude towards his children upside down for sure. Circe ends up consulting an oc character who I can only describe as “stingray Cthulhu.” His presence doesn’t really add much, and frankly it feels like yet another wasted opportunity to use Hecate, but I digress. Oh, also in another twist Athena is recast as the villain of the Odyssey. Eventually Circe gets to meet Odysseus’ family, for once interacts with another female character on positive terms (with Penelope, to be specific) and… gets together with Telemachus, which to be fair is something present in many ancient works but which feels weird here since there was a pretty long passage about Odysseus describing him as a child to Circe. I think I could live without it. Honestly having her get together with Penelope would feel considerably less weird, but there are no lesbians in the world of this novel. It would appear that the praise for Song of Achilles is connected to the portrayal of gay relationships in it. Can’t say that this applies to Circe - on this front we have an offhand mention of Hyacinth's death. which seems to serve no real purpose other than establishing otherwise irrelevant wind god is evil, and what feels like an advert for Song of Achilles courtesy of Odysseus, which takes less than one page. Eventually Circe opts to become mortal to live with Telemachus and denounces her father and… that’s it. This concludes the story of Circe. I don’t exactly think the original is the deepest or greatest character in classical literature, but I must admit I’d rather read about her wacky witch adventures than about Miller’s Circe. A few small notes I couldn’t fit elsewhere: something very minor that bothered me a lot but that to be honest I don’t think most readers will notice is the extremely chaotic approach to occasional references to the world outside Greece - Sumer is randomly mentioned… chronologically after Babylon and Assyria, and in relation to Persians (or rather - to Perses living among them). At the time we can speak of “Persians” Sumerian was a dead language at best understood by a few literati in the former great cities of Mesopotamia so this is about the same as if a novel about Mesopotamia mentioned Macedonians and then completely randomly Minoans at a chronologically later point. Miller additionally either confused or conflated Perses, son of Perseus, who was viewed positively and associated with Persia (so positively that Xerxes purportedly tried to use it for propaganda purposes!) with Perses the obscure brother of Circe et. al, who is a villain in an equally obscure myth casting Medea as the heroine, in which he rules over “Tauric Chersonese,” the Greek name of a part of Crimea. I am honestly uncertain why was he even there as he amounts to nothing in the book, and there are more prominent minor children of Helios who get no mention (like Aix or Phaeton) so it’s hard to argue it was for the sake of completion. Medea evidently doesn’t triumph over him offscreen which is his sole mythical purpose. Is there something I liked? Well, I’m pretty happy Selene only spoke twice, considering it’s in all due likeness all that spared her from the fate of receiving similarly “amazing” new characterization as her brother. As is, she was… okay. Overall I am definitely not a fan of the book. As for its purported ideological value? It certainly has a female main character. Said character sure does have many experiences which are associated with women. However, I can’t help but think that the novel isn’t exactly feminist - it certainly focuses on Circe, but does it really try to “rehabilitate” her? And is it really “rehabilitation” and feminist reinterpretation when almost every single female character in the book is the same, and arguably depicted with even less compassion than in the source material?  It instead felt like the author’s goal is take away any joy and grandeur present in myths, and to deprive Circe of most of what actually makes her Circe. We don’t need to make myths joyless to make them fit for a new era. It’s okay for female characters to be wacky one off villains and there’s no need to punish them for it. A book which celebrates Circe for who she actually is in the Odyssey and in other Greek sources - an unapologetic and honestly pretty funny character -  would feel much more feminist to me that a book where she is a wacky witch not because she feels like it but because she got raped, if you ask me. 

Circe evidently having the time of her life, by Edmund Dulac (public domain)

[homemade-ghosts]

do you have any theories for how the 3x07 leak plays out assuming it’s true? ever since i read it i’ve been under the impression that ricky helps her with the bag and once they realize their faces are so close it becomes a heat of the moment thing ..? and then something interrupts them or maybe one of them stop it themselves. unrelated but i’m excited for the leak if it’s real but not for rebound allegations towards ricky and the cheating allegations towards gina (even if they’re broken up)

GENERAL POTENTIAL SPOILER WARNING FOR NEXT EP OF HSMTMTS. Read at your own risk.

That's been my assumption too. I always thought that Gina's bag spills out as she's trying to leave Prom and Ricky kneels down to help her pick everything up and maybe they both go to grab the same thing -- a tube of lip gloss or something? -- their hands brush and they look up, noticing for the first time that their faces are inches apart.

I've also heard that Ricky somehow catches Gina? Like, she slips and nearly falls, but he catches her? I don't know how accurate that is though because I saw someone mention it offhand and I know it wasn't in the original leak/shotlist that I saw. Theoretically, it could be an interesting parallel to the wdykal spin dip, but I don't totally understand how it would tie into the almost kiss. Maybe Gina's bag spills, Ricky helps her pick everything up, they both stand up and, as Gina says thank you and tries to leave, she trips? Ricky catches her and that's where they have their [redacted]?

I think it would be interesting if Gina leaves because, after breaking up with EJ, it's too hard for her to see all these happy couples (Maddox & Madison, Carlos & Seb...+ maybe Kourtney & Jet share a dance?) while she just feels so...alone. She runs out, Ricky's eyes follow her. He can see she's upset, so he follows her out into the coat check area to check on her. (cue moment mentioned above) & Ricky's the one who stops it because he didn't hear about the pw breakup and think that Gina is still with EJ.

I'm with you 100% on that last bit, not excited for that. The show will do what it can to quell the "cheating" allegations on Gina's behalf (by, hopefully, having pw breakup beforehand) and the rebound allegations on Ricky's behalf (by having Rina not actually get together this season) but some people will find a way to villainize them no matter what and, unfortunately, there's nothing we can do about that.

[baepsaetan]

Banner by @thebannershop​

Summary: In a futuristic age where a person can be coded and inserted into a new body, the rich can live forever. Born to a wealthy family, Jin expects to live life at a lofty and uncaring height. His expectations go awry when his body is murdered and a small gang steals his ‘stack’ and resleeves him in a criminal. Thrust into a gritty, neon world far below his life as an immortal, where death can be Real, Jin will discover truths that challenge his perceptions and make him wonder what - if anything - immortality is worth.

Chapters:  pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 7  -> read on Ao3

Genre: Altered Carbon Fusion, Science Fiction/Futuristic, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Murder Mystery

Warnings: Shifting PoVs (primarily Jin), minor character death, abuse, torture, gangs, drug addiction, drug use, references to depression, body dysphoria, animal death, swearing, smut in future chapters

Length: 2k

A/N: I want to emphasize that the beautiful banner is done by Rose at thebannershop, please head her way and give her some love! Just as a heads up, this is going to be a real long haul project - we’re talking 20+ chapters. Hope you all enjoy. :) 

 ---

The person sitting across the table is nothing more than grease on a squeaky wheel, yet Hoseok finds himself personally disliking the man. For one, he keeps making small, covert gestures, leaning over the desk with watery blue eyes, pitching his voice low as though he were sharing a secret Hoseok should be honoured to receive. There’s nothing honest about his too-pale face, his flickering gaze, his eager attempts to be ingratiating even as he lowkey insults the precinct and everyone in it.

It also doesn’t help that he’s being a pain in the ass. Hoseok’s smile doesn’t falter, though, even as he shifts, bouncing his feet under the desk.

“The Kim family,” he repeats for what feels like the fiftieth time and is probably closer to the fifth, “has no legal claim over Seokjin’s body or stack. He was found outside of their home. Further, there is simply no reason for them to be in control of him at this time. I understand how distressing this –”

“Very distressing!” the man interjects, as though that were the point Hoseok had been making. “Very distressing, captain!” Each syllable is punctuated by a nervous, one-fingered tap on the desk, and Hoseok needs to supress his neurochems from flaring up with every tap. “Mr. and Mrs. Kim are absolutely distraught. To have their child back, to know that he is in safe keeping, that would do wonders for their emotional states.”

Idly imagining foisting this man off on one of his lieutenants – not that he ever would – Hoseok brushes back his black bangs, keeps his voice pleasant. “He’s being kept in our most secure storage area, Mr. McCall. We have very rigorous security measures.”

The lawyer’s eyes dart around the small, tidy office, his lips pursed. Hoseok knows it doesn’t look like much. Truth be told, it’s not. But the skeptical implication of that gaze – that Hoseok’s people aren’t good enough – has his own mouth tightening, aching to pull into a frown. He indulges himself for a moment and lets his neurochems activate, pulsing with lightning reassurance through his nervous system and bringing everything into bright focus. It’s a heady sensation, the flood of a potent cocktail of chemicals, difficult to let go, and he could just keep them going, just keep riding that rush…

But he won’t. Not at work. That’s the promise. Hoseok shuts the drugs down, and doesn’t let the resulting plummet show on his face.

Mr. McCall clears his throat, unaware. “Well… yes. But the Kim family have the means to set up an invested, careful and personal watch over Seokjin. They would spare no expense, whereas your department…” Another quick look at the room, hands brushing over the faded wood of Hoseok’s desk. “Your department surely does its best with what it has,” the lawyer finishes.

Fucking Meths, Hoseok thinks, and now his grin is really being threatened – maybe using his chems hadn’t been a great idea. He’s always been a strong believer in smiles being better than whips to get people to do things, but in this case… damn, theories are being tested. He’d rather be laughing any day, and his officers respond to it better than marine-sergeant shit, yet Hoseok can’t help but wonder if slapping on a glare wouldn’t get rid of this man more quickly.

Mr. McCall notices the change, either from simple perception or, much less likely, some kind of basic empathy implant, and a good deal of his fawning disappears. “Captain,” he says, again leaning forward, “truth be told, this is a mere formality. Between you and I, the Kims will have their son back. Either they will get him from you, and be in your debt…” He trails off meaningfully, and Hoseok, jiggling one leg to try to get rid of his irritated energy and the remains of his chem dose, doesn’t reply. Better to make the lawyer say it out loud, get it all out in the open. He’s recording this conversation, anyways.

“Or, they’ll go over your head to someone better suited to deal with a situation of this nature.”

Hoseok can’t help it. He stands up and straightens his black uniform, all in one easy, graceful movement that doesn’t quite mask how angry he is. Yeah. Neurochems were the best invention since God in terms of combat, but they sure as hell don’t help his temper much. “I hope your clients will be able to find someone better suited, Mr. McCall. I don’t think they will, but we can always hope. In the meantime, though, I have a precinct to run.”

“So you won’t take this murder seriously? You have better things to do?”

“I take all murders very seriously. Particularly when the victim’s parents won’t allow us to spin them up to testify. That’s pretty serious, the way I see it.”

McCall bristles. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but Mr. and Mrs. Kim are very devout persons. While they have no compunctions about switching sleeves to maintain their longevity, they view uncontrollable events – such as the very unfortunate case with Mr. Seokjin – as an act of the Almighty. They can in no way jeopardize his soul by –”

“I’ve got the pamphlets; the Neo-Cs show up at the precinct often enough. You don’t need to quote their beliefs at me.”

The lawyer gets to his feet with forced calm, and that’s enough to get a sincere smile back on Hoseok’s face. Bluster and threaten all he wanted, McCall’s family wasn’t one of the big three Meth families, long established and running everything in Triptych on a leash. They were going to have to call in more than a favour, or two, if they wanted Seokjin’s body back, and in the meantime…

Well, in the meantime, Hoseok would be very interested to know just who had killed Seokjin. He would also be very interested in finding out why his family, who refused to give him a new life in a shiny new body, still wanted him back so badly.  

Yeah. And in the meantime, until Hoseok got an official letter signed by the higher-ups, or God Himself, Kim Seokjin was staying right where he was, stack, sleeve, and maybe even soul, too.

---

About six hours later, long after the Meth dog had slunk out of his office and long after his shift was officially over, Hoseok was in the breakroom, joking with one of the newest squad members. “What, you thought the captain was allowed to leave the station? These bars,” he plucks at one of the rank insignia pinned neatly to his jacket, “will electrocute me if I try.”

Jaemin’s eyebrows furrow briefly, and Hoseok knows why he’s hesitating. You don’t get to be captain without getting a reputation, and his reputation isn’t exactly soft. The recruit is wondering if it’s safe to joke, safe to loosen up. Hell, of course it is. They’re in the damn breakroom.

“Yeah,” Hoseok continues offhand. “There’s a reason I made captain at my age. Last captain wanted to leave the station and, well, he tried and he fried. Insta-promotion, y’know?” He laughs at his own joke, loud and sudden. That scares the hell out of Jaemin, the black-haired man rocking back in his chair, but it gets him to offer an only-slightly shaky smile, too – better than nothing.

Tanesha shuffles into the room, looking half-dead, her curly black hair a frizzy halo around her drawn face. He can’t really blame her; not everyone’s a night person, himself included, and The Curve isn’t exactly the quietest precinct in Triptych. He slips out of her way as she stumbles to the coffeepot – she sniffs at it, grimaces, shrugs, and then pours herself a cup. The best tech minder in the business is not exactly picky when it comes to her caffeine high.

Not that he can judge when it comes to being picky about highs. His skin prickles at the thought.

Leaning against the table, nose almost buried in the mug – like she’s hoping the scent alone will give her a jolt – Tanesha asks, “What’re you still doing here, captain Jung? Thought you had afternoon shift.”

“Afternoon, night, morning, I got ‘em all.”

“Please,” she snorts at his grand announcement. “Even you don’t have that much energy.” Suddenly glancing at Jaemin, the tall woman raises an eyebrow. “He been feeding you that bullshit story about being trapped here?”

“Uhh… no?” the new recruit answers, cautiously side-eyeing Hoseok. Hoseok flashes him a thumbs up.

“Please.” Tanesha snorts again, leaving off her coffee long enough to gesture with the mug at the captain. “Don’t let him impress you too much. Just remember, only reason he can do fifteen-hour days is ‘cause he’s outfitted with enough hardware to run a small planet into the ground. Neurochem, internal board, ONI, amplifiers, you name it and he’s got it. Almost a robot, that one.”

With a sharp bark of laughter, Hoseok doesn’t let the sting of that comment enter his voice. “Aish, you won’t let me brag, huh?” It’s not like I asked for all of these.

“You only get to brag when you deserve it,” his lieutenant replies. Somewhat unexpectedly – maybe for Jaemin’s benefit – she adds, “Besides, you deserve it so often, I have to work to cut you down when I get the chance.”

“Your hard work is appreciated,” he says solemnly, managing to remain deadpan for about four seconds. Then her round face scrunches, unimpressed, and façade cracking apart into another chuckle, Hoseok continues more seriously. “But Lieutenant Adebayo is right. I don’t expect any of you to pull long shifts like this. I get away with it because –”

The lights die, plunging them into dark and cutting off his words like a curtain dropped too soon. Suddenly an alarm is blaring from his ONI device, so loud that it completely drowns out Jaemin’s startled cry and Tanesha’s swearing. He claps his hands over his ears in pained reflex even as his eyes adjust, forcing back the dark, but it obviously does nothing to block out the noise.

“Attention,” a cool, genderless voice announces directly in his ear. It alternates with the alarm. “Attention. Cortical shelf thirteen-forty-three-forty has been illegally accessed. Attention. Immediate action required. Attention. Permission to shutdown system?”

He’s already got his watch up, the display light shining brightly in the dark, and the second the on-screen permission request appears Hoseok jabs a confirmation to block all access to the shelves. “Adebayo, get the lights back on. Preferably ten seconds ago,” he snaps at their tech, and then he’s out of the room. Even as he moves, flinging himself around desks and moving easily by the officers stumbling around in the blackness – not everyone has an upgraded sleeve and upgraded vision like he does – Hoseok is cursing. Himself, the computer system, whoever the hell is hacking them –

And McCall. He’s definitely cursing McCall. Given the cortical shelf number, he has a feeling he’s going to be seeing the lawyer sooner rather than later.

Within about two minutes, he’s barrelled down the stairs into the basement, where the stacks are stored. Here, he doesn’t need his enhanced eyesight; the wall of small compartments glows a soft red, each occupied shelf accompanied by a light blinking just above it. The stack storage is run off a separate power source, the better to stop – well, to stop exactly this from happening. Hoseok stares for a long moment at the distinctly dead light over the shelf that his ONI is helpfully informing him is empty, before pulling up his watch. A few quick taps, and he doesn’t know whether he should be relieved, confused or just plain pissed off.

He definitely wants to take another hit of neurochems. Could anyone blame him for it?

After all, Seokjin’s ruined body is still in storage, but his cortical stack is gone.

[glitterslag]

Paris, Mon Amour - A Booty Call spinoff/Part 3

Back by popular demand. And because Paris Ben needed his own blurb. 

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: language, some smut, lil bit of angst and a rogue dick-pic

Summary: You’re trying not to miss Ben, but it’s hard when there are pictures of him everywhere you look. Even your house-mate can’t shut up about him. 

A/N: This was originally a spin-off blurb set in the Booty Call AU, but can either be read as a standalone or as a Part 3 of the main fic. LOTS of people have requested this over the weeks (super sorry it’s taken me so long to finally finish) so I’d love it if just as many people RB and comment! Enjoy x

P.S. my tag lists are a holy show at the moment so if you were/weren’t tagged and you did/didn’t want to be - SORRY!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Have you seen those pictures of Ben at the Oscars?”

You were kneeling on the kitchen tiles, up to your elbows in the bottom freezer drawer, hunting for a tub of ice cream. Jen’s voice floated down the hallway from where she stood at her bedroom mirror, taking off the last of her makeup.

Jen was one of those people who always kept her bedroom door open.

“The ones with Joe and Gwil?” You called back, smiling faintly.

You had post notifications on for all of your friends, Joe and Gwilym included. You had, of course, seen their instagram stories from the Oscars.

“No, no. The ones with the girl.” Jen said as she wandered through into the kitchen, towel on her head and her body wrapped in her fluffy purple dressing gown.

“Lucy?” You wondered, spoon in your mouth as you used both hands to rummage for the tub of mint choc chip.

“No, the beautiful blonde, the skinny one.”

“Lucy’s the blonde.”

You were starting to get a bit irritable now, fingers stinging with the cold of the freezer. Where was the bloody ice cream?

“No, not Lucy, another one - gorgeous. A model maybe?”

“I think you mean his stylist.” You said bluntly.  “Iliara?”

“Noo no, not his stylist, the stunning blonde-“

“I GET IT SHE’S BEAUTIFUL!” You yelled, slamming the freezer door shut with a heavy thud.

Jen faked hurt.

“Well there’s no need to get so snappy with me. I was just saying.”

You honestly hated her, sometimes.

In truth, you did wonder about what Ben was getting up to every night at these glamorous parties, even though you knew you had absolutely no right to. You couldn’t help it. He wasn’t your boyfriend – far from it - you had only slept together a handful of times by now. And Jen knew that. You tried hard to just to be happy for Ben, and not think too much about him rubbing shoulders with all these beautiful women. But it wasn’t easy when she seemed to have this perfect knack for rubbing things in.

All the boys had said that they wished you could come tonight, but unfortunately not. Apart from Rami, they were only seated in the viewing gallery themselves, and none of them got to bring a plus one. Only having been an apprentice, there was no chance someone with your position would get invited to the ceremony.

You got texts and snapchats from the boys though, all night, making less and less sense as they steadily get drunker and you found yourself staying up way past bedtime to open their messages, despite having a lecture at 9am.

“Wish you were here to help me tie my tie. Keeps coming undone :/”  read a particularly sweet one you received from Ben at about one in the morning, and it somehow calmed all of the fears you’d had before.

~~~

“Have you seen those pictures of Ben in Paris?” Came Jen’s disembodied voice almost the second you walked through the door, and you nearly jumped out of your skin.

“What are you, stalking him?” You said bitterly, ripping off your bike helmet and flinging it down onto the sofa.

Jen eyed you from the kitchen counter knowingly.

“Long day, was it?”

You shed your coat, scarf, gloves, hat, shoes, each one coming to join your helmet with more velocity than the last.

“Mm.” You muttered under your breath, stalking over with your arms folded to flick the kettle on. “Remind me again why I started back at this fucking uni..?”

~~~

You had seen the pictures.

Ben had flown to Paris for fashion week that morning, and by the time you sat down to have lunch at uni he was all over your Instagram feed looking like he’d barely slept. There were pictures of him with models. Sat on the front row of some Yves Saint Laurent show sandwiched in between them. The butterflies in your belly had started up again.

You hated yourself for being like this. Insecure was so not attractive. And you were never like that with boys. It’s just that other boys usually weren’t Ben fucking Hardy.

He didn’t look very happy. He hadn’t shaved, and there were dark circles under his eyes. You couldn’t help but feel a twang of concern. You wrestled with yourself for an hour or so before shooting him a little text, enquiring after his wellbeing.

He didn’t get back to you until midnight.

“Just got back to my hotel room. Exhausted.”

“No offence, but you look it.”

Ben had gone straight from the Oscars afterparty to the airport for a twelve hour flight to Paris. You were doing a presentation on colour theory for your Contemporary Cinema seminar when his text had come pinging through into the top corner of your MacBook, hooked up to the projector for your whole class of 30 to see.

Ben Hardy: Still pissed on the plane. Help me

They’d all giggled as you scrambled to switch off iMessage, struggling to regain composure and continue with your presentation, worth 50% of your grade for the whole module. It was a good job Ben had such a common name, as you had to laugh and brush it off when some kid in the back joked that you were “chirpsing the real Peter Beale”.

You recounted the tale to Ben now, hoping to give him a laugh, and indeed, the screen lit up your dark bedroom with a little line of laughter emojis only a minute later. You grinned, warmed. You might have been separated from him by the English channel, but compared to Los Angeles? You could kid yourself he was only next door.

You wanted badly to tell him you missed him, but you’d only just started admitting it to yourself.

“Sorry we keep missing each other.” He wrote, referring to the conflicting schedules you’d had over past few weeks, as well as the time zone issue. “It’s just been a mad one.”

That’s ok! I get it :)

You reply. And then:

You should sleep.

You worked out it would be past 1am there. He had to have been absolutely worn out.

Can’t.

Why’s that?

Kinda got a problem..

You waited for him to elaborate, sitting up and switching on your bedroom light.

You’re not in public are you?

Why??

You were curious now, closing all your other apps to focus solely on the conversation. Surely he knew that at midnight on a Monday you’d be home.

Just answer You at home?

I’m in bed

Even better ;)

You felt a flutter in the pit of your stomach. What was he up to?

Ben, what is it?

I wanna send you something

And then it dawned on you. He couldn’t sleep. Had a problem. Needed you to be alone.

Oh.

Only if that’s ok?? He replied, seconds later.

Yes

You put the phone down on your pillow, chewing on your nails as you waited for him to send it. There was no reason to be nervous. You’d seen his cock in person. Touched it. It just felt like a big deal somehow, having it on your phone. Risky.

He was lying in bed too. White hotel sheets, single bed against one wall, a mirror image of your cramped little student room. 

The picture was nice.

I mean, of course it was – it was his, but even for him. He was naked, from the looks of it, lying on his back grasping himself in his fist, bright pink and hard against his belly. He looked gorgeous. You could barely close the picture long enough to tell him so.

You didn’t full-on sext. He was far too tired - and you far too shy - for that. But you did send him a picture of yourself, face cut off from the lips upward, of course. It was nothing too crazy. Just you lying in bed in your low-cut pyjama vest and French knickers (“Fitting ;)”).

After a few more messages back and forth your cheeks were stinging with heat, nipples hard through your pyjama top and a pool forming between your thighs.

He sent you a picture of his come, pearlescent white against his velveteen stomach in the camera flash. You felt your heart beating in your mouth and your fingers and your clitoris as you looked at it, wondering how that, something you’d never, ever imagined yourself wanting to receive from anyone, could be so beautiful to you.

You found yourself longing for his taste. To lick every last drop from the silky skin of his tummy.

Christ. You thought. What had gotten into you?

“What a waste” you typed.

~~~

The next morning you strolled into the kitchen with a spring in your step , and were pouring cereal into a bowl when Jen piped up from the kitchen table.

“Did you see those pictures of Ben?” She asked predictably, and you bit back a smirk. “The ones with the models? He’s at the Yves Saint Laurent show.”

As if you wouldn’t have known where he was.

She was on the gossip page of one of those glossy magazines, OK! or Grazia - that sort of thing. As she brushed toast crumbs away to pour over the celebrity news you caught a glimpsed of a harassed-looking Ben, walking down the street with his hood up.

“He’s at fashion week.” She added.

“Oh, I spoke to him last night, actually.” You said, attempting to sound offhand.

“Really?” Jen replied airily. “What’d you talk about?”

“He was just saying how tired he was. Couldn’t wait to get back to London.”

“He was probably saying it to make you feel better.”

She didn’t look up from the magazine as she bit into her toast. Still, you could tell she was put out.

~~~

Ben arrived back that night and invited himself over. Couldn’t be bothered to deal with the mess at his, he said. He could unpack tomorrow. Besides, Frankie was with his ex for the whole week anyway, so there was nothing for him to be back for. He said he’d dump his suitcase at home and then come straight round, but you didn’t realise how literally he’d meant that.

He looked bone-weary. Hair a mess, he wasn’t shaved or showered, still in his clothes from the flight and you thought privately that you might prefer this version of him the best. His nose and fingers and toes were cold from the outside, and you squealed in his grasp, trying to squirm away but he wouldn’t let you, nuzzling his icy nose into you on purpose, seeking your warmth. You got straight into bed even though it had only just gone 8 by the time he rocked up, and his lips were pressed against yours right away.

For once, there was absolutely no lust there. He didn’t try to roll on top of you, hands staying on your middle, rubbing up and down your sides gently instead of trying to wander downwards. Just kissing for the sake of kissing. It made your heart speed up to think it. You still couldn’t quite believe he was here.  He’d never been round to your flat before.

You made out for what could’ve been ten minutes or an hour, before coming to a slow, mutual stop.

“ ‘M’too tired to do anything,” He said, voice thick with sleep as he pushed his face into your neck to smell you. “Jus’ wanna nap for a million years.”

“M’Kay.” You said, muffled against his soft green jumper. He smelled of the outside.

~~~

You woke up not knowing what century it was,  and you assumed he’d feel the same. 

It was about 7am, and you were positively toasty. The heating had kicked in overnight and you’d fallen asleep in leggings and fluffy bed socks. At some point, Ben had taken his top off and you’d eagerly taken it and put it on, keen for his body warmth that still clung to it. 

You peeled yourself off him, feeling sweat sticking down your back from where his bare chest had been pressed against it all night. He was like a space heater at the best of times. You slipped your socks off your sweaty feet and kicked them far down the bed, losing them in the sea of duvet.

You wriggled around in his arms so you could bury into his chest and he wrapped them back around you again, even in sleep. You lay there for a while in the pitch black, playing at being a little mouse snuggled up in the burrow, lying side by side with its den mate in the dark earth. Only the smell and feel and taste of each other to rely on.

You almost didn’t want to wake him up. To prolong the pretence that he was your live-in boyfriend for just a little longer. That he didn’t have to leave in an hour or two and that then you wouldn’t see him again for god knows how long.

You realised you only disliked dark mornings when you were sleeping alone.

  ~~~

“Have you seen those pictures of Ben at the airport?” Jen asked as the two of you trailed into the kitchen.

Ben stepped out from behind you awkwardly, and her ears turned pink with embarrassment. She slapped her hand over her mouth. You realised this was her first time meeting him in person.

“Coffee?” She managed to squeak after collecting herself again, and everyone laughed.

“It’s a good job you’re back.” She said to Ben not long later, handing him the mug of black coffee which he grabbed gratefully. “She’s been in a mood all week!”

“I have not Jen!” You protested, mortified.

Ben just grinned and slung an arm around you, biting into his toast.

“I’ll keep her in check.”

He winked at you and you nearly died off.

You watched him across the kitchen table over breakfast, thumming at your shirt collar. You brushed your fingers over your sore collar-bone absentmindedly, poking at the skin there testingly, bruised from where he’d sucked and bitten it. There was a sort of soft shyness to the way Ben was looking at you; private, stolen glances over steaming coffee cups, Jen yammering on in the background, oblivious to the fullness of the atmosphere.

You’d never liked it in the morning as much as you did with Ben. Only an hour ago, you’d been giving him a sloppy blowjob under the covers, enjoying the perfect stillness of 7am while he ran his hands through your hair and sighed. Eventually, once he was a bit more awake, he’d hauled you up and then rolled on top, pinning your hands to the bed as he settled his warm, welcome weight on top of you.

You’d not been quite ready for him yet, legs slung over his hips and hooked under his bum as he wiggled into you, and the stretch felt so incredible it had been an effort to keep quiet, conscious of Jen asleep in the next room. His thrusts were slow, fingers laced through yours, holding you down as you kissed sloppily.

Then he’d let go of one of your hands to bring a thumb down in between your legs, fingers gripping at your hip gently as he brushed over your clit, feather-light. He slowly built you to a shivering, long drawn out orgasm, clenching on him violently as he trembled with the effort of staying quiet.

Eyes squeezed shut, pink lips parted, he approached his high, and you took him by the back of the head gently to place a long, soft kiss to his cheek to soothe him. He pushed into it, panting, little noises of appreciation escaping the back of his throat while he came.

~~~

“I’ll have to leave”.

You snapped him out of his reverie and he blinked at you, blushing. You didn’t have to be an expert to tell what he’d been thinking about. 

“Lecture?” Ben wondered, and you shook your head.

“Nah, work.”

You told Ben he was free to stay and have breakfast after you left for your part time job at a cafe. However, it appeared that the idea of him and Jen being left alone together terrified him as much as it did you and he opted to walk out with you after you finished your coffee. You walked your bike with him to where he’d parked his car.

“I could give you a lift?”

“Nah,” you said casually, fastening your helmet under your chin. “traffic’ll be bad”

He nodded his head. Neither of you moved to leave, and he looked like he was about to say something until both your heads jerked around at the sound of a group of school kids shouting from across the road.

“Oi, weren’t you in Eastenders?!”

One of them came running across the road to where the two of you were stood, face to face in front of his car boot. The rest of them followed nervously. The two of you sighed and smiled.

“I’ll be late.” You said, mounting your bike. He shot you a pleading, apologetic look but you just grinned at him from over your shoulder.  “I’ll have to go.”

You waved him off as the gaggle descended on him, cycling away before they could get too good of a look at you. You glanced back every now and then at his retreating form, trying his best to be polite as they each asked him for an autograph and a picture.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list: @thegreekdreamersworld @youcapturedmyheartben @inlovewithbenhardy@summer–infinity @hmmmm-nope @hanginwithmanerds @shhhs3cret @redspecialty @falling-stars-never-cry @deathbyinternets @anita-e-taylor @hales-a-bells @not-your-housekeeper @wanderingxsherlockian @benstolemyhearty @scarsout @hardzzellos @bloominess @wonderless-screwup @abigfatmess @d-r-e-a-m-catchme @borhap-baby @the-claire-bitch-project @lukeofmine @sadfathoe427 @amidst-wonderland @glitterdreamsz @haywood-ya-not @hystericalqueenstan @totallynerdstuff @mustbeaweasleyginger @sweetheartben

[raendown]

Plot bunny bit me so I popped out a second story for yesterday’s prompts.  @madatobiweek Day 2 prompt: Blind Tobirama

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 1835 Rated: G Summary: Madara helps Tobirama try something new and the results aren't at all what either of them expected.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Love At A Glance

“Are you ready?”

“Is it possible for one to ready oneself for such an experience?”

He could feel Madara glaring at him just as the man always did and it added a flavor of normalcy that immediately calmed him, loosening the muscles he hadn’t realized were tensed in his shoulders. Surprisingly gentle hands brushed under the sides of his jaw and traced the edges of his tattoos where they disappeared under his collar.

“Don’t be snarky,” Madara scolded him. “I’m being very nice to you right now.”

“Noted. I suppose I shall be appropriately grateful afterwards – if you make a good showing of yourself.”

“Are you disparaging my skills?”

Tobirama snorted. “Let me experience them first; I’ll disparage them afterwards.”

He grinned at the sound of teeth grinding together in frustration. Even after several years together there was no better fun to be had than winding his husband up and listening to the many varied expressions of irritation. Madara was far and away the most expressive person he’d ever met other than his own brother. It was the freedom of those emotions that drew Tobirama to him initially, the way his outside perfectly reflected his inside where chakra always told the truth.

Most people thought it must be easy to lie to a blind man. Those people always seemed to forget Tobirama’s deep connection to the chakra networks running through every living thing, the way he could listen as no one else could because he didn’t have whole other source of input to confuse his idea of the truth. He loved his partner first for never trying to conceal his own emotions and second for the sheer beauty of how well he resonated with his own chakra. Lies will wear on a person, Tobirama had found, and after years and decades of lying as all shinobi do he found there were very few who maintained harmony with their own chakra as time marched on.

His husband would be a powerful man long after everyone else’s chakra began failing them, a symptom widely attributed to old age.

“Are you paying attention to me?” Madara demanded.

“No,” he admitted blandly. “I’m distracting myself with disgustingly sappy thoughts and a little bit of chakra theory.”

“Of course you are. Well stop. I need you to hear me.”

“Yes dear.”

Madara huffed but his fingers remained gentle in their hold. “It’s important that you don’t move because a single shift in the wrong direction could break the flow and I want the transition in and out to be as seamless as possible. What I’m giving you is no more than a memory so you won’t be able to interact or change anything. There will be movement but if you focus in the center–”

“You,” Tobirama interrupted him.

“Indeed, me. I will be in the center.”

Nodding slowly, Tobirama took a deep breath. “Anything else?”

“I think we’ve covered everything else a hundred times but if you forget everything else just remember that I can still hear you and I can stop anytime you want me to.”

“Okay.” The fingers cupping his jaw stroked him one more time and he smiled warmly.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

It felt like an invasion, albeit a gentle and welcome one. By the descriptions he’d heard from many people he thought it might be compared to the sensation of having a genjutsu cast when you know it’s coming. Madara’s chakra poured out from where he knew the man’s eyes were, the Mangekyo Sharingan formation spinning wildly, and Tobirama experienced it only through his internal senses as waves of his husband’s presence sank in to his own ocular nerves and then-

And then.

He was going to be seasick. Tobirama squeezed his eyes shut tight but it made no difference, as Madara had promised it wouldn’t, for the vision around him did not stop moving. Nothing made sense. The world was a mix and all too much and he wasn’t sure whether the movement was the problem but he wanted it to stop.

More than that, though, he wanted it never to end. He understood so little but Tobirama forced his poor confused mind to focus and to memorize in a way he’d never had to before, as many details as possible filed away to keep as precious treasures from this day forward. This was a gift he could never possibly repay. Surely nothing he could ever dream of would mean as much as what Madara had offered so freely, an offhand idea over dinner one night now made glorious and terrible reality.

They had agreed beforehand on something short but a handful of seconds felt like forever in both the best and worst ways before finally Madara's voice whispered soothingly that it was all going away. Relief swept through him when the vision faded and his world returned to the same darkness he had lived in for more than thirty years, something bittersweet clinging to the edges of him as he fought to recall the details he didn’t even understand. Fingers combed through his hair and touched his face and he realized he was crying.

“Are you alright?” Madara asked. He nodded. “What was it like?”

“Terrifying,” he admitted.

Not the answer his partner was expecting, judging by the startled hum. “It wasn’t anything bad.”

“I didn’t understand it. My mind didn’t…doesn’t know how to process any of that. You know I was born blind so I’ve never seen color and I’ve never seen movement and I know–” Tobirama stopped the flow of words when he realized it wasn’t only his words that had begun to shake. His body was trembling like a leaf.

“Come here.” Madara gathered him close and continued to comb through his hair, waiting patiently until he was able to continue speaking.

“I know that it was you but I don’t…know…what that means. The shapes meant nothing because I’ve never seen a human with my eyes before. And it’s so bright! How do you concentrate when the world is so bright? With so many colors!” Tobirama forced himself to draw another breath. “Is that color? How many colors were there? W-what ones? Your hair…is…black?” He thought he could remember someone mentioning that once, something not many people would describe out loud when most could tell with a single glance.

A rustle and a brief kiss were his answer. “Yes, my hair is black. Can you guess what you were seeing or would you like me to tell you? I gave you a few hints when I decided on the memory but…”

“No, I wanted to guess. There was a lot of the same color I think. And it was moving. Another color through it? And I know that was you in the center so all of that color was…hair. Your hair. Were you brushing your hair?”

“Yes.” Only one word but it sounded like a floodgate. Madara's chakra wavered and suddenly Tobirama was aware that he wasn’t the only one overwhelmed with emotion.

Unsure of what else to say, he said the truth. “You’re beautiful.”

“How can you say that when you just said you didn’t even really understand? You don’t have any comparisons!”

“I don’t need to understand.” And coming from him that was saying a lot. Tobirama reached up to brush at the hair he had just seen for the first time, the beloved face he’d never known until today. “It was you. That’s all I need. I don’t…I don’t think I want to do this again. If the only thing these eyes ever see is your face then I’m fine with that. Vision is a little terrifying when I’ve gone so long without it. It’s just not a part of my world.”

“Well there’s no need to be so sappy about it,” Madara grumbled and he gave a shaky laugh.

Out of all the many possible outcomes to having his husband’s unique Mangekyo pattern grant him a brief moment of sight in the form of a shared memory, he never would have expected to find himself so viscerally terrified. Now that he was taking a few moments to calm down he thought it was probably an instinctive reaction to his brain being inundated with so much information that it simply wasn’t trained or even equipped to process. He’d meant what he said, he didn’t think he would ever want to repeat this, but he was glad that they’d done it. Knowing Madara's face was an experience he could never regret.

And more than that it was something that would have stayed in the back of his mind for the rest of his days, a small niggling wonder forever pulling at his curiosity. What was it like to see? From the moment Madara mentioned that he thought his own Mangekyo could help Tobirama experience what the rest of the world lived with every day he was helpless to do anything but accept that gilded offer lest his own imagination spiral out of control.

“Thank you,” he said after a few minutes of simply holding each other.  

“Don’t thank me for scaring you,” Madara grunted.

“Would you prefer I be angry?”

“It would feel a bit more normal,” His husband admitted.

Tobirama couldn’t stop himself from chuckling. “Ah, right then. How dare you be the most important part of my life and make every day together a gift? I demand recompense.”

Listening to Madara splutter indignantly and shout at him for ‘doing anger wrong’ Tobirama breathed out the last of the tension in his body. In his mind he brought up the confusing image that had been granted to him for such a brief time and tried his best to recall the details. Not much about it made sense to him even if he did know intellectually which parts corresponded with his knowledge of human anatomy. He still tried his best because that was his husband. For the first time in his life he had a face for the name, so to speak, and Madara's face was the only one he had ever seen. Would ever see. That was special in ways he couldn’t hope to put in to words.

Doing his best to hold that image in his mind as he lifted his face more towards his partner’s, Tobirama decided that the room was indeed getting a little too sappy and, of course, the best way to break the tension would always be to get Madara riled up again. He’d known the man long enough to know how to do it with two simple sentences.

“I’m glad you didn’t insist on showing me my own face. I’d have gone doubly blind, I’m sure.”

Madara's enraged shrieking that he was beautiful and perfect and not allowed to saying anything against that was music to his ears. As long as he had his hearing and his sensing, able to feel the sincerity of his husband’s emotions, Tobirama was just fine with his lot in life.  

[kpopfanfictrash]

Sidhe (V)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jimin / Namjoon

Rating: PG-13

Genre: Fantasy, Fey!AU / Royalty!AU

Word Count: 5,869

Description: In the land of Humankind and the Otherworld, the Fey and Humans live side by side. Cursed are the Fey though, unable to use their own magic without a human wishing it so. You were born and raised to end this curse, to take down the system - so what happens when the Human you’re bound to, ends up becoming so much more?

My stomach drops, realizing here is my proof. Here is the certainty that all human beings are evil. My father’s views appear at once, both valid and necessary. As I blow out the candle, I slide further beneath my covers and try to feel vindicated by this.

My father is right. I am right. This course is right.

That night though, I dream of tears. A river, which turns to blood at my feet.

I’m informed by a palace worker the next morning that Jimin has already left for the practice room, despite it only being half past eight. I hurry to get dressed, cursing his damn human punctuality. A crucial power play, one I’ve lost the advantage of. When I arrive ten minutes later, stumbling over myself, I take a small moment to steel myself outside the doors. Whatever today will bring, I can handle it.

“Hello, Your Majesty,” I intone, stepping over the threshold.

“We’re back to that, are we?” Jimin stares striaght ahead, eyebrows pulled together in concentration.

He’s not wearing a shirt. He’s – oh, shit, I swallow. His shirt is off, and I force myself to look away. Not before noticing the light sheen of his chest though, as if Jimin has been practicing in here for hours. He balances the knife carefully in his palm, weighing his options.

When Jimin throws, the movement is sure and straight. I can tell a perfect mark before it lands, and Jimin strikes dead center of the bull’s eye. He turns then, smiling faintly when he meets my gaze. I don’t return his happiness, brushing past him to stand at the weapons rack.

“I’m not sure why we’re here,” I say to him, offhand. “In my experience, weapons tend to tear people apart – not bring them together.” Picking up a spear, I consider the weight. It might be fun, to fight Prince Jimin with a spear.

Behind me, Jimin leans an arm against the practice target, pulling his knife free from straw. “I see you’ve not trained with other men,” he grunts, turning to face me. “I’ve found it forms a bond, once that’s completely unparalleled.”

“Only men?” I muse, looking up from the weaponry.

“Only having trained with men, that’s all I can vouch for.” Jimin grabs his shirt, tugging it over his chest. “But I’m certain the theory can be applied elsewhere,” he winks.

I make a face, turning away. As I move to leave, I nearly crash into someone. Dropping my spear hastily towards my feet, the weapon falling heads over tails in midair. The newcomer catches this easily, handing me back my weapon in one, smooth motion.

“Thank you,” I bow to him, cheeks flushed bright.

When I look up, I see he is Fey. Green eyes are slightly clouded with age and I wonder if he’s blind, before he turns to survey us both. His gaze lands on Jimin, and I suppose this answers my earlier question “My name is Eon,” he announces softly. “I will be your instructor.”

His voice is gravelly, serious, like his appearance. Eon. The name sparks a memory and I think I’ve heard it before. Yes – of course. This is Eon, general of the Fey. Second only to the Queen and King, in terms of power. I wonder why such a powerful fairy would be here, training newly anointed Sidhe and Master. When I decide to look over at Jimin, he wears a similar expression of puzzlement.

“You are both far enough advanced in weaponry and combat,” Eon nods, “that it seemed imprudent for anyone but myself to train you. A compliment to your teachers, I’m sure.” When the fairy meets my gaze, I garner the distinct impression he doesn’t enjoy complimenting my father.  

“Let us begin,” he clears his throat, turning away. “Choose a defense,” Eon waves a hand at the large pile of weapons and I reach for the bow and arrow, pausing when I see Jimin pick up a falchion. Interesting. The falchion is used in dual capacity, both on the ground and horseback. I thought Jimin mentioned being in the infantry.

Most importantly, the weapons are at odds with one another. Sighing gently, I set my bow and arrow down and pick up a short sword. This should work nicely, in hand-to-hand combat. Whirling gently, I slash through the air – testing the balance of the blade. Jimin watches me do so, a slight smirk to his face.

“What?” I demand, lowering my sword.

“Oh, nothing,” Jimin chortles, tilting his head. “It’s just such a small sword.”

He grins when I take a swing at him, deftly sidestepping my blow. The sword misses, whistling harmlessly past where Jimin once stood. “Would you prefer a broadsword, your highness?” I ask sweetly.

“Can you lift a broadsword?”

Scowling, I drop into a fighting stance. This time, I don’t aim to miss. Eon’s voice stops us both though, a firm cough which gains our attention. “That’s enough,” he declares, hands laced behind his back. “You may flirt on a separate occasion.”

I flush; the color blending nicely with the burnt red stone of the room. Jimin appears just as shocked as I am, which surprises me. I would’ve expected him to be laughing – giving a snarky comment or wink, at least.

“Come to the center,” Eon announces, walking away, “and we’ll begin.”

I follow him meekly, listening to Jimin’s footsteps echo mine.

“The art of combat is beautiful but dangerous,” Eon continues, still not looking. “It is intimate. To become Amhéin with one another, you must learn each other’s’ flaws. Learn weaknesses, as well as strengths. Winning in battle means understanding your opponent. Therefore,” he declares, coming to a stop, “your first step in training is fighting.”

It surprises me, for Eon to refer to us as Amhéin. Most Fey don’t use the term anymore, merely referring to their humans as Master – Patron, if they’re being kind. Speaking about our relationship in such an intimate way is not something I’m accustomed to.

“I’m not here to teach you tricks,” Eon says quietly. “Nor am I here to help with technique. You will find, more often than not, Sidhe training is internal. It is difficult for any outsider to influence.”

When Eon says this, I look at Jimin. I wonder what’s happening behind the calm exterior, since Jimin doesn’t seem worried at all. I am, though – my nerves rise like bile in my throat.

Eon coughs, returning my attention to his. “When I signal you start,” he nods, arching a brow. “You may begin.”

Jimin and I make eye contact. Locking gazes before he takes a step backwards, adjusting himself to a better position. I don’t move though, since it doesn’t matter where I begin. I’m trained to kill in all spaces. What’s surprising though, is that faced with the immediate prospect of hurting him, I find I don’t want to. I shake my head roughly, attempting to dislodge such thoughts. Resolve hardening, I remind myself Jimin is the enemy. He’s not the same as me, wouldn’t offer me clemency – so I should show him none in return.

Jimin watches me carefully, as though able to sense my shift in thoughts. It helps, to think about that girl in the courtyard; an innocent Fey Jimin used and discarded. The thought clouds my vision, forces my anger to the surface. Anger is good. My eyes narrow, jaw tightening at the thought. Jimin’s arms are held loose by his sides, the blade of his sword pointed towards the ground.

He swallows.

“Begin,” Eon announces.

I make the first move, stepping so quickly, I surprise even myself. Jimin’s sword flies upwards though and I spin, reassessing the strength of his skills. As soon as I strike for the second time, he avoids my blow. His falchion is longer than mine, curved, and I try to use this to my advantage. Moving in quick thrusts and parries, disappointed to find Jimin is just as skilled as I am. I admit this begrudgingly, only to myself. When Jimin manages to block me for a third time, I begin a long series of slashes, forcing him back to avoid my blade.

Jimin does a quick twist, darting away from me. Freed from the edge of my sword, he heaves his own overhead. The weapon is brought down where I was a second ago, just moments before I darted sideways. Ducking beneath his arm, I manage a quick slash to his bicep. Just a shallow cut – barely more than a flesh wound, but Jimin grimaces in pain.

I pivot to change direction, ready when Jimin lunges for me with renewed energy. He grunts in frustration, hair spilling across his forehead when I escape yet another blow. I don’t let this image distract me, pushing again to corner him against the wall. I’m impressed by his skills – Jimin is good, especially for a human.

Even for a human. If I’m being truly honest, he’s better than most Fey.

I suppose this shouldn’t be too surprising. I know Jimin fought in the infantry, though this is still hard for me to wrap my head around. I grew up thinking the Prince was spoiled, a pretty human forcing others to do his bidding. Finding out this isn’t the case, is still a bit of a shock.

Breathing heavily, I analyze the fight. Based off experience, I should be able to disarm Jimin in minutes. Even accounting for his exceptional level of skill. It’s odd, though. He’s keeping up well, for a human. We continue on like this, neither one of us gaining momentum. I accumulate a few scrapes and bruises, so does he.

Jimin’s injuries are far worse than mine though. This gives me a small amount of satisfaction, a grim smile tugging at my lips. The first cut I gave him is most painful, blood trickling down his arm to make his grip slippery. Sensing this weakness, I lash out. Sword nicking his right arm, hitting his wrist as Jimin lets out a cry. He spins aside in a desperate maneuver, avoiding my follow-up.

Closing in on him, I smile at my impending victory – only to be dismayed, when Jimin switches hands. He grins at my expression, resuming fighting me with his left arm. I’m disappointed to find he’s equally skilled like this. After only a few minutes of sparring, I can see that I’ll win. Jimin’s loss of blood is too draining; I can see it in his eyes. They’re dark, flickering with exhaustion and I know I’ll soon overcome him.

My grin turns vicious, and I do a tricky maneuver to knock his sword aside. Jimin curses beneath his breath, ducking once to roll on the ground, grabbing his sword at the end. I use this to catch my breath, letting a strange sort of peace settle against my bones. When Jimin pushes himself to stand I move forward, steeling myself as I gain both ground and momentum.

While we continue to fight, I lose myself to the rhythm of the battle. Reveling in the strength, the power I hold over Jimin. My feet dance, sword held as an extension of myself while I lean smoothly backwards. The cadence lights a fire within, scorching my veins as I slowly lose myself to anger.

Jimin slows, more on the defense than the offense. I sweep his sword easily aside, following this with an angry slash to his stomach which just barely misses. I’m so caught in this, so hypnotized by my impending victory that I laugh, exhaling once before – I look at him.

This is a mistake. A moment which seems to go on much longer than it truly does. A lifetime passes, while my eyes meet his. Jimin’s panic is plain in them, clear with realization that his strength has failed. That’s not all I see. He stares back at me with courage, with determination, the fierce anger which calls to my own. I’m elastic, pulled away from self-destruction as easily as I came.

Limbs trembling, I disarm him quickly. Two strokes which knock the sword from his grasp, sending the metal clattering to the floor. The point of my sword rests on Jimin’s clavicle and I say nothing, my breath coming in heaved spurts. I don’t know where to look. Don’t know what to say to him, and eventually I drop my eyes.

When I look back up, Eon is watching me. His gaze betrays nothing as he takes a step forward, walking over to Jimin. “Come, Prince,” he motions. “We should bandage that cut on your arm.” His voice is calm, reasonable, it breaks the silence of the room.

I don’t move when they exit, returning to looking at the ground.

Or at least, I don’t look at them – until my self-misery gets the best and my gaze darts upward. I need to see that Jimin is okay, need to know I didn’t hurt him. Eon has already passed though, hovering someplace beyond the door as Jimin moves slowly across the room. I notice his shirt sticks to his chest, matted with sweat and blood, nothing life-threatening.

Before I can move, Jimin turns. He meets my gaze head-on, holding nothing but curiosity for me. I don’t know what to make of this. Anger, I would have understood. Hostility, I would have known. No. Jimin just looks, vaguely intrigued. Before I can decipher this, he’s gone. Stepped outside and leaving me alone. I stare blankly at the door, trying to understand what just happened.

My weight sags backwards, hitting the wall to slide into a seated position. My legs curl beneath me, protecting me from the wave of pain which looms threateningly on the horizon. Sometimes it scares me, what I can do. I remember back when I was a child, my father would often force me to fight humans.

Only as a child. Eventually, I became too fast for them, too strong and humans were no longer a challenge. That’s what my father told me. In truth, I think the humans just stopped agreeing to come. No amount of money was worth it to them, no amount of honor was enough. I was too fast, too strong and I couldn’t control myself. Oftentimes, I hurt them.

It would be better to say it was just one of them. That I only had one accident, that I didn’t know any better. It would be easier to say that I cared. It’d also be easy, if I said I never fought those weaker than myself. That I took no pleasure in their defeats, that winning those victories brought me no joy.

It would be easier, but it wouldn’t be true. My father rewarded me for the win, no matter how small. It made me eager to please him, eager for the feel of a warm bed and meal. I trained myself to look past the human’s fear, to see my opponent as less than myself, smothering that pit of shame within my stomach. Winning was everything, no matter the cost it took in the long run.

My father once said that weapons have no emotions. They do not empathize and I, am ultimately a weapon. There’s a dark part of myself which embraces this. It’s easier, not to feel. Easier to be hard, to be steel. Without emotion, there is no pain. When I fight as a weapon, I find I don’t care. Don’t care what I need to do to win – which means I usually win. Out on the battlefield, it’s a liability to care. Caring makes one vulnerable; something others can exploit and take advantage of.

It’s a talent of us Fey, to embrace this darker side. To cross into the dark, animalistic part which knows no fear. I nearly did so today, fighting Jimin. I would have killed him, I have no doubt. I would have, if I hadn’t looked up. I blink then, frowning. Lifting a hand to my face, staring at the wetness revealed on my fingertips.

I can’t remember the last time I cried. I would laugh at this fact, if I weren’t already so close to losing myself. Instead, I let another tear fall. It feels oddly satisfying, though I’m not sure what I’m crying for. Because I stopped, or because I didn’t?

I’ve never lost a fight. Never stopped to spare someone, yet I stopped to spare him. Stopped to spare Jimin, with his dark eyes and courageous face. I don’t know why. My body shakes, more from fear than from laughter. The world around me is changing – I’m changing – and somehow, I don’t think my father will like what I’m becoming.

The rest of the day, I hold myself back. I force the dark part of myself to remain dormant, at least for now. Instead, I focus on his Jimin’s technique. On learning his motions, his reactions. He responds easily to the maneuvers Eon throws our way, fluid and graceful as any Fey.

The skills he possesses are outstanding, perhaps on par with my own – were I not much stronger than he is. I am though, which means for Jimin to win, I must be defeated within the first few minutes of the fight. As the day passes by, Jimin catches on. He adjusts his fighting style accordingly, adopting sneak attacks and slight maneuvers. It shocks me, when he wins. Just the one time, no more than that – but it’s more than anyone else has.

The monotony of combat is calming, a distraction which soothes my tangled thoughts. Jimin and I don’t speak, for which I am grateful. By the end of practice though, my muscles are spent. Body aching, sweat trickling down my back as I rest my hands on my knees. Jimin stands in a similar position, breath coming in uneven gulps. I avert my eyes from his damp shirt, clinging to the muscled body below.

As the sun sinks below the horizon, it casts long shadows across the floor. Eon declares the day complete, clapping his hands. “Return to your rooms for dinner,” he instructs. “Y/N, you are to dine in Jimin’s quarters.”

“What?” I ask, alarmed. My gaze darts to the human Prince. “Why not with the others, like we did the last night?”

Eon just fixes me with his clouded, green stare. “This week is about more than learning to fight,” he says to me quietly. “Now, go. Dinner will be served throughout the castle at seven.”

I open my mouth to protest, but before I can – Jimin clears his throat.

“Y/N.”

It’s the first word he’s said since this morning and when I look at him, his eyes are large, cautious. That all changes when he takes my hand though, gaze darkening while lowering his head. Jimin’s lips brush the back of my skin, a gesture as simple and gentle as a breeze.

Then he leaves, turning quickly to stride from the room. I just stand there staring, watching him go for far longer than I’d care to admit.

Standing outside Jimin’s door that night, I fiddle with the sleeve of my dress. My gown is emerald in color, bringing out the depths of my eyes. At least, that’s what my maid told me. I think it makes me look rather like a forest, lost in a sea of monotone. Staring at the door though, I swallow back these thoughts. It doesn’t matter what I wear, this is only a business dinner.

As I think this, the door flies open. Jimin’s eyes widen and he hesitates, but only for a moment. The gesture is so fleeting, I wonder if I imagined it entirely, “I thought I heard someone,” Jimin allows, smiling pleasantly. He steps back from the door, gesturing me to walk inside. “Please, come in.”

I look past him. The room beyond is lit by feylight, congregated energy used that’s less fickle than fire. The curtains are pulled to reveal a rising moon and I breathe in relief when I see a serving faery. Jimin and I won’t be completely alone.

“Thank you,” I nod, walking past.

Jimin sits down across from me, oddly formal in his mannerisms. The silence between the two of us extends, making me very aware we’ve only spoken two sentences since my arrival.

Arranging my skirts to the side of my chair, I attempt to look busy. When the server pours wine, I nod in appreciation, looking anywhere but at Jimin when I take a sip. The silence continues though, my pulse deafening in my veins. My panic grows at this, imagining long hours, filled with silence. When our server returns, he brings the salad course.

Just as I despair of ever hearing words again, Jimin asks, “Why did you hold back today?”

His question catches me off guard. “What do you mean?” I respond, swallowing a forkful of lettuce.

“Today, after the first fight.” Jimin leans in, eyes gleaming in the light. “You let me win – why?”

“I,” shaking my head, I take a small sip of my wine. “That’s awfully presumptuous, to assume I’d let you do anything.” Though I try to sound confident, I avoid his gaze.

Jimin snorts. “Oh, come on. I’m good, but you’re Fey. I shouldn’t have won – not once.”

A muscle in my jaw ticks, setting down my fork. “You won,” I say to him, gaze cold. “By merit alone. Our fight this morning,” I exhale, not caring to explain. “I don’t want to talk about. It’s insulting you think I’d ever let you win. Truly, there’s nothing so awful as a self-deprecating opponent,” I mutter, then stab angrily at a tomato.

Jimin considers this, then laughs. “Alright,” he admits, picking up his fork. 

His easy acceptance washes away some of the earlier tension. I breathe in relief, happy his questioning is over, though it appears my respite is to be short-lived. 

Jimin leans forward then, catching my gaze. “What about earlier, what happened during that fight?”

My teeth grind, since this is the one thing I don’t want to discuss. I consider pretending not to know what he means. This seems pointless though, since my Fey nature is sure to come up in other aspects of training. Jimin lifts his fork to his mouth, waiting. He’s interested in the answer – though he’s pretends that he’s not.

Pushing my plate away from me, I sigh. “We fought. You lost.”

I stop, not wanting to say more. For a moment, I wish I were human. Wish I could do more than mislead him, I wish I could lie. I can’t say this morning was nothing, because it wasn’t. I can’t say Jimin wasn’t in danger, because he was.

“Well, obviously.” Jimin studies me. “I’ve heard rumor that Fey can turn off their emotions when they fight. I’ve heard this makes them formidable warriors.”

No longer caring to pretend, I meet his gaze. “I’ve heard that as well.”

“Is it true?” he asks, a direct question.

“It is,” I frown. 

Jimin sits back, considering my answer. I wait for fear to creep over his gaze, for his eyes to look hurriedly away, but he does no such thing.

“What’s does it feel like?” Jimin asks instead, picking back up his fork.

Though I’m surprised, I try not to show it. “Why would I know what that’s like?”

“Don’t you?” Jimin asks, another direct question.

I grit my teeth, steeling myself against the growing anger. It’s true, faeries cannot lie. It’s considered bad form though, to use this against us. Jimin knows this – he must, given the stupid, little grin on his face. One which widens with each passing second.

I glare. “Yes. Yes, I know.”  

“So,” Jimin cuts off a slice of cucumber. “What does it feel like?”

When he looks back at me though, the grin fades from Jimin’s face. I realize then, maybe Jimin doesn’t want to play games either. Maybe he really does want to know this answer. I think it’s this, which makes me tell him the truth.

“It’s not a conscious choice,” I say slowly. “At least, not for me.” I pause, uncertain what next. “I don’t suppose you feel the rhythm of fighting? A certain tempo, almost like dancing.”

I don’t know if this is unique to the Fey. Or perhaps even unique to me. When Jimin nods though, acknowledging the statement, I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Imagine that, just on a grander scale. It’s more than just feeling the rhythm, you become it.” Closing my eyes, I drift back to that moment. “Imagine your body turning to instinct, the only message reaching your brain is survive. Live, survive – at all costs.”

I feel Jimin watching me, but don’t yet dare open my eyes. “The Fey call it Otero,” I say, voice softening. “It comes from a word which means cancel, to blot out. When this happens, I no longer exist. It’s not that I lose control of myself, because I don’t,” I open my eyes. “I am control. The thing I lose, is myself.”

Realizing that’s all, I fall silent. I’m angry then, both at Jimin and at myself. Angry that he pried, angry I said so much. I chose to do this, though. Just because I can’t lie to Jimin, didn’t mean I had to explain.

“Y/N.”

I blink, distracted by the sound of my name. Jimin’s voice is gentle though, and it’s this which makes me see him. For the first time, I realize that of the two of us, I might be the more dangerous one. This thought shudders through me, sending my world tilting on its axis.

“Thank you for stopping, then.” Jimin must mistake my expression for one of confusion then, because he adds, “I know that this morning must have been difficult. If what you said just now is true, I’m amazed you were able to stop at all. So, thank you.”

I stare, allowing his words to sink in. Jimin is amazed I stopped. Before now, I hadn’t even questioned this but he raises a very good point. Thoughts racing, I struggle to piece together a logical explanation – unable to come up with one. None which make sense, anyways. My thoughts fragment, fractured and uncertain. I’ve never saved anyone, but Jimin.

I could ponder this more, were it not for the moon. Its light distracts me, the way that it plays over Jimin’s cheekbones. The way the slanted beams contrast with his lips, eyes burning in muted light. As I stare, drinking him in – I find my hand reaching shakily for my wine.

“You’re welcome,” I say, tearing my gaze away. “I doubt Eon would have let me kill you, though. He probably would have interfered before disembowelment.”

Jimin pauses for a moment, then laughs – surprised. “A joke,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Who knew?”

The door to his suite opens, cutting off our conversation with the arrival of the main course. The night flows easily after that. Jimin talks of his time in the military, noting the several different training locations spread across Humankind. He mentions a tour he’s to take in the spring, that I’ll need to come with – and the conversation sparks a memory.

“You chose a falchion,” I interrupt, cocking my head. “I thought you said you fought in the infantry?”

At this, Jimin smiles. “True. I fought in the infantry. I was convinced I could do it all, though. I went to various factions of the army, begged soldiers, generals – anyone, really, to teach me. I learned how to wield the falchion two years ago. Practicing in the woods, in the dead of night whenever my cavalry friend could spare the time.”

This impresses me, and I tell him as much. “Most people can motivate others,” I muse, tilting my head. “It’s more difficult I find, to motivate oneself.”

“True, but you over-flatter me.” Jimin smiles.

When the dessert course arrives, I find myself unsure of what to talk about. The man is confusing. No, not man, I correct myself – Prince. Catching my slip-up, I shake my head. Jimin is an odd mix of cocky and kind; self-motivated and easy-going. Picking at my dish, I stare down at the coconut trifle, trying to eat. I know coconut is an exotic, expensive thing, but I’ve never been very partial.

“The food is not to your liking?”

It’s the servant who speaks and I start, having forgotten he was here. “Coconut is delicious,” I smile blandly, allowing my bowl to be swept away.

Jimin watches all this, a tiny smile at the corner of his lips.

When I see him watching me, I flush. “What?” I demand, eyes narrowing.

“Nothing.” Jimin shakes his head, then grins. “I know you can’t lie, but even I could tell that was not true.”

Called out, I stifle a smile. “Well, no,” I admit. “Personally, I don’t like coconut. In general, though – I hear it’s delicious.”

At this, Jimin laughs. Throwing his head back and chuckles, the heartwarming gesture filling the room. “Is it true then, what they say about the Fey?”

My mouth dries, as he returns to looking at me. “What is?”

“That, ‘lying to be polite’, is an affliction which affects all sentient beings,” Jimin supplies, grinning.

“Court games,” I sigh, shaking my head, “are an unfortunate truth to all kingdoms. Although I can’t claim to be an expert at playing.”

“No?” Jimin takes a sip of wine, raising both eyebrows.

“No. I was raised far away from this,” I explain. “Out on the western coast.”

Jimin nods, as though this isn’t new. Which it’s not, I remind myself. Jimin was present at my bidding, he heard my hometown announced. This thought puts a sour taste in my mouth. It’s one thing to sit here, laughing over dessert with a Prince. It’s another, to associate him with the horror of that afternoon.

“You’ll have to learn at Ostia,” Jimin allows, laughter fading from his eyes.

“That’s fine,” I acknowledge, tracing the rim of my wine glass. “I’m a quick study.”

At this he smiles, somewhat sadly. “I’m sure you are.”

There’s an uncomfortable pause, while we both look at one another. The silence isn’t as awkward as before, but somehow feels even more invasive. My skin tingles, guilt rising in my stomach as I consider Namjoon. His face swims before me, gaze accusatory – though something even deeper than that, pushes him aside.

It’s then that I notice our server, packing up to leave. Heart racing, I realize he’s leaving us alone. The thought both excites and terrifies me. “Your Highness,” he nods, bowing low while he pulls his cart towards the hall.

“Let me help,” Jimin offers, jumping up to push open the heavy door.

The faery stills, speechless at the small act of kindness. He recovers quickly though, bowing once before hurrying away – not before thanking the Prince profusely. It’s the first I’ve heard a faery thank a human. The room falls silent upon his departure. Our easy camaraderie of earlier gone, replaced by something I don’t care to name.

Rather than stay though, I push myself to stand. “I should retire to my rooms.”

Jimin slowly nods. I’m eager to go, eager for the safety of two doors between us. The air is too thick for my comfort, too wired with energy and something else. My entire body is alive, my senses somehow sharper – or maybe duller – everything flipped from the way that it should be.

Jimin doesn’t stop me when I turn to leave. Halfway to the door, I trip, my haste making me clumsy and tangling my feet beneath in the rug. Jimin darts forward, somehow at my side before I fall. He clasps my elbow, steadying me gently to set me upright.

“Are you okay?” Jimin murmurs, eyes searching for any sort of injury.

My face is crimson, the only damage done to my pride. “I’m fine,” I manage, then attempt once again to leave.

Jimin’s grip tightens, holding me still. Surprised by his sudden insistency, I lift my gaze to his. This was a mistake, I realize. This close to him, I can see the rise of each mole on his neck. The paleness of his face, marred occasionally by old sunburn, from his time in the army. His hair is dark, eyes lighter – it’s hard for me to remember then, why people view him as frivolous. It’s hard to find any humor within that gaze, right now.

“Jimin,” I start, then stop. I don’t know what I was going to say next.

He slowly lifts a hand, tucking a strand of hair away from my neck. “Yes?”

A sharp, pang of fear tears through me. “I have to go,” I say, the words automatic.

Jimin’s brows knit, confused, though he releases me. “Of course.”

I nod, still facing him. It takes a moment for me to tear myself away, and I’m midway to the door before Jimin says my name out loud. 

“Jimin, don’t,” I interrupt, searching for an excuse. “I can’t – ʺ

His laugh is hollow, already seeming to know what I’m about to say. “And why can’t you?”

The words I want, my explanation of Namjoon dries in my mouth. I can’t tell him that, and so I search for another half-truth. “We’re different,” I turn to face him. This is true, but it’s not all of it. “I’m Fey, you’re Human.”

“And?” Jimin asks, eyes narrowing.

“When humans have feelings, they don’t last longer than five minutes.” 

This isn’t what I intended to say, but it’s true nonetheless.

Jimin’s gaze darkens. “Oh? Because you’re such an expert in what Humans are really like.”

“I could ask that maid from yesterday,” I blurt, then wince. That was unintentional of me – I don’t know what came over me, just now. I feel a flicker of shame when Jimin takes a step back, as though he’s just been slapped. I can’t afford to be kind to him though, and so I drive my point home. “It certainly looked as though you used her and left her,” I mutter.

“Well,” Jimin’s jaw clenches, eyes wide. “I suppose there are limitations, then, to even Fey honesty.” Shaking his head, the Prince looks away. “You can speak any lie, so long as you think it’s a truth. A clever loophole.”

“It’s not a loophole,” I counter, my annoyance growing the longer I stand here. “You act as though honesty is a game, one can play with. Do you think we Fey enjoy having to tell the truth? That we like our words be a game, never able say what we truly feel?”

Jimin doesn’t answer, gaze faltering when I take a step closer.

“No,” I declare, looking up at him. “I know what I saw. I don’t need to lie, to tell you that.”

“You don’t know me, though,” Jimin says, quieter. More to himself, than to me.

“I know enough,” I respond, finally pushing past him and out the door.

The door thuds shut and for a moment, I think he might follow – but nothing happens. When he does nothing, I take off down the fall. Steps quick and angry, steady until I close the weight of my doors behind me. I stay like that, chest rising and falling until I turn away from the hall.

I change mechanically into my nightgown. Even then, it’s difficult for me to fall sleep. I continue to stare at my ceiling, thoughts flickering past my vision like visions. When I do sleep, my dreams are of fire and smoke. Pain, the color of steely iron.

[Master List]

[lunaschild2016]

Worth Fighting For Chapter 25 - You’re Gonna Regret That

Rating: M (violence, smut, language, references to abuse and violence)

Romance/Tragedy

He was ruthless, cunning and completely committed to protecting his city but her arrival to Dauntless called everything he ever thought he believed into question. Duty and following orders were no longer enough. They both found more than they ever thought possible. They both found something worth fighting for. Eric/OC AU M Tragedy/Romance

@kenzieam@ericdauntless@jojuarez26@jaihardy@iammarylastar@captstefanbrandt@badassbaker@readsalot73@fuckthatfeeling@dani5102@beltz2016@beautifulramblingbrains@affabletimelady@irasancti@meganbee15@meganbee15@lauraaan182@gylisaa@scorpio2009@bookgirlthings@pathybo@violetsonthelam XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 25 - You’re Gonna Regret That Kat

Everything was aching on me by the time I slid into my seat at dinner. Lynn slid next to me and Tris on the opposite side of me.

“What. The. Actual. Fuck?” Lynn growled out as a very unwanted lurker slid into a seat at the same table but the far end.

I sighed and my shoulders slumped while Tris tensed and scowled down towards him. “Seriously? What is wrong with him today?” Tris added her disbelief as well.

“I am thinking pod people. It is the only logical explanation at this point.” I tiredly say as I poke at the pasta on my plate.

“What are you guys talking about?” Zeke asks from beside Uri.

I shake my head at my sister and Lynn, trying to limit what they say and let me handle it. Chase and Zach were already looking at me worriedly enough and if they thought something was wrong, my plans to slip away for the night might be spoiled. I was already kind of grateful that Chase had informed me Eric was going to be late getting back from the meeting. He had gotten held up with something.

So I shrug and paint on a smile. “Peter is being less odious than I would have thought possible. It is just kind of...throwing us all off.”

That wasn’t a fucking lie. He had hovered the entire time we were on the fence. Three times when I got close to the edge he either shoved me back or yelled at me that if I were going to throw myself off, could I at least wait until he was nowhere near. Chase had found it hilarious for some reason but it just creeped me the hell out.

What was even creepier was the fact that anytime his friends started up on taunting me, he would start ragging on them, stopping them. This didn’t seem to extend to Tris though and he let them say whatever about her. In all, it was confusing as shit and I didn’t have the energy at the moment to figure out what was going on in that mind of his.

Zeke grinned and I could tell he was thinking of something funny to say about Peter. “Maybe he had great incentive to have an attitude adjustment?”

Chase snorts loudly into his cup and even Zach laughs at this, then they both cast wicked grins down the table to Peter, who pales and jerks slightly. “That would be a fucking understatement.” Chase finally says with a laugh.

My eyebrow quirks as I stare at the two men but Zach only looks into his cup smiling while Chase smirks at me and shrugs.

“Hey Uri. Don’t you owe Mar a movie or something tonight?” Lynn says, breaking me from the stare down I had started with Chase, trying to glare an explanation from him.

Lynn initiating the start of our plan had my head turning to look at Uri who was frowning at first. Then he smiled and shrugged. “I don’t remember owing her one, but sounds good to me. What do you say Mar? Will you allow me to treat you to a movie?”

Mar smiles and blushes at him then nods. “Sounds good to me too. Do I get to pick the movie?”

His smile falters just a little and I can’t help but laugh along with his brother and Lynn. He groans before he nods and then the smile goes back to it’s full wattage when she snuggles into his side and bats her eyelashes at him. “Sure.” He finally gets out.

Maybe I need to arrange to talk to Mar at some point and pick up some damn pointers? Although I am sure I would look ridiculous trying what she just did.

“What are you guys going to do then?” Mar asks after we had been eating for a few minutes, probably feeling bad for us being left out.

Tris shrugs and blushes a little, letting me know something was up with her. “I think Christina wanted to hang out or something.”

Considering I was up to something too, I didn't press her or look to call her out. I was actually kind of relieved that I wouldn’t need to find a way to ditch her. I would have felt bad about that.

“Cool, well I think I will take Kat and show her around a few of our favorite places. She was also mentioning looking at knives.” Lynn said with a casual shrug.

They bought it, or at least my friends and sister did. Chase cast narrow eyes at me but didn’t say anything. Determining it was better to get out fast and before a certain person strolled in and then I lost the ability to think properly, I started to wolf down my food. That did cause the others to look at me.

“What? I was hungry.” I muttered as I finished. Lynn hadn’t been quite so obvious but she finished just seconds after me.

“We will see you guys later. Enjoy the movie and..” She pauses and wrinkles her nose, looking to Tris “well I mean...you can try and enjoy yourself.” Her tone suggested she was very doubtful that was even possible.

I bit my lip in amusement and stood along with her. Before we could get far, Chase called out to us.

“I am sure we will be seeing you later.” His tone was casual for the most part but I got what he was saying. I would need to hide well because at the very least, Eric was going to make it a point to find me.

I gave an offhanded wave without turning back as my answer. Lynn linked her arm with mine and was silently chuckling.

“Shut up with that.” I grumbled at her moodily.

“I didn’t say anything.”

I sigh tiredly and shake my head. “You don’t need to. I know what you are thinking.”

“Then you know that I am thinking we need to GTFO and in a hurry before the dogs are set loose after your tiny ass. I need to stop by and grab the supplies from the apartment too.” Lynn started to pull me along until we just ended up going at a run along the path to her family's apartment.

I was still hurting but not near as bad as I would have been had I not taken that last set of pills Chase handed me on the train ride home. There were more of them this time and while he assured me that there weren’t any strong pain meds, he also didn’t say what else was in them. All I knew was I ended up hurting less and breathing better. I would need to find a way to thank the three men….later.

Tonight I was set on getting drunk and having a much needed conversation.

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“Oh gods.” I groaned out, feeling queasy when my alarm went off on my watch. It felt way too soon to be time to get up and all I could think was; I was somehow in the seventh circle of hell and being made to pay for over indulging and general idiocy last night.

Most everything past having the start of some really embarrassing talk with Lynn became a blur. I remember us sneaking down to the clinic after drinking a hell of a lot and sharing stories, or Lynn sharing stories after a few beers to loosen her up. I remember Shauna being shocked after we got there and Lynn swinging me in front of her sister forcefully, then loudly demanding I be given “The Shot” and ASAP.

Apparently my overall talk with her had inspired her to think that I needed to go ahead and protect myself since I was getting so curious to explore things. Even though I remember being pretty damn adamant that I wasn’t sure that Eric was truly attracted to me. I still was in disbelief about that. She had insisted that he was but regardless I needed to be prepared. My mortification after that had, per her estimate, warranted another round of beers. That is where everything went very pear shaped and hazy.

I still hadn’t shut my watch alarm off and was rolling in my bed, clutching my stomach and moaning.

“You can shut that shit off now, Stiff.” A voice quietly drawled from the side of my bed, causing me to jerk and then clutch a hand over my mouth as my stomach roiled at the action. Peter lurched back as if I really had just thrown up on him and scowled down at me. “I swear to Gods if you throw up on me Stiff, I really will say fuck it and throw you in the Chasm.”

It was then I noticed the pounding in my head making it seem like fireworks of lights were going off with or without sound. So now I was writhing on the bed, one hand clutched to my mouth to keep myself from exploding there and the other clutched to my head to keep it attached.

“Oh gods...please Chasm...yes now...better than..”

“Oh shut it, Stiff.” Peter growled again and moved forward, shutting my alarm off by pressing the button on it for me. “I have a better plan.”

“What’s wrong with Kat? What are you doing to her?” Edward had come over to inspect the proceedings and now there were two people hovering over my bed to witness my misery.

“I did shit to her, the stiff can’t handle her liquor. You could be of some actual use and help me get her to the shower.” Peter snarled at him.

There was rustling around and then the world was spinning. “I’m gonna blow.” I got out just before I felt it all rumbling.

There was cursing but then, thankfully, the most beautiful sight stood before me. The damn toilet. I had never been so happy to see something in my life. I hugged it close as I felt like my insides were fighting to work their way out. I wasn’t sure that it would be possible for a person to survive with their guts hanging outside of them but I think my body was very determined to test that theory out.

I heard faint rumblings of talking and growled either commands or observations behind me. But honestly I couldn’t make them all out between the god awful sounds I was making as I wretched, what felt like my very soul, up.

I did hear things like water and aspirin being tossed around. I felt hands holding my hair back that were way too large to be my sisters hands. I couldn’t even feel embarrassed about anything that was going on at the moment because I was just too fucking miserable.

Finally, it all began to ebb and I collapsed against the toilet, my body shaking. “M’never drinkin again.” I mutter out in a hoarse voice against my arms, where I had laid my head down.

There was a baritone chuckling from behind and suddenly dread filled me. I turned my head slowly to catch sight of who was there and slumped in relief when I saw it was Zach’s face and not Chase or even worse...Eric. My relief was short lived because he quirked an eyebrow at me and shook his head with a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t be too relieved just yet, princess. Did you really think after your little show in the Pit we weren’t going to know what kind of state you were going to wake up in or that you wouldn’t have a talking to coming?” There wasn’t as much anger as amusement and real worry in his tone.

I must have turned all kinds of white because he sighed and held out a rag for me to clean myself up, shaking his head. Once I was cleaned up, with neither of us talking during this time, he held out water and aspirin for me. When I had taken them I finally dared to speak.

“Was it really bad?” I ask timidly and wincing just with that little bit of speaking.

“It wasn’t pretty but I guess not as bad as it could have been. I am sure your friends will tell you all about it when you see them.” Then he turns his head as he helps me up and mutters under his breath something to the effect of ‘if there is anything of you left after he gets a hold of you’.

I groaned from the movement and from the dread of having to face...just face everything, but Eric in particular.

He turns and hands me a pile of clothes then points to the shower. I glance in the direction of the dorm and notice that most everyone is passed out though I can tell that at least Peter and Edward are sitting up in bed from their faint outlines.

Without another word I trudge into the shower, get cleaned up as best as I can and then get dressed. All the while thinking that it is kind of pointless to clean up. I am about to become a sweaty and mostly bloody pile of little girl shortly anyways.

When I am dressed, Edward and Peter are no longer in their beds and Zach shrugs then mutters that Chase found something for them to do since they were up. He also leads me directly to the Dauntless-born training room. It looks like part of my punishment this morning will be no coffee.

I can tell something is really bothering Zach so I sigh, with my shoulders slumped and look over to him. “Did I do something really awful, Zach? You are worrying me.”

He glares at me, the first I have ever seen on him, and the fact that it is directed at me feels like a knife to my heart. Disappointment and anger radiates from him. “You drank after getting severely hurt, Kat. Not just hurt but head injuries. Do you know how fucking bad that could have been? I mean not only that but you haven’t drank like that before and you had no one there to watch out for either of you!”

He had stopped and threw his hands in the air in frustration. We weren’t far from the training room but we were luckily alone enough that no one was listening in.

“I..” I lick my lips and shake my head slowly “I didn’t know about the drinking and...well head injury thing. I didn’t mean to drink so much. Neither of us did really. But I just needed…” I stopped unable to put it into words and also embarrassed about things.

“You needed what Kat?” He asks confused but I can tell he isn’t done. “This was kind of the last thing I expected from you given how you feel about pain medications. So what was so damn bad that you drank yourself into oblivion?”

I was getting angry now. I was being treated like a child and while I knew that my actions weren’t the smartest I could have done in the world, I was still an adult here. Not to mention I was and had been a mess of confusion and unknown feelings from within the first few hours of stepping foot into Dauntless. Frustration, confusion and anger had just been mounting in me and now I exploded.

“My LIFE, gods dammit! I don’t know how to handle most of the shit that is starting to happen with me and I needed help...advice...something. I needed to not be in my head or emotions for one goddamn second so that I didn’t feel like a walking, talking, and breathing version of the Chasm!”

I finish all of this, having raised onto my tiptoes and poking his chest with a finger all while feeling the same mix of crap that had driven me to the rooftop with Lynn last night resurface.

I was panting when I finished and when I saw his widened eyes that then softened after everything I had blurted out registered, I slumped down back to my normal height and let my hand drop. I flushed red at what I had admitted because there was no way that he couldn’t figure out what exactly I was talking about.

He sighs and pulls me into a hug. “I’m sorry. I know this is all, well, new to you. While I am glad you have someone you can talk to about this shit Kat, know you do have me too.”

He had pulled back from the hug with his hands to my shoulders and looking me over, waiting for me to say something. I was trying not to let the tears out that were stinging my eyes and failing. I nodded as big fat drops of tears rolled out.

“I know Zach, it’s just that...I mean you know...about that kind of stuff…”

He even turns a little red and rubs the back of his head with a grin. “Yeah maybe stick to Lynn for that, unless you do feel comfortable enough. I might suck at advice in that area but I will try for you.”

More tears and silence as he hugs me one more time before he sighs and breaks away. His phone had started to buzz. He took it out and was looking at it while I was lost in thought and emotion.

A frown of thought and a question that had been bubbling in my mind came forward. “Zach?” I call out softly.

“Yeah princess?” He replied distractedly.

He used the nickname that had partially brought this question up now. “Why me Zach?”

His eyes snap up to mine, and with a frown he puts his phone back in his jacket pocket and tilts his head. He waits so long I don’t know that he is going to speak again. “Why you what Kat?”

I look at my hands and shuffle on my feet a little. “Why are you guys being so nice to me? Why care about some little stiff initiate at all? Why are you willing to make me one of you, to let me be part of something I don’t think he...no...any of you let people in easily to? Why me when there is nothing special about me at all?”

I still don’t look up until a feel a finger on my chin and see Zach eyes filled with not only pain but real affection. “I can’t speak for Eric...or Chase, princess. But to me you are special and I am pretty sure anyone that means shit would say the same thing. I think we all recognize something in you that reminds us of something. For me, you reminded me of my niece when I was still in Candor. She was only eleven when I transferred and was the only thing I regretted leaving. She was my little princess. Fiery and strong, loving and smart. I have never used that nickname for anyone else but I think she would have wanted me to be able to find someone like her that I felt I could use it with.”

“Would have?” I asked with a tremulous voice.

Zach’s face turned so fucking sad and haunted, a feeling of dread and despair filled me at this. “Kat...it wasn’t your fault, I need you to know this.”

“Oh gods….” I slapped a hand over my mouth as realization washed over me. “No.” I cried out, shaking my head violently from side to side, sobs wracking my body.

This time when I was pulled into arms, after I had started to fall to the ground, it wasn’t Chase. This time it was all steel and warmth that wrapped me up. “Kat….you need to calm down.”

I didn’t deserve the soft and caring tone he was using on me right now. I didn’t deserve the gentle way I was then lifted and taken the rest of the way to the training room. I didn’t deserve the pair of concerned eyes from both men as they crouched in front of me when it seemed like the tears would never end.

I didn’t deserve any good thing in my life for the pain I had caused. How many others like Zach’s niece had died because of me? How many lives were destroyed, lives cut so damn short, because of me?

I had deserved it all. He had been right. Every lash from his belt, every hissed insult or recrimination that I had deserved it all because it was all my fault...all of it was right.

Marcus Eaton might not be there to dole out my punishments anymore but the lessons would always stay...and I deserved every one of them.

[aion-rsa]

The Handmaid’s Tale Season 4 Ending Explained

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Warning: contains The Handmaid’s Tale spoilers.

It’s going to take June Osborne some time to get Gilead out of her system. Season four of The Handmaid’s Tale may have finally brought her to Canada, but the years of abuse and violence she’s suffered, not to mention her forcible separation from her daughters Hannah and Nichole, have taken a deep toll. The season four finale showed June let down by international law and forced to seek vigilante justice for the pain caused to her by Commander Fred Waterford. Unable to move on knowing that Fred would go unpunished, June arranged a Salvaging of her own, setting upon her former Commander with a battalion of other ex-Gilead women in the woods. Fred was beaten and hanged, and June was left smeared with his blood. The question is: what happens now?

Is June going to jail?

After June and the others emerged from the woods at dawn after stringing Fred Waterford up, she drove home and picked up baby Nichole, still daubed in Fred’s blood. When Luke woke up and found her, he wordlessly understood that she’d killed Fred, and was devastated. June told Luke “I know, I’m sorry,” and asked for five minutes with Nichole and then she would go. 

The question is: go where? Is June planning to go on the run after the murder, is she going to turn herself in to the police, or does she simply know that Luke and Moira would never accept her after what she’d done, and so she’d no longer be welcome in the family home? Fred’s murder was committed in No-Man’s Land, said Nick, which could prove a loophole if June and the others are found not to fall under the jurisdiction of either Gilead or Canada. That’s one for season five to answer.

Who helped June to kill Fred?

A group of Gilead escapees, former Handmaids and Marthas such as the women in the library-based support group. Perhaps they were direct victims of Fred Waterford (he was a much more frequent visitor to Jezebel’s than he made out to the interview panel), or perhaps they just jumped at the opportunity to get revenge on a Commander. Emily was certainly there and took part in the attack, but Moira and Rita weren’t visible among the crowd, and it’s hard to imagine either of them going along with the plan.

What does “Nolite te bastardes carborundorum” mean?

The Latin sprayed on the wall underneath Fred’s hanging corpse roughly translates as “Don’t let the bastards grind you down,” and is a recurring phrase on The Handmaid’s Tale taken from Margaret Atwood’s original 1985 novel from which the TV series is adapted. It’s not a real historical Latin phrase, but a form of joke that provided the title for season one, episode four, where it was revealed as the line June discovered scratched inside her bedroom closet in the Waterford home, put there by her predecessor in the role. The Waterfords’ previous Handmaid, who had also been subject to abuse by Fred, hanged herself in that closet – more blood on the Waterfords’ hands. In the finale, it’s there as part resistance slogan, part in-joke, and part ‘fuck you’ to Fred.

Read more

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The Handmaid’s Tale Season 4 Episode 10 Review: A Brutal Reckoning But Was Justice Done?

By Louisa Mellor

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The Handmaid’s Tale: Is Commander Lawrence a Good Man?

By Louisa Mellor

Is Mark Tuello in love with Serena?

When Fred Waterford was being swapped with the Gilead prisoners on the bridge, he verbally attacked Mark Tuello, telling him the Lord knew what he desired and what he coveted. Fred’s use of the biblical phrase ‘covet’ recalls the Ten Commandments rule about not coveting your neighbour’s wife/ox/servant. Fred seems to be insinuating that Tuello has romantic designs on Serena, a theory backed up in the finale by Tuello asking Serena to explain why she would live with Fred as man and wife. Tuello and Serena first met back in season two, when he attempted to turn her from Gilead with the promise of “treason and coconuts.” However she feels about Tuello, it’s clear from her offhand farewell to him that Serena had no affection for Fred before he s killed. That said, it’s certain she would never admit to that in public. His murder and her being goaded by the severed finger package is sure to play well among the Waterfords’ fan club, perhaps turning Fred the Redeemer into a martyr and making Serena even more powerful in season five.

Is Commander Lawrence on June’s side?

We explore the tricky character of Joseph Lawrence in more depth here, but judging from his actions in the finale, June certainly seems to have his sympathy. Lawrence admires June, and is impressed by what she’s managed to achieve. He didn’t put up a fight when Nick and the Eyes arrived to take Fred Waterford away, and most likely knew he was sending Fred to his certain death. There was no love lost between the two men, especially after Commander Waterford forced Lawrence to enact ‘The Ceremony’ with June towards the end of season three, an act that precipitated Joseph’s beloved wife Eleanor’s suicide. Currently, Joseph Lawrence is on a mission to fix Gilead and “make things right again,” though what that means precisely is still up in the air.

Is there going to be a season five?

Yes. The show was renewed for season five back in December 2020, and showrunner Bruce Miller has indicated that the fifth season could be the end of the story. Hulu is also developing a spin-off series based on Margaret Atwood’s sequel The Testaments.

Which song was playing while Fred Waterford was being killed?

That was ‘You Don’t Own Me’ by Lesley Gore, first released in 1963.

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The Handmaid’s Tale season 4 is available now to stream on Hulu in the US, and starts on Sunday June 20th at 9pm on Channel 4 in the UK.

The post The Handmaid’s Tale Season 4 Ending Explained appeared first on Den of Geek.

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